Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

18. Tristan

D ischarge papers in one hand, and my ribs in the other, I hobble from the wheelchair the nurse used to cart me outside and into the Uber she graciously ordered for me. Raina’s fans are all over the world, and I was lucky enough to land one as my nurse.

A week ago I woke up freezing cold to a farmer poking me in the cheek. We were in the middle of nowhere Illinois in a cornfield of all things. Not something I expected, but then again, I didn’t anticipate being dumped and left for dead either…

The bruises, cuts, black eye and concussion seemed like child’s play compared to the constant agony of breathing with fractured ribs. I’m lucky they didn’t puncture my lung, even though that’s exactly what it feels like.

“I know you want to track Raina down, but you really need to take it easy. You aren’t done healing,” my nurse says through the open door, her tone just shy of scolding.

“Thank you, I know. You and the doctor made that clear, but a man’s gotta do what he has to do to fight for his woman.” She clutches her chest and gets a soft dreaminess reflected in her eyes. “I’ll make sure I send what I owe you. Thanks again.”

I lift my hand but forgo waving to save my ribs, then reach for the door and shut it, wanting to leave this fucking place as quickly as possible. I’ve spent more than my fair share in a hospital before I even showed up here. Add on the extended psych hold because they thought I was delulu for claiming I was best friends with one of the world’s biggest pop stars… Let’s say it was a lesson well learned.

The driver takes off, and I lean my head back on the seat. “Man, you don’t look too good. You sure you should be leaving the hospital?”

Peeking an eye open, I find him staring at me in the rearview mirror. I know what he’s looking at, and I can’t blame him for the horror reflected back at me. He’s not even seeing the worst of it. My bruises are now a week healed, more of a sickly yellow color decorating my face. My black eye still has some of the deep purple remaining, but at least it isn’t swollen closed anymore.

“I’ve looked worse,” I mutter, closing my eye again and shifting gingerly in my seat. What I don’t say is that it happened on the inside. I turned into a fucking monster, someone I can’t even recognize.

A sharper sensation shoots through me, every jolt in the road serves as a painful reminder that my ribs are far from being fully healed. The fractured bones stab with every breath, and the dull throb in my head from the concussion just adds insult to injury.

If I knew what was best for me, I’d heed everyone’s advice and get the rest I need. But I can’t do that. Everything in me is screaming to find Raina and beg for forgiveness. To protect her from the goddamn evil bastards surrounding her. I have to make it up to her, my slip from grace tears through my conscience and haunts me every second that goes by.

The driver doesn’t say anything for a while, probably debating whether to press further. When he remains quiet, I exhale, wincing at the pain it costs me to do even that.

The silence doesn’t last long, though.

“You gotta be careful with those ribs, man. One wrong move and you could end up back in the ER,” he finally says, as if I don’t know that already.

“I’ll be fine.” It’s a lie, but one I need to tell myself to keep going. Giving up isn’t an option, not one I can live with, anyway.

Exhaustion takes over. I should probably be concerned that I spent whatever energy I had simply getting into a vehicle, but I need to keep my focus on taking one step at a time, doing whatever I can to get back to Raina.

“ H ey!” The sharp bark of his voice wakes me, my heart beating fast, and I take a deep breath of air. Agony rips through my chest, my hand instantly going to my ribs in a useless attempt to ease the pain. “Wake up, man. We’re here.”

It was a few hours’ drive to get back to Chicago, the last place I saw the woman I love, even though I know she’s in New York now.

“Thanks,” I grunt, getting out of the car.

The driver stares at me out the window for a moment before he rolls it down. “Don’t die out there. I don’t want to be the last person who saw you alive.”

A wry laugh bursts out of me, ending in a hiss. “You don’t have to worry about that, I’m too stubborn to die until I find my girl.” He nods his head as if he understands and drives on down the road.

I pat myself down, that feeling of forgetting something overwhelming me before I remember I don’t have a single item that’s my own. I was dumped without a phone or my wallet, and my clothes were even cut off when I arrived at the emergency room. They were drenched in blood from the carving on my chest, the wounds having slowly bled for lord only knows how long before they started to clot, and with me passed out, they didn’t know what my injuries were.

Getting in a fight you can’t win receives zero stars, do not recommend. I won’t be doing it again.

Probably.

Hopefully not.

Not unless they threaten my woman…

I quickly scan the sidewalk, looking left and right, until I spot the distinct Apple logo at the store down the block. Shit. I was hoping he’d drop me off right in front, but with how crowded the parking is on the street I can see why he didn’t.

Normally, I don’t care if sidewalks are busy with rushing pedestrians, but I normally don’t have two broken ribs that leave me breathless and exhausted.

Okay, I can do this. One step at a time. Do it for Raina.

I know I shouldn’t be out here, broken and barely standing. My ribs remind me with every breath, every step, but the pain only fuels me. It’s nothing compared to the agony inside. I should’ve been there. I should’ve seen the signs, the way she suddenly stopped talking to me, how the media started to show images of her drugged out partying, then all the rumors around Napalm Delights. And now, with me knowing what they did to her and how they left me for dead, I can’t help but worry she’s in danger.

Me knowing what they did undoubtedly puts her at risk. They won’t want any chance of that information getting out. No matter how asinine it sounds. Nobody would believe me, just like they wouldn’t believe her if she had said anything.

I should’ve. Fucking. Been. There.

Glancing around me, the city is a blur of lights and noise. People shove past me, some casting sideway glances at the state I’m in, but none stop to help. I’m invisible here, just another broken man in a city that couldn’t care less.

My ribs tighten again as I push through, only two more stores and I’m there. This has to be more than I’ve walked at one time in the past week. Every breath becomes more ragged with each step until I have to stop, doubling over and grabbing a streetlight to steady myself. A sharp stab rips through my side, and I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood, waiting for the wave of pain to pass. My lungs burn, and for a second, I think maybe the nurse was right. Maybe this is suicide.

But giving up now isn’t an option.

It feels like an eternity before I find myself in front of a laptop in the Apple store. I wish I had another option, but my only way to get a new phone is to order it online and have it marked as immediate pickup. This way, I can log into my banking account to pay for it.

The Storm Chaser nurse was kind enough to let me log into my Apple account on her phone to get in touch with, well, anyone. Unfortunately, I found myself locked out. I can only assume those asshats found a way to trick the face ID and took over my phone. Leaving me with no way to contact anyone.

Finally, with a phone in hand, I find my way to a bench next to the glass wall facing the street. I curse myself for not knowing anyone’s phone numbers. Who memorizes them anymore with the ability to simply program them in your device? The only numbers I can drag from my memory are for my parents, and they aren’t here to help me anymore.

I blamed Raina for their deaths for so long that it’s hard to change the way I instinctively want to curse her name. It makes me insanely guilty, because now I know she didn’t even get my messages. She never heard the sobbing mess I was as I begged her to help them. My anger has been misplaced for so long, and come to find out she was fucking abused that whole time. She needed someone at her side supporting her—she needed me —and it fucking rips me up inside.

Shaking off the memories, I work through my social media apps, trying to log into each one on the off chance I’m still able to access something. With each denial, I lose more hope. I knew it was a long shot, but now it’s becoming a certainty. To be honest, I should be thankful I was able to access my banking to even get the phone in the first place, but a crushing need to cry like a baby is sneaking up on me.

I’m in so much pain, I want it to end.

And now I can’t stop thinking about how I found Raina in the ocean. I can only imagine the colossal weight of what she’s been through. Having no one by her side. Constantly crushed by everyone she meets… I want to change that for her. Be the man who deserves to be by her side. But how do you even start to make up for the years you spent hating someone who was broken too?

I finish setting up my phone, ensuring my bank account is connected to Apple Pay so I at least have a way to pay for things and shove it into my pocket. The only good thing I have going for me at the moment is knowing that I had enough time to game plan over the past week. What else did I have to obsess over? I’ve thought of every possible scenario and came up with so many plans I know it’s inevitable I’ll find my way back to her, it’s simply a matter of time at this point.

Taking a settling breath that stabs my side, I rub my face, wincing as my fingertips graze the bruises. The reminder of the beating I took isn’t only physical, it’s a punch straight to the gut, making the sensation of helplessness strike me all over again.

I should’ve protected her. I should’ve gone when she did, never left her side for a single fucking second.

The need to find Raina burns hotter with each passing second. Knowing what she’s endured... and knowing I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most, it twists the knife in deeper. All those years, I thought she abandoned me, and now I realize she was the one drowning. The guilt settles like a lead weight in my chest.

Unlocking my phone, I search for her tour dates, needing to know where she’ll be next. Goddamn it. Not having access to a device while laying in that hospital bed meant that I could plan and strategize to my heart’s content, but I wasn’t able to make any concrete decisions. After her show tonight, she has a five fucking day break. I’ll never be able to figure out where she is, which means I’ll have to wait to try to get to her in Boston. Even that isn’t a guarantee…

The sharp edge of guilt dulls, replaced by a resolve I haven’t felt in years—it doesn’t even come close to the desire I had to break her not long ago. There’s no time for me to sit in self-pity or let the past consume me any longer. I’ve wasted too much of it hating her for something she had no control over, and now I need to make things right. For her. For me. For all the damn lost time.

She’s been fighting alone for too long, and I’ll be damned if I let her continue drowning in the ocean of people trying to crush her spirit. I don’t know what she’s up against, but it’s clear she’s surrounded by sharks. My gut twists thinking of the kind of evil that’s kept her isolated, suffering in silence.

Every destructive thing I did, all my unforgivable acts… they all lead me to bringing my best friends along for the ride. I resented them for not feeling the same way about her as I did, but right now, that’s my saving grace. She has them now—to protect her when I can’t.

I stand, despite the searing pain in my ribs. I won’t let my injuries stop me, no matter how much it was stressed that I get rest. I’ve been beaten down before, and every time, I’ve gotten back up. This time won’t be any different.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving the wreckage. Now, I’ll help her do the same.

I walk out into the night, ignoring the way my body protests with each step. There’s a fire inside me that burns hotter than the pain. I don’t know where she is, or how I’ll find her, but I will. I’ll fight whatever demons come for her, and I’ll prove that this time, I’m not letting her face any of it alone.

She might not want me. She might hate me for not being there when she needed me most. And lord knows I deserve to never be forgiven for the things I did. But I’ll fight for her, and if that means crawling through hell to do it, I’ll burn every inch of the way.