Lost Avalon: A Finding Nolan Novel (2 page)

He frowned, but stopped moving long enough for me to see that it was a minor scrape.

“You’ll live. Now then, let’s get you hosed down.” I pointed toward the attached bath. It had a huge walk-in shower with multiple massaging shower heads I’d been looking forward to exploring. Only I had hoped it would be under very different circumstances.

Blaise tripped his way through the doorway, gradually stripping out of his clothes as he went. The pants came off easy enough, but his shirt wound up stuck around his head. He looked like a four year old still learning to undress himself.

“Hang on,” I grumbled as I went to yank the impromptu blindfold off of his head. I’d seen him naked about a million times, so it wasn’t the sight of his bare ass that struck me when he turned around to step into the shower. It was the long, bloody scratches trailing down his back.

“Have a good time tonight?” I asked dryly as I reached in to start the shower for him.

“Uh-huh.” His eyes were closed as he let the hot water run over him.

Now that he was standing still, I also noticed several red marks on his chest. Teeth marks. Why the hell he always sought out women who drew blood for pleasure, I’d never understand. It was an even bigger miracle that the frequent checkups he required due to his non-stop extracurricular activities, continued to come back clean. Apparently even in the midst of a drunken stupor, Blaise always remembered to strap on a condom.

Tired and wasted, his remaining energy was draining fast and he was already resting the back of his head along the tile to keep him steady.

I quickly pulled off my own t-shirt and climbed into the shower still wearing my bra and boxers. The steam and water made the materials cling to my skin almost instantly, a feeling I didn’t particularly care for.

“Hold out your hands.”

He followed orders and I squirted a huge dose of shower gel into both of them. “Alright, now wash. Start at the top.” At least that way, even if he wasn’t thorough, the soapy water would travel down and wash the rest of him by default.

While he busied himself with running his hands in small circles over his chest over and over again, I reached for the shampoo. His hair always smelled the worst after nights like these. The stale smoke from the bars, mixed with whatever rancid perfume his groupie of the night was drenched in and the traces of liquor combed into his hair via his fingers, made for a wretched combination.

             
I massaged his scalp and dark brown hair thoroughly, all the while checking repeatedly to make sure he was still awake. Then, after the final rinse off, we were done at last.

             
With a towel draped around his hips, I walked Blaise over to the king sized bed and laid him down on top of the covers. He’d get hot in two seconds flat and kick them off anyway if I bothered tucking him in. Blaise was asleep before he even hit the pillow.

             
I kissed the top of his head, which once again smelled like only him, and proceeded to tiptoe from the room. I had barely taken two steps when I felt his hand clasp my wrist.

             
“Stay,” he whispered. “Please, Ava.”

             
I looked down at my wet shorts and soaked bra and exhaled loudly. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

             
He scooted himself backward, making room for me. I reached into his suitcase closest to the bed and pulled out the first T-shirt I could find, slipped it over my head and then shimmied out of my wet bra and boxers. The wet panties I’d just have to live with.

             
I settled onto the bed beside him while he wrapped both arms around me tightly like I was his security blanky. Which, essentially, was exactly what I was to Blaise.

             
I took a deep breath of surrender and reached up to softly stroke his hair the way I knew he liked it. Then I watched as he fell into the same restless sleep that plagued him night after night.

Between both of our addictions, neither one of us ever seemed to be at peace anymore. The only question was, which one of us would get sober first? And how would the other survive when we did?

***

            
 
Ava
. God she smelled good. Why didn’t all women smell like this? Melissa definitely had
not
smelled like this. Or had it been Melanie? Shit. Who fucking knew? I could barely remember what her face looked like, much less her name. But I definitely hadn’t forgotten the stench of her perfume or the cigarettes. Why did they all fucking smoke anyway?

             
None of that had mattered though. It never mattered. Not until after. Not until Ava showed up to clean me up again. One of these days she wouldn’t show and I knew it. Maybe that’s what I was waiting for. Maybe that’s why I was doing it.

Chapter 2

When I woke
up the sun was already spilling in through the small slits in between the heavy hotel curtains. Blaise was still passed the fuck out and I wasn’t about to do anything to change that. As carefully as I could, I slunk out from under his arm and in one fluid motion, found myself crouching beside the bed.

I sat completely still for several long moments, waiting to see if Blaise would begin to stir, but he remained motionless on the mattress. Certain that it was safe to do so without getting caught and possibly reeled back into his bed, I crept across the room and quietly opened the door just wide enough for me to slither through.

I was so preoccupied with trying to make a soundless exit, I didn’t even notice Royce standing in the kitchen, watching.

“Does it count as a walk of shame when you’re only going down the hall?”

My head shot up at the sound of his voice. “Shut it. It’s not what it looks like.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah?”

I watched as his smug expression disappeared behind a large mug.

“Is that coffee?” I’m sure my eyes lit up just saying the word.
Coffee. Mmm
. There were few things in life that brought me more joy than coffee. It’s sad, I know. But nights like the one I’d had, were a dime a dozen in my world and coffee was my rock, my life source, my happy place.

Royce tipped his head to the side toward the machine in the corner of the kitchen. “Just brewed it. Carmel blend, the one you like.”

“Oh my GOD, you don’t know how happy that makes me.” I clenched my jaws together in a creepy teeth bearing smile from the excitement and flapped my hands up and down as I ran to the kitchen to fix myself a big fat cup of it. If I’d had the energy, I probably would have broken into a full on happy dance, as it was, it would have to wait until after the caffeine set in.

“Seriously though, why were you sneaking out of Blaise’s room? Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah,” I nodded dismissively, “Totally fine. We were just hanging out after he got back late from partying and I guess we both just crashed at some point. Anyway, didn’t want to wake him. You guys have a show tonight and we all want Blaise well rested for that.”

Royce studied me a second longer than necessary for someone who was just taking my story at face value, but he didn’t question me any further.

“So, nobody else up yet?” I took a sip and hoped he would just follow along as I took the conversation off course. He did.

“Angel’s working out and Derek is outside on the terrace talking to Sammy.” Derek’s wife. Out of the group, he was the only one who had seen the value in settling down even as thousands of women were throwing themselves at him.

“Gotcha. You guys order breakfast yet?”

He shook his head. “Don’t think anyone’s gotten around to it.”

I smiled, grateful for something to focus on. The small talk with Royce was running thin and thoughts of the night before were already bounding in, begging to be overanalyzed in ways I simply didn’t have the drive to do yet.

“In the mood for anything in particular?” I reached for the menu and began to scan our options. I knew Blaise would probably wake up craving something fried and carby which naturally made me want to order poached egg whites and fruit. I was going to need Royce to help tip the scale.

“Is it weird that I’m craving biscuits and gravy?”

I made a face. “A little. Sausage is gross.” But Blaise hated it too, so I was willing to work with it.

“I think Derek mentioned something about wishing Sammy was here to make him waffles…and you know all Angel is going to eat is meat.”

“Dude, you are so not helping, my friend.” I shook my head as I reached for the phone on the counter and called for room service.

“Good morning. We’d love to order some breakfast, please. We’re up in the penthouse. Names are Finding Nemo,” my idea of a joke, “and Excalibur,” and Blaise’s. “Awesome, okay, I think we’re going to do this platter style since we’re not a very decisive group. Sorry. Let’s have some biscuits and gravy, waffles, poached eggs, u-huh, with hollandaise – oh do you do any kind of like a breakfast quinoa dish? Definitely some of that then! Let’s see…oh right, meat….no, just straight meat. Whatever you’ve got, oh, actually let’s go with just ham and sausage. Well that should definitely be more than enough…oh wait, can I add some sort of fruit? Just seems like we should at least look like we’re eating healthy. Great. Yes, that will be perfect. Thank you.”

Royce was looking at me like I was crazy. “How many people are you expecting for breakfast?”

“Oh please, I’ve seen how you boys eat. It’s a fucking miracle you guys look the way you do. Any normal human being would not be walking around with rock hard abs after consuming your diet. Of course, I blame it on all of your extracurricular activities. I hear you can burn a shit-ton of calories during sex. ”

“I notice your abs are fine.”

I smirked, “Well duh, how do you think I came to my conclusion?!”

Royce snorted. “So is that what you were doing in Blaise’s room? Burning calories?”

“No, you ass. I have a boyfriend, remember?” One I hadn’t actually spoken to in nearly three days and on occasion forgot about myself. Not that I’d ever admit that to Royce.

“Are you sure he’s really your boyfriend? Because I just don’t see it.” He had his back to me, pouring himself a second cup of coffee, but even from behind, I had a pretty clear mental image of his doubtful, slightly sarcastic expression. Not that I could blame him for having doubts. I had plenty of those myself.

Lee and I weren’t exactly an obvious match. Sure, we both worked in the music business, but even in our industry, rock and country were often worlds apart. Plus, where Lee was still busy hitting the pavement day after day, playing gigs in bars and at county fairs waiting for his big breakthrough, I had already made it. Obviously, I wasn’t
in
the band, but I was still reaping all the same benefits minus the pesky side-effects like being chased down by the paparazzi or having psycho fans steal weird shit like my toothbrush or underwear. And yeah, that happens more often than you might think. In fact, I think it’s part of the reason Blaise and Angel both go commando nowadays. That, and it’s one less thing to have to take off.

Anyway, outside of music, we didn’t really have much binding us together. Other than the fact that I loved his mother’s dog. It was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen. But still, probably not a good enough reason to date someone.

“Yes, Lee is my boyfriend. Why is that so hard for you to believe?” Maybe I needed to hear it from someone else too. Or maybe I was in the mood to make an argument where there really wasn’t one.

“Um, have you ever seen a picture of the two of you? You’re like this rock and roll hottie with that black hair hanging down to your tight little ass and those ridiculous long lashes that make people forget to notice the color of your eyes and then there’s Lee. Lee with the pasty skin in desperate need of sunlight, the rolled up flannel sleeves everywhere he goes and let’s not forget, there’s nothing tight or little about his ass.”

“Just because he isn’t all tats and muscles like you boys doesn’t mean he isn’t still very attractive.” Shit, who was I kidding? “He has a great personality and he makes me laugh.” Well, it was half true. At least he didn’t make me cry, which was more than I could say about some people.

“The truth comes out. Your abs aren’t tight from sex. They’re tight from laughing. See, that makes much more sense now.” Royce was one of the few people I’d met that actually looked likeable when he was doing his superior grin thing.

“You’re a jackass.”

“Girls, girls. What’s with the name calling?” Angel was back.

“Royce was being mean to me.” I pointed my finger at him accusingly while pushing my bottom lip out in a dramatic pout.

             
“Who was being mean to you?” Blaise came stumbling out of his room rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand, still trying to wake up. At least he’d been coherent enough to remember to put on some sweat pants. Even if they were on backwards.

             
“Royce,” I repeated, this time sounding less in need of vindication. “What’s up with your pants?”

             
He dropped his chin to his chest so he could see. “Oh, shit.” He laughed.