Page 83 of Dead Rockstar

I couldn’t be truly angry, though. I was too tired. And too sad. And too lonely. Maybe she'd meet me somewhere and come home with me, or better yet, let me spend the night at her place. I really didn't want to be alone tonight.

She picked up on the second ring and all the blood rushed to my face in relief and surprise. “Hey.”

“Hey.” My voice came out a croak; it had been hours since I’d spoken, and I’d cried myself to the point of dehydration. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling and texting you for days!”

“Sorry,” she said, and paused. “What's up?”

“I'm on Piedmont Street,” I said, brushing past her lackluster reply. Evidently no explanation was forthcoming. “Dreading going home. Are you at the house? I thought I might stop by.”

“No, I'm not,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” I waited for her to say more, but she was quiet. I took a shuddering breath, hating myself for being on the verge of tears, for wishing she sounded happier to hear from me. “Are you busy?”

“Not really,” she said. I waited for her to ask why, but she didn't. Something definitely wasn’t right. Sloan usually never shut up.

“Phillip isn't with me,” I said finally, and the floodgates opened. I started to cry.

“Oh, honey.” She clucked, after a beat. “Did you two break up?”

“Yes,” I said, relieved that she cared, though I could hear something odd in her tone. “Can you come?”

“I'll meet you at your place,” she said. Her voice was no longer clipped and cold, but she still sounded odd. “It'll take me a few though. I'm actually on Jekyll, so I'll have to go over the toll and everything. Twenty minutes?”

She was on Jekyll. Why? The only person she knew out there was Gus...ah. It all clicked then. Her shortness, why she wasn't seeing Dan, why she hadn’t been answering my calls. She was back with Gus and was afraid I was angry with her. As if I could judge her, after all I'd done. At the moment, all I felt was relief at hearing her voice. I forgave her everything, right then and there. I just needed her. If I could just see her, talk things through, it would all be all right.

“Okay.” I sniffed, trying to get myself together. “See you then. And thanks.”

“Of course.” She hung up.

I wiped at my eyes and began to drive home. I felt better already, knowing that she'd be there with me. The ache in my heart had grown with every mile I'd driven away from Phillip, and now that I was back home, back in my old town, my old life, without him, the pain was unbearable. It wasn't just being away from Phillip that was breaking my heart, but the knowledge that I'd betrayed him. Left him while he was taking a shower, in the middle of the morning, with a shitty, abrupt note that offered no real explanation. After all the things we'd said to each other the night before. After all we'd been through.

I hadn't seen any other way around it. When Lee had called and dropped the bombshell that Guthrie wasn't only alive, but living just a few miles away from me, something in me had snapped. I didn't know why I'd been used as a pawn, and I might never know. But it was obvious how very little power or control I had over my own situation where him and his odious family was concerned. I might never be free of them. But there was one thing I could control - I could keep them from Phillip, and I intended to.

I was going to confront Guthrie and do whatever was necessary. And I was going to do it alone.

But first, home. And Sloan. And a good night's sleep, if I could fall asleep. In the morning, I would work the rest of it out. I was going to secure Phillip's happiness – even if it meant I never saw him again.

Twenty-Two

At least dear Blinken had the good sense to be waiting for me, right by the front door as I shuffled in and flicked on the light. “Oh, my sweet kitty,” I exclaimed, picking him up even though I knew he hated it, and nuzzling my face into his soft fur. He allowed me to hold him for about five seconds – a record for him – then wrenched himself free, sauntering into the kitchen with an irritated swish of his tail. “I’m sorry I left you,” I said to him, my voice still full of tears. I deposited my purse and coat on the couch and followed him. “But it looks like Sloan took good care of-”

As I flipped on the kitchen light, I saw that I’d spoken too soon. Both of Blinken’s bowls were empty, and he’d tipped over the large bag of cat food (I bought twenty-pound bags at Sam’s to save money) and chewed a hole in the side; that wasn’t usual behavior for him. He must have been starving and desperate to do that. I crinkled my nose, smelling the familiar strong ammonia stench of the litter box. As I pulled the sliding door to the laundry open, my suspicion was confirmed: she hadn’t changed his litter in days. “I’m so sorry, Blink,” I said again, picking up the plastic scooper from the peg with a sigh. From the looks of it, she’d maybe only been over once to take care of him, if at all.

I'd left the front door unlocked when I’d shuffled in the house, bedraggled and exhausted, not giving a damn who followed me in. A serial killer could have crept right up behind me and dispatched me unceremoniously without a fight. I cleaned Blink’s litterbox, gave him fresh food and water, and a few contrite chin scritches, and set myself to making tea. I needed something hot to drink to try and clear my head, to shake off the funk that had settled into me on the long drive home. The feeling of desolation, of rock-bottom, was so strong it made me physically weak.

Sloan slunk into the kitchen unannounced sometime after me, looking like a guilty ghost. “Hi,” she said by way of greeting, sitting down at the kitchen table and regarding me with a wan smile.

I was boiling water on the stove since I'd never owned a kettle. I turned to her, knowing what a mess I was – puffy, irritated eyes, flushed red cheeks, greasy hair- and waited for the inevitable, “You look like shit” - one of her usual greetings. But it didn't come. She just regarded me with a wariness that put my already frayed nerves further on edge and sharpened my irritation to a fine point.

“What's up, Sloan?” I said tiredly, turning back to my water. “Sorry the place stinks.” I turned to her with a pointed glare, but if she took any notice of my anger, she didn’t acknowledge it. Christ, did she even remember that she was supposed to be watching my fucking cat? A little contrition would be nice, for once. “You know, since the litterbox was overflowing when I got home.”

I saw a brief flicker of acknowledgement in her eyes, then it was gone. She raised her chin, oddly defiant. It unnerved me; I suddenly felt like we were in a battle I wasn’t aware I was having. I turned back to my pot of boiling water, biting my lip.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Boiling water. For tea.” I rummaged in the cabinet above me, sure I had some bags of black tea leftover from Tess. He had liked his sweet tea like every good Georgia boy.

“Since when do you drink hot tea?”

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