Rock Me Deep (27 page)

“Why would high school—”

“The man my mother had the affair with was the fucking principal.” Grimacing, I wrenched my hair off my neck and held it in a painful knot. I imagined every single hair tugging at its root, threatening to rip free. “His daughter, she was the same age as me. She hated me the most. I don't really get why—not exactly. Maybe she was just channeling the rage and humiliation of her own mother. Either way, I suffered for it.”

“That's awful!” Brenda gasped. I hadn't noticed her inching closer; a manicured hand suddenly clamped down on my shoulder. Going stiff, I managed not to shove her away. “You did nothing wrong. Someone had to realize a child was being punished for no reason, did no one step in?”

“The town blamed my mother for the scandal, but they all took it out on me—everyone but Sean.” My mind's eye flickered with my brother's grin. “He was there to step in when I was being bullied. Sean always came to help me.”

No. Not always.

That time everything fell to pieces... when those girls took my guitar and busted it...
In Brenda's grip, my fingers twitched—she squeezed back sympathetically. My first guitar had meant so much to me. It had been Sean's hand-me-down, but it had been
mine
.

And then they broke it.

And then I broke them.

Blood, busted knuckles; my veins raced, reliving the day I'd finally snapped and fought back. The day I had stood up for myself and risked losing everything.

And Sean wasn't there to help at all. Not then. Where was he that day? Why wasn't he around when I—when I...

Her hand tightened. “Your face just went from almost happy to defeated again.”

I debated telling her about how I'd almost gone to juvenile detention, that it had taken a miracle I still didn't understand to convince my parents to keep me out of it. They, of all people, had loved the idea of hiding me away.

No, she doesn't need that part of my past.
“This conversation started because you wanted to know why I'd be used to people hating me.” I tugged away from her, hating how sadness bloomed in her eyes. I didn't want anyone else to be sad over this. I was plenty sad enough. “Here's the thing. I'm
not
used to it, not really. I never magically adjusted to the hate. I just dove down inside myself, made a shell, found things to—to distract me from everything.”

Shivering, I ran a fingertip over the inside of my right arm. I could feel the slightly raised edges of old scars, pretended they were the texture of my tattoo's castle walls.

Brenda moved her eyes down to my ink. She didn't voice her suspicion, but the flash of pity in her face told me she
knew
. My manager realized I was hinting at how I used to cut myself.

Good,
I thought selfishly.
Now I don't need to say it out loud. Yes, Brenda. I was that kind of fucked up person.
My palm crushed over my right wrist until the skin went white.
But not anymore.

Not anymore.

“What changed?” Brenda asked suddenly. Her voice was hushed, as if I was a deer who'd bolt any second. Realizing that she was actually scared of ruining this raw, honest peek into my personality... I blinked. Then I blinked again.

My laughter began as a chuckle, quickly sending me into shakes that made me hug myself to slow them down. Brenda's mouth contorted in shock. Seeing her make such a hilarious face was too much; tears prickled at the corners of my eyes.

“Lola! Are you okay? What's happening here?”

"Sorry, it's just..." Rubbing at my cheeks, I smiled helplessly. “You asked me what changed.” Reaching out, I closed my fingers over her own. “The answer might make you laugh, too.”

She took a slow, deep breath. “I'm ready for some laughter, go ahead.”

The tattoo on my arm flexed when I made a fist.
What happened that turned my life around? What saved me from falling further into a pit so dark no one could have pulled me out of it?

With genuine sincerity in my voice, I looked at Brenda and said, “I heard Drezden sing.”

Drezden

––––––––

T
he venue, a bar known as Belly Up, was surrounded by eager fans. I could see them all from the window of the bus. Though I was sure they couldn't see me, it was clear many of them were trying.

“You want to head out there?”

It was Colt who'd spoke. I didn't spare him a glance. “I want Brenda to answer her damn phone is what I want.”

Crouching low, the drummer's ear-gauge swung in my face; it no longer sported a bandage from the bar fight with Johnny. “She isn't answering for a reason.”

“No shit,” I mumbled. “It's the 'reason' that worries me.”

“You try to call Lola?”

My fingers traced the hard lump of my cell phone in my pocket.
Three fucking times. I called her over and over, she didn't pick up once.
“Yes."

Colt tapped his nails to an unheard rhythm. For some time it was the only noise; that, and the muffled roar of the crowd outside. “Listen,” he started, speaking more to the window than me, “You can't sit here worrying. They're fine, just running late. Brenda was pissed at you earlier, right? I bet she isn't picking up because of that.”

I considered him thoughtfully. “And Lola? What's her reason?”

“I—look, Drez.” He sighed heavily. “I don't know. Maybe she's just busy, or maybe Brenda won't let her answer. That's possible, yeah?”

Leaning away from the window, my tiny frown grew.
Could Brenda do that?
This morning, Brenda had made it clear she wanted us to pretend that Lola and I hadn't hooked up. I'd told her I wouldn't. If I knew anything about Brenda, it was that she was stubborn as me.

Fuck. Is she trying to force a wedge between us? Colt might be right about this.

I noticed he was grinning triumphantly, like he'd read my face and realized I agreed with him. Standing with a groan, I said, “Since our
attentive
manager isn't here with those groceries, want to go find something to eat before sound check?”

“Hell yeah!” Laughing openly, Colt stood and cracked his back. “Hey, Porter!” The bassist craned his head out from his room. “Come on, let's go get some grub. I'm starving.”

As a group, we stepped out of the bus. The wave of screams welcomed us to the world, security holding back the throngs of attendees with quickly constructed barriers. Girls thrust signs in the air, each proclaiming their love for the band, or for me, specifically.

Porter and Colt were more generous with their returned smiles than I was. Even under the energy of our adoring fans, my mind was stuck on where Lola could be. Not knowing was poison in my blood. It gnawed deep and there was no antidote.

Rounding the corner, we vanished behind the building. Trailers and food trucks filled the parking lot; enticing, greasy smells softened my worries.
A hamburger won't make me think about Lola any less.
That didn't stop me from grabbing one from a cart
.

Digging into my back pocket for my wallet, I tried to yank it free in between bites of food. A hand, coming down hard on my shoulder, froze me. “Here, I'll get that for you,” Sean said.

Lola's brother.

“There.” He tossed a five-dollar bill at the vendor while wearing a huge smile. “That should cover it.”

I had a strong feeling that he was putting on an act, and I trusted my instincts more than I trusted him. Pushing backwards, not hiding my suspicion, I glared at the guitarist. Sean was shorter than me, but not by much. “I don't need your charity.” Hamburger juice dripped down my wrist; I ignored it.

His smile wavered. “No shit. It's called being nice. Familiar with it?”

In my peripheral vision, Colt and Porter appeared. Likewise, the vaguely familiar members of Barbed Fire moved in behind Sean. I didn't know them well, but in the rising static tension, I noted the size of the long-haired blonde on the left.
The drummer, if I'm right.
My eyes moved slowly the other way.
And that skinny-fuck there must be the singer.

“So you're being nice to me,” I said, not tempering my distaste. “Why, what do you want?”
There's no way he doesn't know about what happened last night.
Was Sean the kind of brother that would think I'd corrupted his sister, taken advantage of her or some shit?

Sean lifted his chin, eyes—blue as anything and too similar to Lola's—rolling to Colt, then to Porter, before falling back on me. “You're acting like it's weird for me to be nice to you.”

I took another bite of my burger, my silence a good enough answer.

He continued staring me down. I half expected him to throw a punch. This guy, I wasn't convinced he didn't hate my guts. He had a few good reasons to.

I finished my meal before he finally spoke again. That was good; I'd have choked otherwise. “Listen,” he mumbled, looking away awkwardly. “Lola won't answer my calls. Okay? I just want to talk to her. Could you get her out of the bus for me?”

The food felt like it was caught low in my throat. “She won't answer your calls, either?”

Sean jerked his head around, shock openly glistening in his eyes. It unnerved me, again, how similar they were to the girl I was obsessed with. “Lola isn't with you?”

“She went with Brenda to grab us some supplies earlier,” Porter said, stepping forward. “They probably just got caught up in something. I'm sure they're fine.”

Sean coiled his fingers in my bassist's shirt, yanking him so they were nose to nose. It was quick, too quick for anyone to react to. “How the
hell
would you know if they're fine? Tell me where they fucking went!”

The guy had some muscle on him, but I didn't think he was a threat to Porter.

I still didn't like him touching my fucking friend.

Guided by the anxiousness that had plagued me since Lola left this morning, I snatched Sean's wrist, yanking him off the bassist as my fingers dug into his skin. “Back the fuck off, man. You don't want to get physical here.”

“Aren't you even worried about her?” he spat, trying to wrench himself free from me. To his credit, Sean was strong.

I was just stronger.

Pulling him towards me in one smooth motion, I shoved him down onto the pavement. He landed hard on his hands and knees. “Of course I'm fucking worried!” Sean had given me a place to aim my rapidly growing delusions about what had happened to Lola. My body heated with the familiar tingle of adrenaline fueled fight-or-flight.

The scar on my lower back burned.

Sean started to get up; the big blonde guy moved closer. I thought he was going to help his band-mate, but instead, he swung one meaty fist at my skull. Desperately, I started to dodge. It wasn't necessary.

Colt slammed into the guy's blindside, his arms tangling around his waist as they hit the rough parking lot. All sinew and grunts, they rolled into a violent knot of punches and kicks.

Sean was still on his knees, his fingers burying in his scalp while he yelled frantically at the wrestling men. “Shark! Back the hell off, man! Stay out of this!”

Both of them ignored the shouts, the big guy—Shark, I guess—pushing his bicep against Colt's throat. I started to close in, unable to resist any longer, especially not when my friend's face was turning purple.

Porter and the last, unnamed member of Barbed Fire beat me. Together, they pulled the guys apart. The fight could have ended there. I
knew
it could be done with.

But I was done standing around.

Reaching down, I grabbed Sean Cooper by the hair and
squeezed
. His hiss of surprised pain was intoxicating. “Listen,” I growled into his ear. “If this is your idea of what being nice means, then I can get
right
fucking behind it.”

His fingers dug into my forearm; I didn't feel the skin break. “
Let me the fuck go!
”

In my chest, my lungs rattled with my hunger for chaos. I had Sean at my mercy. I knew I could slam him into the ground, break his jaw, make him taste his own rusty blood. My hands became claws, my desire to hear his nose cartilage crumble as I drove it into my knee and—

“I'm just looking for my sister!”

Inside, the beast retreated. Crouched there, hovering over Sean with my own heart throbbing in my ears, I felt the eyes on me. Everyone was watching. Waiting. No one had the guts to try and get between me and Sean.

In my skull, his shout bounced around and never ended.
That's right. He's right. He's just trying to find Lola.

Just like I am.

There was a soreness in my hand when I released his hair. Those muscles felt too tight, like they weren't meant to be opened. We stood up simultaneously, the pressure around us fading. Colt and Shark huddled with Porter and the skinny singer, the four of them looking less like enemies, more like soldiers waiting to be told what to do.

Touching a palm to his skull, Sean glared at me indignantly. There it was; the look he'd given me way back during his audition. I hadn't deserved it, then.
But now, maybe I do.
Inhaling until I felt on the edge of popping, I breathed out through my nose. “That got out of control,” I said flatly.

“You think?” Eyeing his hand, as if he expected—and was surprised not to—see blood, Sean snorted. “Your temper is off the wall.”

“You were the one who started it,” Porter said, his shoulders crawling upwards. “Drez was just reacting.”

“Dude's just looking for Lola,” Shark replied. He began to say more, but Sean silenced him with a wave of his fingers.

The vibrant battle lust drained from me bit by bit. I felt so fucking tired. “Next time just come out and ask us where she is, like a normal person.”

“Normal?” Sean lifted his eyebrows, not elaborating. “Here's the situation. My sister is missing, and she's
your
guitarist. Sound check is in thirty minutes. If she doesn't show soon, what happens? Even if she's fine, you guys can't play without her.”

A cold spike trickled down my back. “That's our concern, not yours.”
Isn't it?
Peeking at Colt and Porter, I wondered if they had the same suspicion I did.
Why would Sean give a shit about if we were playing or not?