“He’s not going to die on us, is he?” Trey asked.
“His doctor said his surgery went well,” Aggie said. “They got the bullet out. The wound is clean. It just needs to heal.”
“Should have known something like this would happen,” Eric said, looking at Jace anxiously. “He was supposed to record in the studio this afternoon, and pow—he gets shot. This fuckin’ album is cursed, I tell you.”
“You recorded drum tracks this afternoon, and nothing happened to you,” Trey reminded him.
“Yet,” Eric said, glancing over his shoulder as if searching for the curse cloud now following him.
“Any idea how long he’ll be out of commission?” Sed asked.
“A few weeks.”
“We leave for Canada in three days,” Brian said.
“You’re leaving again already?” Aggie hated to be the needy girlfriend, but she never got to see him, and Jace had no business touring the continent while he was injured.
“Supposed to,” Sed said. “Can’t really perform without our bassist though.”
“How did he get shot?” Eric asked.
“Protecting me.”
Eric grinned at her crookedly. “You’d never know it from looking at him, but the dude is badass.”
“I’m sure he’d like you to tell him that,” Aggie said.
“No can do. We don’t need another egomaniac in the band. Sed’s got that persona covered.” Eric winced when Sed slapped him on the back of the head.
“What do you need us to do for you, Aggie?” Jessica asked, putting an arm around Aggie and rubbing the middle of her back.
Aggie’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Me?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t hurt.”
“That’s not what I meant. It must’ve been horrible to witness someone you…” Jessica’s eyebrows arched in question. “Care about?”
Aggie nodded. She’d admit that she cared about Jace. Even in front of all these guys that meant so much to him and whom she didn’t know very well.
“It must’ve been horrible to witness someone you care about get shot. I thought I’d stroke out when Sed blew out his throat onstage last month.”
Sed kissed his fiancée’s temple. “It wasn’t as bad as it looked, baby.”
“How would you like to watch helplessly while I lay unconscious in a puddle of blood?”
Sed jerked Jessica into his arms and rubbed his lips over her silky, strawberry blonde hair. “Don’t even put that vision in my head.” He offered Aggie a pat on the shoulder. “If you need anything, anything at all, just ask. We’ll help.”
“I’m fine. And I think Jace mostly needs to rest. I don’t know what he’ll want to do about the upcoming tour.” Aggie could guess that he wouldn’t want to let his bandmates down, but she didn’t want to speak for him.
“Actually, I might have a solution,” Eric said. “I’ll need to make some phone calls.”
“You have a solution?” Brian asked.
“What? You don’t trust me to solve our problems?” Eric asked.
Sed, Brian, and Trey shook their heads in unison. For the first time since Aggie had stepped out of her car in Los Angeles, she smiled.
Chapter 22
Jace moaned in his sleep.
The gurney followed him. He ran down an endless corridor. White tiles, white walls, blinding white light from above. Antiseptic smells. Jason was too afraid to look behind him. He could hear the squeak of the wheels, so he knew the gurney was still there. Still following him.
Kiss your mother good-bye, son.
Jason stopped. The squeaky wheels stopped right behind him.
Kiss your mother good-bye, son. Kiss your mother—
He covered his ears to drown out his father’s voice. No. I can’t. Don’t make me.
This might be the last time you see her. Don’t you love her? Don’t you care?
That’s not her. It’s not her.
He didn’t want to look at her, with her face smashed, swollen, and bruised.
Unrecognizable. Not human. Her body twisted. Contorted. That thing on the gurney was not his mother.
The gurney bumped into his shoulder blades. His heart lurched. He ran. Ran faster than he’d ever run before.
Don’t step on a crack. He tried to jump over them, but they moved beneath his feet, and he couldn’t avoid them all.
He stepped on one. He’d heard her body crunch when the approaching headlights disappeared. Over the sounds of the rending metal and shattering glass, he’d heard it from the backseat.
Her back is broken, son. If she lives, she’ll never walk again.
But she’ll still be able to play the piano, won’t she, Father?
I don’t think so.
For that, Jason grieved.
Don’t cry, boy. Men don’t cry. Not ever.
He didn’t cry. He ran. Ran until he couldn’t run anymore. No breath left in him. No energy. If he couldn’t run, he had to hide. Hide from it. If it found him, it would get him. The thing on the gurney pretending to be his mother would get him.
An old shed became his salvation. He crammed his body into a small space. A dark place. Musty like an old attic. The air stale and stifling. But he was alone here. He liked being alone. Alone was safe. He listened for the squeak of wheels. They never came, but after a long time his father did.
Everyone has been looking for you all day. I don’t have the patience for this bullshit right now, Jason. Your mother is dead. Do you understand? She’s dead! You’re alive—not a fucking scratch on you—but she’s dead.
Jason was too stunned to feel the first blow.
Dead? What did it mean to be dead? Was it like sleeping? A long sleep with no more pain?
Too confused to feel the second blow.
Don’t you ever hide from me again, you piece of shit. Not ever.
Jason heard the squeak of the gurney’s wheels outside the shed door.
Too afraid to feel the third blow. The fourth. Fifth. The pain washed over him like a comforting blanket. He deserved this. Hurt me, Father. Hurt me.
Jace’s eyes flipped open, his heart thumping with terror. His gaze darted around the sterile white walls. The IV bag hanging beside the bed. The heart rate monitor. The curtain rod above his bed. Instead of receding, fear rose up his neck until it strangled him. An instinctual need to run gripped him. Jace reached for the IV needle in the back of his hand, but before he could jerk it out, someone grabbed his wrist.
“Jace,” Aggie said. “It’s okay. Do you remember what happened? You’re in the hospital.”
He knew he was in the fucking hospital, and he needed to get out. Immediately. Years ago, a counselor had told him that he had post-traumatic stress disorder, but somehow, putting a name to it didn’t make it easier to deal with when it caught him off guard and sent him into a panic. It had been a long time since he’d dreamed of his mother’s death. A long time since the traumas of his youth had controlled his reactions to the outside world. He’d thought he’d moved beyond this bullshit—apparently not.
“Aggie,” he said, grabbing her with both arms and pulling her against him on the bed. He hugged her as tight as he could, which didn’t seem nearly tight enough. “Aggie, you have to get me out of here.”
“Sweetheart, you’re hurt. You can’t leave.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, which he vaguely recognized as throbbing dully in pain.
“I have to leave. Right now.”