Page 8 of Whirlwind

I raised my aching head up at the familiar voice and shook it against the blur. Jude stood on a ledge of stones jutting out over the waterfall like a natural diving board. “The leaves, Beck! The leaves!” His back arched. He was going to fall.

My insides tightened. “Jude, don’t! Get down from there, man!”

Oh shit.

He launched himself off the ledge, flying through the air, a sloppy, jerky somersault. On a yelp he broke the surface of the lit pool.

“Jude!”

I threw myself into the water. Thank fuck, it was well lit, but I could barely coordinate my movements to get to him. I reached out. Nothing. The lighting had gotten dimmer or was it me? I pushed up to the surface and gulped in air and dove down again.

Air bubbles fizzled around me. I reached out. Got him. My heart pounded furiously in my chest. His eyes were closed, air bubbles popping from his mouth and nose. I grabbed him, clutching him, and swam, dragging him up over the edge.

“Jude!” Gasping for air, I pushed his head to the side, pushed down on his chest.

Footsteps rushed toward us. “Beck!” Gareth and Slim were on top of us. “We got him, man, move.”

I flung myself back, my pulse raging, my breath choppy as Gareth administered CPR to Jude.

This was not the first time Jude had gone over the top at a party or in his hotel room. The past couple of months he’d been really exhausted, drained, we’d all been. And this was his way to deal. More pills, more booze. More.

From the beginning I was the one who kept on eye on Jude, checking in on him in a variety of ways. It had become second nature to me. Most nights on the tour, especially this past month, I’d go into his room in the middle of the night to check his pulse to be sure he was okay.

Jude choked and sputtered under Gareth. He lifted him up, and Slim threw his arm around me and yanked me off the ground. The four of us headed through the property, out a side gate to one of our vehicles. “A doctor will be at the hotel for him,” Slim said. He and Gareth were on their phones. Jude rested in my embrace in the back of the SUV, the two of us sopping wet, cold. I rubbed his arm, my other hand rubbed his neck.

Just like old times. Of course he’d mixed his goodies tonight. He’d been holding onto a huge plastic tumbler before the show, and we all knew what was in it, his favorite euphoria-inducing beverage, a lean. A concoction of cough syrup and booze, maybe a dash of codeine and some Jolly Ranchers for fun, all swished with soda. Top that with the booze we’d been drinking during the show and after—a molotov cocktail of a different kind.

“You’re okay, Jude. You’re good now.” Gareth threw a blanket over us and everything went dark.

* * *

I locked both my suitcases.I’d searched them twice. The closets, even every dresser drawer, under the bed, the sofas. Nope, my brown leather boots were gone.

How the fuck? I had the black pair, the snakeskin, but the brown ones were nowhere to be found. Custom made, my favorite footwear. Shit, I didn’t have time or energy for this crap right now.

I zipped up my small leather duffel bag, but it was stuffed with all my last minute crap, and I pressed down. Hard edges met my hands. A box I didn’t recognize lay under my scarf, and I pulled it out. Condoms? A jumbo pack box.What the—I turned it over. A post-it was taped to it.

Make up for lost time, Beck! - J

I snorted. Jude. Always so thoughtful. He must have done this before the party. Thank God, he’d be okay. He needed rest, time off, time away like we all did. The doctor had assured me he’d be fine. I’d checked in on him again before I’d started packing. He was asleep with an IV in his arm, being watched by a nurse in his room. And just like almost every night on this tour, I placed my fingers on his neck.Yes, there.His pulse beat under my touch, and a grunt escaped my lips. He wouldn’t need me tonight. I sent him a text message saying I’d call him tomorrow.

“Ready?” Slim stood in the doorway, my two suitcases next to him.

I smashed the condom box down and zipped up my duffel and threw the handle over my shoulder. “Let’s go.” I grabbed my acoustic guitar and followed Slim down the corridor to the elevator. He held the door open for me with his massive frame. Rapid footsteps charged behind me.

Naomi darted in the elevator with us. “Are you okay?”

“No, but that’s besides the point.”

“I don’t want you worrying about anything. I can spin this. I’ve got this.”

“Whichthisare you referring to exactly?”

“The Mae thing, the Jude thing—no biggie.”

“Jesus.”

“You got yourself a flight to L.A. already?”

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