TANTRIC (Book 3 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 52: Front Men Don't Give Up

Leed

It's been a rough few days.

Real rough.

I've had the acupuncturist here every day. Ravi and his crystals. A massage therapist. A reflexologist. A fucking faith healer.

None of it has helped. Ashlynn is still in bed. In the dark. She's only been up to pee, and yesterday to say good-bye to Ollie when Ben came to pick him up. I was so glad it was Ben, and not Tam, because I was shocked to see her trying to keep her head up in the light of day. Her hair is stringy, her balance is off, her words are coming slow. None of that bothered me as much as her expression.

It was like...dirty glass.

Every day, I've asked what I can do. Every day, she shuts me out. She's tolerated all the people I've brought in, but she hasn't showered or eaten anything but a few containers of yogurt. She says the water is too loud and chewing hurts too much. She's picky about what over-the-counter pain meds she will use, but the couple she's willing to try haven't touched her pain.

Today is day four of Ashlynn's incapacitating headache and fear is creepin' all the fuck over me now. Because she's hurting so much I want to give her drugs.

Last night I went to Sawyer's room and found his party stash. I sat on his bed, rolling the baggie between my hands, contemplating crushing up half of a vike and mixing it in her yogurt. Maybe she wouldn't feel the effects, but maybe it would be just enough so she could get some relief to eat a little, or get up and take a shower.

Then I got so pissed off at myself for even considering undermining her sobriety that when Sawyer got home, I went the fuck off on him for having pills in the house. Just so I could yell and scream. He apologized and flushed the pills, but I was too amped to back down.

I fired him.

I've fired him a couple of times before, in a fit of pissiness, and asked him back the next day. This time I might let it ride. I'm not sure.

After he left in a huff, I walked around the pool trying to think of what the fuck else to do. Every time I passed the slider to my darkened room, and I saw my Sunshine eclipsed—an undefined lump beneath the mountain of blankets—I felt more and more...caged. Caged and fericious.

I had to do something about something. So I called up the private investigator Riley hired to look into Ash's Dom. I told him to jump on the guest list for the Vision Video Party.

I'm not stupid. That fucker was there. I know he was, and I've wanted to call her on the lie since she uttered it three nights ago.

No, he was not there. It was the set. Seeing the restraints, the tools.

Bullshit. I've seen all the way to Ashlynn's soul, making love to her. She thinks I can't see when she draws the shades with a lie?

Even if she didn't feel like my damn soulmate already, I would still have seen the lie. I watched her when she was married to Trace. Watched her the days she was sober and the days she was high. Watched her lie to him about that, and so many other small things, just to avoid married arguments.

She doesn't even realize, I know her tells. She's got a pretty good poker face, I'll give her that. But when she lies, blush creeps up her chest and she tries to look the person in the face too directly. She doesn't use contractions. Her denial is emphatic. Just like last night when she said, "He was not there."

I knew it the minute she lied to me. I let it go, because we all lie. We all run. Mac couldn't admit she loved Adam for the longest time. Trace can't admit he needs a goddamn hug from a sober and sorry Ross Gallant. Bodie can't admit sometimes he still feels poor and like he's running from the cops, or maybe running scared from a thug that shoved a gun in his mouth and turned him into a drug dealer. And me? I look at Ash and I know I'm hiding from a truth that scares the fuck out of me, too.