Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(33)

“Yeah, they do.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “My going-out-wise, I don’t want to fall back into bad habits. Sex, drugs, alcohol, they all went together for me. If you’re changing your life, stopping the destructive shit, then you have to know what your triggers are.”

“You haven’t had sex since you dried out?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

My eyes felt as wide as they could possibly be and then some. “Oh.”

Wow, extreme, but it had obviously worked. The man had conviction. In truth, his openness and honesty stunned me. I guess he was serious about my deprogramming.

“You never drank or did drugs when you were alone?”

He flinched. “Yeah, I did. That’s why you or one of the guys are usually around, just in case.”

“We’re not all the time. But you’ve still stuck to it,” I pointed out. “I think it takes real courage to do what you’ve done, to turn your life around.”

He scowled. “Don’t make excuses for me, Lena. I am not a nice person. I f*cked my brother’s first girlfriend. Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“Yeah, broke his heart. I was so jealous of him I could barely breathe. I lied. I cheated. I stole. I destroyed everything that meant anything to me and hurt everyone around me. I blacked out constantly, ODed twice, nearly died. What do you think that did to them … to the guys? Visiting me in the hospital, seeing me like that?” He looked everywhere but at me.

A cold wind blew between us.

“That’s the truth, that’s who I am. Don’t make excuses for me. I’m still the same moody selfish f*ck I ever was, sober or not.” His breathing hastened even though we stood still. “Thing is, you’re never going to have much of a life being at my beck and call. You’re better off away from me, and I know that, and I still don’t care. That, Lena, is who I am.”

I had nothing.

Jimmy about-faced and headed for home.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Thanksgiving dinner for the band happened Thanksgiving Eve. I’d given mom many excuses about why I couldn’t go home. Luckily she’d accepted them.

Everyone gathered at Mal and Anne’s new condo, opposite David and Ev’s old one. Old as in they’d lived there for six months or so. Both places were gorgeous with lots of shiny, expensive, and new, much as you’d expect. The balconies looked out over the Pearl District. Very nice.

A picture of Lori, Mal’s mom, took up prime position on the mantelpiece. Jimmy had lingered over it when we first arrived, just taking a moment. His brother had approached after a time and they’d quietly talked. I don’t think anyone’s pain over losing her was going away anytime soon.

Apparently, Ben hadn’t told a soul about my announcement to quit. I appreciated his discretion immensely. Jimmy had barely spoken since our talk yesterday. He had unfortunately hammered again on my door at dawn this morning and tossed tennis shoes at me, however. I dragged my sorry self around behind him, sweating all the way. Hard to say exactly how far we went, it all blended into pointless agony after the first few yards. Later in the day, a beautician-masseuse-type person arrived to pamper me, thus fulfilling another of the points on the list. I have to admit, those three hours of bliss paid for by Jimmy made up for a lot of jogging.

Not all of it. But a lot. It felt like a silent apology or perhaps encouragement on his part. Or maybe it was just another lure into convincing me to stay.

Now he sat opposite me, hair artfully in his face. Aesthetically, the man reigned supreme as king throughout the land. Whether I cared to pretend he was my type or not, it couldn’t be denied. He always seemed so polished, so perfect, you could almost ignore the chaos and pain living inside of him. But the things he’d said to me kept turning around and around inside my head. God, he’d screwed over his own brother. No wonder things seemed strained between them sometimes.

Around me, dinner conversation went on. None of it fascinated me half as much as Jimmy. He was such a dichotomy of good and evil, beautiful and bad.

He’d ditched his black woolen jacket at the door, rolled up the sleeves of a vaguely patterned button-down shirt. My own style was more sedate consisting of ankle boots, skinny jeans, and a long knit top. When it came to throwing an outfit together, he had me beat. He shifted, leaning an elbow on the table. Such thick wrists, I’d never noticed before but his hands must be strong. When we’d fought over the cigarette packet, though, he’d been gentle. As gentle as you could be rolling around on the floor with someone. The memory of his weight on top of me filled my mind. Thank god there’d been no more smoking. He’d given me his word and stuck to it. A mishmash of tattoos covered his right arm. There was a star, a heart, flames, and words. I’d love to get closer and study them, really take my time over them. I took a sip of water, my dry throat needing relief. Higher up, the top two buttons of his shirt lay undone and a few fine dark chest hairs peeked out.

Nice.

The jerk also wore seriously thick-soled boots. Something made apparent to me when one descended upon my innocent unsuspecting toes.

I yelped.

“Anne’s talking to you, Lena,” he said.

Shit. I’d been staring at him again. His fault. If he’d sat beside, instead of across from me, it never would have happened. I tried to kick him back but my foot swung aimlessly, coming into contact with nothing but thin air. Screw him and his long legs.