Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(91)

“Yeah. I guess so.” I led the way back out, same as I’d led him into my emotional blow job trap in the first place. Women were the worst. Killer’s wet little nose rubbed at my chin.

“Son,” Mal called to dog in greeting. He was still chatting with Anne and Lizzy on the sofa. “I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

“Found him snoozing in the bathroom.” I handed the fur baby over to his daddy.

Mal’s green eyes narrowed. “Your lips are unnaturally puffy and your lipstick is all worn away. What the hell were you two doing in the bathroom within sight of my firstborn child?”

“Nothing,” I said, backing up a step. This was the last damn thing I needed.

He held the pup in front of his face. “Killer, tell daddy where the bad people touched you.”

“We didn’t do anything.” I turned to Jimmy but he was still too busy being shell-shocked, the useless jerk.

“He’s traumatized! Just look at him.” Mal held up the puppy for all to see. Delighting in the attention, Killer waggled his tail and barked loudly twice.

“Here, give him to me.” Anne wrestled the dog carefully from Mal’s hands. “He’s not traumatized. A little more experienced than he probably needed to be. But it’s not like he hasn’t been asleep in our bedroom while we’ve been otherwise occupied.”

“Is it not bad enough that he has to grow up with the stigma of his parent’s being unwed?” Sadly, Mal shook his head. “My poor boy, he never stood a chance at a normal life.”

“Hmm,” said Anne, handing the dog over to her sister. At this rate, Killer’s paws wouldn’t touch the ground for years to come. He had to be the single most cosseted dog ever, talk about lifestyles of the rich and the famous. And yes, worrying over the pampered pooch was much safer than turning to see if Jimmy had yet come out of his coma.

Anne climbed to her feet, and then knelt down on one knee before the blond drummer. “Will you marry me?”

All of the chatter around us fell silent.

“I’m the one that does funny shit,” said Mal, brows drawn down. “Not you.”

“I’m not being funny.” Her hands found his and held on tight. “I love you and I want to marry you, Malcolm Ericson. What do you say?”

Mal’s mouth opened and we all waited with bated breath. But he said nothing.

Eventually, Anne spoke again, “I’m not scared anymore. I know this is right and if you still want to do this, then I do too, with all my heart.”

“Can we fly to Vegas and get married by a Santa Elvis for Christmas?” asked Mal, eyes suspiciously bright.

A single tear worked its way down Anne’s cheek. “I’d really like that.”

Pandemonium ensued as Mal jumped on Anne and the happy couple started rolling around on the floor. Everyone burst out into applause and screaming and god knows what else. Killer barked his head off at all the commotion. Only Jimmy and I stood apart, both still too stunned over my confession. I wanted to be happy for them. I really did, but I stood there with Jimmy’s taste in my mouth and my broken heart floating around inside of me, razor sharp pieces cutting up my insides.

A hand touched my arm before falling away. “Let’s go.”

I looked up into his beautiful beloved face and gave him my grimmest of smiles. “Yeah.”

Amidst all of the celebration and confusion, we slipped out to the elevator, taking the heady trip back down to ground level. Neither of us said a word. Outside a bitterly cold drizzly sort of rain was falling. I huddled deeper into my coat as Jimmy opened the passenger door of the Mercedes for me. A happy couple ran hand in hand across the road. The city lights blurred as spots of water smeared the lenses of my glasses.

You know those times on the edge of winter when the chill seeps so deep into you that it feels like you couldn’t possibly ever be warm again? This was one of them.

“Lena,” he said, still holding the car door open.

“Sorry.” I climbed in to the leather scented luxury of the Merc and Jimmy carefully closed the door behind me.

A moment later he was sliding into the driver’s seat, wiping the rain from his face. Neither of us spoke. There wasn’t really anything left to say. The trip back to his house passed uneventfully, the lights and buildings passing me by far too fast. Soon enough, the gloomy gray walls of his palace reared up before us. A few brave photographers daring the bad weather hovered out front, held back by the two stout security guards.

We drove around back, down into the bottom level. The big garage door closed behind us, shutting us in. I’d sat, stupidly stunned for so long, Jimmy opened my car door, offering me a hand.

“Thanks.” I climbed out on my own. “I’m fine.

I wasn’t the least bit fine. Unrequited love was a bitch.

Up the stairs we went, past the ground level, on to the second. My bedroom door was the second on the left. He paused by the entry and I switched on the light, turning it to low. It was a mood lighting sort of night.

“Lena.” He swallowed, his eyes darkening. “Let me come in.”

“I can’t.”

“But—”

“I can’t,” I repeated. “We need to stop.”

“No, we don’t.”

“We do,” I said. “This isn’t working for me. I can’t block it out. I can’t pretend I don’t feel things for you. I’m just not made that way.”