Page 37 of The Drummer

Time for the real nightmare to begin.

“I should go check on the party and see if I can wind it down,” I say. “When I get back we’ll try to get some alcohol out and water in.”

My hand feels warm and relaxed in hers. I don’t want to let go, but I have to. It’s best for both of us if we keep whatever this was confined to a moment of shared sympathy.

With a quick squeeze, I force myself to let go.

Then get the hell out of there before I screw things up… again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

My intentions of shutting the party down are derailed by Lou Clempson and his posse.

“I’m not doing this with you,” I growl at the bitter songwriter as he blocks my path to the DJ. “It’s late. We need to shut this down.”

“Oh, right. Because you’resoresponsible now. How’s that arrest record going?”

“Better than your Oscars shelf.”

His mouth opens. Eyes bulging, he steps toward me, violence practically vibrating in his stance.

Yep. Should have kept my mouth shut, but this dude begs to be provoked.

“You have no right to that award!” he roars.

“An entire Academy disagreed with you. It’s been three years since the snub, dude. Let it go.”

“You would think it’s that easy, wouldn’t you?! You don’t even understand what it means to win an award like that because you’re not a real artist! You’re a populist hack with a pretty face and nice abs!”

Hmm… maybe I got this situation all wrong.

“Aww. Sounds like someone has a crush on me.”

Hyped up on whatever he’s got flowing through his veins, he lunges forward.

I step aside with a curse and keep moving toward the DJ. This guy isn’t worth a lawsuit.

A hard shove from behind sends me crashing into a table.

“What the hell?” I shout, twisting back.

I duck as a fist comes flying at me, avoiding the hit, but not the mental strain of this bullshit.

This isn’t even my party.

Furious, I fire a lethal look and reverse course back to the hallway. I don’t have time for this shit. Not with the other—literal—mess I have to clean up.

I’ll have to try again later.

I use the journey back to Luke’s room to pull in soothing breaths. My ribs ache from the collision with the table, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside. I won’t survive the night if I don’t get a handle on the chaos in my head.

Luke is stirring when I return to the bedroom, which means it’s time for the real pain. Callie hangs back as I drag him from the bed and heave his naked drunk ass to the bathroom.

“Get… the fuck… off me!” he slurs, swinging his arm.

I pivot my head just enough to avoid a direct strike for the second time in five minutes.

“No. Now shut up and move your damn legs. Less punching, more walking.”

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