Diving Into Him (14 page)

She wanted a drink.

Gritting her teeth, she tucked the money back into her jacket. She hung it on the back of a chair and curled up on a section of the floor that looked less dirty. Using her arm as a pillow, she tried to convince herself that she was comfortable.

Her thoughts jarred to a halt. She couldn’t afford a motel room, but she
could
afford a drink. After a couple of whiskey and Cokes, she might even be able to stand sleeping on the floor.

She found herself tugging her boots on, as if waking from a dream while sleepwalking. Biting down on her lip, she froze. She had lost count of the months that had passed since she last had a drink. Keeping track of anniversaries was silly, like high school students celebrating a month of dating. No hard plastic chips lined the bottoms of her pockets, either. After treatment, she had assumed that she would simply move forward. She stood from the floor, boots scraping against the threadbare carpet. Fingers reached for her jacket, arms slipping into sleeves. Pocketing the key to the studio, she moved toward the door.

Cool night air chilled her cheeks as she pulled the door shut behind her. Ducking her head, she clomped down the stairs. If anyone from the band happened to be hanging around in the area, she did not want them to see her. She supposed there was always the chance that her men would be at whatever bar she landed at, but the only ones she needed to worry about were Griff and Koty. Even then, she mused as she walked away from the building that the studio was tucked into, they had no right to tell her how to live her life.

She was going to get a drink.

Cars rushed past her as she headed deeper into the art district, following the street. The farther she got from the studio, the more people she passed. She let herself melt into the crowd, let herself be carried away by the flow of human traffic. They would lead her to where she needed to go. All she had to do was let it happen.

The current took her to a doorway so narrow, the sign overhead simply said Bar—as if that was actually the place’s name. Then again, in Boston, anything was possible. She followed a couple inside to a surprisingly large room. Booths lined one wall, opposite the bar itself. She went straight to the tall, polished wooden counter and flagged down the bartender.

“Jack and Coke.” Before the words even left her lips, she felt regret slice through her ribcage, plunging into her chest. She couldn’t go back, though. The bartender, a tall man with a long blond ponytail, left her end of the bar to fill her order. Numb fingers plucked the money from her pocket. She laid a five dollar bill on the lacquered wooden top. A second later, the bartender returned with a tall glass filled with dark soda. She could smell the whiskey even from where she stood.

He slid the glass to her and took the money. As he turned to ring her up and count out her change, she told him to keep it.

Wrapping her fingers around the cold glass, she headed toward the booths, hunting for a dark, empty one that she could hide in. Most of them were occupied, but she found one without people. The table was sticky, but she slid in, anyway. She set the glass down and stared at it. It leered back. She blinked at it.

She wished she had asked for a straw. Somehow, it seemed like it would be easier if she could sip through one.

Her ribs vibrated, the cell phone ringing in the pocket of her jacket.

Jumping, she nearly smashed her forehead into the light hanging above her table. She dipped her fingers into her pocket, retrieving the phone. For a moment, she did not recognize the number on the screen. A sharp gasp slashed through her lungs as she remembered who the number belonged to. With trembling fingers, she accepted the call.

“Hey, baby girl.” Static crackled from his landline, nearly drowning out his response, but she would recognize his voice anywhere.

“Dad,” she breathed. She turned away from the rest of the bar so that the other patrons could not see the tears sliding down her cheeks.

“Long time, no see. How are you?”

She wondered what he was doing awake at such a late hour. Usually, he was in bed shortly after dinner so that he could get started at the bakery before sunrise. “Is everything okay?” She wondered if she was dodging the question because she was really concerned, or if she just didn’t want to tell him the truth.

“For the most part,” Ruben Costa said. “I just hadn’t heard from my one and only daughter in a really long time, and I was starting to worry. How is the band?”

Jett swallowed hard. She should have called him ages ago. “Which one?” She stifled a bitter laugh.

“There’s more than one?” He laughed, a warm and hearty laugh that usually made her smile, too. “That explains everything.”

She eyed the glass in front of her, bubbles fizzing to the top. A sip might steel her nerves, help her explain what she had been doing and where she had been during the last few months.

“I knew you were on tour, so I didn’t want to bother you,” Ruben continued, “but it feels so good to hear your voice, minha filha.” Though his voice was gruff with a bit of a rasp to it, his heart and hands had always been soft.

She had been lucky to have been raised by him, she mused. She wondered, then, what had happened to her. “Dad, I need to tell you something.” Pausing, she wondered how much she should tell him. He probably didn’t really need to know that her period was late and that she had broken up with two men in the same day. Swallowing a bitter laugh, she rubbed her temples. “Perpetual Smile broke up. I’m surprised that you didn’t hear about it.”

For a moment, her father said nothing. Static crackled. Finally, her father spoke. “Huh,” Ruben said.

“But I’m in Boston now,” she continued, struggling to keep her voice light. “I’ve started a new band.” Glancing at her drink again, she shifted so that she faced the wall.

“You do know,” her father said, his voice soft, “if you need anything, all you have to do is ask, right?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she closed her eyes. For a moment, all she wanted to do was ask if she could come home. She pictured herself spending the rest of her days working in the bakery, reserving music for evenings after dinner, just before bed. Her father had always loved when she played guitar for him. He said it reminded him of Portugal. If she went back to New York, her music career would be over forever—but she would also leave her problems in Boston. She could use the time with her father. It would mean letting the band down, though. She wondered if she could handle knowing that she had quit and ditched all of them.

“What’s going on, Jett?” her father asked.

She sobbed, clapping a hand over her mouth so that he wouldn’t hear her. She took a few long breaths in through her nose to calm herself. “I’m just a little stressed out,” she said after a moment.

He snorted. “You’ve never been good at lying to me. What’s wrong? What can I do?”

Again, she considered how much to tell him. “I’m at a bar,” she blurted.

“Are you safe?”

Jett wiped tears away with the back of her hand. “As long as I don’t drink this whiskey.”

“How much trouble are you in, Jett?” Concern tinged her father’s voice.

Guilt rippled through her. “A lot.” Keeping things as concise as possible, she filled him in on all that had happened since they last spoke. After some hesitation, she told him about Koty and Tyler, too. “So now I’m sitting in a bar, with a Jack and Coke in front of me—and I want to drink it.”

“Well,” her father said, “you haven’t yet. That’s got to count for something, right?”

“I hope so.” She curled her free hand into a fist. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the ice in her drink bobbed up and down.

“Go home, Jett. Walk out of that bar and go home.”

The condo was no more her home than South of Forever was Koty’s band, she surmised, but she said nothing. Instead, she moved the drink closer to her.

“Or,” Ruben said, “you can take the next train here. We can figure everything out.”

She recognized the longing in his voice. He wanted her to come home. She imagined him sitting alone in the living room, wrapped in an electric blanket against the early spring chill. She yearned to see him, to exchange stories. Ruben made the best breads and pastries. Her mouth watered at the thought. It would be easy to just leave. She didn’t even have to say goodbye to anyone.

It would be cowardly, though—and Jett Costa was not a coward. She swallowed hard. “I can’t,” she said, pushing the drink away.

“I know.” More static swirled around his words. “You wouldn’t be you if you did.” The pride in his voice warmed her heart.

“What do I do?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper. She felt five years old again.

“Do what you always do,” her father said. “Keep moving forward. Everything will be okay. Just give it some time.”

Nodding, she slid out of the booth. “Thanks, Dad.” A moment later, she walked out of the bar.

Clutching her stomach, Jett turned onto her side. Sheets twisted around her legs. She moaned. A knock sounded at her door. Groaning, she brought her knees to her chest. The door creaked open an inch.

“Jett?” Koty peered inside.

She stared at him through slit eyes.

He took in her pale complexion and creased forehead. “I’m heading to the studio. Are you, um, gonna make it there?” His eyebrows knitted together.

“Ugh,” she gasped. Nausea rippled through her. She rolled off the bed, landing hard on her knees. Lurching to her feet, she dashed for the bathroom connected to her bedroom. She barely managed to slam the door shut. Throwing open the toilet lid, she gripped the sides of the cool porcelain. Fire ripped through her throat. Her stomach cramped. Sobbing, she bent over the toilet bowl until her stomach was completely empty.

Heat rolled over her body. Shaking, she sat back on the cool tile of the floor.

Knuckles tapped on the door. “Are you okay?” Koty asked, his voice edged with concern.

“Great,” she muttered. She rose her voice so that he could hear her. “I think I have a stomach bug.” Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back against the wall. She rarely got sick, but when she did, it was always something nasty like gastroenteritis. She sighed. If she had to get sick, she surmised, it would have been more convenient to wait a few more weeks.

“Do you want me to call the guys?” Koty asked.

Jett took a long, deep breath in through her nose. Frowning, she leaned forward and flushed the toilet. As fresh water swirled into the bowl, she exhaled. The nausea was already ebbing. “Maybe not,” she told Koty. Gripping the counter, she pulled herself to her feet. She turned on the faucet and brushed the sour taste out of her mouth, giving herself time to compose herself. A moment later, she opened the bathroom door.

Koty stood just outside, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He looked strange in her bedroom, and she realized that he had never stepped foot in there before. She had certainly been in
his
room. “Are you sure you’re all right?” He watched her with wary eyes.

Her stomach roiled. Unease washed over her. She bit down on her lower lip. “I’m fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Let’s go.” She waved for him to get out of her room so that she could change. Slanting her a long look, his blue eyes met hers. Then, he retreated into the hall.

Closing the door behind him, she pulled off her shorts and tank top. She dressed quickly, choosing a soft pair of joggers and a loose white T-shirt. Pulling on her jacket, she slipped her feet into wedge sneakers and reached for her notebook. Her stomach clenched again. She dove for the bathroom.

“Jett?” Koty knocked on the bathroom door.

She gripped the sides of the toilet seat, stomach heaving. She sobbed, tears stinging her eyes. There was nothing she hated more than throwing up.

“Jett?” he asked again.

She moaned.

“Should we just cancel recording today?” He eased the door open an inch.

She wanted to tell him to get out, but she only slumped back against the wall. Fatigue rolled over her. She closed her eyes. “Just gimme a minute.”

“Are you sure?” She heard the door open all the way. He stepped inside, sneakers tapping against the floor. “Can I get you anything?”

Jett lifted a hand to wave him away, but another wave of exhaustion dragged her arm down. “Maybe I’ll just go back to bed.” Pain bloomed in her stomach. Pressing a hand to her belly, she leaned forward. If she was going to throw up in front of Koty, she would at least aim right. No nausea accompanied the pain, though. She winced.

“I’ll call the guys,” Koty said.

“No.” She planted the palms of her hands on the floor. Legs shaking, she stood slowly. She flushed the toilet, cringing at its contents. “Grab the notebook on my dresser. I was playing around with melody last night. I want you guys to build on it. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” She reached for her toothbrush. Glancing up, she caught her reflection. Dark circles underlined her eyes. Her skin was as pale as the toilet. She grimaced.

Koty remained in the doorway.

“What?” She squeezed extra Colgate onto her toothbrush. The acidic taste of vomit burned in her mouth.

“It’s nothing,” he said. He didn’t move, though.

“Say it.” Frothy toothpaste dribbled down her chin.

“I just think that maybe you need to rest. We can afford to take a day off.”

Squinting against the pain in her belly, she concentrated on brushing her teeth. “Maybe,” she said around the toothbrush.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Koty shift from one foot to the other. “You really don’t look that good.”

Ordinarily, she would give him hell for saying something like that. She was too tired to think of a snappy comeback, though. “Yeah.” She spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth with cold water from the tap. “I’m going back to bed.” Wiping her mouth, she eased past Koty. Kicking off her sneakers, she climbed into bed.

“Can I get you anything?” Koty asked. He shut off the bathroom light and padded toward the hall.

“A time machine, so I can start feeling better and get back to work.” Her voice sounded weak, even to her, and she winced. She swallowed hard. “Thank you, though.”

He cleared his throat. “No problem. I’ll be downstairs if you need something.” He closed the door behind him.

Eyelids growing heavy, she pulled her comforter up to her chin. The faster she fell asleep, she mused, the closer she would be to the next day. No twenty-four-hour bug would keep her out of the studio for long.

* * * * *

“Are you drinking again?” Koty crossed his arms. From where he leaned against the bathroom door frame, he looked like a giant.

Jett slumped against the wall. She didn’t even have the energy to glare up at him. Cold sweat dampened her forehead and the back of her neck. She shivered.

“Because if you are,” he continued, “you have to let me help you.”

She clutched her stomach. Pain shot through her abdomen, radiating into her lower back. It felt like someone was stabbing her pelvis. “Fuck you.” Her voice came out in a rasp. She couldn’t believe that he would ask something like that. She had barely left the house in the last few days, and didn’t have any money, anyway.

Koty sighed. Pushing off the door frame, he lowered himself to the floor. “I had to ask.” He sat next to her. His hand hovered above her knee, as if he wanted to pat her leg but thought better of it.

“Well, don’t,” she growled. She closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. If she had health insurance, she would go to the emergency room. She was beginning to think that she needed to get her appendix out.

“My mother was an alcoholic,” Koty said.

Her eyes fluttered open. Slanting him an annoyed glance, she planted both palms of her hands on the floor.

“Wait.” He touched her shoulder.

She crossed her arms. If she had the energy, she might tell him what he could do with his sob story. He took every possible chance to call her out on her mistakes. Still, the way he looked at her with those big blue eyes softened her a bit. She lifted her eyebrows at him.

He shifted in his seat on the floor, fingers plucking at the bath mat. “It’s just that I saw her go back and forth a lot. She didn’t want to get help. I have no idea where she is now.” He sighed. “I don’t want that to happen to you.” Blue eyes burned into hers, pulling her in. Tears pooled in his eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she sat gazing back at him, speechless. It all suddenly made sense. “Oh,” she said finally.

His eyebrows twitched. “Would you tell me if you were?” Those eyes burned into hers, pleading.

A lump formed in her throat. “No.” Her voice came out hoarse.

Koty’s face fell. He looked down at his hands.

“I meant I’m not drinking,” she said quickly.

His head snapped up. His eyes met hers. “Promise?”

Nodding, she pressed a hand to her belly. She winced. “I almost did.”

Koty squeezed her shoulder. “But you didn’t?”

Giving him a small smile, she shook her head. “Someone talked me out of it.”

“You should be proud of yourself, Jett,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. He pulled away quickly. As he turned away, she glimpsed the heat spreading across his cheeks. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, his face still turned away from her.

Brushing sweat from her brow, she climbed to her feet. Legs shaking, she gripped the counter for balance. She flushed the toilet.

Koty scrambled to his feet. He put a hand on her elbow. “So you really think this is just some bug? Aren’t they usually over after a day or two?”

“Or I need to get something taken out.” She leaned against the counter. Sweat dampened her hair. She didn’t need a mirror to know that she looked like hell.

“I’m thinking so.” His eyes searched her face. “I think you need to go to the hospital.” Concern laced his words, and something else.

She waved a hand at him. “I’ll be fine.” Limping past him, she moved back into her bedroom. “I’m gonna have to cancel recording again today, though.” Her voice came out in a croak. She climbed into bed.

He followed her. “You’ve been sick for days.” He leaned over her. “If it’s not such a big deal, then come to the studio with me.” He crossed his arms.

Glaring up at him from her fetal position, she pulled her blankets up to her chin. She shivered. “I just need to rest.”

“You need to see a doctor.” He sat on the bed near her feet.

She tried to remember the last time she had even seen a primary care provider. Being on the road with her old band didn’t allow much time for doctor’s visits. On the rare occasions when she did get sick, she just pushed through. If Perpetual Smile didn’t perform, she wouldn’t get paid. Besides, the most sick she ever got was the common cold, and they made plenty of lozenges for singers. She gave Koty a weak smile. “I’m fine. We’ll pick up on recording tomorrow.” Shooing him away, she nodded toward the door. “But I really need to rest up if I’m going to feel better.”

He stood but hesitated. “Are you just trying to get rid of me, or are you really sure that you’re okay?”

“Yes.” She waved him away.

The second that he closed the door behind him, she squeezed her eyes shut. The pain kept getting worse. Tears bled through her eyelids. She curled her hands into fists. She probably did need to have her appendix or something out, but she didn’t have insurance. She doubted that she could wait much longer, though. It was starting to look like a major hospital bill was in her future.

Jett sighed. She would never be able to sing again if her appendix ruptured and she died. Snorting, she kicked her comforter off. She eased herself out of bed. Bare feet padded to the door. As she turned the handle, grey spots danced in front of her eyes. She had gotten up too quickly. Pausing, she took a deep breath. Then, she moved into the hall. She limped to the top of the stairs, one arm wrapped around her stomach.

“Hey,” she called downstairs to Koty. Her voice bounced off the walls. “I’m gonna do that thing now.” Gripping the railing, she began her descent.

Koty appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He held his hands up. “Stop right there. You’re as white as sheet.” He dashed up to where she stood, taking the stairs two at a time. Looping an arm around her waist, he guided her down the rest of the way. “Do you feel dizzy?” he asked, bringing her to the couch.

She smirked. “Maybe a little.”

“Jett,” he growled. “You have to tell me these things.” He shook his head at her. “We’re going to the hospital,
now
.”

She lifted a hand. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“You can barely walk.” He froze, gaping at her. “Wait, were you planning on walking?”

She shrugged. “I’ve walked all over this town.” While she would probably take the T, she had to admit that it was kind of fun to watch him freak out.

Plucking his phone from his pocket, Koty placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m calling you a cab.”

The room tilted up at her. She gripped the arm of the couch. Nodding, she sank back into the cushions. Her pulse raced in her throat. Something really was wrong. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes while Koty made the phone call. It was ironic, really, that a few days before, he could barely look at her. Normally, she would call him out on it, but all she could do was nod when he told her how long it would take for the cab to arrive.

“Where are your boots, in your room?” He nodded toward the stairs.

She nodded, and watched as he bounded to the second floor. A shudder ripped through her. Doubling over, she wrapped her arms around her stomach. Something was very, very wrong.

Jett looked up just in time to see Koty come down the stairs. He clutched her boots in his hands. Worried blue eyes met hers, took in her pale, sweaty face. He lifted his eyebrows.

“I’m going with you,” he said, his voice firm.

She nodded, her vocal chords strangled with pain.

He slipped her boots onto her feet. At first she tried to help him, but moving made the pain even worse. She leaned back into the couch, legs limp.

“It’s okay.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She lifted the corners of her lips, too weak to say anything. Swallowing hard, she dug around in her reserves. There had to be some strength left. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so helpless. Even on her most drunk nights, she still mostly had control of herself.

A car horn beeped. Through the blinds, she saw the yellow of a taxi. The thought of getting up and walking, even those few steps, made her even more tired. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on the arm of the couch. She could do it.

Before she could get up, though, Koty gently lifted her. The hard muscles of his body pressed against her. She couldn’t remember him feeling so solid the last time she had been so close to him. He must have started working out. Or, she realized, she had just never allowed herself to notice. Maybe she hadn’t been in as much control of herself as she thought.

Cradling her to his chest, he carried her outside. Her legs dangled. She rested her head against his shoulder. He slid her into the back seat of the taxi and eased in beside her.