Nocturnes (26 page)

At least Duane’s conscience kicked in. Or maybe he thought he’d get a lesser sentence if he came clean.

I press my lips together to stave off another bout of tears and look away. “Dancing was my life.”

Charlie leans close and pegs me with a gentle stare. Her wrinkled hand covers mine and squeezes. “I know, Eve. I’m very sorry. I feel responsible. You must understand I can’t change the rules in Heaven, but if you want to keep dancing at Nocturnes once you’re back on your feet, I’d like to hire you as a salaried employee with benefits. The money won’t be nearly as good as Heaven, but it’s something.

“And if you opt for plastic surgery, which I highly recommend, the cost is covered. It’s the least I can do.”

I press a palm to the bandage on my face. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll have to think about it.”

She nods once, and the familiar, cold businesswoman replaces the kind, motherly figure in the blink of an eye. Charlie stands.

“About Rax—,” I say.

“He’s been here since he got out of jail. I’ll send him in.”

Since he—“What?”

“I’ll tell him to behave himself,” she says.

“He’s drunk.”

Her lack of a reply confirms it. Great.

“Your personal life is your business. If Rax wants to come back to Nocturnes, he’s welcome to as long as he can act like a gentleman.”

I blink long and hard. “Thanks, but lifting his ban won’t be necessary.” God forgive me for what I’m about to do.

Side B: “Wild Horses”

In the short time between Charlie leaving and Rax coming in, I reach some monumental decisions. Number one: As of this moment, I’m deleting everything in my life that prevents me from reaching my goals. Number two: I’m changing my goals to reflect the New World Order of Eve Belikov. Number three: As long as Rax Wrathbone is an alcoholic, I don’t have room for him in this new world.

Hasty decisions? Absolutely. But the last twenty-four hours remind me in a big bad way that life is too short to live for someone else.

I look up to the ceiling. “Sorry, Mama and Papa,” I whisper. “From here on, each day is my own. I love you both and miss you, but your dreams are no longer mine. Today I start living.”

A strange sense of calm flows over me, and for the first time since I became an angel in Hell, I feel at peace with myself. Mama and Papa must understand. Wherever they are.

The door opens, and a scraggly figure with slumped shoulders and head downturned enters the room. Rax looks a foot shorter and a mile humbler than I remember him. This is going to be hard.

“Hi.” He leans against the closed door and looks everywhere but at me. His face is pale and clammy. Sweat fuses his formerly lush locks to his brow.

My heart breaks for him. For us. But I have to be strong. “Hi.”

Silence swims lazily through the ocean between us.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

He snorts. “Some rescue.” He inches closer, his face marred by sharp lines of anguish. Pain.

“How’d you get arrested?”

He glances away. “They thought I did it. I resisted arrest.”

My heart loses its balance, tumbles out of rhythm, and skitters down a rocky cliff of worry.
Splat.

His eyes return to mine and narrow. “It was Rico.”

“I know.”

I reach out for Rax. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse, but he shuffles over hesitantly and accepts my hand. God, he’s so cold.

Tears flood his eyes, and he lowers his head. “I’m sorry, Eve. About everything.”

“I know.” I smile. It hurts. Now my eyes are watering too. “Tell me the truth, Rax. Look me in the face and be honest. Are you still drinking?” It’s obvious he is, but I want to hear him say it.

He lifts his gaze to mine. “Yes. I’m an alcoholic. There. I admitted it. Doesn’t change anything, though, does it?”

Actually, it does. “Are you happy?”

“When I’m with you, I am. The rest of the time…” His focus drifts away.

“Rax.” I wait for him to look at me. He doesn’t. “Rax.” I squeeze the hand still holding mine. Our eyes reconnect, and sadness floods me. “I need a man who doesn’t depend on anyone—or anything—outside of himself.”

He holds my stare and nods slowly. His Adam’s apple bobs over a swallow.

“Give me your phone,” I say.

He obeys without question. I tap my number into his contact list and save it. Then I pass the cell back. “Call me when you’re happy.”

His lips pinch into a thin line. I pull him into my arms over the sidebar on the bed and hug him. He holds on tight. When he speaks, his voice wobbles off its axis and drops straight into hard-core remorse. “I don’t know how to be happy.”

“Yes, you do.” I press the words softly into his ear and will him to understand.

He pulls back, but I stop him from getting away. His face is a portrait of agony. Clutching him by the cheeks, I bring his mouth to mine. I plant a kiss on him that’ll have to last a long time. Maybe even forever. He relaxes into me. I open my eyes to see if he’s staring like he usually does. His lids are shuttered tightly, little beads of water poised at the corners. My throat tightens to the edge of pain, but this time it has nothing to do with the stitches.

Something changes in the split second of recovery time after our lips separate. I’m not sure if it’s me or him or both of us. I study his sad expression, the crease in his brow, the urgency in his eyes that clings to me, begs me not to let him fall into the bottomless pit he’s dangling over.

And it hits me. I love him.

I
really
love him.

But as long as he deludes himself with alcohol, I can’t be with him. It’s not about a drunk driver killing my parents anymore. That was a crutch I used to defer feelings I was afraid to deal with. As of about ten minutes ago, I’ve laid Mamochka and Papochka to rest.

No, this is about
me
—about
us
—being happy with who we are. As long as Rax and I rely on something else to get us through the day, whether it’s booze or living someone else’s dream, neither of us will find true inner peace.

I know this is the right decision, but it’s not easy or neat or clean. It’s devastating.

Rax steps away from the bed, his cheeks streaked with tears, hair a mess, clothes twisted, hands shaking. “Bye, Eve.”

The sledgehammer of realization cleaves my soul in two. I’m in love with Rax, and there’s a good chance I’ll never see him again. Head lowered, he rushes out of the room without a second glance.

Wait. Take this love with you. I can’t bear to keep it,
I silently plead.

But he’s gone. And I’m stuck with the burden of carrying him around inside me indefinitely. Damning the stitches and pain, I spend a good ten minutes feeding my sadness a filling meal of tears, squeezing Rax’s hand from a distance as we both peer over the side of that endless pit of tough decisions—me straining to keep my grip on him, him fighting with everything he’s got to break free.

You can’t make him change, Eve. He has to choose it for himself. He has to make it happen on his own.

True.

I dab the water from my face with the thin blanket, set my jaw, and then, I let him fall.

Side A: “Manic Depression”

I trudge up the steps to the empty house on Chartres Street. The rest of the band flew home to Athens earlier today. I promised Jillian I’d lock up when I was ready to go. Man, I’m so ready to go.

I slip inside and shut the door behind me with a quiet click, a new set of lyrics blaring on a repeating loop inside my head:

Torn between what my body craves

And what my heart needs

It’s easier to swallow the sweet, poisonous lie

Than to taste the bitter truth of uncertainty

No easy answer except for goodbye

Nothing but gray on the horizon

This is what Eve reduces me to. A lame bunch of words that mean nothing and everything.

Hello.

Goodbye.

Where’s my bottle?

“You ready to go?”

I startle and face the kitchen. Toombs stands in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, silver eyes giving up nothing. Seeing him there makes me want to fucking weep.

“Yeah. Just gotta grab my bag. What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

He shakes his head. Still with the cryptic stare.

I angle around him and make for the stairs. He stops me with a strong palm to the sternum. “You and me, we gotta talk.”

Flashing him a scowl, I say, “Make it quick. I got a plane to catch.” The only reason I don’t tell him to fuck off is because he bailed me out of jail yesterday. I don’t think he told Jillian. If he did, I’d be perusing the want ads for new bandmates now. Thank God for small favors. At least I’ve still got the band.

“Man, you’re killing me. I’m watching you drink your life away, and it fucking kills me.”

My defenses go on red alert. Another lecture? This is the last thing I expected from submissive Toombs. “I can stop whenever I want to.”

“Then fucking do it.”

“I will. When I’m ready. I need booze to relax. To escape from all this…shit.”

Toombs trudges into my personal space, and shit gets real. “You know what you need to escape? This bullshit sense of entitlement you got going on. You’re a fucking dick, Rax. It’s no wonder your girl doesn’t want shit to do with you. She must be pretty fucking smart to see through the shiny pretty boy to the lush underneath. You were begging for a heartbreak the minute you laid eyes on her back in Jacksonville when you got so smashed, you couldn’t even hold your head up.”

“Fuck you. Just…fuck you,” I sputter. Goddamn him for bringing Eve into this. “My personal life is no longer any of your motherfucking business. Let’s keep this discussion professional, shall we? You heard me in the studio. You know I was drinking the entire time we recorded, and I fucking
killed
it. The day after you and I fought and I gave up the booze, I couldn’t string two notes together without my hands shaking like a fucking wet dog. What happened after that? I got my drink on, and I played some motherfucking
music
. Even Jillian complimented me on it, and she doesn’t say jack shit about anything. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He closes the gap between us, inches away, and lays into me with his unnerving eyes, threatening tattoos, and a chilling, calm voice. “You’re wrong. This isn’t about the band. It’s much bigger. This is about your
life
. You’ve moved out of professional territory and headed straight into the ‘I’m gonna end up a statistic’ realm.

“You need
help
. You’ve proven you can’t break free of this shit on your own.” Now a hint of emotion sneaks into his voice, but his expression remains neutral.

“Fuck that. I can quit. I just don’t want to.”

He chomps down on his lip and holds it for a few seconds. Muscles in his cheek ripple. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and be very, very selfish. I want my best friend back. You remember him, don’t you? The one who used to pull pranks and joke around all the time. The one who always had my back when shit got ugly. The one I could talk to about
anything
, no matter how fucked up it was. Yeah, that’s the motherfucker I miss. You seen him lately? ’Cause I haven’t.”

I shake my head and look away. Toombs backs off and rubs his hair. I have permission to breathe again, yet I’m holding my breath. I let it out in a long rush. Frustrated and wounded from the double whammy of Eve’s rejection and Toombs’s bullshit tirade, I just want to get to the bottle up in my room. I’ll be fine if I can have one drink.

Are you listening to yourself? This is exactly what he’s talking about, dumb-ass.

I spin away from Toombs and stumble into the parlor. Tossing myself onto the fancy couch, I question everything. I’m the same person I’ve always been, right? Surely, the booze hasn’t changed me
that
much.

Toombs follows and sits across from me in a big chair. He doesn’t remotely fit the décor. As long as I’ve known him, he’s never fit anything. He’s had his fair share of struggles too, but he seems to be doing pretty well despite them. I used to think he was jealous of me. Now it seems the tables have turned.

“Are you happy, Toombs? I mean, really happy?” I’m asking mostly out of selfishness, but also as the friend I haven’t been for him in a while.

He leans over, rests his elbows on his knees, and pegs me with a telling stare dressed in straight-up honesty. “Aside from seeing you take a turn for the worst, yes. I’m like Julie fucking Andrews singing in the Austrian Alps.”

Eve’s insinuations that I’d be happy if I were sober dance in my mind. “Why?”

“Because I found someone who accepts me for what I am—good, bad, and ugly. You were that person for me once.” He looks away. A couple of breaths later, his gaze returns to mine. “Jinx is that person now. The difference is we don’t have artificial crutches hampering our ability to
be
who we are. We just
are
. And we’re okay with who we are.

“Do you even
remember
who you used to be, Rax? Before the booze turned you into a lying, cheating, alcoholic asshole?” The pain in his eyes becomes my own.

Honestly? No.

I don’t answer. “I heard Eve scream when she was attacked. I didn’t know it was her. I blew it off. If I’d been sober, I might have gotten to her in time to stop those assholes from cutting her. Hell, if I’d been sober, she might have told her boss to fuck off well before that, and it wouldn’t have been an issue.”

If only…

“You can’t change the past or blame yourself for what might have been. But you can alter the course of the future by getting your shit together now.”

I laugh bitterly. “I just came from the hospital. Eve doesn’t want me.”

“She said that?”

“No, but she meant it.”

“I don’t know the details of your relationship with her, but it seems to me she wouldn’t have agreed to see you if she didn’t care. Maybe she wants the same thing for you that we all do.”