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  With any luck Ash would be going home tomorrow too.

  “Okay. I agree. Tomorrow.”

  Not that they had a home as such to go home to, unless you counted the tour bus. She wasn’t sure the medical staff would consider that an appropriate place to recuperate. Maybe Spook would help her sort out a place for them both to go until they could fly back to England. She guessed Ash had a home there somewhere, and if not, there was always her flat.

  “Gin-nee.”

  “Right here.”

  His words seemed even more stretched out than earlier.

  “Where? Can’t feel you.”

  She was still holding onto his hand. Ginny gave his fingers an extra tight squeeze, but his expression suggested he didn’t recognise the pressure.

  Ash raised his other hand to blindly seek her out, which set off another alarm. “Let me touch you.” He brushed a curled finger against her cheek, before his limb sagged back to his side, as if the war against gravity were too much.

  The nurse bustled over to the bedside again, and reset the machine. “If you’re going to stay, you need to let him rest.”

  “I didn’t do anything. He lifted his arm. I’m not sure he can feel his fingers.”

  The nurse patted her kindly on the back, and guided her back down into her seat. “He’s very disorientated at the moment. I wouldn’t pay too much heed to what he’s saying. It’s common for patients to ramble when they’re drifting in and out of sleep like this.”

  “He’s slurring his words too.”

  She shrugged. “He got spiked, right? It’ll be the lingering effects of the drugs in his system. The consultant will come to see him in the morning. Let him know then if you’ve still got concerns, but I expect he’ll be fine once he’s properly awake.”

  Ginny wasn’t nearly so confident that was the case. Slurring his words kind of made sense as a side-effect, but being unable to tell she was gripping his fingers hard enough to whiten the skin didn’t strike her as terribly normal. But then, as the nurse said, maybe he was just disorientated and come daylight he’d magically be back to his normal charming self.

  “It won’t do you any good to fret. He’ll want to see you smiling when he wakes up, not frazzled from worry.”

  Ginny settled in the chair, and stayed quiet until the woman left. She needed to talk this all out with someone, but it’d have to be someone she could trust.

  “You’d better be all right like she says you’re going to be, Ash. You have to be all right. Do you hear me? You have to be. Your band needs you. I need you. Your family too.” Had anyone even let them know what had happened? Spook had probably called. He was good like that; so strong in his own quiet, unassuming way. She needed to be strong now too in order to help him through this.

  The worries she thought she had got pushed onto the back burner. There were some things she needed to tell him about her past, but now wasn’t the time to strip the rosy tint from his gaze. He needed to put all his energy into recuperating. Her ancient history could wait until he was well again.

  She sniffled, and tears trickled over her cheeks. “God, woman, since when were you such a leaky bucket?” Ginny chastised herself.

  She’d never been one for pointless bubbling. Besides, Ash would need her to be there for him to lean on. She didn’t want him wasting energy being concerned for her well-being. “I’m here for you, Ash.” She dried her eyes. “Whatever the future holds, I’m right here, you need never doubt that.”

  -1-

  July 17th Spook’s Place, Sweden.

  “We’re going to jam, right?”

  Delight over the sheer possibility shot tingles through Ash’s tired limbs, providing him with a second wind of energy. So maybe this was actually his third or fourth wind of the day. It had been a long day. After three weeks more or less confined to a bed, the change of pace was taking its toll. There’d been scads of fans waiting for him as he left the hospital, all desperate to make certain he was okay, and all desperate for a minute of his time. He’d given them as many as he could, but talking to people was still massively draining, and there’d been a helicopter waiting to fly him south. Still, it was good to be back in his regular clothes instead of the hideous pinstriped granddad pyjamas his mum had sent him. He thought the guys might have coughed up for a pair of Danger Mouse PJs, or even just something touristy with trolls on it, but nada, and actually, after the first 72 hours of his extended stay, only Spook had even bothered to visit. Well, Spook and Ginny. There was no getting rid of her, thank heavens. Glancing around at Spook’s newly installed home recording studio, it was discomforting not to find her lurking in a corner, or curled up on one of the springy couches. He missed her presence now that she was no longer standing by his shoulder.

  “Are you sure you’re up to playing?” Spook muttered, a frown tugging at his handsome mug.

  “Course I am.” Ash wasn’t merely up for it. He needed it. Music was what had been achingly missing from his life over the last couple of weeks. His jailors—nurses—didn’t understand when he’d said he needed music. They thought he was asking them to turn on the radio, not that he desperately craved an outlet for what was roiling away inside of him. He and Iain had been friends a long time, and while as with any relationship they’d had their ups and downs, Ash had never anticipated being betrayed on such a grand scale. He still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact Iain had damn near put him in the ground. Friends weren’t supposed to hurt you.

  “I’m up for it,” Paul ‘Rock Giant’ Reed hollered from three feet away. “Someone pass me my bass.”

  “Get it yourself, lazy butt.” Xane slapped him on the arse, as he moved past him to set up the mic stand.

  Watching the guys plug stuff in and tune up brought back memories of their early days, before they had a road crew to do all the schlepping for them. He’d forgotten how much bonding they’d done while being their own roadies. How much it had grown their friendship and trust in one another. Maybe they needed to get back to being more hands on again to ensure the band’s future. He had only to glance around the room to see that things still weren’t as they ought to be. Elspeth was missing, and their new drummer, Luthor, was hiding his far too pretty face behind a curtain of blond hair as if he hoped they’d all forget he was here. To be fair, he had a right to be nervous considering how things had turned out with his two predecessors, one of whom had wound up dead, and the other banged up on attempted murder charges.

  “Are you just going to stand there, or are you joining in?” Rock Giant slapped Ash across the back, knocking the breath right out of him. “It’s good to have you back. Let’s put this new guy through his paces.”

  Luthor had already proved himself more than up to the task, so it was completely unnecessary to drill him, but as they’d only played the one stage gig together, it did make sense to get a proper feel for one another’s playing styles in a more forgiving environment.

  Their fans were ace, but they could also be cruel and demanding sons of bitches.

  “Is there something around for me to play?” Ash’s favourite Gibson Les Paul had bitten the dust when he’d fallen on it after his nosedive back in Karlstad, but Spook probably had a score of instruments sitting around.

  “I think one of the crew picked up something,” Spook said, pointing to a case in the corner behind where Luthor was assembling his Hi-hat.

  “Cool, anyone know what?” He wasn’t expecting anything awesome, just a decent off the rack model. He unclipped the case, and flung back the lid. “White!” It was a classic model, with decent humbuckers, and a nice weight to it, but… white. “Who thought this was a good colour? Did they forget who they were buying it for?” Black was his colour. Seriously, black anything and you wouldn’t go wrong. This was like the anti-goth guitar. “I look like I’ve just joined a Christian rock band.”

  “Damn, did you not get the note about the change of direction,” Xane deadpanned. “We all saw the light after you took your dive.”
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br />   “The fuck you did.” Xane was an atheist to his core. Rock Giant was some kind of Anarcho-syndicalist Zoroastrian Buddhist, and Spook… Well, Spook probably worshipped trolls, or Odin, or Hel, or whoever.

  “Mate, it was probably the only one in the shop,” Paul consoled him. “We’re in the arse end of nowhere, there aren’t many music stores.”

  “You can internet shop for something new,” Spook added.

  At least it was mostly in tune. Just needed a few little tweaks to get it the way he liked it. It’d do. He settled the strap comfortably over his shoulders.

  Shit, that felt good. A spontaneous smile tugged his lips into a grin. He hadn’t felt this alive since the last time he’d had an instrument in his hands. He tried a couple of chords. Oh yeah! The vibrations flowed through his body, creating a welcome buzz. It hadn’t occurred to him just how essential music was to his well-being until it had been ripped away. Playing it, creating it, those things were as important to his survival as breathing. Speaking of which, he was getting a little out of breath from excitement. Three weeks in bed, and his fitness was shockingly poor. Ginny wasn’t going to be impressed with his stamina next time he got her under him. That was his priority, right after making some music with the guys. He hadn’t had the pleasure of licking his lady in far too long. Apparently that sort of behaviour was frowned upon while in the hospital.

  Actually, he was still kind of amazed she hadn’t bailed on him the moment she realised how fucked up being spiked had left him.

  “Hole,” someone proposed. It was a fan favourite and one of the band’s biggest hits, even if it wasn’t one of Ash’s personal faves. He’d always preferred the more complicated finger movements required for songs like Lilith Licked. Still, Hole would serve well as a warm up.

  Chances were, he wasn’t the only one who’d been slacking off over the last few weeks. He was just the only one with a valid excuse.

  For the first few bars, everything progressed perfectly. They hit all the tempo changes. There wasn’t a note out of place. It was as they approached the chorus that the trouble began. Switches that he should have been able to perform half-cut were beyond him. His fingers were sluggish to respond to what his brain was telling them to do. Ash frowned at each wrong note, until that frown became a full-on grimace, and he couldn’t pretend his ineptitude was simply a side-effect of inactivity. Everyone knew that if you didn’t use a muscle, it got a little flabby. Well, his muscles weren’t flabby; they’d headed off on a luxury cruise to Andromeda.

  There’d been issues with his right hand ever since the incident, but they’d barely been a problem over the last week. He’d been doing a heap of physio, as well as working with a speech therapist over the little issue he’d been having with his words, but they’d discharged him. That meant he was fixed. None of this should be happening.

  The band came to a deafening silence.

  No one looked at him, even though they had to know he was the issue.

  “What the fuck was that?” Rock Giant bellowed.

  Ash winced, only for the big guy to march over to the drum kit and smash his palm against the top of Luthor’s snare.

  “What are you doing? You’re all over the fucking place.”

  Luthor hadn’t done a damn thing wrong, and Paul knew it. They all knew it. Hell anyone who’d been listening knew it was him who’d fucked up, not Xane’s new squeeze.

  Luthor muttered something under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Paul demanded.

  “I said, I was keeping time with Ash.”

  “Don’t start laying the blame on him.”

  They ought to. He’d been the one at fault.

  “Let’s start over,” Spook suggested, diplomatic as ever. At least it put an end to the dirty looks being exchanged.

  Xane counted them in. For two bars Ash was fine, then bam, needles lanced down his arm into his fingers and a wholesale fireworks display went off in his hand. “Jeezus, fucking Christ!” The guitar slid from his grasp as his fingers curled and locked.

  There was no making like that was Luthor’s fault, though a shit ton of hoo hah erupted as Rock Giant attempted to suggest it was. Ash bit his lower lip hard while Xane and Paul butted heads, and Spook got sucked into separating them. Luthor remained safely behind the drum kit, though he did throw Ash some serious side-eyes.

  Well shit, yeah, he’d love to sort this all out, but right now he was just trying to smother the flames in his hand. His knuckles were ready to pop, and massaging them just seemed to cause him even more motherfucking pain. Stinging tears threatened to wipe out his vision too.

  “Again. We do it over.” Rock Giant’s booted foot hit the floor making the ground shake. “And we keep doing it until it’s fucking right. We should not be stumbling over this, guys.”

  They weren’t. He was the issue here, and only him. He might once have been a shit hot guitarist with a flair for dramatic licking, but now he couldn’t even manage a few basic chord changes without ballsing it up.

  “Paul,” Spook’s soothing voice cut through the noise, commanding silence. “That’s not a good idea.” Was he looking at Ash? Yeah, he was looking straight at him. “Tomorrow, okay. You need to remember that some of us have had it rougher than others recently. You got sun-burn, Ash got—”

  “Fucked. Ash got fucked,” Ash snarled. He awkwardly removed the guitar from around his shoulders with his left hand. The explosions had stopped, but his right hand remained clawed and the pain wasn’t really easing that much. “Sorry… It’s not happening. I can’t…”

  He dropped the white guitar, which hit the carpet with enough of a thud to make them collectively wince.

  Paul was right there in front of him immediately, blocking his route to the stairs. “What are you talking about? You’re not the problem. Luthor is.”

  “Luthor isn’t.”

  Yeah, sure it was sweet to see Paul leaping to his defence, but what was the point in pretending? Those fine motor skills the doctors had claimed he’d regained—sure, he could fasten a shirt button and tie shoelaces—they weren’t there when it came to the one skill that truly mattered.

  “Don’t blame him. It was me. I was the problem. You all know it, so don’t pretend. I’m sorry to break it to you guys, but you’re gonna have to find yourself another lead guitarist, because your current one is fucked.”

  “What’s the issue exactly?” Spook asked calmly, despite Ash’s gunshot delivery.

  “The issue?” He raised his clawed hand. “This. This is the fucking issue. No control. Can’t fucking straighten them. Can’t keep the pace. Can’t do anything.” He knew there was no sense in growling at them, but the frustration and resentment he’d experienced during his hospital stay were desperate for an outlet. Apparently, being discharged didn’t mean he was better, just not ill enough to require constant monitoring.

  “We’re not going to replace you,” Xane insisted.

  He said that now, but…

  Spook picked up the white guitar and deposited it on an empty stand. “You know it’s only been a few weeks. I’m sure if you give it a few more—”

  “It’ll what? Magically heal. I’ve been discharged. I’m supposed to be well. Well, here’s the truth guys; I can’t play, and that’s unlikely to change in time for us to record the new album.”

  The remainder of their Requiem for the Damned Tour had been pushed back six months, so the band’s focus had shifted onto producing new material.

  “You can be involved with that without needing to play. Xane or I can stand in for you on the recordings,” Spook said.

  Shit, yeah! ’Cause that made him feel so much better.

  Spook reached out and gave Ash’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Only it felt like a brush off.

  Ash cast his gaze wide around the room. They were all staring at him with pity in their eyes while their lips were thinned to near nonexistence. None of them would admit his time was numbered, but he knew it. He felt it in his gut, swirling
around, churning up the dire crap they’d been feeding him in the hospital. For a couple of weeks, he’d have the sympathy of his band mates, but after that, once autumn set in, their patience with him would wear thin, sympathy would all but vanish, and they’d start making contingency plans.

  The fuckers were probably already doing so. Not officially, but he didn’t doubt they were already composing lists of guys they could approach in their heads. A band at the level they were at couldn’t just recruit any old guitarist they fancied. They’d have to find someone with a track record, someone who could lay waste to a crowd of malcontents, but whose artistic vision meshed with the band’s. Basically, someone who was a fuck of a lot better at grinding than he’d ever been.

  Yep, shortlists were being drawn up before his very eyes.

  Feelers would go out tonight, or if not, definitely by the end of the week.

  “Screw this!” He couldn’t take any more of their disingenuous pity. He barrelled past Spook and clanked down the metal stairs.

  Outside, the evening sun was right over the lake, its rays bouncing off the gently rolling waves creating a dazzling light display. Ash stumbled blindly across the ridiculous path of stepping stones back onto dry land, only to find Spook had followed him out.

  “Did you know you were still having problems before we dived into jamming?”

  What difference did it make?

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell us you still needed time?”

  Maybe because he wanted to move forward and leave the nightmare of the last month behind. He wanted to feel the music flowing through him. He wanted to be wanted again, to feel the noise of the crowd baying for more, and to be an actual member of this band, not someone associated with them only in name.

  Rather than stop and explain any of that, Ash stalked up the lawn towards the house. The events in Karlstad had scared them all. He wasn’t belittling the experiences of the others, but he was the only one who’d come out permanently damaged. In a way, it was kind of poetic. He’d also been the idiot responsible for bringing Iain into the fold. He ought to have listened to his guts, because he’d known it was a stupid idea, but they’d needed someone and Iain had been right there. It had seemed like a good solution to a long standing issue. Truth was, he’d been fooling himself about Iain Willows for years. He wasn’t going to make that same mistake again. From now on, he was going to listen to his guts. And what they were telling him now was that if he wanted to stay put in this band, then he needed to get himself fixed. He didn’t know if that involved more physiotherapy, drugs or what. God, he hoped it didn’t involve drugs. The doctors had him on a whole heap of shit already that he hated taking. He’d been down the slippery slope of prescription meds before.