Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (41 page)

“I have maids. I’m not going to throw fuckin’ junky shit into the bathroom trash.” Hadn’t he though? Sometimes? Wrapped everything except the needle in t.p. and dropped it into the wastebasket. Fuck. He hated that version of himself. And he hated that Scar still had Gage 1.0 lurking in the crypts of her mind.

Grabbing her arm, he dragged her from the room, through the bedroom, down the hall, down the stairs. She struggled. Demanded to be released. Demanded an explanation. He gentled his grip, but he didn’t stop until they were barefoot in the grass next to the trash bin.

He swung the lid up, and it fell back on its hinges, banging to the side of the plastic can. By the moonlight, he scanned the clear plastic bags until he found the one that looked familiar. In the corner of his eye, he saw Scar move away. Assuming she was going back inside, he turned angrily, but she still stood a foot or so away, fiddling with the pendant on her necklace.

The late Tyler Conterra’s silver cross.

Anger ebbed away and remorse eddied in.

There was no clearer casualty of the damage a needle could do than icons like Tyler Conterra. And left in their wastelands were roses budding among the ashes. Their children. Their loved ones.

Little girls like Scarlette Rose Conterra.

Bringing his attention back to the bag, he used a finger to tear a hole. The Ziploc bag was settled some, but still near the top. He tugged it through the opening, turned, and held it up for her inspection.

She only looked for a second before dropping her eyes to Rascal who had followed them out and was sniffing at her feet. “Thanks.” Her gratitude was quiet but so sincere he felt an ache in his eyes. She dropped the cross and bent, petting Rascal. A movement of her mouth drew his attention, and he knew her well enough to know she was gnawing on the inside of her lower lip. “Part of me feels like I’m stupid for going off. You know, if having that is helping you in some way.”

“It’s fine, Scar. You’re right. It’s a stupid thing to have in the house.” Nudging Rascal aside with his ankle, he moved in close, splaying his fingers to the side of her head. Bending enough to touch his lips to her hairline, he repeated the promise he’d made to her ages ago. “I won’t ever make you worry again. Not about that.”
And not knowingly about anything
, he promised to himself. “You coming to bed?”

When she nodded, he swung her up into his arms and she shrieked. There was no happier man than him at this moment. With her in his arms, he took the stairs, slower than he wanted to since his crazy dog was getting caught up in the excitement and running back every few steps, tail waggling.

T
he buzz of activity and the hundred conversations floating around were distracting, and for the fiftieth time, I reigned in my attention. My PA was patient, even observant enough to repeat anything of importance whenever my attention strayed.

“Pay special attention here. There’s one journo’ you don’t want to talk to. No matter if it sounds like a friendly ‘how do you do.’ They’ve been putting a negative spin on everything to do with your backstory. Don’t give them anything to quote.”

This news had my undivided attention, and I made a mental note of the name.

“Just stay tuned in to me. I’ll give you a heads up.”

Nodding, I fingered the tiny earpiece I would have in one ear for the red carpet portion of the upcoming drop party for my debut album.

“It’s going to be a lot of fun. Don’t be worried.”

Was I looking worried? I didn’t feel that way. My eyes strayed to Gage who was deep in conversation with Jax. Gage had done a lot of session work on my album as well as a couple of other bands. On the very date his non-compete clause with Fire Flight had expired, he’d received the call from Jax he’d been hoping for and within the week had become the newest artist on the Jewelstone label. Until I’d actually seen the change in him—the permanent and prideful straightening of his shoulders I hadn’t realized were hunched much of the time—I hadn’t realized how deeply drifting along as an unsigned artist had been affecting him. Feeling my eyes on him, he looked up and sent a smile across the room, which I returned. Nope. Not worried at all.

The red carpet was painless. I touched the earpiece in my ear one last time as Gage and I took our positions. What was to come in the days afterward was unpredictable.

With his career off to a fresh start, I’d wondered if Gage might regret his vow of not caring if we went public, but just last night, he’d made goofy jokes about how to announce it tonight.

We began the walk. Gage hung back each time I stopped for a press pose. Eyeing the printed cards along the carpet that identified each agency, I watched for the one I’d been warned about. Sure enough, a little voice in my ear reminded me just as I saw it, and I only smiled for the chic woman. That however didn’t stop the inevitable associative question from one of the next journalists.

“Did your brother Gage work with you on the album, Scarlette?”

No time like the present
. Laughing, I grabbed Gage’s hand. “Gage
isn’t
my brother.” I read Gage’s thoughts as clear as if he’d said them, even though his features were impassive.
You sure about this?
Hell, I was so sure, I leaned into him, and in that smooth, silent commutative way only lovers had, he sweetly snaked an arm around my waist.

Flashbulbs became strobe lights.

A dull roar became a yell fest.

“Are you and Gage Remington dating?”

“At what point did the video happen in your relationship?”

“How long was Gage Remington your stepbrother?”

And there it was.

I only smiled as we continued to move down the line.

“Holy shit!” Colt grinned
. “That
is
hysterical.” He’d played the video twice, and now he raised his voice in imitation of me. “Gage
isn’t
my brother.”

“It is funny,” Caroline picked her head up from Colt’s shoulder to agree. “The look on your face is priceless. Like the gal is an idiot!”

“Just a crafty cunt looking for a story angle,” Ivy interjected. It took a discerning eye to see Caroline bristle a bit at the other woman’s presence. Ivy seemed unbothered and hugged closer to her man of the hour who was an independent film writer and director. The press had been merciless during her very public final breakup with Bradley, and that was the reason for the tone she took when speaking of press. Her next words however were breezy. “We’ve got to get going. Scarlette and Gage, love the new digs!”

“Thanks for coming.” I jumped up and hugged my friend.

Gage and I had hosted a Scarlette Rose tour kickoff party at our new house—built on the lot where we’d had our first grownup kiss and lost the vape pen. Really, it was more of a barbecue with our closest friends and my side men. My tour musicians and their families had left within a few hours, but Gage and I, Colt and Caroline had been talking around the pool for half the night. Ivy and her date had dropped in and out quickly. Seth and a few of his friends—some of them girls—were playing video games just across the patio under his parents’ keen eye.

The upcoming tour leg was to be short. Just over a dozen dates. Gage was traveling with me, with the exception of the last few dates when he’d be returning to L.A. ahead of me to begin recording his own album.

We’d lain awake many a night, limbs tangled, staring into the dark as we resolved to not be one of those celebrity couples who rarely saw one another. We would keep our tour dates minimized, and that way we’d be able to travel with one another. Our united focus was getting our music ‘out there,’ and there were plenty of mediums for doing so without a heavy tour schedule.

I knew Gage loved the stage and the spotlight, and I’d become a teeny bit addicted to the adrenaline rush of performing in front of thousands. The short tours would be enough to suffice that craving. Hence, session musicians and tour musicians.

I would have liked the cohesive experience of a permanent band, but I realized the expectations would be different. It wouldn’t be right to deny them the touring that I didn’t want or financially need and they might. Gage had talked himself out of a permanent band for the same reasons. Besides, he said Fire Flight would always be his band.

Caroline giggled and when everyone looked her way, she passed Colt’s phone to me.

A picture of me and Gage that I had posted to Instagram during a recent session break titled ‘Making Music With My Man’ was now edited and reposted to twitter.

Scar + Gage #SHIP #Goals

The homage to us as a couple had over a thousand retweets.

Some of the press might be having a field day with former step-siblings turned lovers—one outlet had even dug up a shot of me and Gage as young teens with our parents, running it next to a passionate still frame from the video, entitling it ‘How Do You Get From Here to Here?’ But the fans of our music didn’t give a shit, and there was more evidence of their absolute devotion every day, taking forms like this post.

“Scarlette, dear, do you want me to put this food up before I go to bed?” Henni stepped out onto the patio and called across.

“I’ll get it, Mom. Thanks for your help. See you in the morning.” I kicked Gage’s shoe, and was impressed when he added a very sincere sounding “Yeah. Thanks. Rest well.”

I rewarded him with a scalp rub, and enjoyed the silky strands of his hair slipping through my fingers. Henni’s silhouette was soon out of sight, and I spoke quietly. “Only a couple more days, and she’s into her new place across town.”

“It’s been a long week.” He grumbled, jabbing his thumb down on the vape pen button.

“Oh, really?” I snuck a look to be sure we weren’t boring Colt and Caroline, but those two were conversing just as closely in their own little world. I snatched his prescription weed to dose myself.
Damn rude rock stars
. For a second, I’d gotten all warm and fuzzy, but he’d ruined it by countering his gesture. “So sorry for your long week.”

He jacked the vaporizer back into his possession. “Yeah. A week of not being able to walk naked through the house. Not being able to fuck in the kitchen if we wanna. Not being―”

I giggled, completely forgiving him. “You freak. What will you do when there are Gage juniors running around?”

“Shit myself.” His answer was immediate, and although it was accompanied with a silly smirk, I knew Gage was terrified of babies. His babies.

In fact, his fear of family might be why we weren’t married yet. I wasn’t critical. We’d both been warped by our own sperm/egg donors in one way or another. I was just as terrified of being a parent. But one thing I did know. At some point in the future, I yearned for at least one mini Gage doppelganger.

He would have dark shaggy hair and eyes like his dad. And of course, the engaging smile.

“I love you, Gage.”

“Not as much as I love you, Scar Dar’.

“What did you do?” She eyed the plastic on the inside of his forearm.

“Come see.” He led the way to the brighter lights of the bathroom.

With his free hand, he pulled at the temporary protection his tattoo artist had sent him home with until the swollen skin was visible.

“You had the broken string fixed?”

Letting the trash fall into the bin, he nodded. “The broken string was the something out of whack in my life.” Something in her face made him rush to add, “It was one of my first tattoos. And I’ve never even thought of fixing it. Because I’ve never been truly at peace until now.”

He watched as she took it in. The vine visible now, instead of a broken string. The rose on top of the perfect straight strings—holding them in place.

One day, after he had a ring on her finger, he’d add into the petals the names of each of their children…

THE END

To Join Lyrica Creed's Subscriber List and Be Notified of New Releases Click Here

and/or

To follow on Kindle and be notified of New Releases Click Here

Did You Know?

Reviews affect a book's visibility in the stores and qualify them for promotional opportunities otherwise not available to an author. Please consider leaving even a short review on Amazon or your favorite book platform.