Consumed Book 3.5
Is it better to burn out or fade away…
Taking one dream and trading it for another isn’t supposed to hurt this much.
Oblivion lead singer Simon Kagan is used to being in the spotlight for his model good looks and his voice, not because of the epic ending to Oblivion’s last show on their home turf in California. That unforgettable night rocked Oblivion in more ways than one, and now the journey back seems almost impossible.
The only bright spot is Margo. Margo, the one woman he’d been sure would never be more than a hot ride in the dark. Margo, who would never be his.
Except she is…for now. But taking one dream and trading it for another isn’t supposed to hurt this much.
As long as Margo never realizes the man she fell for no longer exists, maybe he won’t lose everything that matters due to just one all-consuming night.
Simon Kagan came into consciousness, fists swinging. He gasped as someone held him down. He tried to open his mouth, tried to tell whoever was pressing down on him to get the fuck off.
He couldn’t get air into his lungs.
“Mr. Kagan, please calm down. It’s okay. You’re in the recovery room. You’re fine.”
His muscles shook and his head spun as his gaze crashed around the room, not settling on any one thing. Too many lights, too many windows, too much white and blue.
Too many faces.
Worried ones, blank ones, tear streaked ones.
Just her. Violin girl. His violin girl.
She stepped forward from where she stood on the side with the ridiculously large dude in scrubs. She touched the guy’s arm and he shot her a harried look. Long, elegant fingers swiped down his almond skin and he backed up.
“Hush.” Her fingers feathered over Simon’s brow and down his cheek. The tiny callused tips were as soothing as silk. “There you are. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
He struggled to sit up, but she rested her hand on his chest and he stilled. Her huge dark eyes were trained on him. Nothing but him.
Breathing under water seemed a helluva lot easier than coming out of anesthesia. The fact that it felt more like he’d swallowed gasoline than spit may have had something to do with that.
Surely he had to be pre-surgery.
This couldn’t be what fixed felt like.
She tucked a hank of hair behind his ear and ran the backs of her fingers along his jaw. “The doctor will be in soon.”
He mimed writing and she reached for the small marker board on his bedside.
Am I fixed?