Raining Down Rules (19 page)

Chapter 39

Jordan

Fresh, free air never smelled so good. It’s strange not relying on someone else to keep you honest, to keep you on the straight and narrow. My first thought is I should call Jemma, I should tell her I really want to see her, but the fact that she didn’t respond to my letters makes me think maybe she doesn’t want to hear from me. As much as I want to see her, I feel I should try to make it on my own first. And by on my own, I mean I need to call my band and make sure they haven’t replaced me.

The taxi arrives, scoops me up, and brings me back to the shitty apartment I’ve rented. When I unlock the door and step inside, I have to shield my nose from the smell of rotting food and the sweet, musty smell of pot. This is going to be harder than I thought. Just the smell of hash makes my fingers curl and my mouth salivate.

I have to get out of here.

I run to my nightstand, push past my paraphernalia, and grab my notebook, a stash of cash, and then go to my closet for a change of clothes. But even those smell like everything I need to get away from. Changing my mind, I throw the clothes back in the closet, sprint out the door, and lock it behind me. If the apartment had been a house, I may have burned it to the ground.

The manager is in his office and I toss him the key to the apartment at the same time I apologize for the state of the place. I tell him to keep the deposits and then hand him an extra five hundred dollars for his trouble. His eyes widen as he starts to speak, but I just wave and head out. I’ve overstayed my welcome and I want to move on with my life.

The cab I called shows up quickly and I instruct him to take me to the airport. I can buy a ticket to wherever the guys are and be with them tonight. On the drive to the airport, I dial Jeremy and miraculously he answers.

“White Shadow Management, Jeremy speaking,” he says, and it’s like a flood of memories washes over me. God, I was such an ass to these guys who were there for me through it all. Jeremy was the one who pulled me out of my father’s condescending grips and told me to prove him wrong, prove to him and everyone else I wasn’t the loser he told me I was. I guess my father was right in a way. I screwed everything up. But not anymore.

“Jeremy, hey! It’s Jordan.”

The line goes silent and for a second I think he’s hung up on me.

“Wow…Jordan. It’s been a while, man. How are you?”

And just like that I lay it all out. I tell him about Jemma, and rehab, and how I’ve realized what a jackass I’ve been. I apologize for all the shit he and the guys had to deal with and I promise to do better.

“What about the drugs, man? You can’t do that anymore.”

I can tell he’s not sure what to make of my call, and who can blame him?

“I’m clean, man, and I’m done with that shit. I’m done with the girls and the blow, all of it.”

“That’s great, Jordan. Really.”

A long pause falls between us and I can’t stand the silence. “Jeremy, I want back in, dude. Tonight. I can meet you and the guys wherever you are. I’ve got some great lyrics and we can make it big again. And this time I won’t screw it all up.”

Another round of silence. It’s agony, like being crushed slowly by the weight of the past.

“Look, Jordan. I don’t know what to tell you. The guys were beyond pissed at that last show. I don’t even know if they want you back.”

His words hit me like a fist to the gut. It literally knocks the wind out of me.

“Talk to them. Let’s all get together and we’ll talk about it. Hell, I’ll even sign some no drugs contract or something. Don’t leave me hanging. I’m on my way to the airport as we speak.”

“Where the hell are you anyway?”

“Still in Warner.”

“Where?”

I explain that I never really left the scene of my great demise and that I’m on my way out. Hopefully to meet up with the band. The conversation ends with a promise for a meeting with the band tomorrow as I arrive at the airport and book my ticket to Phoenix. God, I hate where I’m going. I hate that I have to be in the same city as my douchebag father, but I’ll do almost anything to get the band back together.

Chapter 40

Jemma

Vic and I agreed to meet up with Caleb and Angie at the club, and so far the night has been amazing, just like every other time I’ve spent with Vic. Dancing with him is electric in the way he moves my hips or swings me around. And his hands…a shudder runs through me. Those wandering hands are going to be the death of me. And then as if the room clears, Vic kisses me.

The kiss, it’s the one that makes me want to drop all my inhibitions and succumb to all my body is begging me to do. It’s his hands slowly moving down my arm and stopping at my upper thigh. There is so much heat there, so much desire in those five fingers. It’s the way his chest tightens when my fingers slip off his shoulders, stopping on his abs. If we weren’t surrounded by dozens of other gyrating bodies, who knows what would happen.

Our kiss breaks and Vic spins me around the room in time to the music. And when he suggests we head out, even though it’s early, I agree wholeheartedly. Vic has to work early tomorrow and I want more time with just him.

Back in Vic’s truck, we can’t keep our hands off each other. We fumble through our kisses until Vic slides over to the passenger side and slides me onto his lap. His hands roam my body, stopping at my hips, where he pulls me down against him. A gasp escapes as his tongue twirls around mine.

“I have a condom tonight,” Vic whispers against my jaw, and my hands pause at his shoulders. Am I ready for this? Here in his truck?

“Not here,” I manage to say as his mouth overtakes mine. “My house.” I pant as his fingers run over my breasts.

“So far away.” He groans and raises his hips so I know just exactly how much he wants me.

“Please?” It’s not like I’m using sex as a way to manipulate him, but as I slowly grind my core over him, he nods quickly and practically throws me off his lap.

“Let’s go,” he says decidedly as he peels the truck out of the parking lot.

***

Vic and I walk through the front door and immediately the sweet smell of fresh bread hits me. Gran’s bread is the best, especially when it’s hot and fresh. She’s in the kitchen pulling two loaves from their pans and I offer to take over for her. “You’re up late, Gran,” I say as she hands me the towels, pats my hips, and then Vic leans down and kisses her cheek.

“Couldn’t sleep. Good to see you again, young man,” she says affectionately. “Has my Jemma been taking care of you?” Blood rushes to my cheeks even though her question is innocent.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers with a guilty grin. “Though I may have to talk to her about reciprocation.”

Gran’s eyes travel between Vic and me, and I can only imagine what she must be thinking. She pats Vic’s cheek and says, “You have another letter from Jordan by the phone, honey.” She turns and makes her way to the blue chair in the family room.

My heart drops to my stomach as I look from Vic to where Jordan’s letter sits. It’s like a giant red beacon flashing in the kitchen saying,
here I am!
I never mentioned the first letter to Vic and by the questioning look on his face I can see he’s hurt by my omission. I’m unable to move, and the fresh, hot bread is heating my hands through the towel.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” His tone is sharp and accusing. “One of many, I suppose.”

I swallow the hard lump in my throat, set the bread on the counter, and walk to the letter. The envelope is heavy and thick. My fingers tremble as I open the seal and pull out the letter along with a plane ticket and concert ticket.

“This is just great,” Vic says as he runs his hands through his hair. “Let’s hear it. What does he have to say?”

Taking a deep breath does nothing for the churning in my stomach. “He wants me to go to Denver in two weeks and watch his concert. He’s back together with his band and they have a bunch of new songs. He’s even paid for my hotel.”

“I’ll bet he has,” Vic says bitterly. “You’re not going, right?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I just got this letter. I haven’t had time to process it.”

“You’re actually considering it? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’s not like I can just throw the tickets away.”

Vic exhales and his hands drop to his sides. “You can’t go.” He pauses and then lowers his voice before continuing. “He’s only doing this to get you into his bed. You know that, right?”

My eyes begin to burn with unshed tears. “And what is it you’ve been trying to do for months? At least all he’s ever done is kiss me. You, on the other hand, have had your fingers places no one else ever has. What does that say about you?” My voice is beginning to rise above a whisper and I have to tell myself to calm down.

“I’ve only done what you’ve allowed. God knows how many times my balls have turned blue thanks to you.”

“We should go outside,” I say quietly as I walk toward Vic, hoping he’ll follow me outside to finish the conversation. I don’t want Gran overhearing just where he’s put his hands or the color of his balls. Vic folds his arms over his chest and firmly plants his feet on the kitchen floor.

“Tell you what,” he says with anger boiling up at the surface. “Go ahead and go. The two of you deserve each other.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s been six months since you told me you last heard from him, and every time things start heating up between us you want to run.”

“That’s not true,” I argue.

“Sure it is. You’re scared, Jemma. I get it. You don’t want to get hurt and you’re terrified of what might happen if you and I do have sex.” Vic’s hands run through his hair and he turns his back to me. “Don’t you ever wonder if I’m scared?”

He’s facing me again with tears welling up in his eyes. My stomach clenches and I don’t know what to say.

“God, Jemma. I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment I first met you. How crazy does that make me when the girl I love wants to fly away to go see her ex?”

My shoulders fall inward in self-doubt. The weight of what he’s saying bears heavily down on me. “He’s not my ex,” I say, though I barely even hear myself.

“No, you know what? Just go. Go and spread your wings, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be waiting here for you when you get back.”

My fingers reach for him, tears spill down my cheeks, but I have no words. Vic shrugs away from my grasp and walks out of the house to his truck. He revs the engine and peels out of the driveway. Gran calls from her room and I let myself crumple to the floor in a heap of sobs and tears.

Chapter 41

My stomach is in knots, and truthfully I’m not sure what I’m doing here. Denver is a long way from home and a long way from Vic. I haven’t heard from him since our fight and I don’t know how to apologize when everything he said was true. He has been so patient, so loving and amazing, that I am afraid I’ve pushed him away for good. It’s been two weeks, the longest we’ve gone without speaking or seeing each other since we started dating. God, what have I done? My fingers worry at the hem of my coral boyfriend-cut shirt as I wait for Jordan in the band’s staging room. A million thoughts keep circling my head, including the one in the forefront that I shouldn’t be here.

The roar from the concert’s crowd begins to fade, signaling the band should be arriving any second. White Shadow, how this whole mess started to begin with. The door to the staging room opens and the band walks through and they are all obviously pumped up. They are speaking, more like yelling, to each other about how they nailed the concert. When they all spill into the room they stop mid-conversation when they see me.

Jordan pushes through his friends, grinning like he’s just won a gold medal, and his arms spread wide. He looks incredible. Not just in appearance, but overall. His face has rounded out and the dark hollows below his eyes are gone. He’s gained some weight and bulked up.

“Jemma!” he shouts, and then winces when he realizes he’s yelling. His arms wrap around me, enveloping me in a sweaty embrace. I return his hug, squeezing him tightly, and then he pulls away. “God, sorry, I must smell really bad.” He holds up a finger, grabs a towel from a chair nearby, and wipes down his face and hair. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I say. “You look so good.”

He shrugs and his bandmates all join us with grins the size of Texas plastered on their faces. Jordan introduces me to everyone and then Drake, the bassist, slaps Jordan on the shoulder and says, “So this is the girl who has you whipped?” Jordan jokingly punches him in the stomach, and then drapes his arm over my shoulders.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.” We say goodbye to the band and slip out the back of the venue to my rental car. “Can you believe it’s been over six months since we saw each other? How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, been keeping busy. I’m taking some college classes that have me pretty occupied.”

“Are you still seeing…Nick?”

“Vic? Yes, well, I think so.”

Jordan’s arm rests on the back of my headrest, which sends shocks of warmth around me.

“Wait, so you don’t know if you’re still dating?”

Chewing on my lower lip, I turn my left signal on and pull into an all-night diner. The lights are dim and there are only two cars parked in the parking lot. It’s decorated in fifties-style decor, black-and-white tiled floor, shiny red leather booths, and Formica tables. Even an old jukebox plays songs from that era. We choose a booth near the back and settle across from each other. The waitress shows up chewing on bubble gum, wearing a red and white pinstriped blouse and a white skirt. Her dusty-brown hair is cut in a cute bob that represents the fifties.

“What can I getcha?” she asks as she whips out a green order sheet.

Jordan glances at me and then smiles deeply at the waitress, whose name tag reads
‘
Dinah
.’

“Dinah,” Jordan says with charisma, “I’d like a chocolate malt and a bacon cheeseburger.”

She jots down his order and turns to me, her brown eyes looking not quite at me, more like through me.

“I’ll have a Diet Coke and the French dip sandwich, please.”

“Sure thing. Anything else?” Dinah asks, and turns to leave before we can ask for more. Jordan’s wearing a smug little smile and staring at me, which makes me feel like I have food on my face, even though I know for a fact I haven’t eaten anything in hours.

“What?” I ask, finally giving in to my self-consciousness.

“I think you’ve gotten prettier,” he says. “How is that possible?”

Blood floods to my cheeks in embarrassment. “You’re wrong,” I say, averting my eyes. It’s him who has become better looking.

“I’m not, and you never answered my question about Nick,” he says.

“Vic.”

“Sure.”

“We had a fight,” I say with a heavy sigh. “I told him about your letter and the tickets to your show.”

“Well, he’s an ass hat,” Jordan says with a cocky smile. “You don’t belong to him and he doesn’t make decisions for you.”

“Be nice. We fought about some other stuff too, not just you.”

“So while you were dating someone else you were thinking of me?”

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I nod and chew on my bottom lip. I couldn’t help but think of him. As much as I love being with Vic, Jordan was always ever present. There were subtle things that would make me think of him—music, the spare bedroom in Gran’s house, tattoos on the arms of men I would see while in public places. I tried not to think of him, and there were moments when he was out of my mind, and truthfully I was thankful.

Vic has been a blessing to my life. He has been so patient and kind and has been there for me when I needed him.

“How about when you kissed him? Did you think of me then?”

“No!” I never did that, did I? I’m sure I didn’t, but how come I suddenly feel uncomfortable. Where is this conversation going? Our food is delivered and we eat mostly in silence, though more than once do I feel Jordan’s eyes on me. He pays for our meal and on our way out of the diner, Jordan grabs my hand and a bolt of heat runs up my arm. At my car, Jordan pulls me into him and locks his eyes on mine. He raises a hand and slowly tucks my hair behind my ear. A thousand butterflies have taken up residence in my chest where my heart used to be and I don’t know if I can keep breathing. Only a couple of weeks ago Vic and I were going strong and heavy. How in such a short time can everything change?

Jordan steps close enough I can feel the heat radiating from his body. This isn’t like the last time he had me pressed against my car. This time something is different, there’s a desire pulsing off of us, an energy that can only be described as magnetic.

His gaze rolls over my face, searching me, settling on my lips, and as if by pure need, I lick them slowly.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Jordan says as I nod in agreement. Last time he kissed me it was forceful, passionate, and left me breathless; this time, holy crap. When our lips meet, a fierce jolt of electricity jumps across my skin, and even though the kiss is patient it’s filled with promises and hope. It’s as though we are breathing for one another, trusting in things we cannot see.

We break apart, breathless, when I feel a slight buzzing coming from my purse.

“Either you’re really excited, or your phone is vibrating on my junk,” Jordan whispers at my ear. I release a heavy breath and reach for my phone in my purse, which coincidently is resting between Jordan and me, right where he mentioned.

My fingers fumble on the edges of my phone and as I put the phone to my ear, I notice the way my hand trembles. What am I doing here with Jordan?

“Hello?” My voice sounds hollow and nervous. Jordan pulls away and studies my face as I blankly listen to the man on the phone. The voice on the other end begins to sound like he’s speaking under water—there is no distinction between words and the sounds are muffled. The phone slips from my hand and it’s not until I feel the stinging at my knees do I realized I’ve collapsed to the pavement.

“Jemma!” Jordan shouts as he kneels next to me. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“The phone, he’s still on the…” I can’t finish the sentence, let alone my thoughts. Jordan grabs the phone and finishes the conversation. My brain isn’t processing the information I just heard, let alone what Jordan is saying to the man on my phone. By the time he ends the call, blood has begun to drip from my knees, and wet, hot tears glide down my cheeks. Somehow my brain hasn’t caught up to my emotions, and even as Jordan tries to speak to me, I can’t hear anything but a violent ringing in my ears.

“I’m going to get you home, tonight,” Jordan says as his arms glide under mine so he can lift me to my feet. “Can you walk?” The ringing in my ears trumps all other noises. “Jemma, snap out of it. She’s going to be okay.”

Somehow I end up in the rental car and then back at my hotel room where Jordan gathers my things and packs them into my small suitcase.

“My manager has arranged a private plane to take you home. Let’s go.” I nod in agreement, but as we approach the elevator my legs buckle and I drop to the floor again. “Jemma,” Jordan shouts. “You have to get up, you’ve got to get home. Give me your phone.”

The walls of the elevator feel as though they are compressing me into a square box. It’s hot and smells like sour bath towels and chlorine. The box grows smaller and smaller and the heat keeps rising. I just can’t process what’s going on.

Seconds, maybe hours later, I don’t know, time holds no meaning, we arrive at the airport. Jordan somehow manages to go through the security line with me and walk with me to the plane. Maybe this is all some kind of messed up dream and my life hasn’t just come crashing down around me. Maybe it’s an awful prank. Maybe it’s me who’s lying in a hospital bed and dying.

“Jemma,” Jordan says from out of nowhere. “He wants to talk to you.”

“He?” I feel like I’ve taken a bath in vodka; everything burns and my tongue feels like it’s been zapped with a Taser. My eyes can’t focus on anything and all rational thought has flown out the window.

“Man, she’s in shock or something. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” I hear Jordan and the words he says, but they mean nothing. They are white noise, something to fill the background with. “Yeah, the plane lands at two thirty a.m. at Gate B. I think you’ll need to be there to get her off the plane.”

He’s quiet for a minute while the person on the other end of the call speaks. I close my eyes and catch the last of the conversation before I plunge into a deep sleep.

“I have another show tomorrow, dude. I can’t just fly to Warner with her.”

The darkness falls upon me as the plane takes off and what was left of my heart crumbles to bits, leaving me with nothing but an aching hole in my chest.