Talon

I shake my head. "No, I'm not. Not even fuckin' close."

"That's bullshit, Tal. Don't let this wreck your plans. It's only been a few weeks."

Lukas waits in the car while I go inside to pay the final balance, and I leave with a tiny black glossy bag holding a diamond ring that cost almost as much as my motorcycle. She's worth every penny, I just don't think I'm worth it anymore.

"That's fuckin' beautiful," Lukas says when I get back in the car and show him the ring. "You better give it to her, or I'll kick your ass."

"I'll think about it. Let's just go."

My head is pounding by the time we get to Asher's studio, but I'm determined to get back to practicing every day and writing new music.

"Hey, you're here," Asher says when we walk in. "Grab a guitar and let's get started. We were just about to start with 'Links of Lies.'"

Ah. "Links of Lies" is a new rock song I wrote right before we left for the Halloween tour. The plan was to save it for our next CD coming out this spring. It starts with a killer violin solo that Lukas plays, then the drums come in, followed by the rest of us. I'm doing fine until the drums start, which sound both incredibly loud yet muffled at the same time. When the other parts come in and Asher starts to sing, none of it is making sense in my head. It's like I'm not hearing the music in any order. It's a horrific mess filtering through my ears, and I can't find the beat. The whoosh and screech are like gremlins, not letting in the sound I want to hear. I have to move to the side in an attempt to get away from the rest of the band and I stumble in the process, tripping over a wire I didn't even see.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Asher yells, rushing over to me. "Everyone stop."

I lean against the wall and try to focus my vision, which goes south sometimes during an episode.

Fuck me.

Asher touches my shoulder. "You okay? Your eyes are twitching again."

I shrug his hand off me. "I'm fine. It's just louder than usual."

His eyes stay on mine. "Tal, listen to me. It's not any louder than it ever is when we practice. You're not ready for this yet. I told you I thought it was too soon."

Storm appears next to him, peering down at me while I kneel on the floor so I don't fall the fuck over.

"You should rest for a few more weeks. Give yourself time to adjust."

"I'm sick of fucking resting."

"We know that. But you have to. You can't just ignore this."

I rub my head, wishing the noise would stop. If it would just fucking stop, I would be fine.

"I couldn't ignore this if I fucking tried, Ash. It's ruining my goddamn life."

"It's not." He glances over at Lukas. "Can you take him back home?"

I push myself to my feet. "Stop treating me like a fucking baby."

He steers me away from the setup, his arm around my shoulders, and I hate that I have to lean on him to walk straight.

"Ash, you don't know what this feels like…"

"You're right, I don't. But I can tell it's horrible. Take another week or two—as long as you need. We're all worried about you, and we just want you to get better." This reminds me so much of when Vandal was out of his mind with grief and we all asked him to take a break from the band. I swear we are all cursed.

I want to punch something or bang my head against the wall—anything to end this torture that's living in my ear.

"Let Lukas take you home. Keep taking your meds. You quit smoking and drinking, right?"

"Yes, I quit both. I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were. This is gonna take some time. But we'll be here when you're ready to come back. You're the one who writes the killer songs, man. We need you."

Bit by bit, I'm being forced to let go of every piece of my life that makes me me.

"It'll get better," Lukas says after a few minutes of driving in silence. Well, silence for him. Not so much for me when it sounds like I have an airplane taking off in my head.

"I'm going to lose everything."

"You're not. Have you tried just playing acoustic? At home?"

I shake my head, a habit that's hard to break but throws my balance off for a few seconds every time. "No, I haven't. Why would it matter?"

"I want you to try it later. See how it feels and sounds, and then call me."

"Why?"

"Just do it. Stop being so defensive with all of us. We're all on your side, here, Tal. Give Asia the ring, go on your honeymoon, maybe find a support group for people with this same thing."

I turn my head to laugh at him so fast that I almost throw up on the front seat. "A fucking support group? And I can't get on a plane, so where would we go on a honeymoon? She deserves better than this shit."

"You can honeymoon in a tent in your own fucking backyard, man. It's not about the where, and trust me, she doesn't care about any of that."

"She told you that? When have you talked to her?"

"Take it easy. She texts me sometimes. She's worried about you. She says you're distancing yourself from her."

"That's great." I know Asia well enough to know this is bad. She would never reach out to Lukas unless she were incredibly unhappy. She uses Kat as her venting post. If she's escalated to Lukas, then she's feeling way worse about us than she's letting me see.

"You can't be mad at her, Tal. She feels alone. She misses you. A relationship can only take so much stress, ya know."

"Tell me about it," I mumble. My marriage is crumbling just as fast as my career.

I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. I want this all to stop.

* * *

I hide the ring in my jacket pocket so she doesn't see it when I come into the house, and I make Lukas leave instead of walking me inside like I'm some kind of wasted fool.

I find her in the craft room, fitting an outfit on one of her mannequins.

"Hey, you're back soon." She kisses my cheek.

"I couldn't play… The noise was just too much. I dunno. It made me feel disoriented. It fuckin' sucked."

She cocks her head at me and smiles with a hint of sadness. "Maybe you should try the hearing aid."

"No. No fucking way."

I can't do that. To me, that's like giving in—throwing in the towel and letting this win. Admitting that it's crippling me.

"Okay. Just a suggestion, I don't want to fight. At all."

She turns toward me fully, forgetting her creepy mannequin, and grabs the sides of my jacket, pushing it off me and letting it fall to the floor. She reaches for me and runs her hands under my shirt, her fingers gliding over my stomach, then going for my jeans zipper. Her eyes lock on to mine with a defiant fire I've never seen in her before.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

"Taking what I want."

I hiss in a breath as she tugs my zipper down and grabs the waistband of my jeans, popping the button with her fingers and pushing them down, kneeling in front of me to pull them off, along with my boots. Standing, she closes the small space between us and kisses my lips while unbuttoning my flannel shirt.

"I'd blow you, but I don't want you looking down at me." I try to quell my anger over that as she tugs my shirt off and kisses my chest before lifting her head to look up at me, her eyes still dancing with sensuality. She makes a huge effort to look directly at me when she talks now, and I love her even more for that. "Right now, I want you to fuck me standing up, cuz I'm going crazy wanting you."

Oof. The sultriness of her sweet voice talking about sex instantly gives me a monstrous hard-on. I grab her face in my hands and kiss her hard, invading her mouth with my tongue. Two weeks without her has practically driven me insane, but my last failed attempt was one too many for me. She reaches between us and grasps my cock, stroking me slowly up and down, her fingers curled around me. I moan against her lips and suck her tongue into my mouth, making her grip me harder.

"You want that?" I ask, losing myself in the way she feels, tastes, and sounds. The whoosh is even fading.

"Yes…please."

I twist her around and yank her pants down, and she bends over the table, her beautiful round ass rubbing against my cock. I push into her slowly, both of us moaning at the same time with the pleasure of finally connecting again. And my girl's right, it's less dizzying doing her standing up. I grip her hips, rocking into her with slow, smooth thrusts, afraid if I move too much or too fast, I'll set off another episode. I refuse to leave my wife midfuck again.

We both come fast and hard, in unison. After a few moments of catching her breath, she turns around and circles my neck with her arms, planting a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

"You're the best, ya know that?" I brush my hand across her cheek.

"I think if you stop being so angry at the things you can't do right now, you'll see there's a lot you can do to work around it."

"You're right. You keep finding ways to help me. Don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be falling over in your food and not fucking me. I'm not okay with either of those things," she says with an impish grin, pulling up her pants. "Now, stand still, I'm going to dress you, too."

I hang on to the edge of the table while she kneels in front of me, helping me step into my jeans, then my boots, and tying them for me. I'm not sure if seeing my wife on her knees dressing me is kinky as hell or totally pathetic.

Or maybe it shows how much she loves me, even if she won't say it. I can cling to that wishful thinking, right?

My eyes glance over to my leather jacket, thinking about the little treasure buried in my pocket. Even though we're already married, proposing to her scares me. She never said yes to me. She said yes to the idea of me, based on a pile of papers with little check marks in the right boxes.