Page 34 of The Fix

Biting my lip, I nod against him, silently encouraging him to keep going when I know my voice won’t work.

“Did you know he’s the one who taught me to play?” There’s almost a hint of a chuckle edging the end of his question, like maybe the thought brings him some peace. Except it doesn’t last. “He never got to see me play.”

My hands shake against his back, my eyes clouded with tears as I force a swallow. I don’t trust myself enough to speak the question, but that doesn’t stop the whisper of words off my trembling and damp lips. “Who taught you to play, Toby?”

He shudders against me, his throat bobbing, his grip bruising. “My, um—” He sucks another tear-filled breath, his swallow sounding with an audible click. “My pops did. He taught me to play.”

My jaw wobbles, the tears no longer held back as they flow over my cheeks and transfer to the skin of his chest.

“And he—” I can’t bring myself to say the words, the pain too much to bear, but he takes them from me and makes it real.

“He never made it to our show that night.” Voice thick, more moisture soaks into the top of my head. “Head-on collision with a drunk driver killed him.” His chest pumps in short puffs, his shortened breath bursting over the top of my head. “And it’s all my fault.”

The dots finally connect. My body shakes with silent sobs, the connections all making sense as tears soak the chest I’m still leaning into.

I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

“Toby,” I state with as much strength as I can. “It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault.”

“He would have never been on that road that night if it weren’t for me,” he chokes.

I squeeze my arms around his waist, the heat of him making me sweat where we connect. “You weren’t driving the car.”

“I could’ve been, Anna.” He shakes his head against mine, his voice cracking. “Since I was fifteen. Any given night, I could be.”

I swallow against the realization he’s spitting, my chest balled up in the worst possible ache. He was so young. “You’re right,” I say through gritted teeth and turn into him, my forehead resting against his pec. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I …” His jaw moves against my head like he’s licking his lips and collecting his words. Except they still comes out broken when he speaks. “I don’t know, Anna. Fuck, I don’t know.”

There are a million things he could do. But the one that he should do is abstain. Quit.

Get sober.

And the last thing this man needs is another reason to reach for a drink.

I’ve got to make this baby accusation disappear.

Chapter Seventeen

Anna

It’s well past the afternoon by the time I get off the phone.

Between giving Leo a piece of my mind, working through the plans, and calling a friend that has her degree in counseling, exhaustion settles in my bones.

I slump back on the bed, the door slightly ajar so I can hear if the bassist stirs, my phone gripped tightly in my hand as it blares warnings at me. A heavy sigh escapes me as I nibble on my lower lip, tapping the phone against my forehead.

Winter weather warning: Snow mixed with ice inbound tonight. Six to twelve inches projected to fall in your area.

The alert has my stomach twisting and my mind running a million miles an hour.

We need groceries that the local place refuses to deliver, the shipments for the loft furniture have been delayed another week, and there’s a rock star in desperate need of a detox.

There’s not enough hot cocoa in this place for this amount of crap.

And the bun on my head begins to feel so tight that it might pull the gray matter from behind my skull. Frustrated, I toe off my pinching shoes and unravel my hair, letting my red locks cascade over my shoulders as I scratch at my aching scalp, easing some tension but doing nothing for the upside down stomach I’ve battled all day.

Jeffers.

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