Boiling Point (Feverish #1.5) Page 5

  “No way. You need to tell him.”

  Clay’s ears had perked up then, because he was damn sure the him the man was alluding to was Clay himself. He inched closer to the corner as Abby said, “I’m not ready yet.”

  “When will you be ready?”

  “I don’t know. He’s the father of my baby. I still love him, you know?”

  “But don’t you love me?”

  It got quiet, and Clay hadn’t been able to stand it anymore. He moved the few steps to the corner of the trailer so he could see—and he turned the corner to see his wife’s face close to the one of her lover. They were getting ready to kiss or embrace or both…and Clay had felt like his wife had just taken a machete to him, slicing his limbs and his heart. He didn’t remember doing it, but he knew he’d turned away. When Abby found him, he was standing over Jasmine’s crib, watching her lungs expand and collapse with each breath as air made its way in and out of her body.

  That sense of betrayal, of feeling a lover’s apathy, washed over Clay again, because Emily and that guy were close to each other, engaging in some kind of spat, oblivious to all else. And he wasn’t going to stand there and watch while his heart was ripped out of his chest, once more to be flayed for the amusement of a woman who just couldn’t help herself.

  Maybe it was time for Clay to become a monk…except they were celibate. Damn it. Maybe just a player. Yeah, he could probably do that.

  But first…he had to nurse his bleeding heart.

  Chapter Eight

  HOW THIS BAND managed to hire the world’s most notorious assholes, Emily would never know, but she was beginning to feel certain that being a world-class jerk was one of the desired skills. Tell us a little about yourself.

  Yeah, I graduated from community college seven years ago with an associate’s degree in law enforcement and worked as a bouncer in a bar and as a security guard at the mall. But what I’m best known for is being a real cocksucker to everyone I know.

  Emily was pretty sure this guy regularly cut drivers off in traffic and drove around with his high beams on. He probably also annoyed the shit out of waitresses and clerks everywhere. He was just that kind of numb nuts.

  Oh, God. Clay was rubbing off on her. She rarely thought of people in those terms, but Clay was right about a lot of things—and that title was fitting. It didn’t matter what she said or how she said it, this guy was going to argue with her and insist that he was right. There was no gray area—it was only black and white with him.

  God. What a jerk.

  She was getting ready to just tell him Fine, whatever, when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. On the one hand, she was afraid of glancing away, because losing eye contact with this jerk might be a sign of weakness to him, but she needed to know if the person there was this guy’s backup or a potential ally. You would have thought Emily had called in a threat against the president of the United States the way this guy was reacting to a tiny rock propped in the door.

  When she looked to the side, she saw Clay, and she felt her heart lighten. In spite of the fact that he’d felt quiet and sometimes even uninterested since they’d been on tour, he was her beacon of light out here in this sea of darkness. What a relief.

  But, just as she moved her head to see him, he was turning and walking away. What the hell? Did Clay too think she was in the wrong? Was he on this asshole’s side?

  “Clay!” she yelled. She saw Craig sneer out of the corner of her eye, because he was probably thinking she needed her boyfriend to do her fighting for her. No, she didn’t, but she did want Clay’s help. Clay could explain—probably better than she was, because, after all, she was just a dumb woman to this obnoxious prick—that he was blowing everything out of proportion.

  But Clay kept walking. What the hell was the matter with him? “Clay?”

  He shook his head, continuing to move away from her, but she could see that his shoulders were slumped. “Clay, what the hell?”

  “Not now, Emily. I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

  She stopped, feeling how her brow had furrowed. “Did something happen that I should know about?”

  Clay turned around, and she could see the hurt in his eyes, but that didn’t make any damn sense. The interview shouldn’t have made him look like that. What he said was even weirder. “You would know.”

  He kept walking, but she froze in her tracks. She felt like she’d somehow been dropped in some absurdist play about her life. She got ready to start walking again so she could look Clay in the eyes and question him, but Craig was right back at her side. “Look, lady. I know you think you’re important. You’re a personal assistant—and I suppose you’re kind of important to Jet, especially on your knees, but you don’t know security.”

  “What did you say?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You heard me.”

  She couldn’t help herself, and it was like watching someone else as she hauled back and slapped his face with full force. “I am Clay’s PA first, long before I’m his girlfriend, and you’re being a sexist asshole. I’d demand an apology, but I somehow doubt you understand how those work.”

  Craig blinked twice, and she could see a look of incredulity in his eyes. It was worth the slap and the words, but she was hurting inside, wondering what was going on with Clay.

  But that man was her hero. She thought he’d already left the area, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice from behind her that she realized he’d come back. “Is there a problem here?”

  As much as Emily wanted to turn to Clay, kiss him on the cheek, and tell him, Yes, and please tell this guy to kiss off, she knew that would undermine any progress she had made. So, cool as the breeze off a high-altitude lake, she said, “Yes, but this is something I need to deal with by myself.”

  Shit. Clay had looked hurt before, but now he looked cocky and arrogant, a lot like he had been of late. He put up his hands and said, “Whatever, babe,” and turned around, strutting back down the hall. She felt the air pass out of her lungs as though they were a balloon with a slow leak. Damn it. She didn’t need to deal with that weird attitude again.

  First things first. She turned to Craig, unable to read the look on his face. She wasn’t going to let him get a word in edgewise, because she knew she’d lose if she did. “Look, Craig, I know you’re used to dealing with groupies and bimbos and hookers and women willing to do anything—yes, I know exactly what I’m talking about when I say that they’re willing to do anything—to get with the guys in the band. I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of them yourself, and I’m sure some of them seemed incapable of putting two thoughts together on the same day. But I am not one of those women. I don’t need to start spouting my credentials, and I doubt you’d care, but I demand your respect.” She lowered her voice. Somehow, she could tell she was getting through to him, but she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d said or done to do that. For good measure, she said, “Don’t fuck with me. I will make your life a living hell if you cross me.”

  How, she wasn’t sure, but she was willing to back it up. She was over it all—over the tour, over her supposed friend feeding her crap stories to make her feel insecure, over her boyfriend’s strange behavior, but she was taking back control. She wanted to do her job and then she wanted people to leave her alone. She’d reached her boiling point, and she’d do whatever it took to make it happen.

  There must have been some psychotic glint in her eye, because Craig said, “Jesus. Okay. I was just messin’ with ya.”

  No, he hadn’t been, but if he was quitting, that was good enough. She nodded. “Glad we see eye to eye.”

  Now, though, she had the bigger problem. What the hell was wrong with Clay?

  * * *

  Goddammit. So it was true. It was all true. He should have known. All women were shit. They’d been put on this planet to rip out his heart. What hurt worst was it was like Emily was playing it all out just like Abby, to make it hurt doubly so.

  When he’d heard Emily sta
rting to tell Craig off, he’d had a glimmer of hope, but the way she’d dismissed him, saying she needed to handle it on her own, told him everything he needed to know. She was in the middle of some lovers’ spat, and she didn’t need Clay making shit worse. God, how had he been so fucking stupid?

  That might have been easy enough to fix on the road, picking up a few groupies to drown out his sorrow, but he didn’t feel like it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. His head wasn’t in the right place.

  At least he’d saved face. He’d been playing Jet long enough to know that he’d been calm, cool, and in control when he walked away.

  Maybe he’d drink a little—or a lot—to take the edge off. Tomorrow, he could take Emily aside and—shit. He didn’t know if he should fire her or just send her home. Where was Mary when he needed her? Maybe he could call her tomorrow morning and ask for her advice before talking to Emily.

  If he’d been smart, he would have found one of the groups of fans backstage and partied hard with them, but he didn’t want to. Instead, he found an unclaimed half-full bottle of liquor and snagged it before heading to the bus. Yeah, that too was stupid, because no one could vouch for the whiskey—but he didn’t care if it was spiked at this point anyway.

  As he passed Brian, his friend said, “Where the hell you goin’, man?” It was a legitimate question, considering Clay (or maybe that was Jet) rarely missed a chance to party with fans. But his heart was flayed and on display and no way was he sharing that with anyone.

  He shrugged and kept walking, barely turning his head to Brian. “Eh…not feeling so hot. Gonna find a place on the bus to curl up.” He thought there was a spare bunk, but he wasn’t positive. He’d crash on some of the other furniture if he needed to, but he couldn’t be with Emily right now. He needed time to himself. This shit was too raw and too much like his life before. Was he a cheating magnet or did all women just eventually devolve into that behavior and men were simply reluctant to talk about it?

  For now, there was much drinking that needed to be done. Figuring out sleeping arrangements would come later after the numbness blanketed him in comfort and apathy.

  It took him a while to find someone to open the goddamned bus—unusual in itself, because a lot of times the backstage parties naturally gravitated toward the hulking black beast—but that was okay. That meant he’d be by himself for a while.

  He got himself all settled in and poured a drink, but he wound up sipping it. He’d found his phone and was flipping through pictures, wondering how the hell he and Emily had gone so wrong…and so fast. Damn. They had barely been together half a year and this shit was already happening. At least Abby had waited longer.

  Clay clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, willing all the emotions down his throat with the caustic liquor he’d been nursing. He didn’t even hear her come in and only noticed her when she stood in front of him. “There you are.”

  He swallowed and looked up, feeling confused. What the hell was Debbie doing here? “Why are you looking for me? I need to be alone right now.”

  Sam’s girlfriend sat next to him on the sofa, resting her hand on his knee. Maybe he’d already had more to drink than he’d planned, because he couldn’t force himself to brush her off. “No, I don’t think you do. I sense that you need to party.”

  Was she coming on to him? “I need to drown.”

  “Oh, don’t say that, Jet.”

  Jet? He swallowed again. Yeah, he was Jet right now—and that guy probably wouldn’t care about fucking around on his girlfriend…or one of his bandmates’ girls either. His eyes searched hers as she got closer to him, her leg touching his, and he knew exactly where this was going. He held up a finger, getting ready to tell her to hit the road, when he heard his girlfriend. “What the hell’s going on here?” He looked over at her and saw a hurt look on her face, but she had turned and was storming off the bus before he could say a word.

  “Debbie, go find your boyfriend, okay? Stop dragging us into your bullshit drama.”

  “My—drama?”

  “You heard me.” He was up and rushing out of the bus before he could even think about it.

  But Emily—where was she? He glanced first one way and then the other—and that figure half running toward the parking lot looked like it could be the tall, slender body of the woman he loved. “Emily. Emily! Stop!” She didn’t, so he had to run even harder, and he was grateful then that he hadn’t had more to drink.

  When he reached her, he put a hand on her shoulder and then moved in front of her. A car drove past them, its lights glaring, but he focused on her and her alone. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I think I should ask you that.”

  “What—psycho Debbie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Girl, she can’t compare to you. Yeah, she was hitting on me, but do you think I’d do that to you?”

  Emily’s brows softened and she sighed. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t.” And then he felt like a stupid jackass, letting her off the hook just like he’d done with Abby years earlier. It was so easy for her to point the finger, to deflect attention off herself. “But that doesn’t excuse what you were doing.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean, Clay?” He looked in her eyes—oh, they looked so innocent, so perfect, but he knew the truth.

  “Oh, come on, Em. Don’t pretend like I’m a dumb ass.”

  The look of confusion on her face was priceless. She was a damn good actress. She sighed as she placed her hands on his cheeks. Even though her fingers were cool, her touch was almost like magic—and he had to ignore it. Her voice was calm when she said, “Okay. Pretend like I’m a dumb ass, please, and explain to me what’s going on.”

  Better to catch her off guard and hit her point blank, no hesitation. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you and Craig.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You mean other than that he’s a sanctimonious asshole who thinks he’s God’s gift to this band?”

  In spite of his inner turmoil, Clay started laughing. Yeah, Clay barely knew him, but the guy was pretty much a sanctimonious asshole. And Emily acted like she meant every syllable of it. Which also meant…

  “Clay, seriously? Are you seriously thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

  “Uh, I don’t know…”

  “Seriously?” Clay’s earlier sadness was flitting away quickly, because just her reaction told him he indeed had been acting like a dumb ass. “Clay.” She touched his cheek with her hand. “Don’t you remember how hurt I was when I found out Bryce had been cheating on me—and how he acted like it was no big deal? Like it should be okay because he was overseas and everything should return to normal when he got back?” Clay nodded, swallowing again. “So why the hell would I ever do that to you?”

  He closed his eyes, smiling, relishing the feel of her cool hand on his skin. “I just…all these fuckin’ guys are drooling all over you—and I kept seeing Abby all over again.”

  “I am not Abby, Clay. What’s it going to take to make you believe that?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just an insecure asshole.”

  “Believe me—you’re no asshole. But stop with the insecurity. When I told you I love you, I meant it. I’m not going to go running to other guys. You’re it—you’re all I need.” He nodded, overwhelmed with emotion. She was right—she wasn’t Abby, never would be Abby, and he had been unbelievably stupid. The fact that she’d believed him when she’d found Debbie cozying up to him made him realize he needed to give her the same kind of consideration. He kissed her and then pulled her tight, hoping she would forgive him. He hadn’t felt this insecure when they’d been home, but out on the road, surrounded by the outside world, all his old emotions had overruled his brain. He couldn’t let that happen again. She pulled back to look in his eyes. “If you need to take things out on anyone, half the guys around here could stand a beating.”

  “Yeah?”


  “Yeah. They act like I’m worthless, like I don’t deserve to be here…like I’m only here to keep an eye on you.”

  “Sorry, Em. That shit kind of comes with the territory. But, if it makes you feel any better, I know most of the crew respects the hell out of you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure they do.”

  “They do. Why else would they be talking about clearing some things with you first?”

  Emily blinked a few times and almost smiled. “They did?”

  “Yeah. Tonight—there were a couple of roadies talking about the interview you’d arranged. I don’t know what was going on, but I heard one of them tell the other one, ‘You better check with Jet’s PA first. She might get pissed’.”

  “Oh, I’m just your PA now.”

  “It’s better than what they were saying before.” The shit he’d put a stop to—but, as Emily had earned their respect for her work, the talk had naturally ended anyway.

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to know.”

  “I didn’t figure. And, as for Craig, I’ll remind him that, when it comes to my shit, you’re the boss.” Emily smiled before Clay pressed his forehead to hers. “I think I know the best way for us to remind each other how much in love we are.” He cocked his head toward the almost-empty bus. Yeah…physical love was often one of the best ways he could express how he felt.

  “That’s all fine, Clay, but you need to stop acting so cold to me.”

  “Cold?”

  “Yes. You’ve been distant.”

  He took in a deep breath, taking her hands in his. “That’s my damn insecurity, Em. That’s Jet taking over for Clay, telling him he doesn’t need no girl to feel better.”