Klement passed the pipe to Roderick.
The drummer frowned. “You’re not taking another hit?”
“Nah, I’m saving myself for a cupcake when we get back.”
Cliff’s eyes widened. “You mean, you didn’t have one yet?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m driving, remember? I’m just having a hit for now.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” His friend gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re missing out. The body high’s kicking in.”
Roderick nodded. “Damn. You made a potent batch this time.”
“I know.” Klement beamed. “Just licking the batter off the spoon and bowl knocked me on my ass last night.”
Cliff took the pipe from Rod and took a hit. “Which plant did you use?”
“I did a blend of Schnozberry and Sticky Wicket. And no, I’m not sharing the recipe for the bud-butter.”
Roderick laughed. “Did you call our manager about Thrashfest yet?”
Klement nodded. “Yeah, and he already contacted the booking manager. They have our rooms reserved. We’re going to be at the Alpine Valley Resort. Viciӧus, Deity, and a couple other bands will be there too.” He paused before making a suggestion that had been on his mind for awhile. “I want us to write a song in honor of Lefty’s memory.”
The others nodded, then they all spent awhile discussing lyrics, drumbeats, and measures before Klement looked at the clock and frowned. They’d left Kat downstairs alone for over a half hour. If her cute dress and brilliant smile were any indicator, she was probably anxious to go.
He ashed out the pipe. “I suppose we should go. I want to get back early. I gotta work on Kat’s car tomorrow. Meant to do some on it today.”
They went downstairs to see Kat walking slowly across the living room floor. She stared down at the polished wood, taking careful steps as if there were hidden pitfalls and bogs within the varnished pine.
Klement put a hand on her shoulder, surprised. “You okay?”
She looked up at him with wide eyes, pupils dilated. “I feel kinda dizzy and the floor looks funny.” She took a shaky step and grabbed the arm of the couch.
Klem glanced over at the kitchen counter. “Uh, you ate one of those cupcakes, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Her lower lip quivered with fear. “They’re laced, aren’t they?”
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry.” Guilt stabbed him in the gut. “I made them with THC butter for the guys. I should have told you, or put them away, or…I’m sorry,” he repeated. Behind him, Cliff and Roderick burst out laughing.
“Oh man, you’re in for one hell of a ride, girlie!”
“It’s a strong batch, love.”
Klement glared at his bandmates. “Shut the fuck up. It’s not funny. The stuff gives her panic attacks.”
“Oh shit,” Kat whimpered. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”
Her panic visibly mounted, and Klement guided her to the couch to sit down. “I don’t think you should go anywhere tonight.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
Cliff ran a hand through his hair and shifted on his feet. “It sucks to leave her alone here when it’s supposed to be her celebration.”
Kat’s panicked gaze darted up to him, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was scared to be left alone.
“We can celebrate tomorrow,” Klement said firmly.
“But—”
He cut Cliff off. “You guys can go out, but I’m staying with her. It’s my fault she’s in this state.”
Roderick shrugged. “It’s okay, we can stay.” He approached Kat and offered a tentative smile. “Cliff and I ate some too. We can enjoy the high together.”
She looked back and forth at Cliff, Rod, and Klement. “I’m not enjoying it. I can’t breathe. I can’t…I can’t…” She trailed off and curled up in the fetal position on the couch. “Please don’t look at me. I know I’m being pathetic.”
Cliff paced around, restless. “Damn, it is hitting her hard. What should we do with her?”
“I’m right here,” she grumbled from the couch cushions.
Klement eyed her huddled form with growing worry. Her whole body shook like a leaf. “It might be best if you guys go ahead and take off to the club. I know when people are having a bad trip on something they sometimes get overwhelmed when they’re crowded. I’ll take care of her.” He placed his hand on hers. “Does that sound okay with you, Kat?”
She nodded. “I don’t want to ruin everyone’s night.”
Cliff practically ran to the door, eager as always to drink and socialize and maybe find his next conquest. Roderick just shook his head and grabbed his car keys out of his pocket. “Ring me if you need anything.” He smiled down at Kat. “Feel better soon, love.”
After the guys left, Klement lightly stroked the back of her hand. “Is it okay if I sit by you?”
“Uh-huh.”
He sat on the couch and reached over to lightly caress her back. “What do you usually do when you have a panic attack?”
“I usually take my Xanax and…”
Klem shook his head. “It’s probably not a good idea to mix it with the THC. What else?”
“I curl up in a ball and wait for it to go away. Then I listen to music, or watch a movie, practice my guitar…” She squirmed like she had a bad itch. “Can I take my boots off? They’re bugging me.”
“Of course.” He tried to ignore the way her skirt rode up on her thighs.
She fumbled with her footwear, getting more frustrated when the laces tangled in her fingers. Klement gently pushed her hands aside.
“Let me.”
He removed her boots, savoring the feel of her bare calf in his hand. “Damn,” he said, “your feet are tiny.” And adorable.
“I know. Buying shoes is a bitch.” Her shaking grew worse. “How long will it take for this stuff to wear off?”
He shrugged. “Depends on the person. For a lightweight like you, probably a few hours.”
“Hours?” she squeaked. “Oh God, I wish it would stop now! I keep seeing bad memories flashing before my eyes.”
Klement’s heart clenched in helpless agony. More than anything, he wanted to make things better. “What if you open your eyes?”
“Then I get too dizzy!” she wailed.
“I’m so sorry, Kat.” Why hadn’t he warned her not to eat one of the damn things? He rubbed her back in slow soothing circles. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“Actually, this feels nice.” She took a few deep breaths, and her shaking subsided to a fine tremble. “I’m sorry I’m such a wreck.”
“No,” Klem said. “It’s all my fault.”
“Most people probably have a good time on these things, but with me it’s like a bad ’shroom trip or something. I keep seeing my father beating my mom, beating me…” Her teeth chattered. “He was a cop.”
Klement’s hand tensed on her bare shoulder. “So that’s why you were so freaked out earlier. And you keep his car?”
“No, it was my stepdad’s car. He was the one who got me into metal. Our house caught on fire, and he died saving us.”
Her voice broke in a strangled sob, and Klement winced. So that was where the PTSD came from. That, and the abuse she’d suffered. His heart clenched as the suffering emanated off of her in tangible waves. Every cell of his being surged with the need to comfort her, to protect her…
He gently pulled her onto his lap. Even though it was inappropriate and dangerous as hell, she felt like heaven in his arms.
***
Richard watched Klement Burke’s house through his binoculars.
The sight of the black 1960 Plymouth Fury just outside of the garage made him seethe with envy. When that fag bassist pulled it out to push Kat’s piece of shit car into its space, he’d had to cover his mouth to keep from screaming. He couldn’t believe anyone would bother trying to fix that fucking thing, let alone supplant a beauty with it. He’d tried to convince Kat to get rid of the Subaru and buy another car, but she stubbornly clung to it because it was her stepfather’s. Not even her real father’s. Stupid girly sentimentality.
Laughter bubbled in Richard’s throat despite his rage. Good fucking luck fixing that thing. He’d heard that sugar in the gas tank would fuck up a whole car, and sure enough, he’d watched Klement go into the garage and only spend a few minutes there before he walked out shaking his head. Now she’d have no choice but to get rid of it.
He was about to leave when he saw Cliff and the drummer—that British dude whose name he never remembered—come out of the house. Richard wondered what Cliff had thought of his present.
The two band members got into the drummer’s Hummer and took off. Richard waited awhile to see if Kat and Klement would join them, but they didn’t.
Richard rolled his eyes. Kat was probably being a hermit as usual and piddling time away on her website or practicing her guitar. He smirked. Or maybe the control freak bassist was putting her through her paces because her playing wasn’t up to his standards.
Sure, she was talented, Richard admitted, and ungodly so for a chick, but good enough to play with one of the Big Six in metal? He couldn’t fathom it. They’d probably let her in for the gimmick of having a girl in the band. Or they just liked her tits.
Thoroughly bored, he rose from the bushes and made his way through the woods bordering the road, not emerging until he reached his car, which was parked in an overgrown turnout a quarter mile away. He needed a beer. And more money.
As he drove back to Denver, he called his delivery guy the minute he got a cell signal.
“How’s the account look?”
“We sold fifteen eight balls last week and another five this week so far,” Chris said cheerfully. “We’re cooking another batch tomorrow.”
Richard did the math in his head. “So, four grand.” And he had some product of his own if he needed extra cash. But he didn’t want to risk getting busted here.
“Yup.”
“Wire me half of that.”
“Sure thing. When are you coming back?”
He ground his teeth. When I’ve made her pay. Aloud he said, “Soon. I’ll let you know.”
Once downtown, he drove around looking for a good bar. Kat’s reclusiveness had given him cabin fever. He needed to get out, see people. So he settled on a place called The Hellion that looked like it would play good music.
The club was all that it promised. With an appreciative eye, Richard walked past the black walls plastered with posters of metal shows past. The red lights gave the place a nostalgic feel, like he was stepping back to the glory days of metal, and some band was tearing up the stage with riffs and vocals that were just above mediocre but held an energy that roused the audience. Bobbing his head to the beat, Richard sidled up to the crowded bar to get a Southern Comfort with Coke.
The bartender took his order, and the guy next to him said, “Hey, that’s my favorite too. Cheers for good taste.”
Richard looked over to give a nod, and his jaw dropped. It was none other than Cliff Tracey.
He closed his mouth and thought frantically about what to say. Thankfully, the bartender handed over his drink, buying him some time.
“It’s on me, man,” Cliff told the bartender before turning back to Richard with narrowed eyes. “Hey, you look familiar. Do I know you?”
Fighting back nervousness, Richard replied, “No, but I’m a big fan and honored to finally meet you. Thanks for the drink.” He raised his glass in a toast. “I love the way you do the two-handed slide. It’s subtle.”
Cliff clinked their glasses together. “That’s cool you noticed. Do you play?”
“Yeah, but I’m between bands at the moment.” Richard glanced around the bar and saw the British drummer at one of the pool tables. “And I’m nowhere near as good as you.” He tilted his head at the guitarist of the house band. “I’m better than him, though.”
Cliff laughed. “What brands do you play?”
As they talked guitars, Richard had an epiphany. Maybe instead of messing with the guy who was fucking Kat, he’d get further if he befriended him.