Real Ugly (Hard Rock Roots #1)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Turner Campbell

As I'm leaving the bus, I run into that drummer dude again, the one with the ghosts on his arms. At first, I think he's going to move away and let me pass like he did that first night we met, but he doesn't. He actually blocks me at the door, stepping in front of me with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed so tight that it looks like all the blood's been drained out of his face.

"Why her?" he asks me, gray eyes searching mine for an honest answer. Luckily for him, that's my policy anyway. Plus, I'm in a pretty good fucking mood. I just smirk when his gaze catches on the wet stain on my pants. I wear it like a badge of pride.

I rub my chin for a moment and try to figure out how to phrase this while my head is swimming with bursts of images – an elevator, Naomi's upturned face, a bathtub. It's not much yet, not enough to actually put together anything solid, but the more time I spend with her, the more I remember our first night together. It's kind of shocking actually that anything at all has come back to me. Normally, when I lose a memory, it's gone for good. Not this one apparently. Instead of responding with words, I turn around and show him my bare back. I don't even have to say anything; he sees it.

"Fuck," he whispers, but he doesn't sound defeated, just annoyed. I turn back to face this dude, the one who has such a massive fucking hard-on for Naomi that it's practically blocking me from the door all on its own.

"What's your name again?" I ask him, trying to keep my tone low. Sure, I'm a little pissed off at this guy, but that just means I have to be more direct, fight harder. Anyway, I'm not worried, I've never lost a girl to another guy before. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that isn't going to be the problem. The problem is going to be Naomi. She still hates me.

"Dax." Just the first name again. Guess he doesn't want this to get too personal. Too bad it already is. I take a deep breath and glance down at my bare feet.

"Well, Dax," I begin, knowing without knowing that whatever I did tonight was a step in the right direction. "Naomi Knox isn't like any other woman I've ever met." I shrug because I'm not going to spill my heart out to this guy, not a chance. And anyway, I need to get out of here quick before Naomi wakes up and comes out to find me with my hands shaking and my skin flushed. If she finds out how much I just enjoyed that, she'll gain the upper hand. Yeah, I have to let her know how I feel, but I don't want her to just find out; I have to say it in my own words, on my own time. If that makes any sense.

"No, she's not," he confirms, swallowing hard and letting his eyes flutter closed. He's got words tattooed on the backs of his eyelids, but they're hard to read in the dim morning light. When he opens them, he looks at me with a challenge in his eyes. "And once she realizes that you're bad news, she'll move on, and I'll be here. I'm not giving up. I haven't even started yet." I smile back at Dax and I know that my face is getting a real wicked look on it right now. I'm not worried. Maybe I should be, but I'm not.

"You challenging me to a duel? Should we lock horns like a bunch of horny deer?" Dax stares at me, stoic and silent. "Alright then," I say, holding out my hand, knowing somehow that this is all for shit. Naomi's the one who will decide everything. But whatever, we're men and we're both pumped full of enough testosterone to fuel a small airplane. "You're on."

Dax shakes my hand, and I leave the bus promising myself that I don't feel any less confident. I wonder if that's true.

*****

I can hardly sleep when I get back to the bus. I end up tossing and turning so damn much that Treyjan actually climbs out of bed, grabs me by the shoulder and rolls me onto the floor. I hit the ground with a grunt and come up ready to fight. Luckily, Ronnie's still awake and able to step in, separating us before anything bad actually happens.

As soon as he does, Trey crawls back in bed, tossing a glare over his bare shoulder at me, and Ronnie and I end up at the table with Josh and three cups of coffee. I'd rather not be sitting here with the little blonde fuck, but that's just the way it is, I guess. He stares at me with an accusatory gaze for so long that I end up chucking a small creamer at his face. It explodes on impact and makes him look like he just got jizzed on.

"What the fuck is your problem with me?" he shouts, standing up and nearly spilling all the coffee. I ignore him and lean back. Yeah, I'd like to beat the shit out of him, but I'm kind of still riding that Naomi high. She's good for me, I think. Again, Ronnie steps in and cools the anger simmering in the air. I mean, for a drugged up whore, he actually gives good advice and says some pretty wise shit. I think it comes from fucking up so much. He knows exactly when to stop, how much is too much, how little is too little, that sort of thing.

"Sit down, Josh," he says as I smirk and bring the coffee to my lips, clinking the mug against the piercings on either side of my lip. "Wipe yourself off and relax."

"Look, I'm tired of being shit on because I made out with the girl he likes. It's getting old. Besides, she fucking came onto me." My lips purse and my free hand curls against my thigh, but I keep the anger back. And I am so fucking proud of myself for that. "Besides, he doesn't deserve her anyway."

"Alright, that's fucking it." Ronnie reaches out a hand and stops me as I rise to my feet. There's a limit to everything, especially my newfound patience. Apparently, Josh wants to see just how far he can push me before I snap. "I'm tired of listening to this shit." Ronnie faces me and waits until I'm fully seated before he speaks again. When he does, he sounds tired and worn out, like he could go at any minute. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I don't want to lose another friend. As if he can sense what I'm thinking, Ronnie brings up Travis.

"He's not here to replace him you know."

"Bullshit." Ronnie smiles sadly.

"He's not. Nobody will ever replace Travis." I roll my eyes and try to keep calm, drumming my fingers along the back of the bench.

"Don't start spewing that love all, peace to the masses bullshit, Ronnie." Josh looks between him and me, face set in a frown. "Travis played bass; Josh plays bass. He's a replacement." A shitty one. I keep that last bit to myself and get out a smoke. I don't know why I'm trying to sit here arguing loss with Ronnie. He knows more about it than anybody.

"Turner," he begins, taking the lit cigarette from my hand and forcing me to go back for another. "Can I give you a little bit of advice?" I shrug.

"Sure, why the fuck not."

"Be careful," he begins, putting out the cig even though he hasn't smoked it yet. He's getting distracted and his eyes are starting to gloss over with memories. In a few minutes, he'll retreat to the bathroom to shoot up some meth. "With Naomi, I mean. Take this shit seriously, okay? Because once you fall in love, really fall in love, so deep that you feel like you're fucking drowning in it, you'll never be able to find a replacement. Travis was our best friend, and he always will be. Bass or not, he was there in a way that nobody else will ever fill. It's the same thing with love – once she holds that spot, you'll never be able to get it back." He leans in close to me, and I notice then that his hands are shaking. "Do you understand me?"

"You sound like a fucking fag," I tell him, but his words make my stomach hurt and my head spin. I know they're true, and they scare the shit out of me.

A knock on the door startles us all out of the conversation, and I'm the first one up, padding across the floor and clicking the lock on the handle. Outside, it's just starting to get dusky, fading from day to night. Our useless fucking bodyguard is missing, but there's a box. I move down the stairs to pick it up and bring it back inside. There's no name on the package which kind of freaks me out. Normally, I'd throw shit like this away. Today, I'm feeling ballsy.

"What's that?" Ronnie asks, getting up from the table to come stand behind me. I shrug as I grab a knife from one of the drawers and slide it under the tape.

"Probably some naked pictures and a few used pairs of panties," I say with a grin. We've had worse delivered. I unfold the flaps and the grin dies right where it began, melting down my face with a spark of fear and a jolt of rage. Inside the box is Travis Gaborone's baseball cap.