Page 60 of Dead Rockstar

“How…?”

“I parked my truck on the side of a random street and closed my eyes and just sat there,” he said, stroking the side of my face with a calloused finger. “…and eventually, I just felt you. I guess you woke up, and I felt it. I followed the feeling. And there you were.” I’d never forget his face, the way his eyes had lit up with tenderness, with…love.

“Everything just keeps...” I trailed off, my head muddy, “...getting weirder.” That’s when I had passed out. The weirdness of the world I was now living in was just too damn weird to stay conscious any longer.

Now, Phillip’s face was less elated, and more furious. “Stop being so stubborn, Stormy,” he thundered. “You might have a concussion.”

“I just need rest.”

“The best place to rest is in a hospital. With doctors nearby.”

“But I just need a little time,” I argued. “To get my story together. To get our story together,” I argued. “If you take me there, they will call the police, don’t you get that?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I don't give a fuck about the story at this point.”

“Please, Phillip,” I begged. “I can’t risk-”

“Fine,” he conceded, looking irritated. “One hour. We'll figure out our story, then we're going. Like it or not, even if I have to drag you.” He didn't look pleased. “Now. What can I get you? You must be thirsty.”

“I am.” I cleared my throat as I lay back on the pillows. “I'd love some water, and a coffee, too. Maybe it would pep me up. They have some in the lobby, don't they?”

“Yeah, but it tastes like shit.”

“It'll be fine.” I really just wanted the caffeine. “And a pack of crackers or something if they have it. Maybe the nausea will go away if I eat something.”

He frowned. “I'm reluctant to leave you.”

“I'll be okay,” I said. “The door is locked and I'm not going to let anybody in.”

He nodded. “I’ll be back in two minutes. Don't open the door for anybody. I have my key. And don't go to sleep again.”

“I won't.”

As he left, I watched his retreating back, the sag of his shoulders. He was unhappy with me. I knew I was being infuriating, but I didn't see any way around it. A trip to the hospital would mean cops, and cops ask questions. They might assume from my head wound that Phillip had hurt me. Even if they didn’t, one of them might recognize him.

One thing I knew for sure – just as soon as Phillip was satisfied that I was alright, we’d be heading back to Jekyll. I’d drag him if I had to. Lee and Lydia were right. I was in danger here. I wasn’t so sure I’d be as lucky next time.

I was determined not to doze off, to be a good little patient. I rummaged through the bag beside the bed and pulled out my reading glasses – Phillip had finally seen them on me, and had made several quips about how I looked like a sexy therapist who drank chardonnay on her lunch break and whose couch was covered in yappy dog fur - and a magazine that I'd bought at a gas station. It was the most recent Rolling Stone. Phillip had already looked through it, marveling and laughing at all the new rock bands he'd never heard of and the clothes they wore. He was definitely from another time. I flipped through it idly, not really reading, just looking at the pictures. They were a little blurry. That whack to the head had been pretty brutal. I hoped the coffee would help steady me.

I wished I had my phone, but it was in Lee’s possession and I’d probably never see it again. I didn’t like the idea of him looking through my contacts, my private messages. I was filled with the sudden urge to check in with everyone, even the people I usually tried to keep at arm’s length. I wanted to text Sloan, my boss, even my parents. I thought back to the Thanksgiving invitation my dad had extended to me a few days prior and hung my head in shame. I’d never even responded. How long would I continue to punish them, to push them all away?

I heard Phillip swiping his key outside, and the door whooshed open a crack. “That was fast,” I said, putting down the magazine with a bright smile. He was serious when he'd said two minutes.

My blood ran cold when I saw who was entering the hotel room. It wasn't Phillip. It was Shank.

Fourteen

“When we took your cell phone, I also took this,” he said, holding up my room key. Oh, shit. “Wasn't nice of you to run from us, Spooner. I reckon it's time you come back with me.”

“I didn't run. He let me go.” I kept the tremor from my voice. “Does he know you're here?” I didn’t have to say who. He knew I meant Lee.

“None of your fucking business,” he barked, with an antsy look back to the door. “Now get up off your ass and come on. Best do it without a fight, unless you want things to get ugly. I've had enough of you and your zombie boyfriend fucking shit up.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” I couldn't stand up if I wanted to. I felt more nauseated than ever, and my head was killing me. Adrenaline was coursing through my body, and I would run if I had to, but just the thought of getting off the bed made me feel sick.

He was at my bedside in two swift steps. He grabbed me by my arm and wrenched me up and I yelped in pain. “Shut up,” he whispered hotly in my ear. “Now march.” He gave me a shove. I felt something cold and hard at my back; I hadn’t seen a gun, but I couldn’t rule it out. He was clearly trying to march me out before Phillip returned, which wasn't the worst idea. What Phillip would do to him would have given me a shudder if I didn't hate and fear Shank so much.

I stumbled, almost face planting on the floor, and went down on one knee, feeling the rug scrape my skin through my pants. I stumbled toward the door, tears starting in my eyes. I was so sick of this, so damn sick of it. When would they leave me in peace? I opened my mouth to tell Shank that we were planning to leave, to go back home to Jekyll like we’d been told, if he’d just let me go, but the cold sharpness against my back and the rough, ragged breath behind me told me that it’d do no good.

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