hip to hip with him and Quinn, both of whom were shoveling in ice cream and watching an old horror movie. Quinn had shown up about half an hour ago, after spending three hours at the hospital with Ryder as they waited to talk to Wyatt’s doctor.

Micah had texted all of them a few times. He was down the hall in Shaken Dirty’s suite while they all hung in her single occupancy room—the irony of that was not lost on her-—and he wanted to explain. But none of them were in the mood to listen, least of all Jared. Her brother hadn’t said much since they’d gotten back to the hotel, but she knew he was devastated. He loved Victoria, had been so looking forward to a break in the tour so they could plan their wedding.

Now she wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Wasn’t sure what any of the guys were going to do, especially now that the tour break seemed to be coming earlier than expected. Wyatt was in no shape to go back on the road, that was obvious. And she didn’t have a clue how Jared would be able to step foot on a stage with Micah. She was all for professionalism, and so was he, but for him making music was an intensely private thing, one he only did with people he liked and respected. Seeing as how he was probably one step away from wanting to kill Micah—a small step, likely—she had no clue how any of this was going to work out.

And neither, it seemed, did anyone else. Hence the ice cream and horror movie marathon. Well, they could cope with the worry any way they wanted. She was tired of waiting around for Ryder to contact her. Now that Quinn was here to hang with Jared, she was going to the hospital. If her being there was a problem, she would leave. But she didn’t want to leave him there on his own any longer than she had to.

Getting through security at the hospital was a lot harder than she’d anticipated. Apparently the press and Shaken Dirty fans both had been making annoyances of themselves, until the hospital had posted security guards all over the floor Wyatt was on. Without proof that you belonged on the floor, you weren’t allowed off the elevator.

After trying to talk her way onto the ward to no avail, Jamison finally broke down and called Ryder. He met her at the elevators two minutes later and that’s when she got her first good look at him since this whole debacle began. Her heart nearly broke in half.

He looked exhausted, like he’d been to hell and back in the hours since she’d last seen him. And he probably had. Embarrassment and paparazzi be damned. The second she got off the elevator, she threw her arms around him and held him as tightly as she possibly could. For long seconds, he didn’t move—not to hold her back, not to pull away, not even to breathe. And then he shuddered, the tension in his big, muscular body draining in an instant. She wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t have fallen if she hadn’t been there to support him.

“How is he?” she asked, once he finally let her go.

“Addicted to he**in with a side of suicidal thrown in.” His answer was flippant, the pain evident in every line of his body anything but.

“How are you?”

“Not addicted to he**in or suicidal.”

“That’s the best you’ve got, huh?”

“At the moment? Pretty much. Yeah.”

“Can I see him?”

“Of course. But he’s kind of in and out. Depending on how the tests go, they’ll be keeping him until tomorrow…”

“And then?” she asked.

“That’s the fifty million dollar question. The backers are pushing for him to finish out this tour before going to rehab—”

“No!”

“Exactly my feelings. The label wants him in rehab tomorrow so he’s ready for the big tour in the fall. They’re pushing me to get him into one of three ninety-day programs. They’ll foot the bill for everything…”

“But you don’t like the programs?”

“Shit, I don’t know anything about the programs. I’m just worried about how I’m going to get him to go. I don’t think he’s there yet, in his head.”

“He nearly died today, would have if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.”

“More like, he would have died if you hadn’t gotten there, Jamison.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “Thank you for saving him.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me for helping.”

“Yeah, well, he sure as hell won’t, so somebody should.” He pulled away, paced a few yards down the hallway. As he did, a chill worked its way up her spine, though she couldn’t have said why. But there was something about the way he walked, the way he looked at her, that made her nervous.

“This is his,” Ryder said a minute later, stopping in front of the only room on the floor with a huge security guard posted in front of it.

She nodded, following him inside. Wyatt was sound asleep, hooked up to an IV, a blood pressure cuff and a heart monitor. She looked at Ryder quizzically.

“He’s been having some arrhythmia. We have to talk to a cardiologist tomorrow, find out if it’s going to be permanent.”

Worried tears bloomed in her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but when he stiffened, she knew Ryder saw them. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe this was a bad idea.” He headed for the door.

“I’m allowed to feel bad for him. For both of you.”

“Don’t feel bad for me.”

Someone had to. Why couldn’t he see how much he was hurting? How much he needed someone to lean on? “Come on,” she said after a few minutes passed in total silence. “I’ll buy you a cup of bad vending machine coffee.”

“I don’t want coffee.”

There it was again, that tone that told her something very not good was running through Ryder’s head. Icicles ran down her spine as she forced herself to ask, “What exactly do you want, then?”

…

Jamison’s question hung in the air between them. Though he knew she was waiting for an answer, Ryder was having a hard time giving her one. Not because he didn’t have the words but because—for the first time in his adult life—he really didn’t want to say them. And not just because he didn’t want to add to this ridiculous shit pile of a day they all had going on here.

But, whether he wanted to or not, the words needed to be said. Jamison had nearly been hurt once on this tour, had had to deal with groupies and watching one of her closest friends overdose. Add in the clusterfuck his head was at right now and it was pretty much a guarantee that he was going to screw up. She would get hurt—he would hurt her—and he didn’t want to do that. He couldn’t—he wouldn’t—fuck up her life the way he’d f**ked up Carrie’s. The way he’d f**ked up his mother’s.

After getting the security guard’s reassurance that they wouldn’t be disturbed, he settled her in a chair against the wall in Wyatt’s room. A quick check told him his friend was still sleeping peacefully and that the nurse had just been in.

All of which meant they wouldn’t be disturbed for a while. It was perfect timing, or at least the best timing he was likely to get. So finally, though it hurt more than he’d thought possible, Ryder opened his mouth and forced out the words that would change everything. “I think maybe this thing between us has run its course. The tour’s over, we’ll all be heading out to different places. It’s probably time for us to go back to just being friends.”

For long seconds, she didn’t say anything, just stared at him with those huge amethyst eyes of hers. He waited for her to tell him off, to call him a bastard, to scream at him for leading her on like all the other women he knew would have done.

But in the end Jamison didn’t do any of those things. She didn’t do anything at all, really. Just nodded like he’d told her the weather. Or what she’d expected to hear all along.

Then she stood up and crossed to him. Dropped a light kiss on his cheek. “Okay.”

Okay? That was it? He felt like he’d just ripped his f**king heart out and all she could think to say was okay? “I’m not trying to hurt you, Jelly Bean. In fact—”

She placed two fingers on his mouth. “Shh, I told you when we started this thing that I was a big girl and I could take care of myself. It’s fine. I’m fine. But I should probably get going. I want to check on Jared, make sure Micah and Victoria are leaving him alone.” She walked over to the still-sleeping Wyatt and dropped a kiss on his cheek. “When he wakes up tell him I came by and that I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She headed for the door, pausing only to press a kiss to his cheek as well. “Good night, Ryder.”

And then, just like that, she was gone and he was left staring after her, wondering what the hell had just happened. Before he could figure it out, Wyatt’s voice, weak but with an unmistakable note of authority, rang through the room.

“You’re a f**king moron. You know that, right?”

Chapter Twenty

He turned to his friend. “How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough to hear you tank the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Yeah, well, no offense, but I don’t think you’re exactly in the best position to give advice.”

Wyatt laughed, but it was a rusty sound, painful to listen to. “Actually, I’m in the perfect position. In case you haven’t noticed, my life’s a f**king mess. When you find someone who loves you the way Jelly Bean does, you need to grab onto her, not crush her into the dust.”

“She didn’t seem very crushed to me.”

“That’s because you were too busy dealing with your own emergency triage to recognize she was doing the same thing. She ran out of here because you ripped her open, not because she didn’t give a shit.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Dude, I’m wrong about a lot of things. But not this. Jamison loves you. She always has—you know it as well as I do.”

Yeah, but— “That didn’t exactly feel like love to me.”

“Why? Because she didn’t cry all over you? You’re a bigger as**ole than I thought if that’s what you want from her.”

“Of course that’s not what I want.” Or at least he didn’t think so. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Jamison, had in fact gone out of his way to avoid doing just that. He’d ending things because he’d wanted to protect her from his f**ked up life, from the bad shit that always happened to the people he cared about.

And yet, watching her walk away like that had wounded him in a way few things ever had. He felt empty, bereft, and had no idea what to do about it.

“She’s not Carrie, you know. She’s stronger than that. And you’re not the same person you were back then, either.”

He wanted to tell Wyatt to shut the f**k up, not to talk about Carrie. But he couldn’t, because if anyone understood her damage—understood what had happened to her and why she’d chosen suicide over him—it was Wyatt.

“She got hurt because I wasn’t there to protect her.”

“No. She was raped and beaten because the world is full of f**ked-upness. And she killed herself because she wasn’t strong enough to move past it. She lost the light and it’s damn f**king hard to live without it.” Wyatt’s voice broke and Ryder knew he was talking about himself as much as he was Carrie. “That won’t happen to Jamison. You couldn’t knock that girl off her path with a f**king baseball bat.”

“What about you?”

Dead silence. And then, “What about me?”

“You nearly died.”

“I’m fine—”

“Jamison and I did f**king CPR on you, as**ole. I walked into that room and you were f**king dead. Not unresponsive. Not passed out. Not fine. You were f**king dead. You weren’t breathing and we couldn’t find a heartbeat. That is not okay. Watching you kill yourself is not okay with me.”