The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity #2.5)(55)

Babe’s eyes widened as she lay back down. I pushed into Sugar, slowly, as gently as I could. The tightness squeezed me. It took hold of my dick, my balls, all the way into the pit of my stomach. It made me dizzy, vibrant, real.

So close.

I kept pushing into her, in and out, her body tense from my movement while she tried to go down on her friend. Tricky watched it all. Girl on girl. Champagne and blow. Rock star life.

Life.

What a waste.

I pumped into her harder until the pressure was too much and I was ready to blow.

I pulled out of her and came in hot, sticky spurts onto her back. I was pretty sure she was moaning from relief while I moaned just to moan. To get it all out. Everything that was buried inside me.

When my mind rolled back down to planet earth, I looked at the mess I made on her. I tried to hold on to the fragment of feelings as they passed through me.

That feeling of happiness.

Of safety.

Of love.

I thought of Dawn, the last person who tried to give me any of that.

I thought she’d been a fool for trying to fix me.

But sometimes, when the endorphins and the haze wore off, I realized that even fools can be right.

I slept alone that night, sending the girls packing with signed chests and merchandise.

I tried to dream of Dawn, the beautiful face that had pulled me out from so many buses, the sun through so many clouds. Innocence, passion, life…even after everything she’d seen. Faith. In me.

I tried to dream of Dawn, but dreams don’t work that way, especially when you fall asleep with an empty bottle of whiskey in your clammy hands.

I dreamed of demons instead, chasing after her in a cavern full of bones. My music played in the background.

***

“Jesus f*cking Christ,” a cockney accent pried itself into my fuzzy head. “What a f*cking mess you are, mate.”

I felt rough hands shaking my shoulders and pushing me over onto my back, my legs falling open.

“Sage!” Jacob exclaimed in disgust. “Try sleeping in some Jockeys next time, will ya? I don’t need to see your twig and berries, though I’m sure I’m one of the lucky few.”

I blinked a few times, afraid to open my eyes. Jacob’s big, ugly face was peering down at mine, red brows knit together, lips crinkled. The light hurt my head.

I was going to vomit.

I quickly sat up, pushed him out of the way, and keeled over the opposite side of the bed, puking onto the floor. Mainly liquid. I couldn’t remember the last time I really ate.

“Oh, now you’re just being a twat,” Jacob said, his voice pinched. Jacob hated vomit, but as my manager and Hybrid’s ex-manager, he had to be used to it by now.

When I was done, my head spinning like a washing machine, I wiped my lips on the back of my hand and sat back in bed. I needed something strong to pull me out of this hangover because I felt worse than a dirty dishcloth. Cocaine had a funny way of leaving the body, doing a number on your psyche better than any childhood trauma ever could.

Jacob was shaking his head, his big arms crossed against his chest and plaid suit that clashed with his red hair, his fat knuckles cracking and uncracking. He meant business.

“The hell did you do here last night?” He looked around the room before his golden eyes settled back on me, narrowing as they focused.

I shrugged, my eyes pinched shut. I needed something, anything. “I had fun; it’s what you do after a show.”

“No,” Jacob said. “It’s what other musicians do after a show. You don’t have fun, Sage. I know your arse well enough.”

I snorted, gently enough so it didn’t further damage my brain. “Two chicks, Jacob, and a f*ckload of drugs. Sounds like fun to anyone.”

“This isn’t you.” His voice lowered, becoming almost wistful. I opened my eyes and looked at him curiously. His face was riddled with pockmarks and disapproval. And, most jarringly, concern. “This isn’t Sage Knightly.”

We stared at each other for a few moments. Jacob was probably right, but I didn’t feel like giving him anything. He was pretty damn good as far as managers went. Hell, he was Jacob “The Cobb” Edwards, and his knuckles and rings were responsible for scarring many a promoter’s face. He was even immortal at some point, as far-out as that seems. But now he was human, here to die like the rest of us, and he and I had gone through more than anyone should go through. He knew exactly what was wrong with me, that black blanket over my head, because he had lost as much as I had.

But just because he knew didn’t mean I needed to address it.

“I’m fine, Jacob.”

He laughed, a big, belly-shaking one, like a ginger Santa Claus. I thought for a second he actually was amused, but the smile cleared off his face as fast as it came on.

“Sage,” he said sternly, coming closer and stopping at the foot of the bed. He motioned to the tangled, stained sheets. “Cover your bits up and then listen to me.”

I sighed and pulled the sheets over my dick. Somehow my nudity didn’t even surprise me anymore.

He stroked his chin, the sound of his calloused fingers against his stubble terrifyingly loud to my ears. “I’m not your father. Your father is back in California. But when we’re on the road, I feel like your father. So help me God, it’s true and I hate it. Never thought I’d have a full-grown, half-Mexican kid, but there you go. Never thought I’d still be managing you well after I didn’t have to anymore. But I like the job. I like you. And I don’t want to see you get hurt any more than you already have.” He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. “You survived your curse, Sage. You survived the deal. And you still came out on top. Don’t do this to yourself. Not now. You have everything you need to be great. You’re just about to go to Europe on tour, where I can promise you people will dig you; they will get you and your voice and your sound. Don’t bugger it all up because you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”