The Rocker Who Wants Me (The Rocker 7)

“We could never work,” I told him as I boldly met his eyes. “I want something you will never be able to give me.”

Hazel eyes narrowed on me. “Why? Because you’re with Liam now? Do you honestly think that he can give you what you want, Dallas? If anything, he’s the one with the Gabriella issues.”

I stiffened at the mention of Liam. What the fuck? What did Liam have to do with anything? “I’m not with Liam.”

“Bullshit. I saw you kissing him on Sunday.” His face tightened with anger. “His hands were all over you.”

“What?” I blinked. Was I so tired that I was hearing things? No way had he just said that Liam was all over me. As much as I cared about him, I would never let him put his hands on me. Never. I could barely stand for people to touch me. It was a fucking miracle I could let Axton touch me as much as he had during our time together. I’d actually craved another human being’s touch—I still did. It wasn’t Liam that I craved, though, so I would never allow him to be ‘all over me’.

I had been visiting Liam every Sunday since he had gone into rehab. For the first time Liam Bryant had gone willingly for treatment for his addiction. He was progressing admirably and as long as he had a good support group around him when he got out in a few short weeks, I was confident that he would be able to succeed this time around. When I had last seen him nearly a week ago he had kissed me before I left, but it was nothing like Axton was describing.

Liam and I were friends, really good friends. The kiss he had given me was nothing more than that…

The reality of what Axton was confessing to me suddenly hit me like a slap in the face. “Have you been followin’ me, Ax?” Was he stalking me?

His hands clenched into fists, but he didn’t deny it. “Don’t change the subject, Dallas. If you’re with Liam now, just say so.”

“I am not with Liam!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air, a sure sign that I was on the verge of an all-out tantrum. “I’ve just been helping him through his recovery. Something friends tend to do for each other.”

“He’s a loser. Liam has never lasted more than a few weeks of sobriety after getting out of rehab, and this time isn’t going to be any different. He gets off on hot chicks wanting to fix him.” Axton stepped closer, his hands reaching out and catching hold of my elbows. “He isn’t good enough for you. Don’t let him pull you down.”

I jerked back, truly disgusted with Axton for the first time since I had met him. “You’ve known him forever. Liam is your band brother, Ax. But you don’t seem to know anything about him. He’s stronger than you realize. All he needs is someone to believe in him. Now I understand why it’s taken him so long to make it this far with recovery. If this is how you and the rest of OtherWorld treat him then he’s better off with no one.”

“Damn it, Dallas. Liam Bryant destroys everything he touches. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I shook my head. “No need to worry, Rock God. I’m safe with Liam.” It’s you that always hurts me.

Dallas

Happy New Year.

I glared at the cheerful banner that hung over the ER nurses’ station. Colorful balloons hung around each side of it. I didn’t need the banner to tell me that it was the end of one year, and come the end of my shift, I’d be going home to the beginning of a new one. The busyness of the ER told its own story of how wonderful it was.

Stomach viruses. Flu. Heart attack. Two strokes. A sprained ankle. A tot with a broken wrist. It sounded like a nurses Christmas carol. It wasn’t. Christmas was over and done with. It was just typical evening shift for the busiest hospital in New York. Which made me question who had found time to hang that freaking banner in the first place? Someone was slacking and I couldn’t deal with working with slackers. It meant I had to bust my ass twice as hard and I was already running on fumes—or so it felt like.

The only shining glory to it all was that I only had a few more days on my contract. By the end of next week I would be jobless and the woman I had been covering for would be back from maternity leave. Then and only then would I do a happy dance and celebrate with my two roommates with a night out at the club—something I hadn’t gotten to do in over two years.

The radio system we used to communicate with inbound EMTs buzzed and I was the only one close enough to grab it. They were five minutes out with an unconscious MVA—motor vehicle accident—victim. A drunk driver had gone into oncoming traffic and collided head on with some guy’s sports car. We were getting the victim while another hospital was getting the drunk driver—who the EMT said merely had a broken nose from his airbag.

I quickly scribbled down all the information as it was given to me and then rushed to get the closest trauma room ready. The patient hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt and had been tossed through the windshield on impact. Head injury, internal bleeding, and possible spinal injuries as well. I paged radiology. We would need X-rays, CT scans, possibly even an ultrasound to rule out major internal bleeding of the abdomen. The crash cart was ready and waiting, as well as the surgeon on call—one of the top rated surgeons in the country. Another doctor stopped beside me just as the ambulance pulled to a stop in front of the sliding double doors. I rushed with the two doctors and another nurse to help the EMTs unload the patient.

I barely had a moment to take a quick glance at the man’s face before I was pushing him into the trauma room and starting to work on him. An IV had already been put in his arm, fluids pumping into him at the fastest speed possible. An oxygen mask was on his face, while the EMT kept pumping the bag, giving the patient oxygen manually. I wish I knew the guy’s name so I could talk to him. Let him know he wasn’t alone. But there had been no time for identification before he had been transported. In the trauma room we moved him from the gurney to the bed already set up. I started giving the meds the doctors called out for, X-rays were already being snapped even though the room was full of people.

“Broken ribs,” the surgeon called out and the nurse that was there to assist me started punching it into a computer by the sink. “His spine is swollen. I can’t see if there are any breaks.”

The IV in the patient’s arm suddenly collapsed and I didn’t even think before I started putting a new one in. Pushing up the sleeve of the man’s torn and bloody shirt, I started to search for a vein when the ink on his bicep caught my attention…