Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) (28 page)

Four in the morning! He was a husband, a father…
and
, that voice in the back of my head whispered, a rock star.
Fuck!

The phone rang several times without an answer. I tried Stone and his phone immediately went to voicemail. Next I tried calling Rush and then Jules. Nobody answered.

Stomping back into the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of yoga pants and went to the spare room to wake Heather up.

“Hey,” I whispered while I gently shook her. “I’ve got to go out for a minute. Would you listen for Savannah?”

Heather rolled over, her eyes barely opening as she nodded. “Everything okay?” she grumbled.

“Yeah. I just need to check on something. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Okay?”

With each step I took toward the door, I grew angrier. I tried calling him again, and when he didn’t answer everything inside of me went up in flames.

My mind snowballed into an avalanche of dread and by the time I’d gotten onto the elevator, I was certain that he’d given into that want. I had convinced myself he’d wandered into some rundown, slummy part of London, and was in some alleyway leaned against a building with a needle lodged in his arm.

I shook my head, trying to erase that mental picture from my memory, but by the time the doors slid opened I had escalated myself into full-blown panic.

I sprinted down the hallway, my heavy footsteps echoing from the walls. I stopped when I saw Rush exit one of the rooms without his shirt on.

“Hey! Where’s Jag?”

Rush spun around, all the color from his face washing out and his eyes widening. He let the handle to the door go and stumbled over his words. “Uh, um…I thought he came back to ya’ll’s room. I mean, he said he was gonna come back. Uh…”

“When did you guys get back?” I shouted. “He’s not with me. I haven’t seen him since he left to go out with you!”

He shrugged, then combed his hands through his messy hair. “Fuck. I don’t know, about an hour or something.”

I continued walking toward him. “Did he do any drugs? Did you fucking give him something? I will kill you!” I balled my fists up and clenched my jaw, ready to punch him if he gave me the wrong answer.

“Whoa,” he said, his hands flying up in front of him. “Roxy! I wouldn’t do that, Stone wouldn’t do that, and even though Pax is a douche licker, he’s not that stupid.”

“What about those other guys from the opening act?”

“Nope, no one did anything. No one had anything. Those other guys respect that Jag’s cleaned up; well, at least around us. All Jag did was drink fucking water. I swear!”

Burying my face in my hands, I took a breath then banged my fist against the door.

Rush turned and made his way down the hallway. “I’ll call him. He was with Stone when I left, maybe they’re just talking or something.”

I slammed my fist over the door again. “Jules, I know you’re awake. I just saw Rush walk out of your room.”

“Hang on,” she yelled through the door.

A few seconds later she jerked the door open. “What are you doing up?”

“Jag didn’t come back.”

“What?” she narrowed her eyes. “Oh, shit!”

The door slammed in my face and I heard her banging things around inside. Seconds later she came out. “I swear to God…” She went to the elevator and pressed the button. “Have you looked downstairs?”

“No.”

“Okay, well, we’ll worry when he’s not down there. He used to go stand out by the door to the hotels. That’s where he’d go to think sometimes. He’s weird like that.”

An anxious, half-mouthed grin twitched over her lips. “You know that better than any of us, though. We’ll go to the lobby, maybe that’s where he is.”

It was obvious she was worried. Her voice was coated in it, and she kept chewing on her lips.

Her hand gripped my shoulder, her thumb soothingly rubbing across it. “I got to give you props. He’s not easy to deal with, and I can’t imagine having to worry about shit like this when it’s someone you’re in love with. You seem worn out.”

The doors opened and she beat me out of the elevator, calling out his name.

“Jag!” her voice echoed through the empty lobby. She was pissed and on a mission.

My stomach balled up, and then I caught a hand wave through the air.

“Yeah. I’m still alive,” he groaned from the far side of the lobby. He was sitting in the floor, legs bent, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared out of the window.

Jules tossed her hands up in the air, sighing and shaking her head as she pointed in his direction. “There you go. I’ll leave you to that. If you ask me, you should beat his ass for not answering his fucking phone!” she yelled so he could hear her.

Jag flipped a bird, still not turning around as I stomped over to him.

My mind flooded with a myriad of words I wanted to scream at him for making me worried, for leaving even though he knew I didn’t want him to, but the relief that washed over me the second he turned around and I noticed that his pupils weren’t blown wide wedged those words back down my throat.

“What are you doing?” I sighed, and squatted next to him.

He barely shrugged one shoulder.

“You can’t answer your phone? Jag, you had me so worried about you!”

I watched his tongue skirt across his teeth, and for a split second I thought maybe I’d been too hasty to assume he hadn’t slipped up and done something.

He groaned and placed his palms on the floor to push himself up. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking, Jagger?” I stood up. “What if it had been important? What if why I was calling you had been an emergency?”

“Was it?” he glared at me, his eyes glistening with tears.

“Well, no. But you didn’t know that. What the hell are you doing down here by yourself, anyway? What’s wrong with you? You aren’t acting like yourself.”

Jag placed his arm around my waist, pulling me close to him, and walking me toward the elevator. “I’m not?”

“No!” I snapped, wiggling free from his grip.

He was ignoring this entire ordeal, and I didn’t want to let him.

I froze in the middle of the lobby to glare at him. His hair looked like he’d been standing out in the middle of a windstorm, his black shirt clung to his frame, and when he wiped his hand over his stubble-covered jaw the black nail polish gleamed under the fluorescent lighting.

He laughed and shoved his hand into his jean pocket. “Well, you don’t really know how I act on tour, now do you? Because it’s completely different, princess. This part of my life is very, very different than the life I have with you.” His eyes narrowed on me. “And I’m just trying to figure out how to make those two lives work. So sorry if I needed a little time to myself to think about that.”

He didn’t wait on me to respond. He just went to the elevator, pressing the button as he called back over his shoulder, “You coming?”

I followed him and tossed my hands up. I was frustrated with him because he wasn’t really talking, and I didn’t want him bottling anything up inside.

He tapped his finger over the wall, avoiding eye contact. “Heather with Savannah?”

“Yeah.”

The elevator opened and he nodded. “You really should get some rest.”

And that was that, the end of that conversation.

Maybe I should have pressed him, but I didn’t. I let it go.

Just.

Let.

It.

Go.

Chapter 39

The limo pulled up in front of a large building, slowly rolling to a stop around the back.

Jag sat silently next to me. He’d barely said three words on the drive to the studio, and any time any of the guys asked him a question, he would either nod or shake his head to respond.

I peeked through the tented windows to find a crowd lining the street and snaking up around the concrete stairs.

Our second day overseas, and although there wasn’t a concert scheduled, Pandemic Sorrow had been asked to do interview and perform one of their songs live.

I heard the driver open his door, and I looked out the window once again. The entire pack of people were now staring at the limo, already snapping pictures with their phones.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed this,” Rush said, gleefully rubbing his palms together.

“Man, it really doesn’t get old. It never seems real, and I love that.” Stone shook Jag’s leg. “Right, bro? Still doesn’t seem real, huh?”

Jag pushed his shades over his eyes and shrugged. “Nothing about my life’s seemed real.”

“Come on, man, we’re fucking Pandemic Sorrow! We are rock!” Stone tried to get Jag amped up, but failed.

Pax scooted to the edge of the seat, waiting for the driver to open the door. “I love it. I love this. I love being famous.”

The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Sunlight streamed in through the open door, followed by deafening, shrill screams from the fans.

Pax, Rush, and Stone all smiled one last time; then, just like that, their faces washed emotionless.

There were the rock gods. All pretending to be cold, hard, tortured, and detached.

And then there was Jag…and sadly, those weren’t things he had to pretend to be.

With each passing day, that was exactly how he was becoming. I could see depression, and then the guilt weighing down on him.

He’d hoped that having been sober for a year would be enough to swallow the desire he felt for a high, but nothing takes that away. Time can make it easier to manage, but not make it vanish.

He was hurting, he was tired, and I knew he had an extreme desire to dull it all with drugs.

The band had been instructed on the order they should exit the car. That’s how in control the record company was of everything. They planned each move those guys made, right down to who could climb out of the limo first. They wanted to cause a frenzy. And it was all centered around building the anticipation of the climactic moment when my husband would step onto the street.

Pax put one foot out, firmly planting it on the ground, and the entire crowd yelled louder. He crawled out, followed by Rush, whose appearance caused another brash eruption of noise. When Stone hopped out, ear-piercing cries bellowed through the air.

Jag glanced at me and smiled. “Here we go.”

Grabbing onto the side of the doorway, he slowly lowered his boot to the ground, then placed his other outside.

Screams. Sharp yells.

He stood up and shook his hair out.

Another fury of noise.

He looked out at the crowd, thumbing over his piercings, and then, slowly, that wicked smile of his curled over his lips and the crowd went absolutely berserk.

Jag reached down to the doorway and took my hand, helping me out onto the uneven sidewalk. The roar from the girls moaning and giggling, screaming and yelling, rumbled through my eardrums once out of the safety of the limo.

In that moment, between all of the shouting and crying, the flashes from cameras, the feeling of people accidentally grabbing me instead of Jag as we passed them by; all of that made it feel like everything was closing in. Honestly, some people may find something like that exhilarating, but I found it petrifying. There was too much going on, too little personal space, it felt chaotic, it felt like utter madness, and I just wanted to escape.

Is this what he always feels like?

My heels wobbled beneath my shaking legs, and I found myself wadding up the back of Jag’s shirt in my fists, pulling myself in as close as I could to his body. I closed my eyes and allowed him to lead me through the crowd. I had to block all that out before I had a panic attack.

After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the entrance of the studio, were let in through a glass door, and were swept up into a hallway.

Inside. Safe. Calm. Back to something I could manage.

“Shit,” I muttered.

Jag turned, smiling at me. “That a little too much for you? Figured that would be the best way to pop your Hollywood cherry. Give you some practice for the Grammys.”

Rush snickered and flipped his hair from his face. “The question is, did anyone smack your ass? Because I had at least ten grabs on my dick.”

“There were so many hands on me, I have no idea what part of my body wasn’t mauled!” Pax bragged.

Rush nodded and rolled his hand through the air as he sang, “Welcome, Roxy Steele, welcome to the life of a rocker.”

Leaning down to my ear, Jag whispered, “I fucking love hearing people call you that. I love hearing my last name tacked on to you.”

I smiled and hung my arm through his as we continued to follow a man from the television company down the corridor.

*****

While Jag and the rest of the guys were interviewed, I sat in the studio with their opening act.

Asher’s Coffin was supposed to play a song after Pandemic Sorrow. The company was really trying to push them out there. Jag had said he thought the label was praying they’d be the next Pandemic Sorrow because James knew that era was coming to an end.

Jag had it in his head that his band was destined to crash and burn. He felt like things would never be the same and part of him, I think, hoped it wouldn’t. He wanted something to come in and take it away from him so he could fade into the background without having quit.

I’d only been around Asher and her band for fleeting moments before or after shows. Sitting backstage with them while Pandemic Sorrow was on set had really been the first time I’d actually spoken to any of them.

Asher, the lead singer, plopped down next to me, blowing a strand of her pitch-black hair from her lipstick-stained mouth. “So, I guess we’re all stuck together for the next nine months, huh?”

“Yep. Looks that way.”

“Well, let me go ahead and get my annoying questions out of the way.” She laughed. “What’s it like being married to
him
?”

Lance, the guitarist chuckled. “Bet you’ve answered that a thousand times.”

I shrugged. “It’s…never dull. And wonderful.”

She smiled. “It’s gotta be crazy. I mean, my God, he’s Jag Steele. He is
literally
a crazy fucker!” Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a slight shade of pink. “I mean that as a compliment, not like, an insult or anything. They’re literally my favorite band of all time.”

“It’s fine. My life’s always been crazy.” Wanting to take the attention off myself, I looked around at each of them. “So, you guys excited about signing with Deviant?”

What the hell do you talk about with rockers you know nothing about?

“Hell yeah,” the bassist and drummer shouted in unison.

“Stoked,” Lance said, pulling a pill bottle from his pocket and popping the lid. “And opening up for them is incredible!”

My stomach turned. I swallowed. I tried to think of a nice way to tell him I’d kill him if he started slamming back pills in front of Jag.

Just as I cleared my throat, Asher chucked an empty water bottle in his direction. “Asshole! Put that shit up!” Her eyes shifted to the bassist, “Brit,” then to the drummer, “Haze,” before she said, “You guys better just save your shit too!”

She looked at me, a soft smile curving over her mouth. “Sorry. They don’t get it. My brother had a problem, so I get it. I told them not to do that shit around your guy.”

Relief fell over me when I realized she was empathetic to Jag’s situation. “Thank you
so
much.”

“Shit. No offense,” Haze nodded at me, “but, I mean, he’s gonna
have
to be around it at some point. For fuck’s sake, he’s Jag-mother-fucking-Steele! He’s rock. He knows that shit’s gonna be everywhere in the industry.”

“Yeah, well…” Lance rubbed over the top of his short blond hair, “it’s not that big of a deal. We can watch it around him.”

“Thank you. I know it seems a little over the top, but this is just really hard for him.”

“Yeah, we got your back, doll,” Asher assured me. “Don’t worry. I keep these dickfucks in check.”

“Five minutes,” a man popped in the room, scurrying through with cords draped over his shoulder.

Asher jumped up, a large grin consuming her pale face. “And, you know, if you want to put in a good word for me with Stone, I’d be down with that.”

She blew a kiss in my direction and gathered the rest of her band to go to the side stage.

Although her band had just released their first record and this was their first performance on a live television show, they seemed like this was what they were meant to do. They were comfortable. All the attention had long ago become the norm for Jag and the guys. After a while, I guessed that even something as insane as all this Hollywood, rock n’ roll life morphed into what was normal.

While they were all on stage being filmed, cheered at, living the life they had earned, I sat backstage, completely alone and wondering when all this would seem normal to me. When would I ever feel like I belonged in this lifestyle?