A Seductive Melody (The Kelly Brothers Book 5) (8 page)

“Why?”

“Because it’s public, and we can talk.” She hailed a taxi. Traffic wasn’t too bad right now, and the last thing she wanted to do was lose the connection to him while in the subway.

“Fine.” He hung up on her just as a taxi pulled up to the curb.

She gave the driver directions, her pulse fluttering in her ears the entire time.

Please let him be there.

And please don’t let me be too late.

Chapter Five

Ethan stared into the Hudson River with a pair of sunglasses on, ignoring the people who milled around him. The rain from last night had dried up, but gray clouds still lingered overhead. They fit his mood.

Sometime after dawn, he’d managed to get a few hours of fitful sleep. He awoke tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, gasping for air and haunted by dark dreams. The craving was stronger than ever. It called to him like a siren’s song that erased any rational thoughts. Not even a cold shower could quiet it.

The bag of heroin remained untouched on his coffee table, seducing him with promises to make everything better. But every time he found himself about to give into temptation, he glanced down at Ty’s name on his arm. The memories of finding Ty dead assaulted him, growing stronger and stronger until he doubled over and let out a scream of frustration.

That was when he broke down, fished out Becca’s number from the trash, and called her. It was better to admit he was weak than to end up like Ty.

But she didn’t answer, and the world dropped out from underneath him.

Now, an hour later, he was standing at the end of Pier 84, wondering if she would stand him up. He’d brought the bag with him. It mocked him from his back pocket while he waited. If she came, he’d ask her to dispose of it so he wouldn’t be tempted any longer.

And if she didn’t show…

He closed his eyes and wondered if taking a hit would ease his sense of abandonment. It would certainly cure his inability to play music. And maybe that would be the best course of action for now.

He spun around and collided with a woman, knocking her to the ground. It took him only a second to recognize her distinctive blue-green eyes. He knelt down to help her up. “Shit, Becca, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, even though she winced as she limped to the railing. “I’d called out your name, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “My fault for running full speed toward you in high heels, but I was just so worried about you.”

Something inside him did a one-eighty, and the insatiable craving that had plagued him for days retreated to the far corner of his mind.

She’d come.

She cared about him.

She was here to help him, and he wasn’t alone.

And knowing that took him to a level of humble gratitude he’d never known.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“Of course.” She turned her attention to the river. “So, what happened?”

He pulled the bag out of his pocket and showed it to her.

Horror, panic, and disbelief wash over her features. “Ethan, why?”

The disappointment in her voice rubbed his pride the wrong way and raised his hackles. “I haven’t touched it.”

“But you have it.”

He tucked it back into his pocket. “Just wanted you to know why I called.”

“So I could watch you get high again?”

“How do you know I wasn’t inviting you to join me?” he snapped back, his words laced with sarcasm. “And before you say anything else, I didn’t buy it. I didn’t seek it out. It was given to me last night.”

Her eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t tell if her resentment was directed toward him or the person who’d given it to him. “By whom?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Ace, right?”

His jaw fell slack. “How did you know?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “He always had the good stuff.” She held onto the railing and rocked back on her heels. “Is he still hanging out at the Tin Lily on Wednesdays?”

If he’d ever doubted her past as an addict, her knowledge of Ace’s hangouts confirmed it. “Yeah, he’s still there. I’m surprised the cops haven’t caught him, predictable as he is.”

“That’s because he has too many important people in his pocket.” She let go of the railing and ambled along the waterfront, Ethan following her. “That still doesn’t explain what you were doing there last night.”

“I went to listen to the music.”

“Sure, and men read
Playboy
for the articles.”

He darted in front of her, stopping her until she looked up at him. “No, really, I went for the music. And maybe to relive a few good memories.”

She pursed her lips like she was trying to assess him on her bullshit-o-meter. “Take off your sunglasses,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“Because I want to look into your eyes when you’re answering me.” When he complied, she asked, “Why did you go there last night?”

“To listen to the music,” he repeated.

She came closer until her face was inches from his. Her hawk-like eyes picked him apart, looking for some sign of a lie, but all he could think about was how bright the green rings around the pupils were today.

She backed down. “You’re going to have to start avoiding those kinds of places.”

“Trust me—lesson learned.” He moved aside so they could continue walking. “Ace caught me in a bad moment and said some things that pushed me to the edge.”

“But not over it.”

He paused and let her assessment sink in. He’d lost count of how many times he almost opened up that bag, but he hadn’t. He’d been strong enough to resist. “Yeah, but not over it.”

It still didn’t change the fact he was caught in limbo as far as his music went.

Becca looped her arm through his and resumed their stroll. “So you mentioned you were at a bad moment. Care to elaborate?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

He looked down to where their arms entwined. And surprisingly, he liked it. He liked the weight of her arm against his. He liked the way her hips brushed against his thigh when she walked. He liked the subtle halo of her perfume that he inhaled every time the breeze caught it. But most important, he liked that she wasn’t afraid to invade his personal space, and she didn’t back down when he tried to push her away. If she’d been anyone else, he would’ve kept pushing. But walking arm in arm with her filled him with a momentary serenity he’d been missing for so many years.

“I’m a musician.”

“I know,” she replied as though he’d said he was something more commonplace, like a schoolteacher.

But did she know who he was? Did it even matter?

After a moment’s hesitation, he decided not to bring his fame up. After all, she’d been famous—or infamous—herself. “I haven’t been able to play since my best friend died.”

“Can’t play, as in you forgot how to strum a guitar?”

“No.” Even though it wasn’t far from the truth based on the clumsy way his fingers had been forming chords lately. He pulled his arm free and turned back to the railing. “I met my best friend at a music camp when I was twelve. He was a year older than me and represented so much of what I wanted to be. Fun. Outgoing. Crazy fucking talented. The guy could touch a guitar and spontaneously compose magic. So naturally, I looked up to him, and it wasn’t long before we were best friends.”

He stared into the murky water of the Hudson River, remembering all the fun they’d had as kids. “One thing led to another, and when he suggested we start a band with a couple of other guys in the neighborhood, I agreed. By the time we’d graduated from high school, we were already playing the local scene and decided to hit the road. Tin Lily was the venue that I always associated with making it to the big time. Once we played there, we became more than just some kids with a garage band. We were somebody.”

“And is that what you meant by reliving some good memories?”

He nodded, but the burning along his left arm reminded him that those memories were now tainted. “But there was a dark side to our success. It didn’t start out that way, you know? We were both just a couple of stupid teenagers who would light up a joint after practice. We weren’t baked the entire time, but when we got high, that’s when we wrote the songs that made us famous. And as our fame grew, so did the pressure to keep writing those kinds of songs.

“He started experimenting with the harder stuff first. A couple of Percocets here, a whiff of coke there. And like a dumbass, I tried whatever he offered me. The night we played Tin Lily was the first night I shot up.”

He expected her to smack him on the back of his head like his mother did when he’d admitted to doing something stupid, but she stood next to him, mirroring his posture as she looked out over the river. “So you always associated getting high with the celebration of that night.”

“Yeah. But later on that night, we composed our best song ever. Then one thing led to another, and before I knew what was happening, I discovered I couldn’t write music without getting high first.”

“Heroin became your muse,” she said matter-of-factly, and a wave of relief flowed through him.

She understood him better than he thought she would.

“Yeah. But when it became my muse, it robbed me of the simple pleasures of playing. Now, every time I pick up a guitar or sit down at the piano, the craving consumes me.”

“And I suppose asking you to stop being a musician is out of the question.”

He tried to picture spending the rest of his life doing something different, but it would be like having the joy robbed from his soul. “No, I love music too much to quit playing.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“Maybe, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been able to play since he died.”

“Why?”

His stomach churned, and sweat coated his palms. She was treading on delicate ground here and digging up issues he wasn’t ready to face yet. “I’ve already told you why.”

She picked up on his unease and threw it back at him. Gone was the quiet listener from the other night. In her place stood a mirror reflecting the cold, hard truth. “No, you’ve told me that you were able to write music that got you to Tin Lily without ever touching heroin, and that you were a dumbass for trying whatever he offered you.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

“He’s gone because he was a selfish asshole who only thought of himself.”

Her accusation touched a nerve in him, and he curled his fingers into his palms. How many times had he thought the exact same thing over the last month? And yet, he felt obligated to defend Ty. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that.”

“Some best friend. Let me guess—he was the one who gave you wings?”

His spine grew ramrod straight with annoyance. “Shut up, Bec.”

But she didn’t back down. Even though she never touched him, she stripped away his defenses. “Did you get sick to your stomach when he sank the needle into your vein? Did you cry like a baby from the head rush?”

His voice rose to a growl. “Shut. Up.”

“Why did you do it, Ethan? Were you so desperate for his approval that you agreed to do anything he suggested? I bet he laughed his ass off when you were so high you couldn’t even get up to take a piss.”

Each question inched his anger level up a notch not because she was wrong, but because she was right. His temples throbbed with boiling rage that exploded with him shouting, “I said shut the fuck up.”

As soon as he saw people around them staring at him, the blood rushed from his head, leaving a chill of fear behind. Jesus, he was cracking up. He staggered back a few steps before he turned around and headed back toward the city.

“Ethan, wait!” The click of her high heels on the pavers told him she was following him, but he refused to look back. “I’m sorry.”

He drew to a stop and spun around, pointing his finger at her. “You have some nerve.”

“Why? Because you’re too chickenshit to hear the truth?”

His head started pounding again, this time from the storm of emotions raging inside. He squeezed his temples between his palms, willing it to stop, but the chaos grew stronger. Memories mixed with the craving and blurred his idea of reality until he felt like he was falling into a bottomless abyss.

“Let’s sit down,” a calm voice said over the noise in his head, followed by a gentle touch.

His feet stumbled in the direction she steered him, and he didn’t resist when she guided him down to one of the nearby benches. The cool metal soothed him like ice on a bruise, but what finally brought some semblance of peace was the small hand that held his. The world came back into focus.

Becca squatted in front of him, worry tugging down the corners of her mouth. “Did I push you too far?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice still raw from everything she’d unearthed.

“I only did it to help. I had to do something to erase the rosy glow you associated with getting high. I had to make you see the evil side of it, too. Until you come face to face with the truth, you can never move forward.”