Mended

CHAPTER 16 Something to Believe In

Xander

Damon Wolf has been here for two days. I can’t get near her and it’s killing me. I have to find a way to get past his security—I need to know if she did this because she wanted to or because she had to. Either way, I don’t understand her actions but I’m not ready to give up. Hatred has been consuming me and I exhale his name as a curse before mustering the strength to get out of bed.

Slowly sitting up, I turn my phone on—too many messages to check right now. My head is pounding and I feel like shit. The bus is unusually quiet. No one seems to be around. I tack up the daily before hitting the bathroom. Then I jump in the shower, slip a pair of jeans on, and head back to the galley, where I lie back down and close my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.

“Xander, there you are. I’ve been calling you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Amy calls from across the room, holding the daily sheet in her hand.

I lift my head. “What are you doing here?”

“Jiffy Lube Live is a double bill, remember? You were supposed to call me?” She points to the sheet I prepared days ago but never bothered to look at today before I posted it.

I throw my head back. “Shit, I completely forgot Breathless is opening for us tonight.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I know. I called Ena and she didn’t know anything about it.”

“My head’s been in my ass lately. I’m really sorry. What do you need me to do?”

“I took care of it all. The guys are finishing up in the amphitheater now.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

Technically, coordinating with Breathless would have been Ellie’s job, but as soon as Damon showed up he told the label to let her go, quoting cost cuts. She was actually really happy about it—she said she had wanted to move to New York City for some time and the severance pay would give her the time she needed to find a new job.

“Want some company?” Amy asks me with a smile.

I throw my hand over my eyes. “I’m really beat and I have a lot on my mind. What do you say we catch up later?”

There’s no response, so I move my arm and rise on my elbows. She smiles at me and reaches her arms around her head to unwind her braid. Then in an extremely bold move she steps forward and straddles me on the bed. The smell of her hair hits me and the feel of her body on mine makes me want to forget everything and just let go.

She runs her fingers up my bare chest.

“Amy, what are you doing?”

Again nothing—just silence. She slowly starts to unbutton her blouse, but I gently take her hand to stop her.

Again I ask, “Amy, what are you doing?” but this time my voice is cool in a way I’ve never spoken to her before.

“I want you.”

I sit up and carefully slide her off me. I take her chin in my hand and tip her face up to mine. “Amy, I have to tell you something I should have told you a while ago.”

“What is it?”

“I’m in love with Ivy.”

“But she’s married to Damon,” Amy snaps.

“I know, but that doesn’t change how I feel about her.”

Tears fill her eyes.

“We’ve had a casual thing going for a long time. It had to end eventually.”

“I’ve wanted more than casual for a while and I thought you did too.”

“Amy, believe me, you’re gorgeous and I enjoy your company . . . but I’m not in love with you.”

She takes a deep breath and stands. With a frown she says, “Fuck you, Xander Wilde. Don’t call me ever again.”

I throw myself back down on the bed as soon as she leaves. I can’t even go after her right now. I feel like an asshole, but I never promised her anything.

The guys come back around thirty minutes later and drag my ass out of bed. They ran into Amy, who was spitting nails. Garrett puts his arm around my shoulder. “Look, buddy, I think I told you once—chicks don’t do casual.”

I shake my head because I don’t really have a response and he pours me a drink and tells me all about how chicks don’t do casual. After drinking more than we should on the bus, we head over to the arena, all in foul moods. We watch Breathless perform and drink a few more beers. I know I’m being irresponsible, but I just don’t give a shit right now.

Breathless is ending their set and it was flawless. Jane’s love for the audience and of performing made for a great high-energy show. Scarcely taking a breath between songs, she powered through soaring ballads, bounced excitedly through new songs, and scorched the place with a cover of Katy Perry’s “Roar.” Her charm and undeniable strong pipes had the half-packed house crazy in love with her.

The band has fifteen minutes before taking the stage. Again Ivy doesn’t show to huddle with us, but this time we know she’s in her dressing room because her fucking bodyguard is standing outside it.

Leif, undaunted, walks up to him. “I need to talk to Ivy. Get out of my way.”

The brute crosses his arms and completely ignores him.

Leif gets right in his face. “I said, I need to talk to Ivy.”

“Not happening before the show,” he grunts.

“Why the fuck can’t I talk to her?” Leif curses fluently at the ninja.

With my face still battered from my last encounter with Johnny, I make my way over there. I want Leif to make it onstage; I don’t give a fuck what happens to me.

“Come on, man, no use trying to budge this asshole,” I tell Leif.

Just as the door opens and I think I finally have my chance to talk to her, I see that it’s Damon, not Ivy.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks me, staying close to his bodyguard.

I just stare at him while ways to kill him run through my mind.

The cue for the band to take the stage sounds, and I look at Leif. “Go.” He hesitates and I growl at him. “Go.”

“This is fucking bullshit,” he shoots at Damon and finally walks away, leaving me with Damon and his bodyguard.

“Are you letting her onstage or what?” By this point I’m scowling at them both.

“Look, boy, you need to learn how this is going to work. I hold the cards. I say where and when Ivy makes an appearance. I say who she talks to and who she doesn’t. Do you get it?” He enunciates every syllable in case I don’t understand him.

I glare at him. “Fuck off.” My voice is cold and my intentions are made clear.

There’s fury blazing on his face but not as hot as mine.

“You will be gone before morning—or you and your band will be on your bus headed back to LA. A few calls to the remaining venues about a conflict among the band members, some drugs found on the bus, whatever the hell I want to make up, will have them accepting Ivy graciously in your band’s place. Do you hear me?”

I lunge for his throat, but Johnny grabs me by mine with one hand and gives me a swift punch in the gut with the other. Damon nods at him toward the set of doors leading backstage. “Let him watch his last show,” he orders, and I’m assisted backstage, in case I couldn’t find it myself, in some kind of hold that I can only assume is a martial arts move.

The Wilde Ones’ show sucked. By the time Ivy took the stage, the audience was yelling about why it was taking so long. They started up with hits, but their performance lacked energy, there was no excitement, and they all seemed completely drained of any artistic ability. Even Ivy’s last song, a cover mix of a combination of both Kelly Clarkson’s and the Script’s “Walk Away,” just wasn’t enough to excite the audience. The show was a bomb. Immediately afterward Ivy was quickly taken from the arena. As I’m staring at her back as Damon’s personal security leads her away, Leif grabs my arm. “Come with me. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Where are the other guys?”

“They all went back to the bus. It’s just you and me.”

I haven’t told the guys I have to leave before the bus takes off at six a.m. I was going to tell them right after the show, but maybe it’s best this way. I decided to go, not because I give a shit about Damon’s threats but because I want the guys to finish the tour and if they know my reason for leaving they probably won’t agree to finish. So putting all that happened tonight out of my mind, I follow Leif into what looks like an abandoned warehouse. It’s incredibly loud and hot in there and I regret agreeing to come the minute I set foot inside. I can feel the pulsing bass lines travel up my leg and uniform glassy expressions are on everyone’s face. This place screams illegalities. From having to call ahead to get in to the fact that there are no lines, no signs, and no ropes outside.

As soon as we walk through the main part of the club, there are beautiful girls surrounding us. Leif has his choice and he takes what’s offered along the way—running his hands down women’s chests and occasionally even up their skirts. I pass on the walking and grazing. We take the stairs and end up in an even darker part of the club.

“Fuck, is this some kind of strip club on steroids?” I yell over the beat of the wild music.

He looks around with experienced eyes and I know he’s been to places like this before. Laughing, he says, “No, it’s an underground nightclub. No rules. Sex. Drugs. Threesomes. Whatever you want, it’s here.”

“You’re not joking, are you?”

“Nope,” he says with a grin.

“That explains the practically naked women dancing on the tables.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Let’s have a seat and take a better look. Order a drink and I’ll show you how it’s done here.”

Once we sit down, I raise a finger and quirk it my way. He leans forward and I say, “You don’t have to show me anything. But I’ll definitely take a drink.”

“Calm down, man, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says as he whips out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. Exhaling the smoke in a ring, he motions a waitress in our direction. She’s at our table before he even takes another drag. The voluptuous brunette is wearing fishnet hose and a see-through bra with her tits pushed up. She bends down enough to give me a perfect view of her nipples. She asks me what I’m drinking and once I tell her she shimmies over to Leif and does the same thing. I shake my head when he tucks a twenty between her breasts. A few minutes later her tits are back in my face and she’s sliding a gin and tonic my way. “Thanks.” I slip her a twenty across the table.

“Anything else?” It’s easily understood she’s talking about things not on the menu.

I shake my head. “I’m good,” I say and lean back in the booth. I start to relax a little when the cold and icy mixture hits my lips. I hold the liquid in my mouth and let the ice slide across my tongue as I watch Leif place a hand on the waitress’s hip, then slide it down to her ass. She whispers in his ear and then dances off into the crowd, letting at least a dozen other shitfaced men touch her in the same way.

Leif slams his drink back. “I’ll be back in ten,” he says with a sly grin.

“Don’t catch anything,” I mutter.

“Man, it’s just a hand job. What could I possibly catch? And if you change your mind, just ask any of the girls down here. A hundred bucks and it’s yours.”

“Sorry. I’ve never paid to have someone touch my dick and I don’t think I will tonight.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes it’s just easier. I don’t feel like charming some chick right now, and my guess is neither do you. But serve yourself.” He laughs and walks away mimicking jerking off.

Two thoughts hit me almost simultaneously . . . I need to enroll in Jedi training classes before approaching the ninja again and I have to get the hell out of here—out of both this club and this town.

I awake in the darkness, glancing quickly at my watch to see it’s eight a.m. East Coast time. After leaving the bar last night, I went to the bus, packed my shit, and left a note for the guys that said I wanted to check on River and Dahlia and I’d be in touch. That was all they needed to know. I took a cab to Dulles International and waited for the next flight to LA.

Sitting here, I remember I probably won’t have a car when I get back—I make a mental note to call Ena and tell her to do whatever she has to do to get my car out of impound and have it delivered to my house. I think today is Sunday, but I’ve lost track of the days. Once the wheels touch the ground I turn my phone on to check the date and there are more than twenty missed calls and messages. Fuck. I turn it back off. It is Sunday—a day of rest—and I think I’ll take advantage of it.

I manage to exit the secure area of the terminal in record time. There’s some kind of commotion in the airport. There are at least twenty reporters and photographers in the vicinity. Cameras are to eyes and microphones are in hands as soon as I exit security, and they all head toward me. A woman shoves her microphone in my face and asks, “Is it true that Dylan Wolf was your biological father?”

That stops me in my tracks. There are more strangers surrounding me, yelling out ridiculous questions that seem more like statements. It hurts to breathe. I swallow hard as cameras flash repeatedly in my face. “Come again. What?”

“Haven’t you heard? Josh Wolf passed away this morning, and his son Damon announced that you are his nephew.”

A sick feeling unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before overtakes me. Still, I just stand there and stare at her. What the hell is she talking about?

“Do you have a comment? Dylan Wolf died before you were born but were you close with Josh Wolf? How do you feel about sharing control of Sheep Industries with Damon Wolf? Are you in love with Ivy Taylor? Did your mother love your father . . .” Questions from all directions and of all kinds surround me and I can’t answer a single one. How is this happening? I only just learned Damon had a twin brother who overdosed and now I’m hearing his name again. Where the hell did this come from? What are these people talking about?

“Xander!” I hear Jack’s voice calling my name.

I look ahead and see his face through the crowd. My heart pounds in my chest and threatens to break in two—why is he here to pick me up? His expression looks pained, and right away I know that what these people are yelling out can be nothing but the truth. He approaches me with a team of airport security behind him. Clutching my arm, he tries to thread us through the vultures.

“Come on, follow me,” he directs, and I do, only because I need to get the hell away from the chaos that’s trailing behind me.

His car is parked out front and he opens his door. I get in, feeling numb. He stops and talks to one of the men on the security team, then climbs in the car.

“Xander . . .” Jack reaches across the car to touch my shoulder.

He pulls me out of my trance and I jerk away. “What the hell is going on?”

“I want your mother to explain this to you.”

Through gritted teeth I say, “Jack, I need you to tell me what the hell’s going on.”

He pulls out of the airport and speeds onto the highway. “Josh Wolf died today and his son Damon decided to make a public announcement.”

“I fucking gathered that. Is it true?”

He grips the steering wheel and hits the gas. A minute passes and he still doesn’t answer me.

“Is it true?” I yell.

“Yes, son, it is.”

“Pull over now. I need a drink.”

“Your mother is waiting for us at home.”

A scowl tightens my mouth. “I’m not your fucking son and I said I need a drink. Either pull off at the next exit or stop the car so I can get out.”

Veering off the highway, he takes a right. He pulls into a dive bar just outside the city and I bolt out of the car. He follows and catches up with me inside the joint. “Look, I want your mother to explain everything, but you should know a few things.”

I glare at him from where I’m sitting at the bar. “What exactly are ‘a few things’? I think there is one thing—that Nick Wilde wasn’t my father and she never told me.”

“You’re wrong, son. Nick may not have been your biological father, but he was your father in the ways that count.”

“Scotch, neat. Make it a double,” I order. The bartender pours the amber liquid in a tumbler and I pound it back, then slam the glass down. I nod and he pours another.

“What do you know about it?” I ask Jack, after I’ve finished off the second glass and motioned the bartender back over.

“Two shots of tequila,” I tell the bartender, deciding a couple of shots might help faster than another drink.

“I only know what your mother told me today.”

I shrug my shoulders. “So she kept you in the dark, too. Why is that?”

“Xander, I understand you’re upset—and you have every right to be—but I think you need to let your mother explain everything to you.”

I lick the back of my hand and salt it. I tilt the shot back and suck on the lime, then toss back the second one straight up.

“What happened? Did she cheat on Nick when he was on the road? Was that the catalyst behind his career tanking?”

His hand grips my shoulder and this time he’s not trying to comfort me—he’s warning me. “I get this is a shock and I’ll let you take the brunt of it out on me. But I’m telling you right now, you will listen to your mother and treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“She cheated on Nick. What does that deserve?” I spit out.

“Xander, I can tell you this. She never cheated. She and Nick broke up right after he went on the road. She was seeing Dylan Wolf on and off for a while when you were conceived, but he died before he ever knew she was pregnant.”

Anger washes over me and I know I should just shut my mouth. My hand flies up in the air without conscious thought. “Bartender, another,” I yell. I don’t want to hear another word because already the use of the word conceived makes me want to puke right here. I am so fucking relieved when the conversation finally disappears from my mind and into the next tequila shot.