I Want You to Want Me (Rock Star Romance #2) (31 page)

“You took a job?” Mimi dug into the suitcase, lifting a handful of neatly folded shirts. “When? Twenty minutes ago we were high-fiving each other over randy Randall’s good news. And now you’re packing?”

“Yep.”

When Mimi sat on the edge of the mattress, the suitcase tipped. She lunged for it, saving it from toppling over. “You didn’t even tell us. I thought things were going great with
you and frat boy. I thought we’d have to wear earplugs while you guys banged the headboard into the wall. Instead we come home and the Ferrari’s gone.”

Violet picked up her clothes and straightened them. “I’ve got a car coming in half an hour, so I really need to think right now.”

Passport.
Oh, damn. Good thing she’d remembered.
Imagine forgetting something like that.

“Instead of banging Randall, you’re going to Chicago?”

“Japan.”

“Mom.” Mimi jumped up, strode to the bedroom door. “Mom!”

Feet pounded up the stairs. “What’s the matter?” A barefoot Francesca entered the room wide-eyed, like she was expecting another broken blood vessel.

“She’s going to Japan.”

Violet turned to see the look of disappointment on their faces. “What? This job will pay off the lease, and I’ll own the farm outright. Then I’ll be done. I won’t need to take any more jobs.”

“Too much saliva?” Mimi asked. “Did he make a boob grab?”

“Randall has nothing to do with this.”

“But shouldn’t he? Don’t you want to stop running?”

“I’m not running. I’m
working
. It’s what we do when we don’t have fathers to pay our bills until we find the perfect job.”

Mimi flinched, rearing back. “That was a bitchy thing to say.” Her features turned pink. “I don’t . . .”

“Yeah, you do,” Violet said. “But that’s okay, and you’re right. It was bitchy. I just had to turn away a really good man, and it sucked and I’m feeling ornery. I shouldn’t have been a bitch but don’t pretend you know what it’s like to have no one. Literally no one. Every bite of food, every gallon of gas, every cup of water I use from the faucet, comes from me. My ability to produce an income.”

“Sweetheart, you’re okay,” Francesca said. “You got good news tonight. You’re going to be okay. There’s no rush to pay off the debt.”

Francesca had never wanted for a thing her entire life, so she couldn’t begin to understand. And, yes, of course
her friend had offered to buy the farm and set up a payment plan. Years ago. But Violet didn’t operate like that. She’d do it herself. She
was
doing it.

“There’s always a threat. For my peace of mind, I need to put this all behind me and own the farm outright. Then I’ll settle down and start working it.” She shot a glance to Mimi. “And I’ll date.”

“But not the frat boy?”

She shook her head. “He’s just . . . not the man for me.”

Violet knew from the sudden silence in the room that the mother-daughter team was communicating with their silent language of facial expressions. She also knew Mimi wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut, so she wasn’t the least surprised when Mimi said, “What happened exactly? You were playing tonsil hockey and then
bam
. You dumped him. What’s up with that?”

“Nothing happened. He came to give me the news.”

“Right, he drove two hours to the tip of Long Island to pass along two sentences he could’ve texted.”

“Mimi, honey,” her mom said soothingly.

“No, she’s running, and I want to know why.”

“I’m not running. I just told you what I’m doing.” Sweat prickled under her arms, and she started flinging underpants into the suitcase. “I’m
working
. Did Randall come here for more? Yes, he would like more from me. He’s a great guy. I like him very much. He’s perfect. He’s a perfect guy.”

Great, now they looked at her like she’d lost it. Well, maybe she had. She wanted to flip her bed over, throw these stupid, ugly clothes out the window. They weren’t her. Why was she packing clothes to make her look like Jason Becker’s corporate attorney?

His entourage was so large it didn’t matter what she wore. She’d be invisible. Disgusted, she reached into the suitcase and tossed her silk blouses and ugly skirts onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Mimi shouted.

“I’m working with a nineteen-year-old spoiled brat. I don’t need to look like his accountant.”

Mimi bent over and picked up a deep pink cropped cashmere sweater. “An accountant would never wear this, but I’d totally wear it.”

“Take it, it’s yours.”

“How can we help you, sweetheart? What kind of look are you going for?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never worked for a nineteen-year-old spoiled brat on tour in Japan. Why would they even hire me for this job? It’s not like I can get through to a kid who has too much money, too many handlers, and too much exposure to everything bad and not enough self-discipline and self-awareness to just simply say no, thank you.”

“Oh, boy.” Francesca sat on the edge of the bed. “Honey, you don’t have to take this job.”

“Stop saying that.” She’d never raised her voice to her friends. Ever. But she felt like tearing off her clothes and streaking out into the night. The walls were coming down around her, nothing made sense, and she just had to keep marching along the same track she’d always walked on until she came back into her own skin. “No other job’s going to pay me this kind of money.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, is no one going to speak the truth here?” Mimi got right in her face. “This isn’t about a damn job.” Mimi gave her a challenging look. “This is about Derek Valencia.
He’s
why you sent Randall away.”

Violet turned away so abruptly she heard the tendons in her neck crunch.

“Why can’t you admit it? What’s the big deal?”

“Of course he’s why I sent Randall away. How am I supposed to go back to my life after him?”

“You love him.”

“Of
course
I love him. Who wouldn’t?”

“I sure as hell would. But he doesn’t want me. He wants
you
.” She reached for Violet’s arm, rubbed it. “He wants you. But you turned him away.”

Francesca leaped up. “Mimi.”

“No, she has to face this shit. Not run from it. If you’re gonna put on your damn running shoes, at least go run and get him.”

“What’s the point? God, Mimi. So, great, we can burn up the sheets a few more times before his interest in me fades and he moves on to the next woman who gets him all worked up?”

“Oh, I see. So he’s just a fickle son of a bitch who follows his dick? ’Cause that’s not the guy I met. The guy I met takes his work seriously. He’s intense, and he’s focused, and when he gives himself, he gives it all.” She leaned into her face. “And he gave himself to you.”

“You don’t know him. It’s all about the passion for him. Passion burns out. And then what will I have? I’ll have given up everything and wound up with nothing.”

“He’s not your mom. He’s not a drug addict.”

Violet stood stone still. Stunned. “I know that. Of course he’s not my mom. I didn’t even know my mom.”

“But you know
him
. In your gut, you know what you have is real, and that freaks you out. Because he could up and dump you just like your mom. Except, oh, right, Derek’s not a junkie. And I’m sorry to tell you but love just doesn’t offer any guarantees. But you need that guarantee, don’t you? And without it, you’ll what? Settle for the same bland, dull emotional life you’ve been living for the past twenty-something years? Now that you’ve had Derek, can you really stand one more day of your old life?”

“It’s not my
old
life. It’s my life. And I don’t know what I want.”

“Sure you do. Randall is stability and security, and you feel the same bland emotion with him you’ve felt all your life. And interestingly, you could have him, but you sent him away, didn’t you?”

“Mimi, that’s enough,” Francesca said.

“No, actually, it’s not enough. You’re too careful with her, Mom. You’re too careful with everyone. You don’t just say it like it is.”

“Okay, I’ll say it just how it is.” Francesca stepped between them, facing her daughter. “Back off. You can’t bully people into doing what you want, feeling what you want them to feel. Haven’t you learned that lesson enough times with your lovely group of friends?”

“You guys, stop. Don’t fight over this. It’s not your problem. I’ll figure everything out, but for now I have to go. I can’t miss my flight.” She dropped to her knees, scooping up all the discarded clothing and shoving it into the suitcase.

“You leave, you lose Derek,” Mimi said. “You get that,
right? You don’t have to take this job. You’ve got choices. Choosing this job is your way of making sure you don’t risk your heart. When you settle for a boring guy in a dull marriage, you can always reassure yourself that you tried passion once, you gave it a go, but it wasn’t for you. But you’ll always know the truth. You didn’t have the balls to go for it, and your penance will be a life of blandness.”

“Mimi,” her mom said.

But Violet didn’t want to hear another word. She zipped up her luggage and wheeled it out of the room.

Loud, shrieking laughter snatched her out of a deep sleep. Before she could think, she reached for the robe she kept handy and dropped her feet to the cold floor. Racing down the narrow hallway, she tackled the steep steps and spun around the corner to find the same scene she’d left an hour ago, when she’d finally gotten Jason into bed. Lights on, booze bottles everywhere—party interrupted.

The bus driver, who didn’t speak a word of English, turned in his seat to look at her, features twisted in pure disgust as he pointed out the open door.

“Oh, shit,” someone called, and then erupted in hysterical laughter.

“Nailed it,” someone else shouted.

Violet dashed off the bus to find Jason and his entourage lobbing eggs off the overpass of a highway. Immediately, she spotted his dad, arm cocked as he aimed at a car whizzing by.

“Jason, get on the bus—now.” Her harsh tone got everyone’s attention. Where on earth had they found these groupies at three in the morning? She tried to block the girls from entering the bus, but Jason’s dad came right up to her, towering over her, and gave her a menacing look.

“They’re coming with us.”

“No, they’re not.” She tried to back away from him, but he grabbed her arm and jerked it.

She stumbled back against the bus, and he rushed her. He stank of booze and pot. The bus hadn’t smelled of pot, so she looked to the ground, found it littered with butts, both cigarette and weed. “You took your son outside to get high? And then you let him commit vandalism?”

“Listen, bitch. Kid needs to let off some steam. You can’t keep him on this fucking retard regimen. He doesn’t eat spinach, he doesn’t want to get up at the crack of dawn and go to some fuckin’ gym. He wants to blow off some steam, get it?” He motioned to the girls behind him, giggling and preening, as Jason tickled them.

“I told you the next time you called me a bitch, I’d talk to Keene.” Not that Jason’s manager cared. He wanted to keep his job and please the record company at the same time.

“So do it already. Who gives a fuck? Keene works for us.”

“Us? Did you mean Jason? Because this is your son’s career we’re talking about. And he’s not going to have one unless you let me help him. Look, I’m done with your interference. As soon as I get Jason back to bed, I’m going to make the call and tomorrow you’re going back to New Jersey.”

“Fuck you. He’s my kid. I got his best interests.” He gripped her arms, lifted her off the ground, and set her down against the concrete wall of the overpass. Turning, he smiled at the young girls and ushered them onto the bus.

As Violet stood there, rubbing the skin at her elbows that’d been scraped raw against the concrete, she closed her eyes and thought of her farm. Francesca in the cellar, filling the tea bags, the wildflowers drying overhead. Mimi on the covered porch, sunlight splashing over the pretty dried petals scattered all over the big picnic table, her forehead creased as she chose which color to place on her pulpy paper.

By taking these jobs, she was denying herself the very life she was fighting to claim.

How had she not seen that until now?

She thought of Derek, and her pulse soared. What was he doing right then? The tour had ended, so he was getting ready for Emmie’s wedding.

The wedding at Four O’Clock Farm. Which she would
miss because of this stupid, pointless job. Trying to help a kid whose parents fought against her every step of the way.

She wanted a normal life, but she kept making choices that kept her from it. She wanted a normal relationship, but she pushed people away. This wasn’t about some missing piece in her—a lack of affection in her mother’s eyes. This was fear. Plain and simple. Fear informed her choices and kept her from having all the things she wanted.

Well, fuck that.

I’m going home.

•   •   •

Three
weeks since he’d seen her. Three weeks of hell. Every night, every waking moment, he lived with a spike in his heart.

He’d fucked up.

His bare feet dug into the hot sand, and the sun burned the top of his head. As he waited for his sister to come down the stairs, he looked toward the canopy they’d constructed for the ceremony. Slater and Francesca, the officiant, chatted underneath the riot of wildflowers woven into the latticework. His friend looked calm and perfectly happy.

One thing he could say about Slater—when he’d found Emmie he’d never doubted, never looked back. He’d held on to her and never let go.

Derek had let go.

Why the
fuck
had he let go?

“You’ve got about six minutes to pull your head out of your arse before your sister shows up.” Irwin came down the wooden steps in his white linen pants and sky blue Hawaiian shirt. He wore a lei—as they all did—of fragrant wildflowers. The Brit came up beside him.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Hey, I wanted to . . .” Did you thank someone who chose you as best bass player in the world? “Thank you for the honor of including me on the Ledger List. That . . . uh, that’s pretty incredible.”

“Did you ever wonder why your father lost his place on it?”

“No.” He’d never even considered it. His dad had always just been this God, this larger than life icon. He’d never
wondered why his career had, essentially, ended.
Interesting.

“Because he stopped growing. It’s quite common, actually. Talented artists who get their energy from the accolades, the nymphs, the applause. Not the music itself. They dry up.”

Derek thought about that. It made sense, given the way Eddie had lived his life. The man had blown up his marriage to fuck groupies and party. The talent had stopped working with him because he’d lost his focus.

Oh, Jesus.
Realization struck hard. He got it. He fucking got it. All those horrible comments his dad had made over the years hadn’t had anything to do with Derek at all. They’d been about his father’s own fears about losing his mojo, his reputation, his fame.

Flash over substance. That had been his
father’s
fears for himself. It had nothing to do with Derek. Except that Derek had a fresh slate—a chance to do it right. And Eddie’s was over.

Irwin leaned in, and Derek got a whiff of Francesca’s expensive perfume on the man’s shirt. “Feed the muse, not the wounded boy, and it’ll all work out.”

A collective gasp had them turning to the stairs. Emmie floated down in a simple pale pink dress, tight on top, then flowing out around her. Her bare feet peeked out, the toenails painted a bubble gum pink.

His sister looked radiant.

“And there’s our girl,” Irwin said, voice filled with warmth and pride.

His mom, draping Emmie’s train over an arm as she followed behind, made a shooing motion. “Go on and get up there with Slater.”

Derek took off. The closer he got to his friend, the more his mood turned. The way Slater and Emmie looked at each other, their utter certainty in their love for each other . . . it made everything snap into place.

Fuck fame, fuck his reputation, fuck all the gold or platinum records in the world. At the end of the day, at the end of his life, the only thing that mattered was his heart. Whom he’d loved, who’d loved him. The only thing that mattered was the woman who’d walked through life by his side.

The woman that slept in his bed.

And that woman sure as fuck was Violet.

No more dicking around. He’d let this go on long enough. Tomorrow he’d go get his girl. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, he didn’t care. He’d take her. Claim her.

Done.

Music started playing as Derek took his place beside Slater. Across from him, Ben played a beat on bongos, Cooper strummed an acoustic guitar, and Pete played a portable keyboard. Fucking Pete. He’d left rehab to come to the wedding, but they all knew he had no intention of going back. He didn’t want to miss out on recording the new material. What could they do? They were happy to have him back, just . . . worried.

And then Calix started singing, and the world came to a screeching halt.

“What the hell?” Derek said, laughing.

“Dude has pipes,” Slater said.

The groove was simple, sweet, the guys whistling between verses. “What is this?” He liked it. Liked it a lot. And it fit Emmie. Really fit her.

“‘You Love Me,’” Slater said. “It’s by Kimya Dawson. And it’s perfect, so shut the fuck up.”

“You gonna kiss your bride with that mouth?”

“Count on it.”

Derek cupped Slater’s shoulder. “Happy for you, man.”

“Happy as fuck.”

And then he turned to watch his sister walk toward her groom, the lyrics of the song slamming him in the gut. Too scared to let anybody close—fuck, yeah. They hit him right where he lived. He’d never gotten close to anyone either, but Violet? She’d gotten right in.

Right. In.

He’d known it that first night together, when he’d convinced her to sleep in the bunk that barely fit his own body, let alone both of theirs. But she’d stayed.

Because she’d felt it, too. He knew she did.

Perfect song.

Slater’s gaze jerked up, causing everyone to turn toward the stairs. The music stopped.

Violet.

Oh, fuck. She’d come.

Violet
.
Her hair loose and wavy, she wore a lavender dress that was fitted on top and had a dark purple silk band under her breasts. She looked fucking gorgeous, and she looked right at him.

She froze when she saw everyone watching her. “Oh, I’m sorry. Go on, please. I’m so sorry.”

His heart thundered, and his knees buckled.

“Oh, thank God,” Francesca murmured.

“Yes,” Slater said in a hiss.

“Please go on.” When Violet reached the sand, she pulled off her heels.

Emmie shielded her eyes with her bouquet. “Are you kidding? We’ll totally wait.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Violet hustled toward them.

“Go get her.” Slater elbowed him hard.

Derek took off, his bare feet kicking up sand. He caught his girl in his arms, lifted her, and held her close. Breathing in her sweet scent, a calm spread through his body, even as his nerves vibrated. “You came for the wedding.”

She shook her head, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I came for you. I don’t want to miss one more minute with you. I’m a coward.”

“You’re here. That makes you the bravest girl in the world.”

“I love you. I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

“I love you. I love you more than anything. And that’s never going to change.”

“Derek, dude?” Slater called. “Not everything’s about you, you know.” Laughter broke the tension.

“Hang on.” He swung around to his sister, looking for her okay. Emmie nodded, giving him a thumbs-up.

He dug into his pocket and pulled out a ring. “I was going to leave this on your pillow, but I’d much rather put it on your finger myself.” The silver glittered in the sunlight.

Violet gasped when she saw the Hand of Eris symbol. “You . . . oh, I’m not . . . they might not like . . .”

“You’re one of us. Have been all along.” He slid it on her finger, kissing her cheek, loving her pretty floral scent.
“You can wear this until you’re ready for a tattoo.” And if she didn’t want one on her forearm, he could think of plenty of places to ink her skin with the band’s symbol.

“Tattoo?” She looked a little confused. “Those are permanent.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, Derek,” she sighed. She turned to him, got up on her toes, and cupped his chin. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He kissed her.

“I’d like to get a ring on
my
girl’s finger, if you don’t mind,” Slater called.

“Em’s not going anywhere,” Derek shouted back, taking Violet’s hand and heading back toward the impatient groom.

She tried to pull away, disappear among the guests, but he wouldn’t release her. Clasping her hand, he kept her close as he took his place beside the groom.

“I’m so sorry, Slater.” She raised their joined hands in explanation.

Slater just smiled. “Nowhere else you should be.” And then he trained his gaze on his bride.

The music started up again, and Derek watched Irwin finish walking his sister toward the canopy. He took a moment to appreciate the absence of his father, knowing there wasn’t a person at the ceremony who wanted him there, but also to let it really sink in that everyone present had gathered as a shield to
keep
his dad away. For Emmie, of course. But for Derek, too. And he appreciated this band of brothers that had now grown to include two irreplaceable women.

His sister couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she locked gazes with Slater. The two of them sharing a secret as they always did. Only now Derek understood what that secret was.

This
was what mattered. Everything else life threw at you was just shit you had to deal with. But this love? This woman?
This
was what made it all worthwhile. Slater was right. Finding the one who made things real made all the shit fall away.

After Irwin delivered the bride under the canopy, he kissed her cheek, murmured something in her ear that made Emmie throw herself into his arms. They hugged a good,
long while before Irwin gently pulled her away. “Go on, now. Hurry and make it legal before nymphs start popping out of the sand and attach themselves to him like barnacles.”

Everyone laughed, and Slater took a few steps forward, lifting his bride off the ground, planting a kiss on her mouth, and depositing her in front of Francesca.

More laughter. Derek couldn’t help looking at Violet, squeezing her hand. Oh, fucking hell, he loved her. The sooner the ceremony ended, the sooner he could get her under the covers.

Derek couldn’t help noticing Irwin’s expression. Francesca’s husky voice had the man squirming as she led the ceremony. For all the time Derek had known the guy, he’d never once seen him show interest in anything other than work. Watching him consume Francesca with his eyes made Derek smile.

“I know you’ve written your own vows, so . . . Slater,” Francesca said, nodding toward him.

Eyes blazing with love, Slater captured Emmie’s hands, kissed her fingers, then held them over his heart. “You’re the love of my life. I give you my hand, my heart, my loyalty, my trust, and I hold your happiness higher than my own. I am yours, and you are mine.”