Page 4 of The Final Beat

My mind went back to the couple of months where we’d shagged like rabbits. It might not have been the best idea, seeing as I was fourteen years older than him, and he was a young, wide-eyed drummer starting out on the rockstar life. He wasn’t a virgin by any stretch, but he was only twenty-one and I enjoyed teaching him the proper way around a woman’s body. Then the little fuck had spoiled it.

“Listen, Joey,” I said, picking up my mug and moving to the other side of the kitchen—away from him. “My advice hasn’t changed so I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” He looked at me expectantly. “I’ll record it, send it to you and then you can just play it when you’re feeling like you might want to shoot up.”

His nostrils flared and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. “You’re such a bitch.”

I shrugged. “Well, you don’t have to be here.Idon’t want you here, so you can fuck off at any time.”

“Why do you find it so hard to be nice to people?” He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. “This is bloody awful.”

“Like I said, you can fuck off at any time.”

We stood in silence. I avoided eye contact and waited for him to feel uncomfortable enough to leave. When I glanced over at him he was watching me intently.

I shrugged. “I have no idea what you want from me, Joey.”

“I just needed to speak to you. I want you to tell me I’m not going to fuck up and start using again.”

I’d never seen him looking as together as he had over the last year or so. Even through the tragedy of Beau losing his family,Joey had stayed strong and composed and never once looked like he might relapse. His healthy lifestyle was good for him. His eyes were bright, his olive skin clear, his fucking body was ripped, and the buzz cut he’d had over the last year or so added edge to all the beauty he was wrapped up in. There was not one reason, that I could see, why he needed me. He was not only in one of the biggest bands in the world, but also had a great career in acting. What the fucking, dicking hell did he need me for?

“Joey, you’re not going to fuck up and start using again.”

He rolled his eyes. “Once more with feeling, Dest.”

“You asked, so I gave you what you wanted.”

He slammed his mug down and pushed away from the breakfast bar. “Sometimes it doesn’t hurt to be a decent human being. Especially when someone is asking for help.”

I could be a decent human being when I wanted to be, I just didn’t want to be. Being a decent human didn’t get you anywhere.

“Nice to see you, Joey,” I grunted. “Don’t come back soon.”

A tattooed hand came into view as he took my hold of my chin and forced me to look at him. His touch was gentle, but his fingertips were rough against my skin as dark brown eyes practically bored into my soul. His lips parted on a thought and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he watched me, but his silence was deafening. His disappointment and his sadness screaming at me. It didn’t matter, though, because the kaleidoscope of memories in my head were blocking everything else out.

His stubbled jaw tightened, and I was almost distracted by the manliness of it. Strong and square and determined.

“One day, when you need someone, I hope they have more compassion than you do.” He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. “Maybe don’t bother asking me, though.”

“Whatever you say, Joseppi.”

I saw the flinch. He hated when I called him the name he was born with. The name he’d officially changed at sixteen. The name only the rest of Warrior Creek and I knew about. The name no one was allowed to use.

I gasped as his lips landed on mine and he kissed me. It was hard and without feeling. It was a reprimand and not a gift.

“Whatever you say, Daisy,” he finally said, low and deep. “Whatever you say.”

Then he was gone, just as I asked, and I hated that I couldn’t be a decent human being.

CHAPTER 3

JOEY

The weather outside was black and miserable. Like my fucking mood. I couldn’t even be arsed to get out of bed. Instead, I was propped against my pillows, with the curtains open, watching the rain lashing down. I was thirty floors up and even from my bed I could see across the city.

It wasn’t that I felt depressed, I had nothing to be depressed about. It was more of an anti-climax. The tour wasn’t due to restart for a month, we were in preliminary talks about the record label, and I had three months until I went to LA. Boredom had set in.

In the past, the tedium led to drug taking which led to oblivion and bad choices. The tattoo on my dick being the worst and most painful. Who the hell would think that was a good idea apart from a drug addict high on coke and whatever other shit it was I’d taken?

Lifting the duvet, I looked down at said dick. It was bare and lying flaccid against my thigh. I was even too apathetic to raise a morning lob on and the inked python remained looking like a sleepy grass snake.

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