A girl next to us fainted.
A paramedic was called.
“Hmm, too much?” he whispered in my ear.
“Clearly.”
He grabbed my hand and tugged me through the gathering crowd around the paramedics, through long lines of costumes, and finally to the back of the loud, dark room.
In two seconds, my hands were on his jeans ripping them down to his knees while he lifted my skirt above my hips.
This was getting ridiculous.
We were in public.
His blue and white eyes looked crazed, as his hands shook against my skin.
“Need you.” His voice was no longer commanding, but a soft whimper.
“Where are your marshmallows?” I asked in a trembling voice.
His tongue snuck out across my neck as he whispered, “I replaced them with something sweeter.”
He placed his hand against the wall above my head just as I reached for him.
Our bodies joined.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered.
If he’d just traded one addiction to another.
But not really dealt with the underlying issue.
The need to feel safe.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Zane
I HAD A HEADACHE.
That was the first thing I thought when I jumped off stage and made my way through the crowd.
The second thing?
I didn’t want a marshmallow.
Stupid that my thoughts came in that order, but my normally twitchy sweaty fingers didn’t shove themselves into my jeans pocket in search of comfort.
My eyes searched for her.
But the crowd was stifling, nearly impossible to get through, and I knew I needed to kiss her, if I could just kiss her, the headache would go away, the nightmare would stop, and we’d celebrate recording the last two songs of the album.
Together.
After one kiss.
Okay, maybe two.
But the minute I touched her, spoke to her, bit her neck, I needed more, wanted more, the screams were making it worse, the heat.
In an effort to get her away from everything.
I’d pinned her to the wall.
And just as I opened my mouth to confess—the headache, the possible meaning behind it—she pulled my jeans down.
I should have pushed her away, confessed before I gave her one more piece of myself, before I took another from her, instead I let it happen.
Because I told myself that maybe, being with her, would make it go away, the stress, the pounding.
But four hours later, while in the studio, it was almost impossible to stare at the piano keys without my vision going blurry.
“Everything okay in there?” Will said through the com.
“Yup,” I lied. “Just tired.”
“I know, let’s just lay this track and you can finish tomorrow.”
“Right.” I swallowed the fear in my throat and rushed through the song, putting as much of myself into it as I could before my shaking hands braced the piano bench in an effort to steady myself.
“Perfect.” Will walked in and gave a slow clap of approval. “Now, one more track, and you’re done. How’s it feel?”
I saw two of him.
It was just a migraine.
Never mind that I’d only had two in my life.
One after the concussion.
And now.
“I think,” I whispered as fear snaked around my throat. “That you need to take me to the hospital.”
Will’s smile froze. “Zane? What’s wrong?”
“My head.” I tried to stand, bracing myself against the piano for balance. “I have a headache.”
“Shit.” Will hoisted me to my feet with one arm and then immediately got on the phone.
“No.” I shook my head. “No ambulance, it’s fine it’s—”
My vision blurred again.
“Yes, I need an ambulance sent to C Street Studio one-twenty-eight. Possible migraine, yes he’s at high risk for an aneurysm… No, I’m not sure, he hasn’t seen his specialist in six months. Was supposed to be on watch…no, no, no. Zane, can you remember your birthday?”
I glared at both Will and Will. “I’m dizzy, not stupid.”
“Yeah, he’s coherent.” Will rolled his eyes.
The sound of sirens blared in the distance as we slowly walked outside the studio.
And came face to face with about one hundred reporters.
All with newspapers being shoved in my face. “Zane Saint Andrews gives up virginity to local girl.”
It took a while to read.
But once I did.
I lost my shit.
And tried to charge the crowd, only realizing that my legs wouldn’t cooperate as a cold sweat ran down my arms.
“Zane!” Will yelled as the sound of sirens closed in. “Zane! Stay with me man, stay with me.”
It was the last thing I heard before a numbing sensation took over and my entire life went black.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Fallon
I PACED THE FLOOR of the penthouse suite and tried desperately not to clean up. I mean I only worked five hours that week, but it still felt habitual, to clean up the rooms rather than stay in them.
Finally, out of boredom, I started folding the towels and then sat and turned on the TV.
Zane still wasn’t back.
And I probably needed to go to my own house, the whole I’m staying over with Mags probably wasn’t going to work every night this week, though I was going to at least try to sneak in one more night—the night he finished recording.
I looked down at my phone and sighed.