RECKLESS - Part 1 (5 page)

When I walked through the door of our dorm, Becca practically tackle hugged me, a look of complete relief painting every one of her features. "Oh my God, you're okay," she said, squeezing the air out of me.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I choked out with what felt like my last breath of air. "Think I can breathe now?"

"Oh. Sorry." She released me and took a step back. I could tell by the way she played with the strands of purple bangs that she'd been really worried. "So, what happened? After I left? Why didn't you come home last night?"

"Someone drugged my drink," I said, tears surfacing once again. God, would I ever get past just how close I'd come to the unthinkable?

Becca's eyes were glistening with tears as well. "Oh my, God. I'm so, so sorry, Andy. Are you—okay?"

"Yeah,” I said, choking a little at the sob bubbling in the back of my throat. “Jace found me unconscious on the grass and took me home."

Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped so far, I feared it might come unhinged. “Jace? As in, the guy you loathe more than any living, breathing man on the face of this planet?”

I nodded.

“What happened? Did he—was he—what was…?”

I couldn't help but laugh—hallow as it might have been—at her fangirl moment; she didn't know what to ask first. "You want me to tell you everything?" I asked, grateful for the distraction.

She nodded like a bobble head gone wild.

"He was very nice and kind and accommodating," I said. "And no, he didn't try anything. And his place was… different than I expected."

"What was it like?"

"Clean."

Her nose wrinkled in confusion.

"What? I thought all rockers lived like slobs,” I said with a light shrug. “And I didn't see all the rock posters or the typical guy stuff on the walls. He had some art pieces, but mostly, the walls were bare."

"Maybe he just moved in?"

"I don't think so," I said, collapsing on my bed with a small sigh. Becca followed right behind.

After a slight pause, Becca turned her head to look at me. "So, where does he live?" she asked.

I turned my head to look at her. "Why? So you can go all stalker on him?"

"No," she said, defensively crossing her arms over her chest. "It'd just be nice to know where my friend has been all night."

"Riiight."

We both fell into a fit of laughter, but it almost felt forced on my end. I wondered if it was the same for her. I guessed it might have by the way we both just sat in silence for a while when the laughter died off.

"You want to talk about it?" she finally asked.

"Not really. I—” I swallowed back the tears threatening to spill over again. “Just to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t come along and found me."

"I know." She gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. "I'm really sorry for not making you come with me. I never would have forgiven myself if something awful had happened to you."

"It's okay. I'm the one that wanted to stay," I said, emotion clogging my throat again.

Becca looked away, her teeth tugging away at the ring through her lower lip. "Yeah, but I still shouldn’t have left you there alone. I know how those things can get. "

"Hey, we had no way of knowing that would happen. We hear about it, but you never think it will happen to you," I said, finding myself rehashing the wisdom Jace had bestowed on me earlier that morning.

"Yeah, I guess,” she said with a sigh, pausing for a few moments before asking, “You sure you’re okay?”

“I will be,” I said with a weak smile.

But first, I had a phone call to make. Sean needed to know what happened.

"I thought Becca was going to stay with you," Sean practically growled into my ear.

He hadn't taken the news as well as I'd thought he would. But then again, what could I expect? His fiancé had been one hero away from being date raped… or worse. And for once, he hadn’t been the hero; that had to do some serious damage to a guy’s ego.

"She did," I responded quietly, hoping the calm of my voice could pull him back down. "But she had to go to work. I decided to stay. This isn't her fault anyway. I'm the idiot that left my drink unattended."

"That's just asinine.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, trying to escape at least some of the volume from his rant. “You should be able to go to a school function and not have to worry about whether or not you'll be drugged."

"You're right, but things just aren't that way anymore, Sean."

He growled again, this time sounding almost animalistic. "It's a damn good thing no one knows who the guy was that tried to take advantage of you. I'd—I—"

"I know, babe."

A moment of heavy silence hung between us before he spoke again. "Come home.”

My heart stuttered at his demand. He couldn't mean… could he? "I'm coming home next weekend," I said, trying to feel him out.

"No, Andy. Come home, now."

Oh, God. He did mean what I thought he meant.

"Sean."

"Andrea." I could hear the warning in his tone.

Sean had never been an unreasonable man, nor a man prone to losing his temper… but this? This was something we'd never had to face before. Something that could make any man come unglued. I understood his uncharacteristic behavior. Really, I did. But I couldn't just leave school three months before graduation. Scratch that. I wouldn’t.

"I'm fine, Sean. No harm done."

"N-no harm done?” he stuttered. “Are you kidding me, Andy? You were drugged at a concert you had no business being at, and then you were taken home by some—some—rocker guy you don’t even know? And you're sure he didn't do anything to you while you were sleeping?"

"Not unless he's extremely skilled at taking clothes off and putting them back on," I retorted. I knew I was skating on thin ice. But he was being irrational.

I listened for a few terse seconds, waiting for some kind of response. "What are you doing?" I finally asked.

"Booking a plane ticket."

"A plane ticket? Sean, I already told you—"

"I know," he snapped, cutting me off. "You said you weren't coming home. So I'm coming to you."

"Sean, this is ridiculous. I know you're angry and worried, but there's no reason to—"

Something crashed in the background. Oh, dear God. I'd never seen or heard him throw anything. To be quite honest, I wasn't sure I liked it much.

"You know what? I think I'm going to let you calm down before we talk about this any further," I said, not caring if my annoyance bled through on the other end of the line.

"God damn it, Andy. This conversation isn't—"

I hit the end button on my cell phone. Whatever he had to say after would have to wait.

It'd been two days since the concert.

My piece on it was due to Marcus before my trip home, but for some reason, I just couldn't concentrate on it. Or maybe the material I had was shit. Either way, I wasn't getting any writing done so I decided to head over to the coffee shop for some caffeine and a pastry. If that didn't work, I'd be picking up a bottle of wine on the way home.

As I walked through campus, I tried not to think about how much life had changed in a week, but I couldn't help it. Things were still shaky between me and Sean. I couldn't write a word to save my life. And I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid I'd unknowingly come across the person who'd drugged me at the concert. It was probably an irrational fear, but it was there, nonetheless.

I contemplated just leaving and going for that bottle of wine when I finally reached the coffee shop. The line was damn near out the door, and I wasn't in the mood for waiting. But just before I turned to go, I spotted Jace, sitting at the same table he'd been at the night we'd first met. Maybe I could interview him again, change the angle of my piece, and hopefully salvage at least one part of my life.

It was worth a shot anyway, right?

Jace spotted me the second I walked through the door of the café. I wasn’t sure what to think about the vibes he gave off; at first he seemed excited, then angry, then nervous. But all of that faded away to kindness by the time he reached where I stood in the line.

“Hey,” I said, hoping to come off completely casual, despite the ball of nerves twisting and writhing in my gut.

“Hey yourself.”

“Just, um, ordering some coffee. And then I saw you and I—uh… Well, my interview really sucked,” I said, clearing my throat. “I was hoping maybe I could talk you into doing another one?”

“Um, sure. I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Are you busy now?”

He glanced over his shoulder and scratched behind his ear, as if he might be expecting someone. “No, not really,” he finally said, but he still looked awfully uncertain of himself—probably a first in the world of Jace Richardson.

While I stood in line to order my coffee, he sat at his table. I tried not to watch him, but I found myself glancing over at him every so often. It was easy to see why the sheep flocked after him.

He was more than just handsome; he oozed sex appeal, even just sitting in a booth, sipping at a cup of coffee and reading a magazine. There wasn’t a girl on campus that could help falling over herself, just to be as near to him as I had been, and on more than one occasion.

But I regress.

I wasn't a sheep, and for that, I was grateful. My strange infatuation had more to do with his recent off-putting behavior, and maybe a little because he'd rescued me the night before. Nothing more, nothing less.

At least that's what I told myself.

But as I made my way over to him, the butterflies in my stomach grew into little demons, clawing their way up through my throat. What was it that had me so self-conscious around him now? I couldn't seriously be attracted to him, could I?

"Hey," he said, giving me a wan smile and sliding over a bit so I could sit in the chair next to him.

I think my heart may have skipped a few beats, but there was no way to tell for certain since my head felt a little fuzzy as his chocolate eyes met my blue ones.

God, what the hell was wrong with me?

"So, why re-do the interview?" he asked as I pulled out my tablet to search for my previous notes.

I had no idea how to answer that question, so I lied. "My editor wants a little more information on your background—you, personally."

He eyed me curiously, his brows raised as if he were trying to read me.

I focused on my breathing, told the blood rushing through my veins to slow down, and prayed to God he didn't pick up on my little fib.

"Well, I suppose that would make for a bigger feature, wouldn't it?" he finally asked, lifting his styrofoam cup to his lips. If he’d caught on, he didn’t let on as such.

"Right," I said, relief flooding through me as I cleared my throat and took a quick, nervous sip from my own cup.

"Where would you like to start?" he asked, turning slightly in my direction.

He wasn't cold like he’d been at the end of our last interview, and he wasn't flirtatious as he’d been at the beginning of it. This Jace was the businessman, the guy who ran things and had his sights set on pursuing his passion as a career. I really hadn't seen this side of him, and as much as I hated to admit it, this was probably my favorite side of him.

"Well, I guess, for starters, when did you start playing?"

"I suppose since the time I could crawl," he said, chuckling and shaking his head. He went on to tell me about how his father—also a musician—had encouraged him at a very early age, taking him to the recording studio from the time he could remember.

"My mom encouraged me in her own way, too," he said. "She'd give me pots, pans, and spoons to play with as she cooked or cleaned. I'd bang away for hours, and never once did she lose patience with me. She was a saint, and probably even more of an influence than my dad."

"That's an adorable memory," I said, thinking of my own childhood. Years of watching the news, my parents always encouraging my strange passions—writing of various stories, broadcasting the day's events as if I were a real reporter, investigating every day events like they were breaking news—they'd stood behind me the whole way. "It's nice to have parents who believe in you."

"Yes, it is," he said with a smile, locking his eyes with mine.

It only lasted a moment, but I could have sworn I felt some sort of… connection there. Or maybe the drugs had done permanent brain damage.

After a few brief seconds, he cleared his throat. "So, next question?"

Right. This was an interview, not a date.

"When did you decide you wanted to pursue music as a career? Or, have you always known?"

"Hmmm… you know, I think I did know, right from the start. But during my early teens, I thought I might be different than my dad. Like, I think I almost wanted to be different. I harbored a lot of anger toward him. He was gone a lot, and then, as I got older, I found out there was a little more to his lifestyle than just music…” He drifted off for a moment, as if deep in thought, but then shook his head.

“Anyway, I kind of fought it for a while, but when I met Robert—the drummer—things started to fall into place,” he said. “Then we met Thomas and Zane, and before I even really realized what had happened, I had a band in my garage, playing every day after school and on weekends. Then we were booking small time gigs at community functions. From there, it just kind of grew into what it is now, I guess."

"When did you get your first big break?"

"Right here, actually," he said, turning his hands over, palms up. "It was my freshman year here at college, and everyone else's senior year in high school. We'd been paid to play for a frat party, and I guess they liked us so much, they requested we play at a half-time show during one of the football games."

"That's amazing,” I muttered, inconspicuously silencing the call coming in on my cell phone.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "You could say that."

"So, back to the future plans. I know you said you make them as a team, but do you have any set goals in mind?"

"As a matter of fact, we do," he said, leaning back a little in his chair. "This is the last year for us here at the college. After this, we're headed to Washington."

I choked on the drink of coffee I'd been taking as he answered.

"You okay there?" he asked, reaching for a napkin and then handing it to me.

I nodded my head, coughing on my humiliation. "Sorry," I choked out. "Went down wrong."

He waited patiently as I calmed the coughing and cleaned the coffee from our table.

"Washington, huh?" I finally asked.

"Yeah. Home of the Indie everything."

"Quite," I said with a smile.

"You've been there?"

My grin grew wider. "I'm from there. Seattle is my home town."

Now it was his turn to look like a fool. "Y—you're—from there?"

I answered him with a shrug.

"You're from the place where Eddie Veder, Kurt Cobain, Soundgarden, Abney Park—fuck, all the greats—are from?” he asked, dark brown eyes wide with disbelief.

“It’s not like I know them personally,” I said, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. Everyone who wasn’t a native got all worked up about the fact that I came from the place so many musicians had come from. I guess, in a way, it made sense, but it didn’t make me famous, and I certainly didn’t have drinks at the bar with Kenny G and Dave Grohl.

“Wait, so… you’re from there, and you don’t frequent concerts?”

“Um, no. Not really,” I said with a shrug.

“I don’t understand. I thought all Seattleites were big music buffs.”

“I like music,” I confessed. “I’m just not big on the disorder that often comes with live concerts. I prefer my earbuds.”

“Man, but you’ve never really heard music until you’ve been to a concert.”

He was right, of course. I remembered all too well how much effect his playing had had on me the night of the concert. Just thinking of it sent a blush to my cheeks and a rush through my body. Judging by the way Jace’s eyes seared into mine, he’d noticed.

My cell rang again, breaking the trance he’d placed me under.

“Shouldn’t you get that?” he asked, eyeing my phone on the table.

I huffed out a heavy breath. “Probably,” I answered. “Excuse me for a moment?”

He nodded and then busied himself with the magazine he’d abandoned earlier.

“Sean, can I call you back? I’m working,” I whispered into the phone, making my way to the door.

“And I’m here.”

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, damn near getting myself taken out by a couple walking behind me. “You’re
here?
”

“Yes, now… why weren’t you at your dorm?” he asked, his words clipped and short. “I figured you’d be there, but no one answered. I stopped by the pub, but Becca said she hadn’t seen you. Then you didn’t answer your phone, so I’m walking around the campus looking for you like a mad man.”

“Sean, you—you—I told you I wasn’t coming home,” I seethed, pacing the sidewalk.

Silence hung thick on the other side of the line. “Is that you? Standing outside the coffee shop?”

Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck.

What was I going to do? Jace was right inside, waiting for me, expecting me to come back. If Sean had expected me to come home before he showed up, not really seeing and knowing what—or more accurately—whom I was working with, he’d certainly want me to return home when he caught sight of the campus god.

What was I going to do?

“Hey,” Jace’s deep voice came from behind me. “Everything okay?”

I slowly turned to face him. As soon as my eyes met his, my phone fell away from my ear and clanged on the ground. The vein in my neck pulsated so hard against my skin, I feared it might burst. I hadn’t been doing anything wrong, but it would certainly look like I had in just a few short seconds when Sean showed up with his cave man attitude.

Jace watched me for a few seconds and, when I didn’t pick up my phone, he bent over to grab it for me. “You alright there, firecracker?” he asked, carefully brushing my phone off before holding it out to me.

I stared at it dumbly, listening to the footsteps approaching.

“Andy?”

Jace’s brow scrunched as he gave Sean a quick once over. “Is something wrong, Andrea?” he whispered, bringing his eyes back to mine. I could see the concern resting inside the chocolate pools, but I didn’t really have time to process what it meant.

“Who the fuck is this?” Sean asked, stepping up beside me, threading his fingers through mine.

For the first time since we’d started dating, I wanted to recoil away from him.

Jace cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Jace Richardson,” he said, extending his hand to Sean.

Sean looked at it as though it were covered in snakes or spiders. “You know my fiancé?” he asked, not bothering to introduce himself, let alone shake Jace’s hand.

“Well, sort of. She’s interviewing me for the paper.”

“So,” Sean said, puffing out his chest. “You’re the man that rescued her from her predicament.” The words had sounded so condescending, cruel even.

“Sean,” I seethed a warning through my teeth. What the hell was
wrong
with him?

“What, Andy?” Sean turned his head slightly to look at me. “I think I have a right to know more about the man who played hero to my fiancé. I believe I’m entitled to a little more knowledge about where my wife-to-be spent the night, don’t you?”

Jace cleared his throat, pulling Sean’s attention back to him. “Look, man. I didn’t mean any harm,” he said. “But I couldn’t just leave her there, not like that.”