Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (22 page)

He’d done nothing to me, besides try to pretend he was what I wanted him to be.

He lied, only because he didn’t know what else to do.

The way I felt when he touched me, when he kissed me was like my body didn’t belong to me, it felt like my soul transcended my skin and clung to his.

That was love.

He was life to me, and I
couldn’t
handle it.

Love makes you do stupid things. That emotion is more powerful than anything else in the existence of the world.

It can drive someone to kill, take you to the brink of madness, force you to blindly follow someone to the ends of the earth; but me, any time I felt the smallest hint of that damned emotion, I retreated.

I hid, I shoved myself into a corner and built walls up and just waited for something to rip it away from me. Love made me feel something I hated—fear.

I feared love.

Jag feared life.

And the second I left him, he lost love, and I lost life.

Chapter 27

A day later I sat in my car, staring at the front of the record label. Every time the glass doors swung open, the sun reflected off of them, blinding me momentarily. I hadn’t slept. I just wanted to see Jag, and I couldn’t.

I felt helpless.

Lost.

And I felt like it was all my fault.

I had pushed him away when he was vulnerable, because I didn't want to hurt. His words had broken me, but deep down I didn't believe he'd meant them. He was terrified and really, all he was trying to do was avoid feeling too.

I went through a repeated pattern of thought, obsessively lecturing myself on how wrong I’d been.

I knew he was on the edge of losing himself; I knew it that night in the bar when I gave into him. I knew because I had been at that point in my life for the past two years.

He was only existing, breathing because he had to. It didn't matter that he was Jag Steele, because that was all an act. Jag was not that guy, he had just gotten so wrapped up in pretending that he was that arrogant rock god, he had lost himself; he had been drowned by his fame, buried underneath a high that had woven itself into each fiber of his body.

Behind that hard, rock-star exterior of his, there was a sad weakness, and I feared that abandoning him the way I had had just shattered the small piece of hope he had managed to keep alive, that I had suffocated that last glimmer that hadn't been tainted by addiction and depression.

He was sick, and I knew that better than anyone.

How in the hell could I have treated him that way? I had been too afraid of loving him, too on edge waiting for it all to crumble to pieces, when I should have been more concerned about saving him.

I had told him I couldn't fix him, but I never tried. I'd been trying to protect him, but as I sat in my car and tried to gather my composure, at least long enough to walk through those doors, I realized that I had done nothing but hurt us both.

I stepped out onto the street just as the door flung open and cracked against the concrete facing of the building.

Stone let out a groan, freezing when he saw me standing at the curb.

The second his eyes stopped on me, I forced a large lump down my throat.

Moments later Rush barreled out, followed by Pax. Both of their faces were red, their eyes filled with worry.

Each of them stood at the top of the stairs and glared at me. They were angry with me for being so careless with someone who had been desperately teetering on the edge of self-destruction; but then again, they’d been no better than me.

Stone’s nostrils flared. The glisten in his eyes made it obvious he was fighting back tears. “It’s not your fault,” he said.

That wasn’t what I expected to come out of his mouth. I was fully prepared for him to yell at me and blame me for everything.

My tensed muscles relaxed, and as soon as they did tears poured down my face. Stone came to me and pulled me in, tightly gripping me as he rubbed over my back.

“Hey, there’s nothing you could have done. Jag’s a lot to deal with. You can’t blame yourself. He was a mess before you.”

Pulling away, I brushed the stray strands of hair from my face.

Stone drew in a deep, pained breath, and then shoved both hands in his pockets and scraped the toe of his boot across the pavement. “You know. You were the only one who even tried to hold him accountable. The rest of us,” he paused, unable to make eye contact with me. “Well, we just let him do it. Because he was Jag. We just watched him fucking kill himself and didn’t say a goddamn thing.”

“He’s gonna be okay though, right?”

Stone shrugged. “I guess. I mean, he’s alive. He did a lot of heroin. They’re testing to see if he damaged his heart or anything. But he’s gonna have to go to rehab.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “I want to talk to him.”

“Fuck no!” Rush shouted.

My eyes shot up to his blood-red face.

“Who the hell are
you?
He doesn’t need you adding to anything. I don’t care what the fuck bullshit Stone wants to believe, it
is
your fucking fault. You tried to make him change, you couldn’t accept him for what he was. Whatever you did to make him feel like death was the best option—he doesn’t need that. You don’t know how to handle him. Had it not been for you, he wouldn’t have been trying to hide the fucking drugs, and then when he got pissed he could’ve just gone and fucked his anger out in some random chick.”

Pax reached for Rush’s shoulder. “Rush, man, chill out. It’s not her fault, she—”

Rush slapped Pax’s hand away from him, quickly shoving his finger in Pax’s face. “You shut the fuck up too. You didn’t help anything by fucking River.”

“Both of you shut up!” Stone shouted. “Just shut the fuck up!” His voice boomed off the buildings, silence falling over the small group of people gathered on the sidewalk around us. Several chimes from cell phones sounded as the onlookers held up their phones to record the drama.

“It’s not her fault. Rush, shit,” Stone shook his head and pointed at him. “You fed him fucking drugs.”

I felt like I had to defend myself for some reason. “I just had a lot on my mind, and he said he didn’t need a kid, you know. It wasn’t just the drugs, it was just everything.”

Rush glared at me, narrowing his eyes as he took a few steps in my direction.

Stone stepped between us. “The kid wasn’t his.” His eyes filled with tears and he swallowed, wetting his lips with his tongue. “He wasn’t his.”

My shoulders fell. Jag hadn’t been lying to me, and now I felt more like shit for accusing him of it. “Well, I thought he was, which made me think he wouldn’t want another one.”

“What?” Stone asked, his eyes widening.

I felt warmth spread over my chest, up my neck, and flush its way across my face. I nervously rolled my bottom lip underneath my teeth, chewing on the inside of it. My eyes fell to the sidewalk between our feet as I tried to figure out a way to cover up the fact that I was pregnant.

“What kid? Hey, Roxy…look at me, would you.”

Slowly, I raised my head and forced myself to look Stone in the eyes.

My nerves, my shame, my confusion with everything must have been evident by my expression, by the tears flooding my eyes.

Stone closed his eyes and sighed, mumbling, “Shit,” underneath his breath.

“It was just too much. Everything blew up at the same time. Damn it!”

“I didn’t think. I just didn’t want to get hurt. I don’t want this kid to get hurt.”

Stone stared at me. His face softened and for a second, I thought he understood.

Rush huffed. “Oh, shit! He fucking knocked you up?” Flinging his hands in the air, he turned and walked back toward the door of the record company. “Fucking great. That’s the end of that. You probably did it on purpose.” He opened the door and disappeared inside the building.

Pax stood on the step, looking me over before he followed Rush inside.

“Jag
knew
you were pregnant?” Stone narrowed his eyes on me.

“I told him that night. After he’d already said he didn’t need a kid. I just—I didn’t know what to do. I was upset. Scared.”

He tilted his head up, staring at the sky, and shaking his head. “He just
doesn’t
know how to handle things.” Rubbing his palms down his face, he muttered, “I thought it was all because of me. I had no idea you were pregnant.”

“You?” I asked, and realizing I didn’t really care why he thought he could be to blame, I blurted out, “I want to see him. You’re going to go see him, right? I want to go with you.”

My throat tightened, burning and straining to hold back the sobs that were forcing their way up. “Stone, I want to see him. I
have
to see him!”

He remained silent. His eyes tore into me, and I saw the hesitation.

I was a threat.

I’d hurt his brother.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, I heard a car door slam shut. Stone looked over the top of my head, and his eyes fluttered with agitation.

“Get the hell away from here. Go the fuck on!” An angry male voice shouted to the people gathered around.

A news anchor’s voice broke over the crowd. “James, is it true that Jag Steele is dead?”

That sentence made me nauseous.

“No, he’s not dead. Now fuck off.”

That is James. That’s the asshole that’s done nothing but make things worse for Jag.
I glared at him as he jogged up to the stairs.

His face was weathered, his hair more grey than I’d expected, and he looked much smaller than you’d think an asshole like him would be.

He spit the gum from his mouth when his eyes landed on me, and his jaw tightened. His eyelids twitched as they trailed up my body while gritting his teeth.

A short laugh escaped him, and he pulled his shades down the bridge of his nose, arching one brow. “You must be
the
girl? Hmm.”

He pushed the glasses back against his face and turned to Stone. “Not exactly Jag’s type. But she got under his skin real good.”

He grabbed Stone’s arm and pushed him toward the door. “Joe said he left everything to some girl. Even his part in the band. Fucking idiot!” Turning to glance at me over his shoulder, he growled, “You realize you almost killed the biggest damn rock star since Zeppelin, right? You should be proud. You must have some killer pussy.”

He shoved Stone through the doorway, barking back at me, “Leave him the hell alone. He doesn’t need you. I make his decisions. I can control the drugs, I can’t control a fucking woman.”

The door closed behind them, and I turned to face a thick sea of reporters, bystanders, and paparazzi armed with cameras.

My entire body trembled as I made my way back to my car. All of the questions being shouted in my direction jumbled together, and I just shook my head, placing my hand out in front of me as I pushed through to the door of my car.

I ignored every question. And just as I was closing the door, the tears finally finding their way out, one of the men shouted, “How does it feel to know you may never see him again?”

Slamming the door, I glared through the window, and flashes from cameras nearly blinded me.

Jag’s fame had polluted me. And the way I felt about him, the thought that I may very well never see him again, made me feel like death had wrapped me up inside its cold hands, suffocating me with emptiness.

That man had completely wrecked me. And I realized that if I had it all to do over again, the only thing I would change is that I would have given him another chance. I would have loved him for all those little pieces that were perfect, and for all those bigger flaws that made him real.

Chapter 28

“They’ve sent him to a rehab unit in Arizona,” Stone muttered into the phone.

My eyes drifted over to a picture of me and Jag. He’d taken it with his phone, printed it off, and taped it up on my mirror one day, instructing me that I wasn’t allowed to ever take it down.

“I need to see him, Stone.”

A puff of air flew across the receiver. “You can’t. They don’t allow visitors—”

“I’ll call him then.”

I had to talk to him. I just needed to hear his voice. I just had to tell him that I loved him. I needed him to know he didn’t do anything wrong, that I should have tried to help him.

“Roxy, you can’t call him.”

My breathing grew deeper. Heat trickled over my skin. “Like hell I can’t. You know, I tried to call him when he was in the hospital, and James had them divert my call every fucking time. I mean, does he even know I was trying to call him? Did anyone ever tell him, huh, Stone?”

“I don’t know.” He paused, then groaned into the phone. “No, no one ever told him.”

“Why not?” I screamed into the phone. “Why?”

I couldn’t stand the idea that Jag thought I didn’t care about him.

“He tried to fucking kill himself. You understand that, right? Not only does he have a problem with drugs, Roxy, he’s fucking depressed. He doesn’t need any triggers to make things worse.”

The fact that I was toxic to the guy I was in love with, whose baby was inside me, was more than I could bear, and I broke down.

“I’m not going to make it worse. I’m going to fix it,” I said through sobs.

“You don’t know what it will do.”

“I love him,” I whispered through my trembling lips.

That comment was a plea for Stone to do something that would get me to Jag, something that would make him understand that I needed to see him, that I needed to physically put my hands on him.

Stone sighed sympathetically. “Yeah, I get that. But if you love him, you’ll just wait until he’s better. Give him time. He needs to figure this shit out first. He’s stuck in there for three months, and even if you guys worked everything out, he can’t leave and he’d drive himself crazy thinking about how he could get to you. He needs to get well, Roxy. If you love him, you’ll just let him get better first.”

I managed to stop crying and wiped my face with my sleeve. “The day he gets out. You better let me know.”

“I will. If you need anything, you can call me, you know that, right?”

Making my way toward my dresser, I said, “Thanks,” then hung up the phone.

My finger traced over the picture, and my gaze focused on Jag’s face. He looked like a normal guy in that picture, not a rock star. No eye liner, no crazy hair style. And we looked like we belonged together. We understood each other in ways I was certain no one else ever would. We were broken and isolated, just from different things. I’d been isolated by pain, he’d been isolated by fame.

The pain caused by drugs had broken me, and he had used drugs to numb him from all the pain that had broken him.

He needed a reality, and I needed a dream.

We were flawed, imperfect, and to anyone else, it may seem like loving him would be a disaster, because at first, honestly, that’s what I thought.

To people looking in from the outside, our story wasn’t a romance, it was
ridiculous
. We were two broken people, and what’s romantic about that?

But to someone on the inside, it was healing, it was grace, and it was personal. What we were to each other was salvation. And how can saving someone that is utterly irreparable not be considered a beautiful story of love?

We.

Were.

Fire.

And the second I realized that I couldn’t help but smile.

I had actually thought that Jag was a wildfire that would consume me, destroy me, and leave me with scars. And I was right, Jag Steele
was
a fucking wildfire, but the thing I didn’t realize is that wildfires tear through a place, leaving it in what looks like ruins; but really the fire nourishes something deep in the soil, and after it has burnt out, new life grows. Wildfires restore balance. And it was only after the fact that I could see that that’s exactly what Jag and I were to each other, wildfires.

We could burn all those ugly things deep down inside one another, and although it was nearly unbearable while our souls were being purged of those things, in the end there would be a balance; we could give each other those things we never had. And I don’t believe there was another person in the existence of the world that could heal me the way Jag could.

If that’s not love, then I will never believe that love exists.

Raw.

Gritty.

Angry.

All-consuming.

That was Jag. That was us. That is love.