**NB. This story is as it comes – straight out of my head and may contain typos**
Tessa
Beans bounced through the door and headed straight for Dex on the couch.
“No, no! Down!”
Dex held up his hands to defend himself as Beans slobbered all over his face, then finally smothered himself with a cushion as he begged for mercy.
“Please, no more.”
“Leave the rock star alone.” I pulled Beans away, giggling as his tail wagged so hard his butt wiggled too. “Don’t make all the girls jealous.”
“Ugh, what’s he been eating?”
“Cheese biscuits and liver pâté.”
He deserved a little treat, okay? After what happened to Geoff, I figured the poor boy must be miserable, so I’d bought him the pâté, a multipack of Cheddars, and a rotisserie chicken. Alana and Travis followed me into the apartment, and Nye stopped just over the threshold and dumped a bag of kibble on the floor.
“Call me if you need anything else,” he said to Alana.
“I’m hoping we won’t have to do that. Can you keep us updated if you hear anything from the hospital?”
“Will do. We’ll see if we can track down Geoff’s next of kin tomorrow.”
He was hanging on in there so far. We’d detoured via the hospital on the way home. Nye had quite the fan club there, although several of the nurses been more interested in asking after Zander. When Nye had broken it to them gently that Zander was now firmly off the market with a ring on his finger, both shock and disappointment had been all too evident, but then Travis had appeared, and suddenly Zander’s marriage didn’t seem so important anymore. Anyhow, we’d finally manage to leave with Geoff safely tucked up in the ICU and most of Travis’s clothing intact.
I tried to smile, but the smile turned into a yawn. “I really appreciate you helping tonight.”
“No problem.” Nye’s answering smile was genuine. “You just won me two hundred quid.”
“I’m sorry?”
Alana groaned. “You were running a pool on Tessa?”
Nye held up his hands. “Not just Tessa. You two and a bunch of rock stars? It was only a matter of time before there was a callout, and tonight was my lucky night.”
“Hey, this wasn’t our fault,” I protested, but he’d already disappeared out the door. Alana closed it behind him, then quickly opened it again.
“Can we get a ride?” she called, then to me, “You’ll be okay, right? I’m so freaking tired.”
“Really? I thought you spent today chilling at home.”
Since Alana grew disillusioned with her journalism degree and decided to take a year off to follow both her heart and her passion for photography, she’d spent more time relaxing than working. Not that I begrudged her the break—after everything that happened on tour with Indigo Rain, she deserved some recovery time.
Now she glanced sideways at Travis. “Uh, yes?”
Ah. “Netflix and chilling?”
“Maybe?” she said, her cheeks reddening. Travis just grinned.
“Get out of here.” I gave her a tight hug and Travis a looser one. It still felt weird to call him a friend. I’d spent years drooling over the band in general and Rush Moder in particular, but Travis was perfect for Alana. “Thanks for riding in with the cavalry,” I said to her.
“What are friends for?”
“Picking each other up out of the gutter when we drink too many cocktails?”
“Okay, that too.”
Their footsteps grew quieter as they climbed the steps outside, and then it was just me, Dex, and Beans left. Living with a rock star… It wasn’t at all how I’d imagined it would be. Teenage me had dreamed of limos and late nights, backstage passes and blingy red-carpet outfits, but the reality was reruns of The Big Bang Theory, slankets, and snoring. Plus Dex seemed to be a fan of Christmas movies—you know the ones. A small-town setting, the same plot, and mostly the same actors. We’d watched half a dozen of them since he arrived. When I joked about him being a closet romantic, he’d shot down that suggestion and said he wasn’t interested in dating.
“Fine, just tell me ‘I told you so,’” I said, collapsing into the armchair. Beans tried to scramble into my lap, and Dex was right—the chicken liver pâté did nothing for his breath. “Ugh, there’s no room.”
“Don’t give up, buddy,” Dex encouraged. “You’ll fit. And believe me, I’d much rather have been wrong earlier. How’s the guy doing?”
Beans wedged himself beside me, his head on my thigh, and sighed contentedly. “Geoff’s in a coma. They can’t say when or even if he’ll wake up, but at least he’s still breathing.”
“Did the cops catch the mugger?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.” But they’d found his phone, smashed and dark under a bush—Nye had received the information while Travis was fending off nurses. “All that for, what? Fifty pounds and a credit card? A few dog biscuits? Geoff never carried rolls of cash around with him. I mean, he brown-bagged his lunch and drank crappy coffee from the machine in the office instead of treating himself to a cappuccino on the way to work.”
Can you guess what my vice was? Yes, yes, I’d read all those articles that warned me I’d never be able to afford a house if I bought takeout, but I’d done the maths, and the chances of me getting a mortgage were slim to none anyway. So I figured I might as well enjoy life a bit instead of depriving myself of every tiny joy. Besides, the barista at the local coffee shop was a great source of gossip, and I could guess what tomorrow’s topic of conversation would be.
“Maybe it was some kind of gang initiation?”
“I don’t think gangs are a thing in Highbury.”
“Earlier, you didn’t think muggings were a thing either. Tel me you’re gonna take a cab to work tomorrow?” Dex checked his watch. “Okay, today. It’s Friday already.”
“I’ll be fine in daylight.”
“I’ll book a ride for you.”
“That’s such a waste of money. There’s a Tube station right next t0—” Right next to the spot where we’d found Geoff. Shit. “Okay, okay, I’ll take a cab. But just for tomorrow.”
Dex looked pleased with himself. “Seven thirty?”
In the morning, I’d have to break the bad news to my colleagues, and I had no idea where to start. Half of them would be sympathetic, but the rest, the ones who valued column inches over compassion, would be wondering how they could get a story out of this. And guilt washed over me because hadn’t I thought the same thing?
But if there was a crime problem in Highbury, people should know about it. A chill ran through me as I thought back to the hospital. To the whispers between Nye and Heath and one of the doctors. To the fresh cigarette burns found on the back of Geoff’s hand. He didn’t even smoke.
“Make it eight o’clock.”
“Eight o’clock.” Dex blew out a breath. “Or you could go full rock star and make it eight thirty?”
“Eight thirty, show up to work with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and smash the kitchen before I leave?”
“Three-quarters empty.”
“Your liver must love you.”
“My liver hates me, but at least I can empty a minibar and still walk in a straight fucking line.”
“Do you put that on your CV? Dexter Reeves, one quarter of world-famous rock band, control freak, blood eighty proof?”
“My CV is a Wikipedia page, but my ability to hold my liquor is undoubtedly noted on there somewhere.” Dex sneezed and sniffled. “If you’d had a contract with Red Cat Records, you would’ve taken up competitive drinking too.”
“Probably,” I conceded. “How’s the new record deal going?”
“Trav’s written some good stuff, but we can’t get back into the studio until JD gets out of rehab and Rush finishes fucking around in Africa.”
“Fucking around? He’s actually…uh, fucking around out there?”
“It was just a figure of speech.” Another sneeze. “Who the hell knows what he’s doing?”
“You haven’t heard from him again yet?”
“Not since you last asked me six hours ago.”
“Right. Of course. Haven’t you been writing songs too?”
“Yeah, but nothing commercial, just—” This time, he sneezed and wiped his nose on the bottom of his T-shirt. Ugh.
“Are you okay?”
“Probably just tired.”
“How very rock star.”
He gave me the middle finger. “That rock star enough for you?”
I had to laugh. Despite our joking around, Dex had barely touched alcohol since he moved in, and not at all since his operation. The pain pills were enough on their own, although I’d noticed him skipping some of those too. Maybe that’s why he was such a grouch?
“We should get some rest.”
The morning would bring a fresh set of challenges—finding Geoff’s family, walking Beans with or without an escort, and researching London’s crime statistics. Dex sneezed again. And was it me, or did his eyes look a bit red as he scooched from the sofa into the wheelchair he hated? Being reliant on others frustrated him more than anything. He couldn’t even leave the flat without help to get up the steps. More than once, I’d caught him sitting out on the tiny terrace at the rear, staring up at the cold winter sky as he strummed his guitar.
But now his face softened a little. “Sleep well, Tessa.”
“You too, Dex.”