Page 42 of Indiscretion: Reckless Sin
Rock Princess:Are you gone?
Rock Princess:I’m so sorry I didn’t respond right away. I’ll be there in a few minutes!
I grab my keys, wallet, phone, and slip on some shoes then I’m out the door fully aware that I look like a whackjob, running through the hotel hallways to get to the elevators only to smash the button like it insulted my mother.
There’s not enough time for this waiting around nonsense so I make a hard left and search for the emergency stairs, dialing Dexter’s number over and over again.
Why isn’t he answering? Why didn’t he just call if it was an emergency? This whole situation is freaking bonkers and I have no idea what to do other than run. Only this time I’m running toward the chaos, not away from it. There’s some personal growth I can talk about when I inevitably seek out a therapist when the dust has settled.
I’m barely keeping the flashbacks of my mom’s overdose at bay and the worst thoughts imaginable are running through my head. Did they OD and that’s why Dexter’s not answering? Did more happen than just a drug relapse? What’s the danger level here? Should I call an ambulance? Am I capable of helping these guys the way they need it?
Fuck!
I finally manage to reach the ground floor and make a run for it, through the doors and out to the busy streets. I could run there but it’ll take ten to fifteen minutes. If traffic keeps moving steadily like it is, a cab can get me there in five. That’s the smarter choice, even factoring the risk of New York City being New freaking York City and stopping in standstill traffic at a moment’s notice.
It only takes a second to hail a cab, and I give the cabbie the name of the guys’ hotel while making a last second decision to dial my dad. He’s only a few minutes away from the guys as well and he knows them, loves them to some extent and he’ll know what to do.
“Ainsley? Baby girl, are you okay?” Dad asks, and he sounds so worried that the sob I’ve been holding in escapes.
“Dad, something’s happened to the boys. Dexter messaged me saying that they’ve relapsed and I’m on my way to their hotel but…” I trail off not really even sure what to say. He doesn’t deserve my first phone call in so long to be whatever this is. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been such a terrible daughter and now I call you when I don’t know who else to turn to.”“Stop, Ains. It’s okay. I’m on my way. Everything will be all right. I’ll make sure of it. See you in a few minutes,” he assures me, and the steady calm of his voice brings me a sense of peace I didn’t know I needed.
I hang up and instantly wish I hadn’t. It’s the lack of knowing what’s happening or what’s going to happen that’s killing me and I, for whatever reason, really need my dad right now.
I couldn’t even tell that I was on the brink of hysteria until I heard his steadfast tone versus my pitchy sobs of despair. This poor cabbie must be cursing his luck for having a pathetic mess of a person in their midst. I’ll tip well and hope that helps.
Honestly, I really need to get it together. Dexter needs me to be strong and helpful, not this weak willed, sad sap girl. I inhale nice and slow a few times, bringing my racing heart rate back down to normal levels. I’ll be zero help if I’m fighting a panic attack. I do this the remainder of the drive over. Taking slow calming breaths, changing my mentality into what I’d be doing for someone who isn’t mine. I’d be logical and practical while also caring and trustworthy.
I can do this.
We get stuck in traffic for three additional minutes longer than I’m happy with, but I’m still here faster than if I’d tried to get here on foot. When we’re finally stopped in front of the hotel, I throw whatever cash I have at the guy, ignoring him when he yells after me that it’s way too much.
Rushing through the doors, I see that my dad’s already at the elevators. He looks pretty worn down, nothing at all like the carefree rockstar I remember. Though he does brighten at the sight of me and this time when he holds his arms open wide, I rush into them like I used to when I was five and he was my idol—my daddy. I haven’t hugged him like this in years and now that we’re here, I don’t want to let go. I want to come clean about everything I’d thought and apologize until he doesn’t just believe me, but feels it bone deep how unbelievably sorry I am for letting all these years go wasted and hurting him when he never once deserved it.
Tears run down my face and I burrow into his chest, thankful for the warmth he provides when I feel like ice is running through my veins at the thought of what we’re about to walk into. When he kisses the top of my head, I know that no matter what happens next, he’s going to have my back.
Just please be okay…
“I already got a key card from the front desk,” he lets me know as we ride the elevator up to the boys’ suite.
“How?” I scrunch my nose, feeling concerned that I’m too out of sorts to make sense of things.
“Perks of being me,” he half jokes, shrugging like that’s not one hundred percent how he lives his life.
We rush to their door as soon as the elevators open and I’ve never been more excited in my life to see a hotel door flash green to allow access.
The first sign of something being wrong is that I hear the pounding beat and melody of Popular Monster blaring through some bluetooth speakers, the second bright red flag is that I hear the unmistakable sound of women’s voices. Not like EMT's or the professional speaking of a hotel manager, but high pitched whining about how everyone’s too high to get hard.
Please don’t mean what I think that means…
My heart is pounding out of my chest the closer I get to the noise coming from the living room and when I take in the sight before me, it sinks like a stone into the pit of my stomach. The air in my lungs ceases to exist at first, then without warning, I cry out over the music as dry heaves rack my body until the four measly bites of oatmeal and two bites of toast I managed to eat earlier make their way up and all over the floor.
Dexter is nowhere to be seen, but the other four appear to be happily draped over the huge sofa, high off their asses, with what appears to be groupies dancing all over them. One of them—presumably the one who’s upset about soft dicks—is trying to rub Cyan through his jeans.
I’m still bent down with my hands on my knees as stomach acid churns and tries to join my lost breakfast. I know the tears are coming faster and harder than ever before. It’s all too much to handle.
“I can’t—” I’m cut off by my own sobs, hardly able to look at my dad.
What can I say? I’m dating all of them and they're here… doing… this. Out of every single thing I’ve been through in my life, this is it. The thing that has me so shattered, so exhausted, so… fucking done.
