Karyn Gerrard - Heart of Rock

What did concern her was Byrne hadn't been eating or sleeping much as far as she could tell. Should she bring in a doctor as his brother had suggested? Perhaps force-feed the handsome bugger? She would throw a pizza in a blender and make him drink the concoction if she had to.

Carly recognized the heavy knuckled rap at her bathroom door. "Come in, Gio."

"Ah… boss. I went for a break to get some burgers, and well, I left Charles in charge, and…" Gio babbled incoherently.

"Spit it out, Gio."

"I don't think Byrne is breathing."

Her hands still wet, Carly ran across the hall with Gio right behind her. There was Byrne sprawled on his back on the floor surrounded by booze and pill bottles.

"He must have got Charles to get him some stuff. I'm so sorry, Carly."

Carly froze. Was he even breathing? His sculpted-in-marble chest wasn't moving. The headlines flashed through her brain. Byrne Dead of Overdose . Oh, shit.

Even in her panicked state, her Red Cross course kicked in through the morbid thoughts and sensational headlines. She quickly moved to his side, dropped to her knees, and began CPR. Were the compressions right? It had been years since she took the damned course. "Breathe, you selfish fucker—"

"Want me to call emergency? Get an ambulance? How do we handle this…?" Gio prattled.

Byrne choked up a huge wad of puke on the carpet. He almost asphyxiated on his own vomit. The obstruction now cleared, he began breathing again. Oh, my God, think of the headlines then: Byrne Chokes on Puke . Just like Hendrix. What a way to go—it was almost as bad as dying on the toilet. Carly's concern soon turned to irritation. What was wrong with this idiot?

"Gio, take him into the bathroom. I don't think he's done," she snapped.

Gio tucked Byrne under his arm as if he were a lightweight mannequin and walked to the bathroom. Carly followed them. The room was soon filled with the noise of Byrne retching and the fetid odor of rancid bile. Carly stood with her hands on her hips glaring at Byrne's muscular, bare back and tight, leather-clad ass. Even sick as a dog, he was gorgeous. There couldn't have been much food inside him, but still he heaved and gagged.

"Guess I am going to have to sleep in the same bed as this bastard, chain our legs together, and hold his cock so he can piss," Gio snarled in annoyance.

"It's obvious he can't be left alone, not for the rest of the tour."

"Should I fire Charles's ass?"

"No, Byrne probably threatened him, but I do want to see him tomorrow. I should get his side of the story. See it done." Carly exhaled. "I know of a doctor here in New York, Cascade has used him before. He's very discreet. I'll give him a call. Byrne should be checked over."

"Blarrrgggghhhh—" Bryne gagged.

"Gio, you should've told me you were leaving Byrne. I had no idea you were gone. Don't leave him again. If we have to take shifts staying with him, we will. I want no one else handling him but you and me. Got it?"

Gio nodded. "Yeah, I got it. As soon as he's done puking, do you want me to kick his ass?"

Brogan was practically kissing the porcelain. Never had he been so sick, and the horrid smell lingering in the air wasn't helping his nausea. His head swirled, and his eyes couldn't focus. He could hear them talking, and he could make out a few words. They weren't happy, and he couldn't blame them. What was he trying to pull? Was he trying to kill himself? No feckin' way. Brogan heard the last part of their conversation, and he retched some more. Trickles of vomit oozed through his fingers.

Carly glanced at Gio and laughed softly. "No ass kicking tonight, but I don't rule it out for later if needed. Let's get him cleaned up and back into the bedroom."

It was the height of embarrassment. He was being washed by another man. He appreciated that Gio didn't look at him with disgust. The man went about his duties, and then helped him back into his suite.

"Can you stand?" Gio said.

"Aye, I think so."

Gio gently released him from the grip of his huge paws and stepped back.

Brogan's knees suddenly gave out, and he was flat on his back staring at the stucco ceiling.

Carly and Gio once more rushed to his side. "Did you hurt yourself? Are you okay? Are you going to be sick again?"

He didn't hear anger in her voice nor did he hear the nails on a chalkboard cadence for once. Carly's soft, feminine voice sounded concerned and compassionate. She got on her knees and pulled him to lean against her.

He reached up and wiped the burning, unshed tears from his eyes. "She left me. She hates me—"

"Do you want Gio to put you on the bed?" she asked gently. He wasn't used to this caring tone from her. In the short time of their acquaintance they had usually argued.

Suddenly the bed seemed like a great, unreachable height. "No. Just let the room stop spinning first."

"Look, Byrne, there can't be any more drugs, booze, or broads, or it will kill you. It almost did tonight." Carly smiled at him slightly and nodded her head in the direction of Gio. "Besides, next time I'll have Gio perform CPR and mouth-to-mouth on you." She chuckled softly, and the Volkswagen snarled and crossed his huge arms.

"Love, that's just bloody great," he muttered.

"Gio, go down to the restaurant—I know it's late—ask for some chicken broth and toast, and pay them anything."

When Gio left, Carly lifted his head. "What were you thinking? Death? Finality?"

"No. I just wanted to numb the feckin' pain," he croaked. "I didn't take enough pills to kill myself."

"No," she sighed. "Instead you almost choked to death on your own vomit. Smooth move, Byrne."

Carly got him to sit upright. He leaned against her chest. Carly smelled of clean soap, baby powder, and mint. Her silk pajamas felt cool against his raging, sensitive skin.

"I'm in real trouble here, Montgomery," he rasped. His throat still burned from his vomiting. "I gave my girlfriend VD—gonorrhea to be specific. I better get tested."

"No shit. We'll see a doctor as soon as possible. I'll make the call in a few minutes. Byrne, you're a damned mess."

"Thanks, love," he said softly.

Her hand gently stroked his chest, and the motion comforted him. Her voice sounded matter-of-fact and not judgmental. "So she dropped you. Do what other broken-hearted musicians do and write a song about your torment. It sells records. When was the last time you wrote anything?"

Carly spoke the truth. He had been touring on his last album for the past year and had done nothing new. He still had one record left on his contract with Cascade. He was bloody daft. He didn't think he was a stupid gob-shite, but obviously he was. He almost choked on his puke. Real bleedin' class. His cheeks flooded with heat and shame.

One of Carly's hands touched his hair. When was the last time someone just held him and comforted him? He burrowed the back of his head in between her breasts. She had more there than he'd thought. He was getting turned on, but he wanted the soothing reassurance of her touch even more. He sighed deeply and contentedly. His head's insistent throbbing started to subside. He closed his eyes. He could sleep right here in her embrace.

Dear God, but the man was stunning. Having him lean against her like this seared her skin. She couldn't stop touching him. One hand tunneled through his silky two-tone hair, and the other stroked his bare chest. Did he just sigh, or did she? She should be raging with indignant anger; instead she comforted Byrne like a lost little boy. She was going to feed him damned chicken broth. All that was missing was the bedtime story. She had told him the truth. He was a mess, and worse than she originally thought. What dramas were next—paternity suits? Carly was surprised he didn't have a couple already. Every male rock star did, and considering how careless he seemed to be sex-wise, it was only a matter of time.