Page 17 of Edge of Heaven (Crimson Edge #2)

Taryn

The bruises on the backs of my thighs are still visible so I pull on a pair of leggings, a corset-style top, and boots.

Callum prefers me in skirts and dresses, but this is his fault, so unless he wants to answer a lot of questions about the handprint-shaped bruise on my right thigh, I’m wearing tights.

“Still bruised?” he asks when I come out of the bathroom.

I nod curtly.

I haven’t been speaking to him since the spanking incident the other night and now he’s being contrite.

“I said I was sorry,” he says, blocking me from leaving the room. “How long are you going to pout?”

“Until the bruises are gone.”

“I didn’t realize you bruise so easily,” he continues. Like this is my fault. “You’ve never bruised before.”

“You’ve never been so rough before,” I respond tightly.

“I had a lot to drink,” he murmurs. “Okay?”

He waits for me to respond and when I don’t, he sighs.

“Dammit, Taryn…don’t be this way.”

“Let’s just go,” I say. “I’m hungry and catering said there’s chicken fried rice tonight.”

He hesitates but then nods. “All right. Just don’t be mad, okay? I’m not going to apologize again.”

Whatever.

He’s making Toby’s payment in a couple of days—and then it’ll be down to three months.

Maybe two if I can get decent priced flights back to L.A.

the next two months. I might have enough left in my savings to pay for the last month of treatment myself.

I’ll be broke, but I’ll be free of Callum, and that’s all I care about.

“All good,” I say stiffly.

“That’s my girl.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk out to the elevator.

I stay quiet on the way to the venue and when we arrive. Callum heads for soundcheck and I hang out in their dressing room until I hear the music start. Then I peek into the hallway and immediately spot Mick. Like he knew where I would be and was waiting for Callum to get on stage.

We don’t have much time—because they don’t usually have long soundchecks—and I hurry over to him.

“I only have a few minutes,” I whisper. “I think they’re just doing the one song.”

“Find me when they play their set,” he says softly. “I was worried about you. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you?” His eyes bore into mine and I know he doesn’t believe I had a cold. I don’t want to tell him the truth because I know he’s going to be upset, and I can’t risk him confronting Callum.

“We’ll talk later,” I say, gently squeezing his arm.

“Taryn! There you are!” Ryleigh comes over and gives me a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m on the mend,” I say.

“Walk with me.” She tugs me away from Mick, and we walk toward Crimson Edge’s dressing room.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I murmur. “Callum will be expecting me to eat with him.”

She stops and puts her hands on her hips, facing me.

“What kind of controlling, possessive bullshit is that?” she demands.

“What’s happening to you, Taryn? One minute you told me you were just dating him because he has a big dick.

Now you’re letting him control every facet of your life.

And don’t give me any nonsense about being in love.

Everyone can see what’s happening. Everyone is talking about it. Except you.”

My face feels a little hot as embarrassment hits me like a physical blow, but it’s none of her business.

“I have my reasons,” I say tightly. “And if you’re really my friend, you’ll leave it alone.”

“Does he hit you, Taryn?”

“No.”

Not unless he disguises it as a little bedroom kink.

“You’re lying.” She searches my face intently.

“I’m not.” I scowl at her. “And even if I was, it’s none of your business!”

“If you need help getting away from him, just tell me.” She lowers her voice. “Angus and I can help you. We can?—”

“Stop.” I squeeze her arm, probably a lot harder than I squeezed Mick’s a few minutes ago. “Please, just stop. You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. And I’m fine. Please, if you care about me at all, don’t cause trouble for me.”

“How can helping you cause trouble?” she asks, her eyes filled with concern. “Taryn, I’m worried about you.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. But there are things going on I can’t talk about right now.”

“But you could talk about them to Mick.” She actually looks a little hurt, adding something else for me to feel bad about in my life.

“He knows things because of when we met before,” I say. “So he already knew about… some of it.”

God, this is complicated.

I know I can trust her, and I’m probably a shitty friend for not telling her about Toby or the situation with Callum, but I’m teetering on the edge of my sanity right now. It takes all my strength to deal with him, and the last thing I need is for other people to get involved.

“Taryn!” Callum’s voice is laced with annoyance—what else is new?—and I give Ryleigh an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry—we’ll talk soon. I promise.”

She smiles brightly, as if she understands how precarious things are with Callum, and waves at him. “Hey, Callum!”

“Hey, Ry.” They’ve come to what I can only describe as an understanding now that she interviewed him for her magazine. He behaves around her for the most part, and she doesn’t give him any shit.

Hopefully, that continues.

“You guys planning a shopping trip?” he asks in a lighthearted tone that isn’t typical for him.

“Nah.” I shrug. “I don’t need anything.”

“You should go anyway,” he says magnanimously. “You’ve got to be bored on tour. And a few of us are talking about golfing when we get to Reno.”

I blink.

Golfing?

Since when?

“It’s a charity event,” he continues. “Rockers for Rugrats or some shit.”

“Rockers for Childhood Cancer,” Ryleigh corrects him under her breath.

“Yeah, that.” He grins. “Anyway, Dusty and me are gonna do it.”

“Have you ever golfed before?” I ask curiously.

He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. How hard can it be?”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Ryleigh says, falling into step with us. “But I’m actually going to be there covering the event for the magazine.”

“I’m sure Taryn will be bored. She’s not the outdoors type.”

That’s true, but he says it like it’s a character flaw and I remind myself that I don’t care what he thinks of me.

“I’m not the outdoors type either,” Ryleigh says, “but I’ll be in the VIP area most of the time. Maybe we can get Taryn a VIP pass so she can hang with me.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Not her scene. That’s why I thought you girls might do some shopping or something. But she can just stay at the hotel.”

I can stay at the hotel?

Since when?

I don’t say anything in front of Ryleigh, but something about that rubs me the wrong way.

He always wants me at his side, showing me off.

So making me stay behind on a day that will undoubtedly be full of opportunities for him to be in the press makes no sense.

Not that I care about any of that, and staying behind is actually a relief for me—but I know him well enough to sense there’s another reason he doesn’t want me there.

Has he met someone else?

That would be great if not for the four remaining payments for Toby.

Christ.

I have to tread carefully, but I need to know what’s up.

“What’s going on with the golf event?” I ask him once Ryleigh’s gone. “And since when do you want me to stay at the hotel?”

He shrugs. “It’s not your scene. It’s going to be at some swanky country club. I mean, what would you even wear? Your whole wardrobe is out of that Rock Vibe crap. And that’s not the atmosphere of the event at all.”

I open my mouth and close it again.

He’s ashamed of me ?

The last time I tried to wear a cute little summer dress with cap sleeves and a moderate hemline he laughed so hard I thought he would hurt himself. Then he made me change into something short and skimpy.

I love clothes—all kinds of clothes.

I have suits and summer dresses and khaki shorts that go down to my knees.

I have heels, boots, sneakers, and sandals, in all different colors and heel heights.

Yet Callum doesn’t let me wear anything except the highest heels, the slinkiest clothes, and the most outrageous items in my closet.

I know I look like a stereotypical rock and roll groupie most of the time, but it’s just become part of my life that I accept because it’s almost over.

I’m embarrassed about the situation I’m in, but I always keep in mind that I wouldn’t be here—and certainly not doing the things I do—if not for Toby.

But Callum’s comment leaves me feeling a different kind of shame.

That I’ve become someone I don’t recognize.

Someone who’s so inappropriate that even my rock star boyfriend doesn’t want to be seen in polite company with me.

How the hell is a judge going to grant me custody of my child if that’s my image?

At the same time, I can’t get custody of a child who’s dead. I’d rather him be alive and healthy and thriving, living with my mom, than me getting custody of a child I can’t afford to properly take care of.

“You told me to dress this way,” I say, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. “You make fun of me whenever I wear something more modest, less rock and roll. And now you don’t want to be seen with me? That’s rich, Callum. Even for you.”

And because I’m hurt and angry and dealing with a plethora of emotions I know he won’t be sympathetic to, I turn on my heel and stomp in the other direction.

“T—wait!” He only calls me “T” when he knows he fucked up.

But I don’t care.

I’ll make nice later.

Right now, I have to lick my wounds in private.

Before I say or do something that will come back to bite me later.