Chapter 13
Who the fuck was he?
Sam sat there, not knowing what to say. Who was he? He was Sam Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, a freak with demon blood, the guy who'd started the Apocalypse, the guy who'd been cursed since birth, Lucifer's vessel. He was still trying to figure out what he'd done to deserve it all besides just being born. He wasn't perfect, but he at least tried to be good, wanted to be good more than anything; but the darkness within him had surfaced anyway, no matter how much he'd fought it. Now, though, for once in his life, he actually had hope.
Maybe he'd finally sacrificed enough when he'd jumped into the cage in hell with Lucifer—maybe eternal damnation had finally been enough to pay his debts, because someone powerful had brought him back. He didn't know who. Castiel never answered when Sam called to him, and Dean had said Cas didn't know, anyway. So who could it have been? It felt almost pompous to think it, but he hoped it was God. Maybe he'd finally proven himself. Maybe his sins had been wiped clean. Maybe he could finally escape hunting, live a half-way normal life. True, he'd tried it with Jessica, and it had ended in disaster, but he hadn't paid his dues then, hadn't been to hell. Maybe the curse was gone, now. Maybe he'd been punished enough.
Was he deluding himself? Probably, but he refused to think of other possibilities, that something evil had brought him back. He wasn't even thirty, and he was so very tired, felt like he was a hundred years old. He wanted so desperately just to have peace. How was he supposed to keep going without anything to look forward to but more death and destruction? Once he got his body working properly, he was going to live life to the fullest and try to escape hunting, try to talk Dean and Bobby into getting out of it, too, although that was probably a pipe dream.
Of course, he couldn't tell Azlin any of that. She was right. He was asking her to divulge her most painful secrets, and he could tell her nothing in return. He sighed, offering her a lame answer to her question. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
She looked back at the road shaking her head in annoyance, the line of her jaw tightening.
"I won't ever lie to you, Azlin, but there are a lot of things I can't talk about, at least not right now."
She rolled her eyes. "I rest my case."
Her hand rested on the gearshift again, and he began rubbing the back of it with his thumb as he had before, amazed at the softness and perfection of her skin.
It was almost imperceptible, but she seemed to relax a little bit.
It amused him that she seemed to be less resistant to him if he was touching her in some way. "Look," he said, "there's a lot of things in this world that require risks. Can't we just take things one day at a time, just live in the moment?
She glanced at him and then back at the road. "No way. That's a risk I'm not willing to take. Say I did give you a chance, started to care about you. How do I know you won't take off someday in the middle of the night? What if your big secret catches up with you and mafia henchmen come to take you away? Anything could happen. You could have a wife and three kids, for all I know."
He smiled faintly. He wished his secrets were even close to being that mundane. "I don't have a wife and three kids hidden somewhere, and I'm not involved with the mafia." He knew deep down that she was right, though, but he didn't want to admit it to her or to himself. Instead, he countered, "What if you fall in love with a tax accountant, and he gets hit by a bus?"
"Wouldn't have to worry about it in Dumas. There's no buses. You can walk from one end of the town to the other in an hour."
He grinned. "Okay. Make it a huge, 350-ton Ford truck, then. The point is, there's no guarantees in life, Azlin. There's the potential for heartbreak no matter who you are, but there's also the potential for happiness."
Her shoulders tensed. "Not for me."
He felt an ache at the loneliness of her words. "Especially for you," he said softly.
She paused and leveled her gaze on him. The light of the setting sun shone through the window into her blue eyes, making them luminescent. "At least tell me your real name."
It wasn't too much to ask, was it? She'd obviously suspected something for a long time but had never acted on it. If she was going to rat him out, she'd have done it a long time ago. Still, he was reluctant but wanted to give her something. "Winchester," he said finally. "Sam Winchester."
She drew her sculpted eyebrows together, her tiny eyebrow ring catching his eye in the waning sunlight. "That sounds more fake than Blackmore," she said dubiously.
He laughed. "It's the truth."
She looked less than convinced.
"I swear. It's my real name."
"Why did Dean lie about it?"
He took a deep breath and let it out. "I can't tell you that."
She rolled her eyes. "Right. But you and your brother aren't criminals."
Okay. So they were sometimes, but only because they had to be. It wasn't something they did for personal gain, and it was to help people, save lives. It was the result of a dangerous, have-to-save-the-world job that didn't pay. He couldn't tell her any of that, but he had promised he wouldn't lie to her. Cautiously, he said, "We have done things that are...illegal."
She looked at him with derision. "Sam, when someone does something illegal, it's called a crime. The person that commits the crime is called a criminal."
"But what if it's not done to hurt someone but to save someone's life?"
She pulled away the hand he'd been rubbing and gestured in exasperation. "What the fuck are you talking about, Sam? Just tell me."
Dammit, he hated this. He wanted so badly to be able to tell her everything. He didn't want to make the same mistake he'd made with Jessica. Azlin should know everything about him, but he wanted her to get to know him first, wanted to prove to her he wasn't crazy before he told her the craziest story she'd ever heard. "Just give me a chance, Azlin. I swear I'll tell you everything, eventually."
She didn't say anything, just stared straight ahead, both hands on the wheel.
He hoped she was considering what he'd said. She was gorgeous and intelligent, quirky and enigmatic, and she smelled faintly exotic, like cloves mixed with rosemary and mint. He wanted her more than any woman he could ever remember, even Jessica. His courtship with Jessica had been sweet and a little shy. They'd practically been kids, and Jessica was his first love.
With Azlin, though, he didn't want to take it slow. He felt an intense, dark passion for her, and he was tired of playing cat-and-mouse, tired of her avoiding him all the time. He was laying his feelings on the line because his life had been on hold for a year in the hospital, and he didn't remember the year and a half before that. He was ready to start living again, to start making new memories, and he wanted to do it with her.
The ring of his cell phone jarred him from his thoughts. He fished it out of his jeans pocket, saw that it was Dean, and held back a groan of frustration. Great timing, Dean. A cryptic talk with his brother while Azlin was sitting next to him was exactly what he needed right now. He almost didn't answer but was afraid it might be important, so he pushed the talk button and said into the phone, "Hey."
"Hey, Sam. Can you talk?"
He glanced at Azlin. "Not really."
"Okay. I'll talk; you listen. Eve is dead."
Sam was relieved but tried to keep his face neutral. "Good," he said carefully, trying not to say anything out of the ordinary.
"I'll tell you the story of how it happened when you can talk. The good news is, Eve is dead. The bad news is that Crowley is not."
"What! I thought—" He stopped himself. He'd been about to say he thought Castiel had burned Crowley's bones. That would have been a fun one to explain to Azlin. He glanced furtively at her.
Dean seemed to read his mind. "Yeah, I know. Cas thought he'd burned Crowley's bones, but apparently he was wrong. Hard to believe, isn't it?" He sounded jaded.
Sam glanced at Azlin again. Her eyes were still on the road, but he knew she was soaking in everything he was saying. "You sound a bit...irritated," he said to Dean.
Dean snorted. "Yeah. You could say that. Sam, something's going on, something bigger than Eve. I don't know what it is, but Castiel is acting weird. I don't know if we can trust him anymore."
Sam's blood ran cold. "Is there something I can do to help?"
"Sit tight for now, Sammy. Keep concentrating on your rehab. We'll keep you in the loop."
Sam sighed. "Okay." He wanted out of hunting so badly, but at the same time, he hated that Dean and Bobby were having to do everything without him, knew that they needed him.
"Talk to you soon."
"Yeah." Sam ended the call, tapping the phone absently on his chin, pondering what Dean had told him. They'd thought killing Eve was the answer to everything, but if Crowley wasn't dead, that opened a whole new can of worms. And what the hell was going on with Cas? Castiel wouldn't have tried to trick them, would he?
Azlin arched a suspicious brow. "Something wrong, Sam?"
"Uh..." He trailed off, trying to think of the best way to answer her without lying.
Her voice grew hard. "Yeah. That's what I thought." She reached over and cranked up the volume on the stereo so loudly it was painful.
Chad jerked awake and yelled, "God, Almighty! For cryin' out loud, Azlin! Are you trying to kill me or just make me deaf?"
She ignored him.
Sam leaned his head back on the headrest, gritting his teeth in frustration. It was always one step forward, two steps back with her.
The rest of the trip was spent listening to Azlin's iPod. She made it clear there would be no more talking, not even small talk now that Chad was awake, and she kept both hands firmly on the wheel. Even Chad finally gave up, unable to yell over the blaring noise.
When they reached Oklahoma City, they meandered their way through downtown, eventually pulling up in front of an old warehouse in the Brick Town area that had been converted to a club called Dusk. They found a parking place, and Oscar pulled the minivan into the spot next to them. It was early evening.
Azlin looked at Chad in the rearview mirror. "We're meeting Justin here. I don't know who's playing, but he's working tonight and said we should hang out with him here until we crash at his place later on." She didn't give Sam even a cursory glance. She jumped out of the car, leaving her door open so Chad could get out, and went over to the minivan to explain to the other guys what was going on.
Chad got out, got Sam's wheelchair from the minivan, and helped Sam get out of the car.
At the door of the club, Azlin told the unfriendly-looking bouncer they were guests of Justin Wieland and waited while the bouncer looked over his list to confirm it. Before the bouncer could finish flipping through the pages, a tall guy about the size of Dean, with short, blond hair and a GQ face, came up behind Azlin and wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, darlin'," he drawled.
She turned around in his arms to face him, and an instant, brilliant smile lit her face.
Sam felt a stab of jealousy that this stranger could get such a rare response from her.
"Hey, Justin," she said, looking up into the guy's face.
Justin bent down and kissed her not-so-chastely on the lips. "I'm glad y'all finally made it." He talked with a slow drawl, and the way he handled Azlin wasn't lecherous, but overly familiar.
Sam developed an instant dislike of him.
Azlin gave Justin a smile laced with innuendo. "Me, too. It's been too long."
SWDWSWDW
Azlin was lying in bed with Justin, wearing one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxers for pajamas because she'd forgotten to pack something to sleep in. She could smell his expensive cologne and feel the satiny luxury of his 750 thread-count sheets and tried not to let it annoy her. He'd always been so obsessed with the finer things in life, wasting money on the most trivial things, like a ridiculous eight-hundred-dollar, custom-made umbrella from London, but she tried to cut him some slack. He'd come from much more modest beginnings than she had, although she would have never paid eight hundred dollars for an umbrella. That was just asking for a drought.
They had all stayed out late, getting back to Justin's contemporary, tastefully-decorated loft around three-thirty in the morning. The loft had three bedrooms and a large common area furnished with a huge, white, Italian-leather sectional sofa. Chad, not the selfless type, had taken one of the guestrooms and left his bandmates to fend for themselves in the living area. Sam was in the other guestroom, and Azlin was in the master bedroom with Justin.
She had a good buzz going from four Grey-Goose-and-sodas and a shot of Patron (only the best from Justin) and tried to focus on the butterfly kisses Justin was trailing down the back of her neck instead of thinking how exhausted Sam had looked before he'd finally gone to bed. She wondered if he was comfortable and if Chad had helped him. Stop it, she told herself. Of course Chad had helped him. Chad was a tool, but even three sheets to the wind, he wouldn't forget about Sam.
Sam had drunk only three beers the entire, long evening. Azlin knew it had been a long time since he'd been able to drink, but the beers had fit in his large hand as though it had been just yesterday since he'd had one. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable with the inherent seediness of the club, the stale-smoke and sour-beer smells, or the loud music coming from the stage. He'd quietly nursed each beer, making them last, only talking when spoken to, a pensive observer.
She'd tried to focus on Justin, tried to get Sam out of her head, but the whole time she'd been aware of Sam's eyes on her. Just give me a chance, Azlin, he'd said. It kept running through her head like some freaky yoga mantra. She'd been distracted the whole evening and hoped Justin hadn't noticed.
"Earth to Azlin. You in there?" said Justin.
She looked at Justin over her shoulder and tried to give him a convincing smile. "What?"
He was propped on one elbow, his head resting in his hand, half a smirk on his chiseled face. His eyes were sea-foam green, and she'd always thought they were his best feature, but a pair of much darker mossy-green ones kept haunting her thoughts.
"I was just kissing the back of your neck," he said, "which has never failed to get you into a more, shall I say, receptive mood, and I don't even think you felt it."
She rolled all the way onto her back so she could talk to him easier. "Sorry. Maybe I'm tired."
He gave a faint snort of disbelief and then looked at her a moment. "You're thinking about that guy Sam, aren't you?" It hadn't really been a question. He'd said it like he knew for sure.
"Why do you say that?"
He reached down with his free hand and caressed the back of her hand with his thumb just like Sam had done in the car.
She liked it better when it had been Sam.
Justin smiled wryly. "Because, although we haven't seen each other in over a year, you had a hard time keeping up with what I was saying, you hardly noticed that one of your favorite bands was onstage, and you kept trying not to look at him, which you failed miserably at, by the way."
She was rueful. "Sorry."
"What's between you two?"
"Nothing."
"You've never been able to hide your feelings from me, Azlin," he reproached gently.
She frowned.
"It wasn't just you," said Justin. "Sam brooded all night and hardly ever took his eyes off of you. Plus, he had kind of a," he hesitated, "hostile vibe, and the brunt of it was aimed at me. He's not the kind of guy you want to be on the bad side of. He's sort of dangerous."
She laughed. "That's ridiculous. Sam's not dangerous."
Justin raised his brows and tilted his head, looking skeptical. "If the guy wasn't in a wheelchair, I have no doubt he could seriously kick my ass. Hell, he might find a way to do it anyway."
The thought made her uncomfortable because she realized she couldn't totally deny it. She felt a little shiver at the memory of Sam's face when she and Justin had headed for the master bedroom together. He'd looked hurt and pissed off as hell. "Whatever," she said, trying to brush it off.
"I think he really cares about you, Azlin."
She didn't say anything.
"And I think you care about him, too."
Justin was too astute, and it made her uncomfortable. Although she hadn't seen him in a long time, he was the closest thing she'd ever had to a best friend. He'd always been there for her, and she'd always been able to tell him things she couldn't tell anyone else. It had been that way even when he had just been the manager of her band and she and Ramsey had still been together.
Maybe it was the proverbial crushing weight she felt on her shoulders or the vodka buzz she had going or both, but she couldn't hold it in anymore. "I think I'm in love with him," she blurted.
Justin looked shocked.
She couldn't believe she'd said it herself. She laughed, but it was full of self-scorn. "I'm so fucked. I don't really know anything about him or even why I'm attracted to him, let alone how I could love him. Maybe it's just infatuation." She gave Justin a look. "It's been a long time since you and I have been together, so maybe it's just lust. Whatever it is, it's eating me alive." She clenched her eyes shut against a wave of almost physical pain. "I can't get any relief from it, Justin. When I'm away from him, all I can think about is him. When I'm near him, he's my whole world."
"Then why are you denying yourself? Give him a chance."
She shook her head, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. "I can't. I will never let myself be vulnerable again like I was with Ramsey." She gave Justin a teasing look. "I'd rather just use you, instead."
He laughed. "You know you can use me anytime, darlin', but I want you to be happy."
She sighed. "I think Sam could make me happy, but that's what's so scary."
He shook his head. "Not everyone is a bastard like Ramsey. Besides, judging by what I witnessed from Sam tonight, he's already protective toward you. I never got that vibe from Ramsey. Ramsey never cared about anyone but himself," he added darkly.
"Yeah. That's what worries me, because I had no clue with Ramsey, thought he was the most wonderful guy in the world. I really know how to pick 'em."
He cupped her chin with his hand. "Look at me, Azlin."
She did.
"You got burned once, badly, but you're not the only one it's happened to. You don't have a monopoly on broken hearts. You are, however, the only person I know who's never moved on. Stop punishing yourself. Give someone else a chance."
She traced a circle on his bare chest. "Why can't it be you?"
He gave her a sad smile. "We tried that, remember?"
"You're a great guy, Justin. Why hasn't some beautiful girl snapped you up?"
He shrugged and gave her a playful nudge. "Maybe it's time I stopped saving myself and moved on, too."
She smiled, keeping the moment light, but felt a pang of guilt at the deeper meaning of his words.
SWDWSWDW
Sam was sitting at a table in his wheelchair, listening to the obscure indie music a DJ was playing while Azlin, Chad, and his bandmates were unloading equipment from the minivan and starting to set up for their show. They were at a different, much larger venue than Dusk called The Midnight Runner, and Chad and his friends were ecstatic. They were the opening band—for the opening band—of Aartvark. Justin had surprised them with the news earlier that morning.
Sam didn't really see what the big deal was, but apparently being associated with Aartvark at all was huge in the minds of Chad and his bandmates, even though they were the first band to play that night. Chad's thinking was that people would come early—lots of people—since it was general admission, to reserve a good spot close to the stage for when the main band came on, so Chad's band would get some good exposure.
Sam's table was set back pretty far from the stage, but Chad—hair a vibrant indigo for the occasion—had said Sam could move to the sound booth when it was time for the show to start. Ron, the sound guy, was cool with it, and Chad had said it was the best seat in the house. It was close enough to the stage to see the performers and positioned centrally to the band so the sound would be balanced and even.
Sam had wanted to ditch the wheelchair. He was able to walk a little farther distance now—ten exhausting steps instead of four—but Chad had adamantly refused. "Dude, what if the place catches on fire or something? You still can't walk very far, and I'm not gonna get trampled dragging your Goliath ass out the door."
So Sam was sitting there nursing a beer and watching them set up. There were already a few people there to see the show, but it wasn't crowded yet. His eyes went to Azlin. She was wearing some sort of high-waisted, silky minidress that was teal in color. The top part hugged her ample breasts and had beading and sequins on it that reminded him of the intricate patterns embroidered on things from India or Thailand. It made her have a sort of gypsy, bohemian vibe. The bottom part of the dress clung to her body as she moved, accentuating her flat belly and shapely thighs, and he swallowed as a surge of heat spread through him.
The thought of Justin touching her, of her spending the night in his bed, made Sam furious and a little ill, and he hated that he was stuck in a wheelchair. He needed to let off some steam and wished he could go for a run or beat the tar out of someone—or some thing—or hustle some frat boy at pool. He needed to find an outlet for this dangerous feeling of disappointment and hurt that he felt toward Azlin and the murderous anger he felt toward Justin.
He heard the loud scrape of a chair on the floor and looked up to see Justin pulling back on one. "Mind if I sit here?"
Sam did, but he didn't say anything.
Justin had an earpiece in one ear connected to an expensive-looking walkie-talkie. He pushed a button on it and said, "Lanie, bring a decent Scotch over to my table, please, and—hold on." He looked at Sam. "What can I get you?"
Sam still had a half-full longneck, and he wouldn't have let this dick buy him a beer anyway. "I'm good," he said curtly.
Justin nodded.
They sat in a tense silence for what seemed like several minutes, both of them watching the equipment being set up and watching Azlin in particular. Sam admired the efficient, confident way she knew her way around the wires and instruments and made unassuming suggestions to Chad and the other guys of where things should go.
"She takes to the stage like a fish to water," remarked Justin.
Sam raised his eyebrows a little in acknowledgment, but he didn't want to get into a conversation with this guy, especially not about Azlin.
"You should see her perform." He looked directly at Sam. "I mean, she told me about the coma, about how she played for you. That's...incredible."
Sam watched her, gratitude overwhelming him as it did every time he thought about it, the strange and remarkable connection they had shared because of her music.
"I'm sure you've seen her play since then," assumed Justin.
"Yeah." Sam had only seen her play the one song, but he wasn't going to admit that she hadn't played for him any more than that.
Justin cocked a brow. "On a stage?"
"No."
Justin nodded and looked back to the stage. "Didn't think so. She hasn't done it in years, but it's amazing. She should be famous—would have been, if her parents hadn't been killed." He eyed Sam again. "What do you know about that, Sam? What has she told you?"
Sam clenched his jaw. He didn't want to talk to this guy, so he shrugged, trying to discourage conversation. He wasn't about to admit that she hadn't told him anything, that he'd gone behind her back and researched her on the Internet.
There was something like amusement in Justin's eyes, but he didn't smile.
Sam found it irritating.
"I'm from Dumas," said Justin, "went to high school with Azlin. I was a senior when she was a freshman." He chuckled. "She was a little nerdy, kind of a band geek, but she was a sweet girl. She obviously had a crush on me, so I was nice to her. I actually found her attractive, but I was about to go off to college, and she was just beginning high school. Plus, her dad was the most powerful man in town, and I—well, let's just say I didn't have the best reputation. I experimented with drugs, drank too much. I don't blame the man for not wanting me near his daughter. She was a good person, trusting, a little naive. She saw the good in everyone, even me."
Despite his dislike of Justin, Sam almost smiled. It was hard to think of Azlin as nerdy and a band geek. She was the furthest thing from geeky that a person could be. And naive? It was impossible to picture her that way.
A waitress came over and brought Justin's drink, and he winked at her.
She gave him a saucy wink back.
"Thanks, Lanie."
She nodded and then eyed Sam, giving him a friendly smile.
Sam returned the smile to be polite.
Her expression turned a little sultry, and her eyes lingered on him before she walked away.
"Anyway," said Justin, sipping his drink, "Azlin was in a band called Private Lies while she was still in college. It was just a side project, and I don't think she was that serious about it until she graduated. She's a smart girl, had a 3.9 grade-point average, and college was her priority until afterward.
"Private Lies had four members, and one of them was a guy named Ramsey Lowell. He and Azlin had been dating for a year by the time I spotted them playing in a coffeehouse on Campus Corner in Norman. I offered to manage the band, and they all agreed, so I got to know the band and reconnected with Azlin.
"At first, I thought Azlin and Ramsey were perfect for each other, that they were both deeply in love, but as I got to know them better, I realized the only person Ramsey was in love with was himself. Ramsey was a sociopath and a narcissist, but he was smart and hid it well." Justin's features darkened, and he took a large pull of the Scotch, wincing a little as it went down.
Sam glanced at Azlin, who was still on the stage. He didn't like where this story was going and wondered why Justin was telling it, especially to him.
"After Azlin graduated, she devoted more time to the band, took it more seriously, and they developed quite a following and quite a buzz, not just in the City, but Dallas, too. Azlin loved being onstage. It was in her blood.
"The night her parents died, she had a fight with them. She's never told me what it was about, but I have an idea. She blames herself for their accident. She thinks her dad, who was driving, was so upset with her that he wasn't paying attention, and he and her mother had a head-on with a semi."
Sam ached for her, knowing firsthand what it was like to have some of the last words you ever said to someone be words of anger. He knew what it was like to never be able to apologize, to never be able to make things right. He also knew the horrible pain of losing a parent and couldn't imagine the devastation of losing both at one time.
Justin cleared his throat, his features hard. "Ramsey was using Azlin, but, ironically, it wasn't for her money like most would think. He was obsessed with fame, craved it, and recognized that she was a big part of the reason for the band's success. I'm sure the money was a nice fringe benefit, too," he added cynically.
"I could see this in Ramsey so clearly, and I was going to tell Azlin, try to warn her, but I put it off because I knew how it would hurt her. Ramsey had been talking marriage to her. This was the guy she was head-over-heels in love with, had been dating for around two years, and thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with. I waited to tell her because I was a coward, and then her parents got killed, and I couldn't add what I suspected about Ramsey onto everything else." He closed his eyes for a second and grimaced. "I wish I hadn't waited."
There was genuine misery on Justin's face, and Sam thought begrudgingly that the guy really did care about Azlin.
Justin recovered himself and continued. "I had set up a gig where some pretty big record execs were going to come see Private Lies play. These were execs from big labels, and they were coming in to see Aartvark and another band besides Private Lies. Azlin's parents were killed a week and a half before the date of the gig. Ramsey saw that it was his big chance and thought that if Private Lies backed out, they might not ever have such an opportunity again. He laid a huge guilt trip on Azlin, and she went along with him and agreed to play.
"I tried to talk them out of it. I was just starting out as a manager then, but I had confidence in myself and in the band and knew I'd figure out another way to get them exposure. Ramsey, the asshole, wouldn't hear of it, insisted that they had to play.
"Azlin was a complete mess, of course. She had just buried both her parents and was trying to get through the quagmire of business decisions and estate matters of a billion-dollar family empire. She was only twenty-four years old and alone, no other siblings or grandparents, only a crazy uncle that no one had heard from in years. It had been just her and her parents."
Sam looked at her and frowned, imagining the grief and unbearable stress she must have been under.
"Everything rested on her shoulders, and she wasn't sleeping. I think the nightmares had already begun, but she didn't want to let the band down or, most of all, let Ramsey down."
Sam's frown deepened. "Nightmares?"
Justin nodded. "Ever since the death of her parents, Azlin has had horrendous nightmares. They cause her to have panic attacks a lot of the time. She has medication for the attacks if they're really severe."
Again, Sam could sympathize with her, although the nightmares he'd had after Jessica's death hadn't caused panic attacks. He'd been blessed with visions of people dying and freaky, demon-exorcising powers instead—gifts from the yellow-eyed demon.
Justin sighed and sipped his drink. "To make a very long story short, the night of the show was a disaster. Azlin had one of the worst panic attacks onstage I've ever seen and couldn't play a note.
"Ramsey, the fucking selfish bastard, stayed up there and kept playing, signaling to the rest of the band to keep going, while Azlin stood right next to him and fell apart. I ran up on the stage and literally carried her off. She was sobbing so hard she was hyperventilating, and we had to call an ambulance.
"In the aftermath, Ramsey was so angry with her he ended their relationship. I don't know what he said to her. She's never told me, but, as I said, he was a sociopath. I have no doubt whatever he said was vile and uncalled for. He took off soon after, moving to LA or Austin or somewhere the music scene was supposed to be better, and Azlin never touched a guitar or any other kind of instrument again—that is, until you came along."
Sam sat there stunned, thinking of the heartbreak Azlin went through, all that she had lost, the excruciating sorrow she must have felt. He felt a sickening knot in the pit of his stomach and a lethal rage toward Ramsey for what the bastard had done to her when she'd needed him the most.
Sam looked at Justin, seeing him in a new light. "I'm glad that you told me all of this, but why did you?"
Justin finished the last of his Scotch and set it down with a thud on the rickety table. He leaned in closer to Sam, features serious and intense, and said, "Because I love her, and because I will never let anyone hurt her like that again. You should have known her before all that happened. She was so open and trusting, funny, happy. This tough, unfeeling bitch that she is now isn't really her. It's armor she wears to protect herself."
He leaned back and shook the ice in his empty glass, pensive for a moment, and then raised his eyes back to Sam. "She opened up to me last night, told me how she feels about you. If she knew I was telling you this, she would kill me, but I think you need to know. I'm telling you, Sam, because I don't want you to give up on her."
Sam was confused. "But I thought there was something between the two of you. Last night, you—"
"Nothing happened." Justin was shaking his head, a regretful smile on his face. "All she did was talk about you all night. There's nothing romantic between us, Sam. Things have gotten physical between us in the past, but we tried to be a couple after Ramsey split, and it didn't work out."
Sam relaxed a little with relief, and the animosity he'd felt toward Justin eased a little, although there was still something about the guy he didn't quite like. "Thanks for telling me, but I wasn't going to give up on her, anyway."
Justin nodded, gave a half smile, and then grew serious again. "Let me tell you this, though. If I start to get a bad vibe from you, if I even think you're about to hurt her, I will find a way to make you pay."
Sam kept his face impassive. He didn't like the threat, but he knew where Justin was coming from.
"And if there's something in your past that can come back to haunt you, just be honest with her and tell her about it now so she goes into this with her eyes open. Am I clear?"
Sam cringed inwardly. There were plenty of things that could come back to haunt him—literally. He looked Justin in the eye, promising himself he would tell Azlin everything when the time was right, when she trusted him and knew he wasn't a lunatic. "Yeah. You're clear, but I have no intention of hurting her."
Justin scoffed. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
Sam's blood went cold. "Trust me. I know."
Their attention was diverted when the background music stopped abruptly and Chad began doing a sound check on the microphone. Azlin and the other guys in the band started testing the instruments, creating a cacophony of sound. There were more guitars on the stage than people to play them, a keyboard, and a set of drums.
After the sound check, Chad and Azlin were making their way over to Sam and Justin's table, a wary look on Azlin's face at seeing the two of them sitting together. The club was filling up, and she and Chad had to weave their way through the crowd that was a mixture of college kids, indies, and a few Goths.
Justin looked at Sam with a strange glint in his eye. "You definitely won't have any competition from me after tonight. She may not ever speak to me again after I do what I'm about to do."
Sam frowned, wondering what he was talking about.
SWDWSWDW
Azlin was tense as she made her way over to the table where Sam and Justin were sitting. She couldn't think of anything the two of them would want to talk about except maybe her, and she didn't like that thought.
Justin was smiling at her as she approached.
Sam had on his serious face, brows drawn together, looking at Justin.
Justin stood and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "You done supervising?"
She rolled her eyes. "I was just helping them, Justin. They had a lot of stuff to set up."
Justin looked at Chad, who sat down in the chair next to Sam. "Looks like you've got a nice crowd so far."
Chad's eyes were bright with excitement. "Dude, this is awesome. This is so huge for us. I can't thank you enough."
Justin smiled. "No need. Seeing Azlin up onstage after all these years will be all the thanks I need."
Azlin narrowed her eyes. "Why would you say that? I'm not in the band."
Justin sat down. His manner was suddenly cool, all business. "Didn't I make myself clear when we talked before? I agreed to get Chad's band into Pharm Fest as long as you were part of the package, as long as you would be playing with the band, too."
She felt a twinge of fear but tried to push it away. He had to be joking. He was her friend. He wouldn't do this. "Ha, funny, Justin." She looked at Chad. "You'd better get up there. The crowd is ready." She looked pointedly at the people gathered around the stage.
Chad looked from her to Justin, his posture uneasy.
Justin wasn't smiling. "I'm not kidding, Azlin. You're part of the deal. If you don't play with Chad's band, they don't play."
She was shocked at first, unable to believe what she was hearing, and then anger suffused her. She was the only one standing, and she put her hands on her hips, looking down at Justin, her voice like stone. "That's fucking ridiculous, and you know it. You never said any such thing. Besides, you'll piss off the crowd. They're ready to see a band."
Justin shrugged. "Gravy Jones was a last-minute add-on that no one around here has even heard of. I'll just tell the crowd that someone got sick or something. They're really here to see Aartvark, anyway, so it won't be that big of a deal if Chad's band doesn't go on. Besides, there's still another opening band after Chad's. I'll just have them start setting up after Chad's band clears their equipment."
Azlin was blindsided by Justin's betrayal, and she felt the sting of tears, which she fought back. Her knees felt week, and she dropped down in the chair next to Justin, glaring at him. "I trusted you, Justin. How could you do this to me?" She glanced at Chad's pale face. "How could you do this to them? You had them come all this way for nothing?"
"It's not for nothing. They've seen some great bands for free." Justin met her glare, his voice a soft reproof. "Always get the terms of the gig in writing, Azlin. You never know what unscrupulous manager or promoter might screw you over."
"Fuck you, Justin," she said with venom.
He raised a brow but was otherwise unmoved.
She looked at Chad. "Did you know anything about this?"
For once, Chad was speechless. He shook his head numbly.
Sam's expression was leery, and he looked none too happy with Justin.
Azlin looked over at Oscar and the other guys waiting by the side of the stage, exhilaration and anticipation on their faces. If they didn't get to play, they would be crushed. The thought of it made her feel ill. She trained her eyes on Justin, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "Please, Justin. Don't do this to them. They don't deserve it."
"No, they don't," he agreed, "but the solution is simple. Get up there with them, and everyone will be happy."
She tried to reason with him. "Justin, I've never even played with them before. If I go up there, it'll throw them off kilter. They've been practicing hard for this. Throwing me into the mix will just mess them up. Plus, I don't know any of their songs."
"I'm not an idiot, Azlin. People sit in with bands all the time. Besides, there's no way you could ever be a liability to a band. And I know you've seen videos of them playing, which means you could probably play their songs in your sleep. I haven't forgotten about your special little talent."
Sam looked perplexed.
Justin quirked a brow at Azlin. "He doesn't know?"
She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. Can we stick to the discussion?"
Justin ignored her and shifted his attention to Sam. "If Azlin hears a song once, she can play it, and she remembers it forever."
Sam locked his eyes on her, brows raised in astonishment.
Azlin glanced away, embarrassed, and noticed Chad.
He had a pasty, worried look on his face, and his eyes were pleading with her.
She felt a pang of sympathy for him, and she clenched her teeth, suddenly seething at the unfairness of Justin's ultimatum. She turned her eyes back to Justin and said, "Why are you doing this to me? Have you forgotten what happened the last time I was onstage?"
He shook his head. "No. I haven't forgotten," he said quietly, "but it was eight years ago, Azlin. It's time you got over it and moved on."
"Go to hell, Justin. I will never forgive you for this."
He looked down, trailing a finger around the rim of his empty glass.
Azlin was shaking with rage, and she met Sam's eyes.
He slid his half-full longneck across the table, offering it to her, his gaze steady and strong.
She grabbed the beer and chugged it, slamming it down on the table when she was finished. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked at Chad. "Let's go."
Chad nodded and stood, a mixture of apology and thanks on his face.
She stood and felt lightheaded, staring at the stage. She tried not to think on what she was about to do, tried not to notice how badly she was trembling despite chugging the beer, tried to fight the twisting of her gut and the nausea.
She was about to perform onstage again for the first time in eight years, and she was scared to death. She was going to humiliate herself and probably Chad's band, too. And the worst part of it all?
It would be in front of Sam.
TBC
A/N: Dusk and The Midnight Runner are not real places, as far as I know. Bricktown is a real area of OK City, though.