By Degrees (38 page)

“By degrees, Scarlett.
 
That’s how it works.”
 
His sad half-smile is the last thing I see of him until I’m back at his house later that evening.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“WHO GOT HER INTO THE house?” I ask, resting on Tarin’s couch in his family room.
 
My bruised ribs are bound up tight and the last twelve hours of medical attention, a shower, and a nap has made me almost comfortable again.
 
At least now I’m not getting my ass kicked by a psycho Barbie.
 
How humiliating.
 
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my ribs aren’t broken.
 
She had cheer sneaker’s on for crissake.
 
Who gets broken ribs from cheer sneakers?
 
Not me, thank you very much.

“Brett Campbell,” says Scott, holding up another pillow he wants to put behind my back.

I shake my head no to the extra support.
 
He’s mothered me to the point that I’m starting to feel suffocated. “Who’s Brett Campbell?” I ask, searching my memory for the name.
 
It’s familiar.

“One of the guys on our scratch-off list.”

“Ooooh, yeah … the drug guy.”
 
I nod, remembering the loser’s promise to get me back for kicking him out of Tarin’s life.
 
“I thought we told Zack and Leonard to get his keys back and stuff.”

“Yes, but we failed to mention that they needed to change all the passcodes on the doors. Major brain fart on my end.”

I roll my eyes.
 
“Oh, for shit’s sake … we shouldn’t even have to say that!”

Scott holds up his hands in surrender.
 
“I know, I know … believe me, everyone feels righteously stupid over it now.
 
I guess at the time they never thought something like this would happen.
 
I mean, who knew Posey would find a way to connect with your worst enemy.
 
Zach and Leonard aren’t professional security, okay?
 
They’re just friends.”

I nod, already tired with dealing with all of this.
 
My pain meds are like sleeping pills, making my eyelids heavy. “I’m not mad at them … I’m just mad at myself.
 
This job has thrown me for a complete loop.
 
I’m losing my edge.”
 
I stare off into the distance, hating that I feel so defeated.
 
Hating that I’m falling for a client who also thinks he’s falling for me.

“I was meaning to talk to you about that…”
 
Scott sounds worried.

I look over at him, just using my eyes.
 
It hurts to even turn my head.
 
“What?
 
You’re not going to give me shit again, are you?
 
Because trust me, I’ve done enough of that to myself for the both of us and the first time was more than sufficient.”

“No, no, it’s not that.
 
I’m not going to give you a hard time about this job.
 
I’m just … I’m worried about you.
 
Kind of like Jack is.”

“Please, Scott, not now.
 
Not the Jack thing. Don’t you have something better to do with your time like writing a panty-tossing song or torching those cat pissery shoes?”

He puts his hand on my arm and looks very sincere, which is weird for him.
 
It puts me on edge.
 
“Don’t play that game with me, okay, Scar?
 
Seriously.
 
It’s
me
sitting here.
 
No one else is even in the house.
 
You can yell, you can cry, you can slap me … whatever you want.
 
No one’s going to judge you.
 
You’re safe.”

“Are you sure?” I say.
 
I’m feeling really petulant right now.
 
“Maybe there’s a nutbag upstairs rifling through Tarin’s drawers who’d like to give me a few more kicks to the ribs.”

He sighs. “Shut up or you’re going to force me to put my running shoe in your face again.”

“God, they’re so powerful, they’re like smelling salts.”

“I know.”
 
He looks and sounds way too proud of that.

I close my eyes at the memory.
 
“
Why
do they smell like cat pee when you don’t even have a cat?”

“Because I sweat, okay?
 
It’s normal.
 
Guys have smelly feet.”

“Nothing that heinous can possibly be normal. It’s like … nuclear awful.
 
Morgue resident awful.
 
Zombie apocalypse awful. You should get that checked out.
 
I pay for medical insurance, so use it, already.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.
 
Right now we’re talking about
you
, not my feet.
”

“I don’t want to talk about me. And I don’t want to talk about your feet either, for that matter.
 
I want to talk about … the weather.
 
What’s it like outside?”

“Okay, I get it, you don’t want to talk about you.
 
But I do, and for once, I’m putting my smelly cat piss foot down.”

“Weather,” I insist.
 
“Tell me the temperature.”

“You go ahead and talk about the weather while I talk about Scarlett.”

I ignore the pain and look towards the back of the room. “I see some sun through the window over there.
 
Looks like a good pool party day.
 
Maybe we should tell Josh to barbecue.”

“You’re not dealing with Austin’s death very well.”

“You should go for a swim while the sun’s out.
 
Wear that porn horn bathing suit you have … the banana hammock.
 
That’s my favorite.
 
I’ll stay inside and admire you through the back window.”

He snorts, but continues on his mission: Operation Brain Dig.
 
I really hate having people mess around in my head, and he totally knows it.

“I thought you were cool with everything and moving on from Austin, but now I think being around Tarin is fucking with your mind or something.”

I swallow the misery that rises up and gets stuck in my throat.
 
My words come out strained.
 
“I wonder what the temperature is.
 
Eighty?
 
Ninety?
 
A hundred?”

“I know Jack’s not helping the situation, but he and I talked about it and we both think it’s Tarin who’s causing you to go off the rails a little.”

My temperature is rising from the anger that’s rolling around in my belly like hot lava.
 
I power through, refusing to let go of my meteorology. “The humidity must be terrible. I’m glad I’m not going out there today.
 
My hair would frizz out everywhere.
 
I look like Jeff Daniels in
Dumb and Dumber
when that happens.”

“And there’s something I need to tell you about him.
 
About Tarin. Something I probably should have told you when we first starting talking about getting this job.”

For some reason I feel like crying, so instead of bawling like a baby, I get angrier instead.
 
“And I absolutely
hate it
when I look like Jeff Daniels.
 
Hate it.
 
Hate.
 
It.
 
Makes me want to shave my hair off.
 
Jeff Daniels only looks good on Jeff Daniels.”

“I know you hear me, Scarlett.
 
I’m going to tell you something about Tarin I haven’t told you before.
 
It’s about Austin too.”

I whip my head around, wincing at the pain it causes my ribs.
 
Tears leap to my eyes but it’s not from the physical pain I’m enduring.
 
“Don’t, Scott.
 
Just … don’t.”
 
A giant, black wall comes up between us, and I will not let him scale it.

“You need to know this.
 
I don’t want you going into anything with Tarin without knowing the whole story.”

I struggle to stand, but it leaves me breathless with pain.
 
“I’m not going into
anything
with Tarin, you stupid
fuckweasel
.
 
Just help me up.”

“What’s going on in here?” asks Tarin as he walks through the door.
 
He sounds angry.
 
Protective.

Scott twists around, but not before I catch the expression on his face.
 
Guilty
.

“I was just getting up,” I grunt out.
 
I huff out a few sharp breaths, trying to push the pain away. I’m prepared to walk over broken glass to get away from Scott and his stupid attack of the truthies.
 
I hate when he gets all principled on me like that.
 
It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, he always unloads a basketful of shit on my head.
 
Last time it was to tell me that he’d caught Austin cheating on me right before he died. That was a fun conversation.
 
I have a feeling this one was going to be a real delight too.

“Let me help you.”
 
Tarin rushes over and stands in front of me, holding out his arms like he’s going to bend over and pick me up under my arms.

I slap his hands away.
 
“Stop.
 
Go away.”

“Want me to help?” asks Scott.

He looks so innocent and sweet it just pisses me off more.
 
He’s sitting there acting like he wasn’t about to unload a bunch of garbage on me and like I’m not pissing mad at him.
 
He and Jack have been scheming behind my back and I feel like I’m living with a traitor.
 
Not totally a traitor but someone who I need a break from at least for today.

“No, I don’t want you to help,” I say angrily to Scott. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

Scott stands abruptly.
 
“Fine.
 
If that’s how you feel about it, I’ll just leave you with … with …”
 
He scowls at Tarin.
 
“The guy who started this whole bullshit.”

He storms off, leaving Tarin and me to stare at his retreating back.
 
The door slams shut behind him.

I look over at Tarin, taking my rage out on the only other person in the room. “What in the hell is he talking about?”
 
Suddenly I want to know the big mystery.
 
I want to hear it from the source, whatever this fuckery is.
 
Painful revelations are like ripping off bandaids for me; get to the source, hear it straight up, and deal with the pain.
 
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
 
“Go ahead, Tarin.
 
Confess your sins.
 
Tell me what I need to know about you and Austin.”
 
I don’t even know that there
is
anything for me to know about them, but maybe he’ll surprise me and let me in on some big secret he and Scott have been keeping from me.
 
I couldn’t be any worse than the shit I’ve already heard about the love of my life.
 
Austin is dead but his ghost will never stop haunting me.
 
Today is just another reminder of that.

Tarin lets out a huge sigh and rolls his eyes as he flops down onto the couch next to me.
 
I don’t even feel the pain from him jigging the couch as I listen to the words coming out of his mouth.

“Where do I start?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

“HOW ABOUT YOU START AT the beginning?” I suggest, settling into the couch, trying to find a position that doesn’t hurt.
 
There isn’t one.

“The beginning … the beginning …” Tarin is staring at the coffee table where his foot rests.
 
It’s jiggling nervously, his ratty skater boy shoes rocking up and down over and over.

I kick him lightly to get him started.

“Fine.
 
The first time I really saw him and talked to him was the night I met Mel.”

“Yeah, I heard that.
 
He got you on stage when Mel was watching.”

“Exactly.”
 
Tarin starts drumming a thumb on his knee.
 
“Mel was only there for a little while.
 
For that one band we went on instead of.
 
Austin knew Mel was there, knew he wouldn’t be staying.
 
He fucked up their equipment so they had to go on later.
 
He liked our sound, he said.
 
He told us he wanted to get us a chance at being heard by a larger audience.”

“And you got your agent.”

“Yeah.
 
Not just any agent either … Mel fucking Warner.
 
The
Mel Warner.
 
He took us right to the top.”

“It’s been a great ride,” I say softly.

“Yeah.
 
And no.”
 
Tarin sighs.

“Tell me about the no.”

He shrugs, the foot jiggling and thumb drumming increasing in speed.
 
“I did some shit I regret.
 
Some little stuff, some big stuff.
 
And one really,
really
big thing.
 
Something I can’t ever let myself forget.
 
Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

I laugh.
 
“What’d you do, kill someone?”
 
I’m still laughing when he turns his tortured expression my way.

“You could say that,” he says.

My laugh cuts off mid-stream.
 
“That’s not funny.”

“I know.
 
I’m not joking.”

Guilty
.
 
The tattoo isn’t showing, but it’s all I can see when I look at him.