Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(5)

No sign of blood though his knuckles were scratched and pink, tender looking. Legs apart, he braced his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “Get out, Lena. I want to be alone.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He grunted.

“Isn’t this a little clichéd, trashing your hotel room?”

“Fuck off.”

I sighed.

Alright, so aggravating him probably wasn’t a good idea. I pushed my glasses further up the bridge of my nose, giving myself a chance to think. Time to try something new. The man only had on black suit pants, no shirt, no shoes. And as nice as his inked chest and shoulders were, he couldn’t go like that to a funeral. Especially not in this weather.

“Jimmy, we’re leaving soon. You need to finish getting ready. You don’t want to be late, do you? That would be disrespectful.”

No response.

“Jimmy?”

“I hate when you use that voice,” he said, still staring at the floor.

“What voice?”

“When you try and sound like my therapist. You’re not, so cut the shit.”

With there being no right answer, I kept my mouth shut.

Veins stood out in stark relief on the side of his neck and a sheen of sweat outlined the musculature of his back. Despite the anger, however, his pose was one of defeat. The man could be more than an occasional arrogant dick, but Jimmy Ferris was strong and proud. In the couple of months since I’d become his babysitter I’d seen him in all sorts of moods, the bulk of them bad. Never, though, had I seen him beaten. It hurt. And the pain was as unwelcome as it was surprising.

“I need something,” he said, voice guttural.

“No!”

“Lena … shit. I can’t—-”

“You can.”

“Just get me something,” he snapped.

“I won’t do that, Jimmy.”

He surged to his feet, face tight with fury. Every survival instinct in me screamed to step back, to run and hide. Dad had always said I was too stubborn for my own good. Even in my heels Jimmy towered over me, and the man’s favorite new pastimes were jogging and bench-pressing weights. The adrenaline surging through my system made sense, but Jimmy wouldn’t hurt me.

At least, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t.

“One f*cking drink,” he roared.

“Hey—”

“You have no god damn idea with this is like. I just need one f*cking drink to get me through. Then I’ll stop again. I promise.”

“No.”

“Pick up the phone and order it.”

“You smashed the phone.”

“Then get your ass downstairs and get me a drink.”

I shook my head.

“You work for me! I pay your salary. You answer to me.” He jabbed himself in the chest with a finger to emphasize the point. “Remember?”

“Yes. But I will not get you a drink. Make all the threats you like.” My voice wavered but I didn’t back down. “That is never going to happen. Never.”

He growled.

“Jimmy, you need to calm down now.”

His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared.

“I don’t want to bring anyone else into this. But I’m reaching that point. So please calm down.”

“Fuck!” The war he waged to control himself played out over his perfect face. With hands on hips, he stared down at me. For a long moment he said nothing, his harsh breathing the only sound in the room. “Please, Lena.”

“No.” Shit, I did not sound convincing. I balled my hands up against my stomach, summoning up some strength. “NO.”

“Please,” he pleaded again, eyes rimmed red. “No one needs to find out. It’ll just be between you and me. I need something to take the edge off. Lori was … she was important to me.”

“I know and I’m sorry you lost her. But drinking isn’t going to help,” I said, scrambling to remember all the wise words I’d read on the Internet. But my blood pounded making it impossible to think straight. I might not be scared of him, but I was terrified for him. He couldn’t fail. I wouldn’t let him. “Drinking is a temporary fix that’ll only make things harder in the long run. You know that. You can get through today. You can.”

“We’re going to put her in the ground.” His voice cracked and he slumped back onto the chair. “She fed us, Lena. When there was nothing at home, she sat Davie and me down at her table and she fed us. Treated us like we were her own.”

“Oh, Jimmy …”

“I-I can’t do this.”

Apparently, neither could I. And to prove it, I stood there utterly useless, my heart breaking for him. I’d wondered what had happened to make him so hard. Of course I had. But I’d never imagined anything like this. “I’m so sorry,” I said, the words not even beginning to be enough.

Truth was, Jimmy needed a therapist or a counselor or someone. Anyone but me, because I didn’t have a f*cking clue how to handle this. The man was cracking before my eyes and watching him come apart felt like torture. I’d been so careful the last few years, sticking to the fringes and keeping to myself. Now suddenly, his pain felt like my own, tearing up my insides, leaving me raw. The room swam blurrily in front of me.