Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots Book 8) (21 page)

“
You gonna love me right, Dax McCann?”

Huh. A video with over a hundred thousand views and my voice-over doesn't even have proper grammar. Great.

“Why don't you relax and find out?”
Dax's voice answers as the camera zooms in through the glass, hidden somewhere on the porch where we couldn't see it at the time. It's a shitty, shaky view of us fucking, but it's pretty damn obvious what we're doing.

Another sex tape to plague our little hard rock group—only this time, we know
exactly
who posted it. On the bottom of the video, there's an ad for the premiere of
Hard Rock Roots,
our new reality show. How exciting.

“Not as good as our video,” Turner mumbles as Naomi stares at the laptop balanced precariously on her knees, her facial expression somewhere between violent incredulity and maniacal amusement. “But better than Jesse's. Ugh, Rook Geary. I still cannot get over that shit. That is fucking nasty.”

“I swear to Christ, I'm going to kill you,” Jesse growls, running his hand over his shorn hair and shaking his head. “You're such a pig.”

“How the …” Dax is still standing there in complete shock, his face a white mask, his gorgeous lips parted in surprise. I wouldn't say last night went well—primarily because we didn't fuck—but Dax and I were actually able to lay in bed and watch a movie together. It was so … blessedly normal. But to wake up to this? Really? No wonder Paulette was smiling so much yesterday.

“How could you be so stupid?” Naomi croaks, giving my new boyfriend a dark as fuck look. I don't want to say she's not happy with Turner (well, she's definitely
not
pleased in this exact moment, but that's a whole different animal) because she is, but I can sense a bit of jealousy there. When she looks at me, her eyes narrow and her mouth twitches. I think she partially blames for me this whole reality TV thing. I get it. I mean, I'm the woman and therefore the smartest one around. I should've kept my boys in order.

“How could
you
?” Dax shoots back, getting defensive. “At least I wasn't all the way up her ass.”

“Whooooaaaa,” Trey crows, thoroughly enjoying the drama. God, he's such a fucking brat sometimes. “Shots fired.”

Naomi slams the lid on the computer and turns her attention to Dax, scowling hard enough to break her face. She might be fucked up from the coma, but this chick looks like she could cut a bitch. Turner and I exchange this weird look where we both acknowledge the assholery of our respective dates. It's comforting and familial in a way.

“If I was filming a fucking
reality TV show
with America's sister and wearing a goddamn mic then you BET YOUR ASS I'd be careful enough not to FUCK in front of a wall of windows!” she screeches, her voice breaking a little from lack of use. But damn it, those rock star vocals are in there, strong as ever, just waiting to claw their way out.

“Yeah, sure, but a hotel BALLROOM is perfectly fucking acceptable!”

Naomi throws the laptop at Dax, hitting him right in the arm before the computer crashes to the floor and explodes in a spray of pieces. She slaps some wisps of blonde hair from her face as she fumes, panting with the effort of being so angry. She really should be sleeping, but then there was … this. All. Of. This.

“I didn't sign anything,” she moans, putting her face in her shaking hand. “I didn't sign a damn
thing,
so how? How am I a part of this?”

“I signed it for you,” Turner says which only makes Naomi's shoulders tight and her breathing twice as frantic. “As your power of attorney.” He sounds hurt, wounded, but dude, Turner better get over that quick. I've seen firsthand how his hurt turns into anger, and anger is
not
the way to handle a woman like Naomi Isabelle Knox.

“And who made you my POA, huh? Because I
certainly
didn't.”

“Brayden Ryker,” Ronnie says, crossing his arms over his chest while Lola yawns, curled up and half asleep on the chair behind him. Guess she can be calm since she's one of the few in this room who
doesn't
have a sex tape on the internet. Bitch. Maybe one of those club goers saw her and Ronnie going at it the other day? Would serve 'em right if their shit went viral. “Has to be.”

“Well, fuck him then,” Naomi spits, sitting up straight, her orange-brown eyes locking onto mine. I'm in love with her, but I think she hates me a little bit. I never have any luck making girlfriends. “Screw that pigheaded motherfucker.”

“I hate him, too,” Ronnie agrees as he takes a step closer and puts his hand on Turner's arm. I don't know what he sees in the man's stance, but the calming effect is instantaneous, brotherly love at its best. “But honestly, I really do believe he wants to help us. Why, I don't know, but what I
do
know is that you killed Paulette's sister.”

A strange silence filters over the room as Naomi tears her gaze from me and focuses on Ronnie. This is the first time I've really felt the weight of that concert fall over us, the first time we've addressed it as a full group. What. A. Shitfest.

“For Turner to be able to bring you here, sign you up for this, it offers some sort of protection.” Ronnie takes a deep breath, glancing over to check on Lola. At the mention of the concert from hell, her entire demeanor's changed. She's gotta be thinking about her sister right now, poor chickee. “Not that I think you're safe, Naomi. If Paulette's willing to do all of
this,
” he gestures up at the ceiling as if to indicate the show, the mansion, everything. “To get her revenge, then she won't stop there. Once she's done with all of this, I'm afraid for you. You're not going to walk away from this unscathed.”

Naomi swallows hard and closes her eyes, but she doesn't say anything. No one does, not even Turner.

When Dax turns to look at me, his face is equal parts anger, fear, and frustration.

A video of us fucking is now front page promo for the new show. The worst part is that it's not the
worst
thing that's happened or will happen to us.

There might be a bullet out there with my name on it, but there are quite a few more labeled with
Naomi Knox.

Watching Blair Ashton's mother sob at her bedside is hard, but it's still a lot better than being back at the house. Besides, it gives me a chance to watch Dax at his most tender, his face broken into a million little pieces that I know only he can put back together. I'll help him try, God I really will, but it's going to take whatever strength he has inside of him to fix those cracks for good. Yesterday, during our already infamous fuck, I saw his strength, his power. I
felt
it—and I'm not just talking about the rhythm of his hips.

Fuck.

I reach down and pinch my arm—
hard.
I'd stomp my feet to get the sensation out, but it wouldn't really be appropriate right now. Even my thoughts feel blasphemous in this sterile white box we're standing in. This isn't Blair at all. I mean, not that I really know the chick, but she was always wearing big bows and polka dots, garter belts and faux lashes made of feathers. All of this white tile just doesn't fit.

“I want her back, Dax,” the woman says, turning and burying her face in Dax's shoulder. He holds her there with one strong, tattooed arm, his eyes fluttering closed as he sucks in a deep breath. I don't know what to do, so I just stand there, once again feeling like a complete a-hole, like an outsider in a room full of
in.

Blair's sister glares daggers at me from across the room, some teeny-bopper with a midriff shirt and a Taylor Swift song on repeat that blasts out of her headphones and fills the room with some bouncy pop lyrics that seem twice as inappropriate as my lurid thoughts. I try to understand where she's coming from; her sister
is
in a coma after all. I smile softly, trying to be comforting, but it doesn't work. The girl flips me off and turns away to stare at her phone.

I look over at Dax as he finishes hugging Blair's mom, releasing her with a small sigh that tells me just how tired he really is. If this whole thing with Paulette and the reality TV crap didn't happen, would he even still be
alive?
I was acting like a chickenshit, too scared to go after him, to take a risk on a boy with words tattooed on his face. And he … he was too broken to come to me. That stupid contract, that stupid clause about the mansion, it pushed us together, made us face the attraction we were feeling. Now, instead of getting hyped up on drugs … Dax is ramming me into the wood floors of the home office.

Why the fuck was I so against all of this?

“I'll take good care of her while you're gone,” he promises as Blair's mother and sister get ready to leave and take a break in their hotel room. They've been up for an entire day. Not cool. “Take as much time as you need. I'll wait here until you get back.”

Dax keeps a pleasant but neutral expression on his face while they gather their things, kiss Blair on the forehead and say goodbye. Once they've gone, my new beau plops into one of the hideous chairs pulled up to his best friend's bedside and leans his head back.

“
Fuuuuuck,
” he drawls, sliding his hands over his face as I move over and sit on the edge of the armrest. “I can't take this shit anymore. It's … Blair and I have been friends forever.
Forever.
I can't … I don't know how to get through this without her.”

I wrap my arms around Dax's neck, sliding into his lap and wishing I knew more, more about Blair, about Dax's childhood, everything. I don't want to feel like an outsider anymore. Not with my brother and his band, with Dax and his friends, with
life.
I've always been alone, always been the odd woman out. As stupid as this all is, I've finally found a community, a place where I belong, and I need to learn
everything.

“Tell me a story about Blair,” I say, leaning my head against him. Oddly enough, this position is harder for me to handle than sex in a cemetery. So much more intimate. I'm trying to touch Dax's soul here, not just his body. Without meaning to, I glance down at the angel fish tattoo on my ankle. Those fish mate for
life.
I don't know if Dax and I are going to make it that long, but … feeling him solid and warm against me like this, fighting the pain and the heartbreak with everything he has, I want us to. “About you
and
Blair. You've known her since elementary school, right?”

“Yeah,” Dax says, his voice low, his arms coming around my waist. A shiver takes over my body, a blaze of frost that burns at the same time it soothes, like jumping into an icy lake during the fire of a hot summer. “Since second grade. She always invited me to her birthday parties, although my dad would never let me go.” Dax's voice catches strangely, breath hitching. I can
feel
his body tense at that word.
Dad.
It's not a pleasant syllable for Amatory Riot's drummer. “Blair though, she'd sneak me goody bags at school. One time, she even shoved a slice of cake in there.” Dax laughs and when I look up, I can see him imagining a plastic bag filled with messy cake. “There was frosting on
everything.
”

His gaze sharpens as he stares into space, towards Blair's bed and the monster-robot of machines she has working to keep her alive.

“My dad found it under my bed two weeks later and made me eat it. It was covered in ants and smelled like ass.” Dax sighs roughly, a groan escaping his lips as he leans his forehead into me. “I hate him so goddamn much. I wish a tornado would rip from the sky and thrash him a hundred times worse than it got me. Hell, I wish it would
kill
him.”

“What happened?” I ask, sensing that little nugget of rage and pain that Dax picked up during our short stay apart. “You can tell me, you know. That's what I was trying to get at last night. I'm here to help.”

“I've put too much on you,” Dax says, shaking his head. “Way too much. You shouldn't have to put up with it. It's not your problem.”

I turn to face him more fully, straddling his knees in a highly suggestive manner. It should be sexual, but it's not. Well, okay, so maybe it is a little bit, but what the hell, I'm trying to be respectful to Blair, but I'm not dead.

“You're right. It
isn't
my problem, but when I agreed to date you, you became my care. So I care, Dax. I really do. Please. Get it off your chest.”

Instead of looking at me, Dax parks his chin in his hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair as he closes his eyes. His lids are covered with dark shadow and liner, obscuring his
Born Wrong
tattoo. I have the strongest urge to reach up and rub it all away, expose his inked flesh with my thumb.

“My dad …” A pause. “
Arnold
told me that my mother cheated on him in a bar bathroom.” Dax sucks in a harsh breath. “The thing is, that doesn't really matter to me. In fact, none of it does. The only that really matters is that maybe I'll never know. There are two sides to every story, but my mother … she doesn't have a voice anymore.” Another pause as I suck in a breath and try to figure out how best to handle this. Dax doesn't have a mom; neither do I. Life seriously blows dick sometimes, doesn't it? I want to comfort him, but I'm not sure I know how. “Anyway,” he continues, opening his eyes and waving his hand dismissively. “Arnold said she didn't want me, that she spent her entire pregnancy in misery. My whole life, the only thing that got me through his bullshit was thinking that if she'd lived, things would've been different. She would've loved me.
Arnold
would've loved me.”