Everything You Are (Jukebox Heroes 3) Read online

  I sat up but stared at the bar instead of at Chris. I didn’t want to see whatever might be in his eyes.

  “Or not.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I’ve heard things, Beth.”

  “Like what?” I asked, turning to face him.

  “Like he’s gone through more women in the last couple of years than anyone can count. Like he’s got a reputation for partying just a little too hard. He can’t be trusted. Can’t be counted on. Not even by his fucking band.”

  “That’s not true!” I snarled. “He’s never let them down. And the rest of that shit? I know what that’s about, where it comes from.”

  “It comes from being a self-centered asshole!”

  “It comes from being hurt. A lot. Why is it so wrong that I don’t want to add to that hurt?”

  “Open your eyes, Beth,” Chris snapped back. “The cancelled plans, the lies, the lack of communication – when guys get like that, it only ever means one thing.”

  I felt my blood run cold. I know what Chris was implying, and I knew that it wasn’t true in this case. Still, it hit a nerve.

  “So you’re saying London’s fucking around on me.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Because I couldn’t possibly be good enough for him. He couldn’t actually love me. He couldn’t want just me.” The damned tears were back, as much because I was angry – enraged – as because I was hurt by my own doubts and fears.

  “Beth, I didn’t....”

  “No,” I snapped. “Fuck you. You don’t get to talk anymore. You’ve said enough.”

  I hopped down from the barstool and stalked toward the front door, hoping it wasn’t locked. Joseph caught up to me in the foyer, keys in hand. He slid his key into the lock on the front door, but he didn’t turn it.

  “He wasn’t trying to hurt you, Elizabeth.”

  “Yeah, well, he succeeded. Let me out, Joseph.”

  With a resigned sigh, he turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

  “Elizabeth, honey.”

  I spun on my heel and glared at him.

  “Be careful driving home.”

  Some of the fight went out of me, and I hugged him hard and promised I’d be careful. And that I’d text him when I got home.

  By the time I’d made the drive across town to my dumpy apartment, I was pissed off all over again. I wasn’t sure which bit was the worst: the accusations against London or the implication that I was too blind and stupid to know whether my boyfriend was cheating on me. I didn’t like that Chris thought I was a naïve little fool. I’d been played before, and I had vowed to never let that happen again. The situation with London was a whole new experience. If Chris only knew...but he couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him about the world of magic. Or about Julia. I sure as hell couldn’t tell him that she’d died more or less in London’s arms. Or that I’d been the one to kill her.

  Even thinking about the events of that horrible night was enough to rattle me. I’d told London that I was still seeing the therapist Ashe had set me up with. While it was true that I still saw her sometimes, the fact of the matter was that I couldn’t afford to drive back to Houston for regular visits. The nightmares had stopped before I moved to Austin, and I had figured that was good enough. I’d only seen Dr. Hopper a couple of times since I’d relocated in August. Maybe if I’d seen her more, I’d be okay with talking about what had happened with Julia. Or maybe not. Maybe I’d never be able to talk about the fact that I’d taken a human life. And maybe that’s the way it should be.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The blow-up with Chris seemed to signal the end of my run of good luck. London went incommunicado again, the guests at the hotel grew horns and fangs, and I ended up having to shell out most of my meager savings to patch a flat tire. The weather turned cold and rainy. The heat went out in my crappy apartment and it took management two days to fix it. And when I told Dylan she was lucky to be spending Thanksgiving with her boyfriend, she nearly ripped my head off. Guess she was more stressed about him meeting her family than I realized.

  I returned a call from Alex during my lunch break on Friday, and he told me he and Blas were coming up that night. I almost yelled at him but managed to quash my misplaced anger with a couple of deep breaths.

  “I’m not sure this is a good time,” I told him.

  But the Cute and Fuzzy Ninjas were playing Saturday night, and Blas had to be the supportive big brother and go hang out with his sister. I couldn’t be angry about that, and I couldn’t even suggest they stay with Lydia and Dave since their place was already overcrowded by the band and their equipment.

  That night Blas and Alex went out to dinner and a movie with Dave and Lydia, but I begged off, saying I was tired. I was kind of tired, but mostly I was feeling antisocial. No, it was worse than that. I hated people and didn’t want to be surrounded by them. I’d rather stay home with my books and my bear.

  I worked early the next day and was off on Sunday. I had no handy excuse for skipping out on Dave’s concert. So I went.

  When I realized, at the last possible moment, that the band was playing at Haven, I nearly caught a cab home. If I’d had enough cash on me, I’d have done it. Instead I put on my best I-don’t-give-a-damn façade and followed the boys inside, thankful for once that Adam was working the door.

  Being in Haven was like being in a swimming pool full of razor blades, only instead of sharp steel against soft skin I got to experience harsh sounds and harsher emotions grating against my nerves and soul. I headed to Joseph’s bar for something to take the edge off.

  I kept an eye open for Chris, but didn’t see him anywhere. I figured he must be in the back dealing with paperwork, and I hoped he’d stay there. If he did, I might be able to enjoy the concert.

  Or not.

  Just a few songs into their first set, Dave’s band whipped out a sappy ballad, and I felt those emotional razorblades whisper over my heart, slowly shredding it. Lydia was mooning over her boyfriend, and Blas and Alex had wandered off to flirt with Joseph, leaving me alone in the crowd. And I really didn’t want to be there.

  I dodged and wove my way through the crowd and found myself close to the second bar, the one that was always closed on open mic night. I found an empty seat there and slid into it, leaning my head on my hand and studying the multi-colored bottles behind the bar in an attempt to push the music out of my mind.

  The bartender gave me a little gesture that I took to mean, ‘What can I get you?’ He was wise to not try to talk over the band. I shrugged back at him and studied the bottles for a moment more before waving him over. I knelt on the barstool and leaned in toward him so maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to hear me.

  “Spiced rum and Coke,” I all but shouted.

  He nodded and went about making my drink. He flashed fingers at me – five then seven then five. I handed him six dollars and threw another single in his tip jar. He gave me a smile and a nod of thanks before moving on to the next patron.

  A couple of hours and a few drinks later, I felt better.

  Alex and Blas came to find me. Alex wasn’t feeling well, so Blas was going to take him home. Not just back to my place, but home to San Antonio.

  “You okay to drive?” I shouted.

  “Stone cold sober,” Blas said. He moved his fingers over his chest in a cross-my-heart promise.

  I assured them I’d get a ride with Lydia and hugged them goodbye. Now that I had a few drinks in me, I wasn’t in any hurry to leave. It didn’t hurt any that Chris hadn’t turned up.

  Sometime later, I half-hopped, half-fell onto a barstool at Joseph’s bar. He frowned at me while he took care of the other patrons. One of the servers came to get a tray, and he stopped her before she could leave again. They exchanged a few words, and she stepped behind the bar, taking his place. He came around to where I sat and leaned in so he could be heard over the music.

  “How much have you had to drink?” he a
sked.

  I shrugged. Held up three fingers. Then four. Thought for a moment, and held up two more.

  The expression that crossed Joseph’s face should have had me quaking in my high-heeled boots.

  “Office,” he said to me.

  He held my arm as I slid off the barstool, but I didn’t need him to steady me. I strutted off toward the office, loving the feeling of the room spinning around me. I didn’t drink much these days, and I never, ever got more than a buzz. The novelty of being drunk was kind of fun in a deviant sort of way.

  Once we were in the office, Joseph shut the door, cutting off most of the noise from the club.

  “Who’s been selling to you?” he demanded.

  I leaned against the wall, looking around Chris’s office. “No one,” I said. “Everyone.”

  “Elizabeth!”

  I focused on Joseph. Studied him for a moment. Shrugged. “Guys have been buying me drinks. Your staff isn’t doing anything wrong.”

  Joseph let out a breath, half frustration and half relief. “I know your brother left. Do you have a ride home?”

  “Lydia. I think.”

  Joseph rubbed his forehead between his eyes. “She’ll be here until the band packs up. And you need to go.”

  I frowned. “I’m not hurting anything. I’m not going to get the bar in trouble or anything.”

  “Elizabeth, honey,” Joseph said, reaching out to take my hands in his, “It’s not the bar I’m worried about.”

  I frowned more, puzzled. I opened my mouth to ask what he was worried about, not realizing it was me, and what popped out instead was, “I gotta pee.”

  Joseph sighed.

  “Go. And then come right back, you hear me? I’m gonna find you a ride home.”

  I nodded. “I’ll come right back.”

  I wandered back into the club, picking my way through the crowd toward the ladies’ room. I let myself get distracted by the band, people dancing, the floaty, spinny feeling from all the alcohol. Eventually, I made it to the loo and took care of business. I spent an inordinate amount of time looking at myself in the mirror, surprised by the reflection there. For some reason, I always looked different to myself when I’d been drinking. Most times I looked prettier, sexier. Sometimes I looked fat and dumpy and boring. Tonight was a sexy night. I liked the way I looked in my low-cut mini-dress and knee-high, high-heeled boots. I loved the way my hair fell in perfect waves for once. I made faces in the mirror, like I was posing for a camera, admiring the effect.

  After a while, I remembered Joseph and made my way back to the office.

  “You’re not Joseph,” I said when I opened the door.

  “No, I’m not,” Chris replied. “And that’s probably a good thing. He’s a helluva lot more pissed at you than I am.”

  “What did I do?” I sounded whiny. God, I hate sounding whiny.

  Chris sighed. “Let’s just get you home, okay?”

  He reached for my arm and I jerked away, losing my balance and staggering back against the door.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I still sounded whiny. Great.

  “Beth,” he said softly. “Please, just let me get you home safe.” When I just glared, he added, “For Joseph? For your brother?”

  “Fine. But don’t touch me.”

  I followed Chris out the back door of the club and to his car. I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen his car. It was a black ’69 Charger, and it almost had me drooling. I touched the car reverently as I opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

  We didn’t even make it out of downtown before I started feeling sick. I’m not prone to motion sickness, but the combination of booze and riding wasn’t sitting well. I rolled down the car window, hoping the cold would help. It did. A little.

  “You okay?”

  I shook my head, afraid to speak.

  “Do I need to pull over?”

  I hesitated for a moment before shaking my head again.

  “You gonna make it all the way to north Austin?”

  Another head shake.

  “Let me know if I need to stop.”

  I sat back and closed my eyes and concentrated on not dying or throwing up all over Chris’s amazing car. I kept them closed until Chris parked the car and killed the engine. I opened them expecting to see my crappy apartment complex, but we were parked in an upper-middle class neighborhood, in the driveway of a massive white rock house.

  While I was staring, Chris made his way from the driver’s seat to the patch of concrete outside my door. I pushed the door open, careful not to hit him, and he helped me stand. While he cranked my window back up, I stared at the house some more.

  “You live here?” I asked. I realized how stupid the question sounded, but the house seemed too big for one person. It didn’t make sense to me.

  “Yep. Home sweet home. Come on.”

  He unlocked the door and led me inside, bolting the door behind us.

  “Wow,” I said. It was kind of an understatement.

  Chris’s house reminded me a little of the not-so-safe safe house in Winter Park. I tried to push those thoughts away, but they refused to budge. Maybe Chris could tell something was wrong, or maybe just thought I still felt sick, because he put his arm around my shoulders and herded me down a hallway.

  We ended up in a giant bedroom with a giant bed, all done in black and red and white and dark grey. Even the wood of the furniture was black. It was very sophisticated. I glanced at Chris, intrigued. This wasn’t what I would have pictured. It wasn’t ‘guy’ enough, wasn’t the haphazard decorating scheme – or lack thereof – I was used to from my male friends, but also wasn’t cleverly designed to impress girls into repeat visits.

  While I studied the room, Chris dug through a dresser. He came up with an armful of clothes and handed me a massive t-shirt.

  “Figure that’d be more comfortable to sleep in,” he explained.

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  He took the rest of the clothes into the bathroom and shut the door. I contemplated my boots for a moment, then decided they could stay on for now. Taking them off seemed like too much effort. Instead I peeled off the skin-tight mini-dress, losing my balance and falling on my ass on the bed in the process. I threw the dress on the floor and pulled on the oversized t-shirt. It probably fit Chris just right, but on me it covered more than the dress had. And Chris was right; it was a lot more comfortable.

  I had just started tugging at the laces on one boot when Chris stepped out of the bathroom, dressed only in pajama pants that rode low on his hips. I licked my lips in an unconscious gesture, my boots forgotten.

  Chris didn’t seem to notice my reaction to the sight of him half-naked. Or if he noticed, he ignored it. He knelt beside the bed and studied my boots for a second before unzipping one and pulling it off. The other followed right behind. Then he took my feet in his big bear paws and massaged the insteps.

  “Snoopy?” he asked, grinning.

  I looked down at my socks and wiggled my feet a little. “What’s wrong with Snoopy?”

  “Nothing, baby,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “Nothing at all.”

  I smiled. Let him be amused by my quirky socks. I sure as hell was.

  “You need anything?” Chris asked me. “Water?”

  I shook my head, and he moved around the room, plugging in his cell phone and doing who-knows-what. I was too distracted to pay much attention; I’d unsettled my bra in the process of changing clothes, and I had a wire poking me in a very tender spot. I fumbled with the damned hooks, but I couldn’t make them work.

  “I think I need help,” I said.

  Chris stopped what he was doing and turned to look at me just as I pushed myself to my feet. He stepped forward to steady me, and I leaned against his chest.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Can you unhook me?”

  “What?” Then, “Oh. Yeah. Turn around.”

  But I didn’t want to move. I mumbled som
ething that was meant to be a ‘no’, and Chris got the point. He tried to unfasten the hooks through my shirt but didn’t have any luck, so he reached under the shirt and fumbled with the fastenings.

  The hooks finally let go, the wire quit poking me, and I made a soft little sound of relief. Maybe it was that sound that drove Chris to run his warm, slightly rough palms down the smooth skin of my back, or maybe he’d have done it anyway. The feel of his hands on me elicited another soft moan of pleasure. And then one of his hands lifted to tangle in my hair while the other slid down over the silky softness of my panties to cup my ass and urge me up on my toes so that his mouth could cover mine.

  I stretched up on my toes and wrapped my arms around Chris’s neck, losing myself in his kiss. The wet heat, the sensual dance of lips and tongues and teeth, the feel of his hands stroking and kneading and holding me tight against him.

  I wanted the kiss to go on forever, but I knew it had to be uncomfortable for Chris. He was as tall as London....

  London.

  What the hell had I done?

  I eased away from Chris and dropped down to sit on the bed.

  “Shit,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

  Chris turned to flee, but I reached out and grabbed his wrist. I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

  “Don’t leave me,” I whispered.

  “Beth.” He smoothed the hair back from my face. “I’ll be right down the hall.”

  I shook my head. “Stay. Please? Just till I fall asleep?”

  He sighed, and for a moment he just stood looking down at me.

  “Okay.”

  While he closed the bedroom door and turned off the light, I somehow managed to get the bra out from under my t-shirt. With the bra gone, my necklace – a cheap, triangular pendant – brushed my bare skin. I didn’t like the way it felt, so I tugged it out of the shirt, but I didn’t take it off. I didn’t want to chance losing it. I pulled off my socks and crawled under the covers, still afraid that Chris would change his mind and leave me alone. He didn’t. He lay down beside me, on top of the comforter. I tried to cuddle up to him, but with me under the comforter and him on top of it, cuddling didn’t work out so well. I didn’t even have to ask for what I wanted, though. I just murmured his name, and Chris slid under the covers with me and pulled me close. I snuggled against him, my hand on his chest, fingertips gliding up and down his smooth skin.