Heart Shaped Rock (28 page)

The pain!”

C-Bomb kicks the song into an even higher gear, and the entire band matches his intensity. Dean ditches his microphone and thrashes around the stage with his guitar, a whirl of masculine energy.

My entire body’s shaking.

The club is about to explode.

And so is my head.

Finally, Dean slams onto his knees and coaxes one last crying wail from his guitar, his chest heaving up and down, just as C-Bomb crashes one final, angry beat.

The place goes freakin’ ballistic.

Dean slumps onto the stage, broken.

I can’t move.

Tiffany jumps up and down, tugging on my arm and screaming something in my ear.

The crowd continues to roar.

After a moment, Dean slowly gathers himself up. He picks up the fallen microphone stand at the foot of the stage. His face drips with sweat. “Thanks for coming out.” His voice is hoarse. He holds up his palm to the audience in a wordless farewell—the same simple gesture he made to me ten lifetimes ago at Wang Palace—and the audience thunders its applause.

Dean abruptly exits the stage, his hand shielding his face.

I can’t breathe.

C-Bomb and the other two guys in the band look off-stage toward Dean’s exit, apparently trying to make sense of his sudden departure. When it’s obvious Dean is gone for good, they come down to the front of the stage to bask in the audience’s applause.

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

A chant of “One more song, one more song,” gains volume in the club, but the three remaining band members nonetheless leave the stage and the house lights come on.

The audience begins to dissipate.

I’m a strand of wet spaghetti.

“He’s such a hottie,” a dark-haired girl in front of me shouts to her friend. “I’m gonna find him backstage and give him my number.”

Her friend giggles. “I’m gonna find him backstage and give him more than my number.”

Both girls shriek with laughter.

I’m a deer in headlights.

Tiffany, obviously overhearing the girls’ conversation, clutches my hand and yanks me toward the front exit. “Let’s go.”

I can’t think straight. There’s nothing in my head except one thought, and it’s scrolling through my brain on an urgent, continuous loop:
Back door, back door, back door, back door, back door.

Swells of people converge around me, threatening to break my lifeline to Tiffany’s hand. When a particularly boisterous guy tries to wedge himself between us, Tiffany pushes him aside forcefully and tugs me closer to her.

Back door, back door, back door, back door, back door.
I have to talk to Dean.

“Oh. My. God!” Delaney suddenly shouts into my ear. “What did you do to that poor boy?
”

I don’t even humor Delaney with a glance.
Back door, back door, back door, back door.
I have to beg his forgiveness.

Finally, a blast of cool, fresh air hits my face as Tiffany and I burst outside through the front doors of the club.

A guy in front of me shouts, “That was insanity!”

A girl to my right yells, “RCR rules!”

Yet another guy says, “... best live band, ever.”

A long line has formed at the merch table to my left. People are clamoring to buy RCR T-shirts and CDs and hipster-special-edition vinyls.

Panic threatens to consume me. I’ve got to get to the back door.

“Do you wanna buy a T-shirt?” Delaney asks Juliette.

“Tiffany,” I blurt. “Back door.
”

Tiffany grabs both my shoulders and stares me down. “I’m on it, Peaches. Let’s get you to Dean.”

Chapter 29

The cool air outside The Beach House has chased my threatening panic attack away. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a bug-eyed lunatic, but at least for now, I’m not in any imminent danger of sprinting down the boulevard, screaming and flailing my arms.

Tiffany, God bless her, yanks me through the crowds toward the back of the building. “We’ll get you there, Shay. Don’t you worry.”

“Babe.” It’s Kellan.

And for some reason, the minute I see him, I think,
Thank God
.

Tiffany lets go of my hand to leap into Kellan’s arms. “You made it.”

“I saw the second half of Dean’s set,” he says, “but I couldn’t find you girls. Damn, it was packed in there.” He turns to me. “Are you okay, Little Shay? That last song was pretty intense.”

I shake my head. No, I’m not okay.

Kellan puts his big hand on my shoulder and pulls me to him.

“Dean doesn’t know Shay’s here tonight,” Tiffany explains. “C-Bomb promised to bring him to the back door right after the show so she can surprise him.”

“Wow.” Kellan runs his hand through his hair. “After that song, I’m guessing Dean’s gonna be plenty surprised to see you
.”

I can’t tell if Kellan means “happy-surprised” or “what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here-you-bitch-surprised.” My chest tightens at the thought of the latter.

“Well, then,” Kellan says, “let’s get our Shay-Shay to that back door, huh?”

Kellan grabs Tiff’s hand, and she grabs mine—a familiar chain-link-buddy-system for our little trio—and he begins pushing our way toward the back door of the club at a much more effective pace than Tiffany was able to muster on her own.

As we push through the swarming crowd, I look down at the ground and let myself get pulled along like a dog on a leash.

Dean, I’ve been an idiot. An egghead. A dope. I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll never leave you again. I’ll never stop you from saying whatever you need to say, ever, ever, ever again. And I’ll talk to you, Dean. I’ll let you in. I’ll let you inside me, deep inside me, to the dark places where no one else has ever been. Please, please, please. Forgive me.

Someone bumps my shoulder and I look up. We’re here, thanks to Kellan and his broad shoulders. The back door is only thirty feet away. A huge crowd has assembled around it, waiting for the band to emerge. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs, “Move out of my way! I’m not a groupie! I’m ‘Shaynee’ from the song!” But then I realize being the muse for that particular song is nothing to brag about.

My eyes dart around, scanning the entire area, trying to locate Dean, or, at least, C-Bomb. The two band members I haven’t met are lingering just outside the back door, surrounded by friends. Or fans? They’re laughing casually, like they don’t have a care in the world. How can these two guys possibly exist in the same air space as me, when my entire world hangs in the balance?

I continue scanning the milling crowd.

C-Bomb. Yes, that’s definitely his goateed and pierced head poking above the masses. He must be standing on some sort of retaining wall? He’s looking around, scanning the distance, trying to get a better view of something. Is he looking for me? No, it seems like the distant parking lot to the right has C-Bomb’s rapt attention.

I frantically wave both arms. “C-Bomb!” I shout, but he doesn’t look in my direction. “C-Bomb!” I shout again, louder, but amid the raucous activity around me, my voice sounds like a pebble falling into a deep well.

Kellan continues our trio’s slow advance. We’re almost right on top of C-Bomb now.

“C-Bomb!” Kellan shouts. His booming voice, unlike mine, cuts through the noisy din.

C-Bomb’s head snaps quickly toward the sound of Kellan’s voice, toward our trio, and I wave my arms frantically.

C-Bomb sees me and waves back, slowly—almost
sarcastically
, if “sarcastic waving” were even a thing. He smiles.

I suddenly have a sinking feeling in my stomach.

C-Bomb hops down from the retaining wall he was standing on and attempts to approach me, but he’s immediately surrounded by a small group of fans.

“Massive show.”

“You guys rock.”

“You’re a monster, C-Bomb.”

C-Bomb doesn’t acknowledge his admirers but instead continues gazing at something in the direction of the parking lot. I follow his line of sight in the same direction, but I can’t make out whatever the hell he’s looking at.

When I turn to look back toward C-Bomb, I’m surprised to see him striding purposefully over to me, a huge smile on his face.

“You made it,” he says, sounding genuinely happy to see me.

C-Bomb’s ear-to-ear smile is beginning to make me uncomfortable. “Where’s Dean?” There’s no time for small talk.

He squints over to the parking lot again, looking, searching, trying to find... and,
boom
. His expression leaves zero doubt he’s located his mysterious target. With a loud burst of laughter, C-Bomb raises his arm and points.

When I look over to where C-Bomb’s pointing, my stomach drops into my feet. Off in the distant parking lot, I can make out Dean. He’s wearing his black helmet and leather jacket and riding away on his motorcycle. And, much to my horror, Dean’s not alone. A girl sits on the back of Dean’s bike, straddling him from behind, her strawberry blonde hair tumbling out the bottom of her helmet. She’s wrapping her arms around Dean’s waist, holding tight and smashing the front of her body against Dean’s back and butt, as close to him as humanly possible. Her inner thighs are hiked up and opened wide under her mini-skirt, straddling and swallowing Dean like he’s Geppetto and her thighs are a monstrous whale.

Dean’s red taillights become smaller and smaller until they’re gone.

I’m not sure if I can continue to stand upright.

C-Bomb throws his head back and cackles. “I guess he’s finally gotten you out of his system.”

My knees buckle, and I sit down on the ground, right where I’ve been standing, like a toddler just learning to walk. Tiffany immediately squats down next to me and puts her arms around my shoulders.

“You’re such a dick, Caleb,” Kellan yells, his voice booming.

But C-Bomb doesn’t seem ruffled by Kellan’s barb one little bit; in fact, C-Bomb looks thoroughly amused.

“It’s okay, Shay,” Tiffany purrs into my ear, rubbing my back. “Dean didn’t even know you were here tonight. Don’t pay any attention to Caleb.” She suddenly raises her voice for him to overhear. “’Cause Caleb’s a flaming asshole.”

“You’re such a
dick
!” Kellan screams again, even louder. He puffs his chest out like a silverback gorilla protecting his territory.

Suddenly, Jared bursts out of the crowd behind us, his senses clearly on high alert. “Kellan... ?” He’s trying to understand what he’s seeing here. He takes in Kellan’s obvious fury toward C-Bomb, followed by me, sitting on the ground in a daze with Tiffany tending to me, and he visibly loses it, like someone’s just flipped a switch in his brain. Quickly, he hunches down to me, his breathing ragged and fierce. “Shaynee,” he whispers urgently. If testosterone were a scent, he’d be reeking of it right now. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He touches my hair.

I look up at him. I can’t speak. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. The sickening vision of Dean and that Motorcycle Hoochie is slamming me upside the head, over and over. I shake my head at Jared, though I’m not sure exactly what I’m trying to convey with that gesture. No, I’m not okay? No, I’m not hurt? The truth is, I’m devastated beyond words, but I’m not hurt in the way Jared means, either.

After a gentle squeeze of my shoulder, Jared leaps up from me and, without the slightest hesitation or warning, lurches furiously toward C-Bomb like a missile. “What’d you do to her?” he shouts, his voice roaring.

Clearly, C-Bomb isn’t one to retreat from an oncoming challenger, because he responds to Jared by lowering his shoulder and beelining toward him at a full and raging sprint.

When these two hurtling projectiles meet in the middle, C-Bomb wins, tackling Jared head-on. Jared falls smack onto his back—hard—right onto the asphalt with a loud thud and a crack to the back of his head, and C-Bomb crashes down on top of him. The tackle alone is sickening to watch, but there’s even more nausea-inducing action to come. With an immediate and swift motion from atop Jared’s chest, C-Bomb rears back and hurls a wicked punch onto Jared’s shocked face, making a hideous smacking noise that makes me think of a wooden paddle whacking raw hamburger meat.

“That’s for Dean!” C-Bomb screams.

Jared seems paralyzed, either by the fall, the punch, or both, but he nonetheless has the wherewithal to bring his hands up to protect his face. C-Bomb’s features contort into untamed fury as he quickly throws a second frantic punch, this time a forceful blow to Jared’s body, causing Jared to turn onto his side, moaning.

“And that one’s for my sister!” C-Bomb roars, just as Kellan bear hugs C-Bomb from behind and immobilizes him with his powerful arms.

Thanks to Kellan’s significant height and weight advantage over C-Bomb, Kellan literally lifts C-Bomb off Jared and throws him several feet.

“Stop!” Kellan commands.

When C-Bomb stays put, Kellan kneels down to minister to Jared on the ground.

Tiffany swiftly joins Kellan, immediately assessing Jared’s prostrate body. “Just go,” she screams at C-Bomb. “Get out of here.”

C-Bomb prances around like a boxer, apparently too flushed with adrenaline and rage to stand in one place, though he doesn’t seem inclined to advance on Jared again.

“Get outta here, man,” Kellan yells as he helps poor, wobbly, bleeding Jared to sit up.

I suddenly jolt out of my paralysis and scramble to help Kellan and Tiffany with Jared. He’s taken quite a beating—and on my account. I want to make sure he’s okay.

C-Bomb glares at me and snarls, “Yeah, Shaynee, that’s right. Go dry hump your boyfriend again.” He spits at the ground. Then, he turns and sprints away.

Chapter 30

When I walk through the front door of my house—exhausted, heartbroken, confused, humiliated, and, yes, even despairing over tonight’s events at The Beach House—I find Dad reclined in the blue chair and listening to one of Mom’s albums. When Dad sees me, he immediately reaches to turn the music off, a kid-caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face. He flinches, apparently anticipating another one of my monstrous meltdowns.