Page 112 of Reverb
They let her go, with a business card and some murmured niceties. She found Zavier and the others waiting for her. “Now can we get the hell out of here?”
They did. Her bandmates and Adrian—her family—ushered her out, protected her, and got her into the waiting limo without so much as having one paparazzi shove anything in her face. Their ride was more of a luxury SUV than an actual limousine, which was good, because Ray directed them to the hospital.
Somewhere along the line, Adrian had acquired a new T-shirt, one with the late show’s logo on it. Mish tugged at it. “They give you that?”
He nodded. “I was in the hallway after the paramedics took David, and the staff took pity on me.”
“This is why we don’t share clothes,” Dom said. He had his jacket back on, but still looked more Dominic than Domino.
“Tell that to the sweatshirts you keep borrowing,” Adrian said.
That got him a little quirk of Dom’s lips, but he settled back into a frown pretty fast. “Do you think our tours are cursed?”
Mish shook her head. “This is my fault.”
“No.” Both Ray and Zavier echoed one another. Ray planted a hand on Zavier’s knee and that was all it took for Zavier to snap his mouth shut. Worry marred his face and hooded his eyes.
“No,” Ray repeated. “None of this was your fault.” He shifted his gaze to Dom. “And no, our tours aren’t cursed.”
“Still feels like we need a cleansing ritual or something.” Dom hugged himself, and Adrian pulled him close.
“Still feels like my fault.” Because it did. David wouldn’t be hurt if not for her. This asshole wouldn’t be disrupting their tour if not for her.
“Mish.” Ray rubbed his forehead. “It’s not. You know it’s not.”
She did logically, but emotionally was an entirely different story. Fuck it all, the tears came again. She gritted her teeth. “Doesn’t make a difference, does it?”
“It does.” Zavier’s voice was smooth and calm. “How old were you when he dated your mother?”
“Seventeen.”
He pursed her lips. “If a fan came to you and blamed themself for being attacked by someone their parent was dating, would you agree?”
She whipped her head up, the shock of that drying her tears. “Fucking hell, Zavier!”
“Would you?” Same soft voice.
“Fuck off. No. Of course not.”
He nodded. “None of us would.”
If something like that ever happened, she’d pull the fan aside and make sure they didn’t heap the blame on themselves. Recommend people to talk to. That kind of thing. Mish closed her eyes. She hated Zav sometimes. Loved him always, the jerk.
The ache was still there, even as they pulled into the hospital. Ray spoke to the driver, maybe making sure he hung around. It was Adrian who navigated the hospital personnel and got them to the hallway outside of David’s room.
Marcella was sitting in a chair in the hall, looking as bone-tired as Mish felt. She rose and held up both hands, probably to forestall and questions. “He’s fine. Well, as fine as someone stabbed can be. Knife didn’t go too deep and hit nothing too vital, they say. They want to keep him overnight, though, to make sure.”
“Bet that went over well.” Mish had a suspicion David hated hospitals as much as she did.
Marcella’s weary smile was enough of an answer. “How’s the hand?”
Mish had ditched the cold pack in the SUV, which might not have been the brightest idea, since her hand was still pretty swollen. “It’s okay, but I should get it checked out.”
“Oh good. I don’t have to hound you.” Marcella brushed her hair from her face. “I also called our lawyer, and she’ll want to speak to you tomorrow—all of you.”
There was a little collective grunt about that, but Mish nodded.
“And,” Marcella continued, “that shithead is in jail for the night, so don’t you worry about him. We’re going to request that bail be denied in the morning—and by we, I mean our lawyer. Gonfaus already has people on it.”
