Someone to Watch Over Me (19 page)

“Idol vodka.” That made sense.

“That’s it. He had bottles of it stashed all
over the bus. I mean, they were everywhere. In the galley. The sofa
bed. The glove box. The closets. He was drinking himself into an
early grave. So when he got the flu, we went through the bus and
tossed ‘em all. Except the one that he had squirreled away in the
gas chamber. We missed that one somehow.”

“The gas chamber…?”

“The head, babe. He locked himself inside,
and got trashed. We drove in circles around some corn fields trying
to find a fucking hospital so that we could get him some help.”

“Guess he didn’t stay dry for long.”

“No, it didn’t stick, but that’s Shane. He
doesn’t do anything in moderation.” He sounded genuinely
disappointed over Shane’s addiction. I felt sad for him. It
couldn’t be easy to watch someone close to you, someone with that
kind of talent just throw it all away.

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is. Anyhow, I just called to
see how your day went.”

“Fast, actually. I got nothing done. I was
too busy informing everybody of what you ate, what you slept in, or
rather, what you didn’t sleep in…what you looked like when you woke
up in the morning…what you were wearing today…whether you were good
in bed…what we were doing this weekend…what you’re doing the rest
of your life…”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them I’d bring in some of your
toilet paper so they could plate it in gold and auction it on
eBay.”

Tate’s deep chuckle reverberated through the
phone. “Call out tonight. Spend the night with me.”

“Tate…” In my rearview, I kept an eye on the
jerk off in the van riding my ass. I wasn’t driving slowly. I was
already doing ten over the speed limit.

Prick.

“The local station wants the band to come in
for an impromptu interview. I’d like you to come. We can hit the
city afterwards. There’s supposed to be a good band at some place
called Union Transfer. It’s an old—”

“Train station. I’ve wanted to check it out.
I heard it’s great.” God, he had me. I wanted to go. It wasn’t just
the venue. I wanted to check out the radio station, too. I felt
like such a fangirl, swooning over the hosts I listened to every
day. How lame was I?

“See? Come with me. Call out.”

“SHIT!” I exclaimed, struggling to maintain
control of my car. The idiot in the van wasn’t going to let that
happen. He wasn’t trying to pass me; he was trying to run me off
the freaking road. Metal grated metal as he sideswiped the Fusion,
tearing the mirror from the door and pushing me farther onto the
shoulder of the road, if there was a shoulder. Someone’s mailbox
bounced off the front bumper and rocketed into a row of bushes.
“Jesus Christ!”

“Cooper?”

“This fucking asshole’s gonna kill me!” I
slammed on my brakes to avoid the telephone pole ahead. My brakes
locked up, the left half smoking up the pavement, the right tearing
up the overgrown patch of grass bordering a stretch of pastureland.
I skidded to a stop a few feet shy. The air reeked of burnt rubber
and cherry air freshener. “He just ran me off the road!”

“Are you alright?”

The van stopped up ahead. His reverse lights
illuminated. “Fuck. He’s backing up.” I couldn’t suppress the
tension from creeping into my voice. Pressing the button on the
armrest, I engaged the locks. Call me skeptical, but I didn’t think
he was coming back to offer assistance.

“Stay calm. What kind of car is it?”

“A van.”

“What’s the make?”

“I don’t know! The kind strangers push you
into after they duck tape your freakin’ mouth and wrists!”

“What color is the van, Coop?”

“White. Dented up. Old.”

“License plate.”

“Oh God…ZFS…I can’t read the rest. It’s
covered in mud.” Shifting into reverse, I stepped on the gas,
backing away.

In the background, I could hear Tate talking
to someone else, but my focus was on the van now barreling in my
direction. Tate’s voice came back over the speakers.

“Where are you, Coop, what road?”

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.” Flooring it, the
Focus jumped and bounced over the grass. I cut the wheel and veered
back onto the asphalt. The wheel jerked in my hands. I fought to
straighten the car back out, which was harder than you’d expect
when under pressure. The rear bumper of the van clipped my left
quarter panel, and I turned abruptly sideways.

“COOPER, GODDAMN IT, ANSWER ME! WHAT FUCKIN’
ROAD?”

“ONE FIFTY TWO! I’m on one fifty two, just
past County Line!” As the van coasted forward, I shifted into
drive. His reverse lights came on again. I pressed the pedal to the
floor and gunned it, smashing through the split rail fence and into
the field. The airbag went off, exploding with chemicals and
encumbering my view. Unfortunately, it also disconnected me from
Tate’s call.

Choking over the fumes from the airbag, I
crushed the fabric down, blindly shoving it away from my face. My
phone, which had fallen from the change dish and onto the floor,
began to ring, blaring out the chorus to These Boots Are Made for
Walking. Tate had set it Monday morning when he used my phone. I
was seriously going to have to put a lock on the thing.

Beside me, the window blew out, showering
glass over my face and body. I barely had a chance to react when a
hand gripped my neck, crushing my windpipe. My fingers were
inferior to the strength of my attacker. I dug my nails into his
hand, scoring his flesh, but it did little to impede his hold.
Spots formed in my vision. Desperately, I pressed my thumb between
the bones of his wrist until the nerves and tendons began to pop
and grind against one another.

I don’t know if my attempt at manipulating
the pressure point in his wrist or the sirens wailing in the
distance had stayed his assault, but he released his grip, swearing
under his breath.

This was secondary in importance to the
breath I was pulling into my lungs as I fought unconsciousness. I
gasped and coughed, swallowing greedy mouthfuls of air, while the
black spots faded from my vision and my head swam with the fresh
burst of oxygen.

When I turned to look for my attacker, he
was gone.

♫♪♫♪

“I’m fine,” I croaked for the hundredth
time. “I think I just need to lie down for five minutes.” My head
was pounding like a snare drum despite the drugs the hospital
provided. I held it together through the questions the police had
fired at me, through the exam at the hospital, through the
paparazzi that waylaid us when we left, through the curiosity of my
arrival at Jess’s house, and my parents’ unexpected visit shortly
after. I had long since come down from the rush of adrenaline and
my body was crashing in a serious way. I was about to paint the
porcelain with a Technicolor yawn.

“Levy can stay with me,” Jess said, God
bless her. “What do you say we bake some cookies, guys?” Gabi and
Levy gave a crow of assent and bolted into the kitchen.

“Go chill, Coop,” Carter chimed in. “I’ll
bring you some pizza when it comes.”

“Thanks, Carter, you’re all right.”

“Just don’t knee me in the balls when you
answer the door.”

Shaking my head, I let Tate lead me to the
guestroom we were using. I passed around him and headed for the
bathroom adjoining our room with the one next door, kicking my
shoes off along the way. The shakes set in as I knelt before the
toilet and practically draped myself over the seat. Thank God Jess
kept a clean house, because this wasn’t going to be quick.

The tears came first. I’m ashamed to say I
wasn’t quiet. I had a complete purging of tension. Somewhere toward
the end of my breakdown, my stomach expelled the scant lunch I ate
at work. With that harsh release, I exhausted myself and sank
languidly onto the floor.

I took a few minutes to collect myself
before I rose and started the shower. While I waited for the water
to heat, I brushed my teeth and removed the makeup from my eyes.
Tate had called Em from the hospital and had her pack my things,
enough for a few days. When we stopped past my place to pick up
Levy, she had a tote of clothes and toiletries ready.

I didn’t want to stay at Jess’s place. I
hated to impose, but I didn’t want to stay at my place either. I
felt exposed there, as if the world knew where I lived. Besides, it
was in my nature to run. I’d done it for two years. At least Jess’s
house was unfamiliar to me. It gave me a sense of safe harbor, so
when Tate suggested it, I hadn’t argued, even if the belief was
false.

Honestly, I wasn’t even sure if Grant was to
blame. My peripheral vision was poor on my left side thanks to the
aforementioned asshole. Nonetheless, while I hadn’t seen anything,
I
had
heard the assailant’s voice, and it hadn’t sounded
like Grant. It had been almost three years since I had last talked
to him, but I remembered the sound of his voice. Furthermore, Grant
would’ve disclosed much more than that one small expletive. He was
effusive when angry, quick to place blame or rationalize his
actions. He never let the opportunity pass to degrade someone.

Nothing led me to believe I knew my
attacker.

For the time being, the police were filing
the incident as a road rage, though they considered Grant a person
of interest because of his
alleged
threats. In time, only
the genetic evidence they were able to collect from under my nails
would prove him innocent or guilty. We had nothing else to go by. I
couldn’t provide a description or a positive ID.

The assailant had fled on foot and abandoned
the van at the scene of the crime. When the responding officer ran
the plates, no surprise, they came up hot. The officer tried to
console me with speculation on the assailant’s motives. According
to the officer, my attacker was most likely a criminal of some
sort. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong
time.

My shower was inconsiderately long and hot,
and I would have to apologize to Jess for using all the hot water.
By the time I had finished, my skin was pink, my fingertips were
pruned and I felt somewhat human again. Adjusting my towel, I
headed into the bedroom to dress.

Tate was waiting for me when I came out. He
was sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees. Upon my
emergence, he stood and crossed the space between us. “Feel
better?”

“Much.” His arms came immediately around me,
encircling my body, arms and all. I rested my head just below his
shoulder, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath my cheek.

He had done the same at the hospital, though
it was a frantic, panic-stricken embrace. You know—the kind that
says, ‘I need to see you with my own eyes before I believe you’re
still alive.’ This was more of an appreciative, consuming, adoring
embrace. The kind you give to your parents or loved ones when,
well, you loved them.

“I love you, Coop.”

A smile spread across my face, but I kept my
head down, hiding it.

“I thought I’d lost you today. I was so
fuckin’ scared.” Tilting my face up, he blinked when he saw my
smile. The tension eased from his face. His lips pulled up at the
corners. “I couldn’t let it go unsaid. I love you, Coop.”

“I love you too.”

“Damn.”

My smile widened. Evidently, he hadn’t
expected me to reciprocate the sentiment. “Almost dying kind of
puts things in perspective.” Stretching up on my toes, I pressed my
lips to his, paying special attention to the small hoop circling
his lower lip. “I couldn’t let it go unsaid.”

Lowering his head, he took my mouth in an
ardent kiss, while tugging at the knot holding my towel in place. A
second later, it fell to the ground at my feet. He moaned lowly in
the back of his throat as his hand found my breast. With small,
soft circles, he teased it to a stiff peak.

Putting today’s events out of my mind, I
stepped into him, leaning into his hips. I could feel his erection
growing between us. Shamelessly, I—

“Pizza’s here!” With a quick and irrelevant
rap on the door, Carter strolled into the room, balancing a pizza
box in one hand and wine coolers in the other. “We got pepperoni
and—” Looking up, his eyes popped wide. He looked at me, naked, my
hand grasping Tate’s cock, and Tate fondling my breast. “Oh fuck
me!”

Tate was quick to shield me with his body.
“Rather not, bro,” he quipped. “Coop’s more my type.”

“Jesus Christ on a crutch! Sorry! Sorry!
I’ll just leave it…” Glancing around the room, he searched for a
place to put the box. “…here…right here’s good. Perfect.” He
dropped the pizza on the floor in the middle of the room. Turning
on his heels, he strode back out the door. A second later, the door
opened again. Carter reached his arm in and placed the wine coolers
on the floor just inside the room. “Thanks for not kicking me in
the balls, Coop.”

“Still early yet, Carter.”

“Not cool. So not cool.” The door closed
with a snick.

Shaking with silent laughter, I dropped my
head against Tate’s chest. “Well if that wasn’t embarrassing.”

“Sorry, I thought I’d locked that.” Tugging
his shirt off, Tate reached up and pulled it over my head. As I
threaded my arms through the sleeves, he crossed the room and
flipped the lock.

“He’s never gonna let me live down kicking
him in the balls, is he?” Grabbing the pizza from the floor, I
climbed onto the bed and opened the box. There was an assortment of
toppings. I went for a slice of pepperoni. There was only one slice
of bacon, and Tate
loved
bacon.

“Probably not.” He twisted the cap from one
of the bottles and passed it to me. I took a swing to wash down the
bite of pepperoni that I ate. Tate glanced in the box, and then at
me. “You really do love me, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” I grinned and took another bite.

“You could’ve had the bacon,” he said,
climbing onto the bed next to me, “I wouldn’t have held it against
you.”