Lead (Stage Dive 3)

Into the house I ran. “Jimmy!”

Ev’s face appeared at the top of the stairs. “Up here, Lena.”

I might have busted a lung or two somewhere along the way because all I could do was pant. I’d gotten there, however, and that’s all that mattered.

Everyone was loitering outside of Jimmy’s bedroom door, including Liv. Had she been invited before or after I decided not to attend? It didn’t matter.

Tension and pain lined David’s face. “Lena, hey. He’s refusing to talk to anyone, locked himself in. She did a real hatchet job on him, went after him with the worst.”

“I can imagine.” Given she’d focused her attack on him in Idaho, it made sense. “Can you give us a minute?”

Lots of worried looks. Mal and Ben both deferred to David, waiting on him to speak.

“Please,” I said.

At long last, David nodded and slowly, the group headed down stairs, Anne nudging Liv along. No matter how many times Liv looked back, I wasn’t meeting her eyes. One apocalypse at a time and all that. I waited for the last of them to go, the marble freezing my feet. Then I knocked on the door. “Jimmy?”

No answer.

“Jimmy, it’s just me. Open the door please.” I knocked again, then tried the handle. It was locked of course. “Jimmy.”

Nothing.

I placed my palms flat against the smooth wood in entreaty. “I know you’re upset and you want to be alone, but I’m not going away until we’ve talked. You need to let me in, I have to see that you’re okay. Please open the door.”

Silence filled the hall.

“Jimmy?”

Nada.

“One way or another I am coming in there.” I rested my forehead against the door, frustration gnawing at my insides. There were no booms or crashes at least, just a scary sort of silence. The thought of where his head might be at terrified me. I hated feeling helpless. His hissy fit the other night when I’d locked him out now made perfect sense. Man, we were screwed up. Just his assistant my ass.

“James Dylan Ferris, open the god damn door.” I smacked my palm against the door, waiting and hoping, though I didn’t really expect him to answer. The stubborn jerk. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

If he could do it, so could I.

“You’re not keeping me out.”

And really, how hard could breaking down a door be? People did it all the time in the movies. I’d been jogging lately and was in better shape than I had been, despite the sweat currently coating my back. Sometimes, a girl just had to do what a girl had to do. And I had to get to Jimmy. He hadn’t opened the door to his family so getting them to help didn’t seem right. First, I’d try on my own. For all I knew, he could be crying again and if I let David and co see him in that condition it wouldn’t be good. The man had his pride.

I took a few steps back, squared my arm, and rammed the bastard. Gave it all I had.

Bam!

And holy shit, ouch.

The door rattled and my arm stung from shoulder to elbow. My funny bone went beserk, making me wince. Alright, so it was harder than it looked. Time to try something else.

I raised my leg and braced myself, taking a deep breath. There was no room for fear. Yes, I could and I would do this because I was woman, so hear me roar.

Instead, I howled.

My foot struck the door and pain reverberated up my leg, wave after endless wave of it.

“Motherfucker!” My ass hit the floor (which also hurt) and tears filled my eyes. “Ow.”

The door opened. “Lena?”

“Hey.” Care of watery eyes, the vision of Jimmy swam before me. “Hi.”

“What the f**k did you do?”

“I was trying to kick your door down. It didn’t work.” My voice was not high, pathetic, and plaintive. I did not whimper. Instead, I held my sore ankle tight with both hands, swearing up a storm on the inside. “I think I might have sprained it.”

Many footsteps pounded up the stairs.

“She all right?” That sounded like Ben.

“Get some ice,” Jimmy directed, kneeling beside me. “Lena, what the hell did you think you were doing? You’re not strong enough to kick in doors, for f**k’s sake.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” I hiccupped, blinking madly, trying to stem the embarrassing stream of tears running down my face, rivers of the bastards. Luckily, Jimmy stayed between me and everyone else. Sometimes hiding really was the best response if you hoped to have any dignity left come morning.

“Let me see.” He lifted my hands away, gingerly feeling up my ankle. “Wiggle your toes.”

I did so.

“Probably not broken then.”

“No.”

With gentle fingers, he brushed off my sole. “Why are your feet all dirty?”

“News about the interview came up on a TV in the bar. Have you ever tried to run in heels?”

“Okay, calm down.” Without warning, he slipped an arm beneath my knees. The other went behind my back and then up I went. Whoa, the man was strong. I heard no knees creaking or any complaints of lower back pain. All of the weight lifting he did must be paying off. He carried me in and placed me on his bed while I blinked the tears from my eyes. My ankle had apparently been replaced with a hot throbbing mess.

I’d never been in Jimmy’s room before. He had a big-ass bed covered in super-soft black sheets—Egyptian cotton would be my guess. The walls were painted a soft grey and some dark wood furniture was carefully arranged. No wonder he’d been aghast at the lived in appearance of my room. Apart from the smashed lamp on the floor in the corner, the place was immaculate. He saw me look at the broken light and said nothing. The shadows in his eyes were a horrible thing to see.

Damn the woman to hell for hurting him this way. Hadn’t she done enough damage when they were little?

“I always figured you’d have mirrors on the ceiling,” I said, tipping my head back, trying to take his mind off the drama.

“I’ll get right on that.” He sat on the ginormous mattress beside me, placing my foot in his lap. “What the f**k was going through your head out there, huh?”

“Reciprocity. You destroy hotel rooms and kick stuff in, now I beat down doors. We have something in common, you know? It was going to be a beautiful moment, really bonding.”

“Lena,” he growled.

“I had to get to you.” It was the simple unadorned truth. Didn’t mean I needed to be looking at him when I said it, however. Ever so slowly, I flexed my ankle, turning it this way and that. It ached, but it wasn’t the pass-out-and-die kind of pain any longer. Now it seemed closer to some mild form of torture. “Crap, ouch.”