“Sometimes the ones who are the closest cause the most pain.” ~Johnny Outlaw
Dex’s house is everything I expect a famous, single drummer’s house to be like. Smoke fills the air, women are everywhere, and my stomach is tied up in knots, wondering what I’ve walked into.
Rochelle was not happy about me calling at two-thirty in the morning, but when I explained the situation, she asked Cory where Dalton was. After finding the house, here I am. I never realized how low-key our relationship has been until I start looking around this party. Dalton and I spend time with each other, hidden away from the rest of the world for the most part. This house, this party, and seeing Dex on the couch smoking from a bong with girls hanging on him is a harsh reality check. Dalton has managed to keep me away from this side of his lifestyle and I’m starting to think it was on purpose.
Waving my hand in front of my face to clear the smoke, I walk through the living room and into the kitchen, searching for him. I see a man in the dining room chatting to a woman. I continue outside to the large deck that seems made for parties like this and look toward the hot tub. I’m relieved Dalton’s not in it. Some other guy with a gaggle of girls is though. When I return to the living room, someone puts their arm around my shoulders. “Where you been hiding?” he slurs as I spin out from under him, putting distance between us.
“I’m looking for someone,” I reply to discourage him.
“Aren’t we all? I can be your someone tonight.”
Shaking my head, I say, “I’m looking for my boyfriend.”
“If you don’t find him, come find me.” He’s easily distracted by another woman walking by and follows her. I hear him say to her, “Where you been hiding?”
That makes me laugh. What wipes the smile off my face is seeing all the drugs—white powder on the coffee table, the bong next to it, joints being passed as well as little bags of pills everybody’s so interested in.
My heart starts racing, worried what I might find if I find Dalton at all. I grab the railing of the stairs, steadying myself as I walk up. I hear laughter in one room I pass on the second floor and a guitar being played up ahead. I follow the sound, the music familiar from times we spent alone and he played for me. I walk under a large archway and into a room painted deep red where he sits, the center of everyone’s attention. I stay back, not hiding, but not making a show of my arrival.
Dalton sits on one side of a dark purple, velvet couch, girls next to him—one perched on the furniture’s arm, three squeezed onto the cushions. A guy sitting in a throne type chair has his eyes closed with another girl on his lap who’s nodding to the music. He seems out of it by the off-beats of his rhythm. There are more drugs on the table and lots of beer cans, a few half-emptied bottles of liquor are next to toppled over cups. At least another eight people linger in the room. Only a few notice me.
I want to be mad at him. I should be, but when Dalton finishes a song he seemed to be escaping into, he looks up unaware of his audience. His gaze lazily glides across the room and lands on me as if he sensed my presence. His smile matches his gaze—lazy in ways that appear beyond alcohol induced. “Angel,” he says and everyone in the room turns to look at me. “You came for me.” His words come slowly, but his look becomes intense, set on me.
I smile, needing to coax him from this room without making a scene. My tone is soft and welcoming as I signal back down the hall. “I did. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
“That’s my girl,” he announces proud, unmoving from his spot.
I think I gasp like everyone else in the room when he says it—so open and free about it.
“Since when do you have a girl, Johnny?” the girl on the arm next to him asks, running her hand over his shoulder.
He glares at her hand, as if the touch itself is insulting. When he looks up, he says, “Since I fell in love.”
My heart stops, skips, then races. I can’t believe he just said that in a room full of people. Overwhelmed by a gush of emotions, my mind blurs.
“Angel?”
I look up and right into his eyes, the gawkers in the room irrelevant. “Yes?”
“Come here.”
The girl next to him says, “I’m here.” She’s flirting and I watch as she moves to touch him again.
I step forward and go to him. Offering my hand over the table. “Time to go.”
He takes it and stands, moving his guitar into the air as he slides between the others to get out. “It’s been real,” he says, and walks with me into the hallway. As soon as we’re hidden in the darkness of the hall, his body pushes against mine, my back hitting a large wooden door between two bookshelves full of albums. “I want to make you come and then fuck you.”
His words are dirty, the look in his eye equally naughty, and as usual my body reacts. Wanting to get him out of here, I make a suggestion. “I’ll drive us home and then we can fuck all night.”
“I don’t wanna wait.” The door behind me falls open and I stumble backward. He quickly shuts it, then locks it. Setting the guitar down, he keeps his eyes on me as if I might escape if he doesn’t. His shirt is taken off and tossed, his muscles looking hard, tense, almost threatening.
I’m not scared, but deep, way deep down, there’s an inkling that wanes, despite my thought. Maybe I should be. He walks forward, not bothering to take off the rest of his clothes, though he does undo his belt and button fly. My legs hit the end of the bed and I take a deep breath. I exhale, and say, “Dalton—”
“Don’t you want me?”
“I do, but—”
His hands fly out to the side, the gun tattoos on display, the way he stands full of arrogance. “Everybody fucking wants me, but my own woman.”
“I want you.” I open my arms wide, the wounded rock star out tonight. “I want you. I always want you. Have I not proved that to you?”
He holds my face—firm, but not hurting—maintaining eye contact. “Let me have you.”
“You have me. I’m right here,” I say, feeling like we’ve shared this moment before.
Our lips meet and although his muscles feel ready to fight, his kisses are gentle, ready to love. With a peek over his shoulder, I verify the door is locked once again and then lay back, giving him what he needs and taking what I want—our bodies speaking the language we share together, every caress a way to express our feelings.
Needing to give him all of me, to prove that I can weather his storm. Dalton undoes my jeans and pulls them down, a roughness to the action. My shoes fall from my feet and my jeans are yanked the rest of the way. He climbs on top of me and smirks. “We never had that talk.”
“We’re not having it now. Condom or no sex,” I state firmly.
He digs out his wallet as he balances above me. With one hand, he flips it open and pulls out the packet. So cliché, but I can’t say I’m not happy he has it.
Sitting up, he slides the condom on then drops forward again, grabbing my arms and pulling them above my head. He thrusts as he kisses, my head digging into the mattress from the sudden impact. He’s lost in his own world, his body trumping mine without care. I start wondering how drunk he is as he starts to take too much, pleasure becoming pain, so I call to him again. “Dalton.” I free my hands and push against him. “Dalton!” When he doesn’t respond again, I yell, “Johnny!”
He opens his eyes and stops moving.
“You’re hurting me,” I whisper just as a tear escapes.
His body jerks away and he stumbles backwards.
As images of the drugs I saw downstairs fast forward through my head, I lift up on my elbows and call him, trying to find a way inside his head to the man I know. “Jack?”
“Jack. Jack.” He grabs his head, holding it tight. “Don’t call me that. It’s wrong. All wrong.”
I sit up abruptly. His behavior is odd and he starts to fall apart before my eyes, his hands grabbing at the wall as he slides to the floor. I jump off the bed and kneel in front of him. “Dalton? Dalton. Did you take something? What did you take?” He closes his eyes and lowers his head, his body starting to shake. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm him.
“Stay back!” he shouts, his hands covering his ears as if it pains him to hear me. Leaning down, his body balls up and he lays there.
“Shit! Dalton. Baby, can you hear me?” When he doesn’t react, I get up and pull my pants on, buttoning them as I run out the door—down the stairs, and into the living room. “Dex, I need you.”
Dex looks up from the couch with a smarmy grin, and says, “I can squeeze ya in, sweetheart.”
“No, Jack needs you.”
“Who the fuck is Jack?” Putting his cigarette to his mouth, he sucks long and hard.
I whisper, “Johnny.”
“Fuck. Go bother Tommy.”
“Tommy’s here?”
“Dining room. That way.”
I run through the kitchen and into the dining room, finding that same couple I saw talking earlier. “Are you Tommy?” I startle him when I shake his arm, interrupting their conversation. “Are you Tommy? Jack needs you.”
“Whoa! What the fuck?”
“Please help me. Dalton needs you. Please. Please help him.”
“What?” he asks, standing up.
Looking at the woman, I turn to Tommy again, not wanting to say too much in front of others. “I’m Holli. Please. Help me.”
I take off running toward the stairs with Tommy right behind me. I open the door to the bedroom and find Dalton in the same position I left him, but it looks like he’s passed out. “Oh my God. Please help him.”
“What did he take?” He asks, kicking the door shut.
I lock it. “I don’t know. He just started freaking out. I saw pot and um, coke, liquor. I don’t know what else is out there.”
Tommy struggles to get him upright, then shakes him. “Motherfucking Johnny! Wake up!”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“No…”
“Dalton?” I say, hoping for a response this time.
He startles awake, jumping away from me. “What the… Where am I?”
His throat sounds dry as he coughs to clear it. I hand him a glass of water and watch as he drinks. Stroking his cheek, I turn my palm out, raising the back of my hand to his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
He’s calmer now, leaning against the headboard, when he replies, “My head hurts. Why are you looking at me like that? You look tired.”
“I am.”
Looking toward the window in his bedroom, his expression lightens, and he says, “We can watch the sunrise together.”
“And the sunset.” My statement seems to confuse him. “Are you hungry,” I ask. “I can order something. You should eat. You need to eat.” I try to settle the nerves rising within me.
“What’s going on? Why do you look so worried, Holliday?”
“What do you remember?”
His temper flares. “What the fuck is going on?”
I stand slowly, not wanting to upset him, not knowing the repercussions of the drugs he took. He keeps his eyes locked on mine while I move to the door. “You did drugs. You’re coming down. I’m not really sure. I never did drugs.”
His head jerks back. “I don’t do drugs, not the heavy stuff anymore. Pot occasionally.”
“I only know what I saw and was told, Dalton.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I don’t have a tone.”
“The absence of tone is what I don’t like. Why don’t you have a tone? You look scared of me,” he says, tilting his head. “Do I scare you?”
“No. I’ll be right back.”
“Holliday?” I hear him say just as I shut the door and rush downstairs to find Tommy.
“He’s awake,” I tell him. “You should talk to him.”
I turn to head back upstairs, but Dalton is standing at the top. By the look of his tensed jaw and the hardness of his arms as he grips the railing, he looks pissed. He asks, “What’s going on?” Tommy steps next to me, his arm going to the rail in front of me. My eyes tear up when I realize Tommy is taking a protective stance. With his hands out, Dalton walks slowly down the steps. “What’s going on?” he repeats when neither of us answers him the first time.
Tommy starts talking, “You took drugs. You took them when you said you weren’t going to do that shit anymo—”
“Not you!” he demands, pointing his finger at Tommy. I jump in response, startled. “I don’t give a shit what you have to say. I want her to tell me.” Dalton takes a breath and exhales while coming closer. “What’s going on, Holliday?”
When he reaches me, I take his hand and tug gently, encouraging him to come with me. “We should talk.”
He’s hesitant but follows, sitting down next to me on the couch. When I glance over at Tommy, he says, “I’m gonna get myself a drink. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Dalton is quick. “Why would she need you?”
“I meant either of you. If either of you need anything. Fuck, Johnny. You make things so damn hard.” He walks off, mumbling to himself.
“What do you remember?” I ask, rubbing Dalton’s leg to bring his attention back to me.
“I didn’t do any,” he says. “I remember that much.”
Looking at my lap, I bring my hand back and entwine my fingers to keep them to myself. “You were definitely on drugs. We have no doubt about that.” I look up, not afraid of him or his outbursts, his darkness or his demons. “Are you saying you were drugged?”
“I’m saying I didn’t take any drugs. I remember a crazy dream, but that’s it.”
“You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were dying and I didn’t know how to save you. I had to run through a house full of people looking for someone I’ve never met who I knew would keep it from becoming a spectacle.”
He gaze falls away and he says, “I’m sorry.” When he looks back up, his spirit is gone, a sadness replacing it. “Thank you.”
“You should tell that to Tommy. He knew what to do.”
He nods.
Leaning forward, I touch his cheek and then kiss him. Whispering, I say, “I’m here for you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be, but I know my limits and last night got pretty damn close to crossing it when you accused me of cheating and then the drugs.”
Turning his head to the side, our eyes meet. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I swear I didn’t take any drugs.”
I search his eyes for the lie I expect to find, but I don’t see it, not even hidden in the deep green edges. Finding sincerity instead, I smile and hug him. “I was so scared.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, hugging me, his hold on me tight.
Tommy comes back out and says, “I went ahead and ordered dinner.”
“It’s nighttime?” Dalton asks, his expression still a bit confused as he rubs his head.
“You’ve been asleep all day. I kept checking to make sure you were breathing, but Tommy said you were fine.”
He doesn’t apologize this time, but I see the regret in his eyes.
Over Chinese food, we spend the evening going over the details of the night before. With his chopsticks in the air, he says, “Dex didn’t make me any drinks last night. I drank beer at his house, bottled beer, so I don’t think I was slipped anything.”
“Did you smoke anything?” Tommy asks, putting a bite of Kung Pao Chicken in his mouth.
“I’ve cut down, but I bummed a few cigarettes at the reception,” he replies. “I needed it.”
“I would too,” Tommy adds, “if I had that kind of crazy coming after me.”
“What kind of crazy?” I ask, sitting upright.
Tommy speaks without thinking. “The lovely bride decided she wanted her present in the form of Johnny.”
“Tommy,” Dalton warns.
I stare at Dalton as he glares at Tommy. “Tell me what happened,” I say, losing my appetite.
Dalton looks at me. “It’s no big deal. Nothing happened.”
“Something happened or Tommy wouldn’t have said that.”
“He’s talking shit. Nothing happened.”
After wiping my mouth with a napkin, I calmly set it down on my plate and push away from the table. I stand up, irritated, and head for the bathroom. Dalton reaches for me, but misses, his fingertips grazing my hand. “Holliday.”
My pace picks up. He runs to catch me, jumping in front of me and blocking my way. “Hey. Nothing happened.”
I look away. “Okay, nothing happened.”
He lifts my chin and directs me to face him. “I don’t want you to repeat what I say. I want you to believe me.”
Pursing my lips, I bite the inside of my cheek in contemplation. “I’ve been cheated on, I’ve been berated, and I’ve been treated secondary to business, sports, family, and cars in relationships. Through all of the crap I’ve been through, the one person I knew I could always rely on was me. So if you’re standing there asking me to trust you, sometimes I’m gonna struggle.”
“She said she’d leave her fiancé if I’d take her back.”
My mouth drops open. Closing my eyes, I start to rub my temples. When I open them again, I say, “That sounds like more than nothing, Dalton.”
“It was nothing to me.”
Just like that… my heart is his again.
There’s something about a man who has the ability to knock you off your feet with only a few sweet words. I throw myself on him, holding him tight. With my cheek pressed to his chest, I say, “Last night you told a room full of people that you love me.”
I feel him tense, his hands trying to push me away. I embrace him even tighter until his arms wrap around me and he’s holding me just as tight.
“I do,” he whispers.
My smile returns. His words are not direct, but the message is loud and clear.