With Every Heartbeat (Forbidden Men, #4)(92)

Attending practice started to sound good. What better place to unleash some of the anger and anxiety gushing through me? I could tackle and hurt, and get hurt. I craved that.

But I wasn’t ready to face Ten again. Not just yet.

So I found myself at Forbidden.

Asher was on the stage, rearranging microphones and preparing for the second night of karaoke. It seemed strange that my double date with Zoey and Ten had only been a week ago. I’d taken my first swallow of alcohol, I’d nearly kissed Zoey, I’d spent the rest of the night with Cora, and then I had bought her a ring and tried to propose to her. All of that within seven days, and I’d still found enough time to squeeze in completely shattering Zoey Blakeland’s innocence.

Feeling sick to my stomach and still rocking a hefty hangover, I glanced around the quiet club. “Is Pick around?”

Asher straightened and turned my way, not having realized I’d come in. He tipped his head toward the hall. “He’s in the back. Hey, help me move this speaker, will you? It’s a heavy bastard.”

I nodded and moved forward to assist him. We grunted and strained for a couple minutes to rearrange the stage until he had everything where he wanted it. He didn’t ask questions or try to strike up a conversation, which I appreciated. I’d learned that when he was in a certain mode, he became too focused for social niceties. Which worked perfectly for me. A little labor without having to come up with words was exactly what I needed.

But as soon as we had everything where he wanted it, he grinned at me as he dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Thanks, man.” I could see a conversation approaching, so I mumbled something and hurried down the hall to knock on Pick’s office door.

The last time I’d been in the owner’s office of this club, it’d been located in another room, and another man had been behind the desk. I’d gotten shot that day and seen two people die. Strangely enough, I felt more rattled today than I had then.

“Come on in,” Pick called from inside.

After taking a big gulp of air, I entered. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say; I just knew I needed help. Advice. Something.

Anything.

And I trusted Pick more than anyone to be confidential and helpful.

When he glanced up and saw me, he let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God, it’s you. I’m working on this bitch of a schedule. Do you think you can work tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday night? Lowe has chicken pox. Chicken pox! Can you believe that f*cker? What twenty-two-year-old gets chicken pox?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled as I began to pace. “But, yeah, sure. I can work them. No problem.”

“Thanks, man.” Pick started to pencil me in when he must’ve finally noticed how badly I was wigging out. His pencil stopped moving a good minute before he lifted his eyes. “Everything okay?” he finally asked.

“No.” I captured my head with both hands and walked a little faster, needing to vent out some of the adrenaline churning through me.

Pick sat his pen down and straightened, finally lifting the rest of his face to give me his full attention. “What’s going on?”

I knew he was good for discretion, but I still didn’t mean to blurt out quite everything that vomited from my mouth. “Last night...I broke up with Cora. She was cheating on me. And then I got drunk and had sex with Zoey, like, all night long.”

Groaning, I squeezed my head harder and closed my eyes to block out the buzzing between my ears.

When I risked a glance at Pick to gauge his reaction, he was just staring at me with the blankest expression. Finally, he said, “And then you woke up, right? Because this was another one of your crazy-ass dreams. Right?”

Collapsing on his couch, I buried my face in my hands and groaned. “I wish, but no. This one wasn’t a dream.”

“Holy shit,” Pick exploded. “I mean, shit. Holy shit, man. You...” He shook his head. “I mean, we’re really talking about you doing this, right? Not Ten. You?”

I seared him with a glare and he immediately apologized. “Sorry, I just...” He held up a hand and blew out a long breath. “It’s just a shock, that’s all. Sorry about that.” He smoothed his fingers down the center of his chest as if straightening a tie he wasn’t wearing. “I’m calmer now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Twenty-four hours ago, I was with one girl, settled down, completely committed in our relationship and thinking I was going to spend the rest of my life with no one but her, and then bam, a few hours later, I’m inside her roommate, and...God, I can’t even...I’m not...I don’t even know. I have no idea what to do about this.”

“Yeah,” Pick said, looking a little shell-shocked himself, which didn’t ease my nerves at all. Then he cleared his throat and shook his head. “So, um...are you sure it’s over between you and Cora?”

I sent him a sharp look, a little incredulous he even had to ask. “Yes.” There was no doubt in my voice at all. “I hate her. She killed anything and everything I ever felt for her the moment I read the texts she sent to another guy...to multiple other guys.”

“Are you sure?” Pick cocked a leery eyebrow. “I mean, about your feelings? All this just went down. You may think you hate her now, and then realize...shit. I mean, you weren’t just upset and hurt and struck out at her by sleeping with her friend... Did you?”