Rocked Forever (2 page)

The band strolled in together right on time, and I noticed how strange it was to see them without Matthew. I went through the motions, doing my job.

Joe delivered the statement quickly and cleanly, and each of the guys answered my questions succinctly. They gave no specifics about Matthew's situation, just made it clear that he was away for medical reasons and would certainly be back on the tour as soon as possible. My mind was only half there. I wondered where Matthew was at the moment. If he'd watch this interview, if he'd ever speak to me again.

In the middle of my musing, something Dex said captured my full attention and I blurted a question. "How do you think the lack of Matthew will impact your upcoming shows?"

Dex nodded. "It's a huge loss. If we had our way, we'd stop the tour until he's well enough to return. But that's not fair to our fans. They've waited long enough already. So, as they say, the show must go on. But we're not really Dream Defiled if one of us is missing. We'll put on the best shows we can, but there's going to be a piece missing."

I smiled. "It sounds like you're talking about more than just songs."

"I am. We're a family. When someone's down, you have to keep going, but it's not going to be the same."

Joe piped in, agreeing. "The four of us are closer to each other than anyone else in our lives."

I wondered if that was really true anymore, but let him continue.

"When we were just starting out, Rick got this heinous stomach flu."

"Food poisoning," Rick interrupted.

Joe rolled his eyes. "It wasn't. It was a flu. But anyway, he was barfing like every fifteen minutes. Really gross. Pale, sweaty, just terrible all around."

"Sounds fun."

"It was," he continued. "I mean, he's ugly enough on a good day. The man was just putrid. But we had a show, so we propped him up behind the drums with a bucket and did what we had to do."

I laughed and turned to Rick. "Did you get sick onstage?"

He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "Twice. But I don't think the audience even noticed."

Dex slapped him on the back and turned toward the camera. "Keep telling yourself that. Anyone watching this who was at the Austin show six years ago in July, let us know how traumatized you were."

"Okay, that's a great look into your glamorous lives. Now, if you had that to do over again, would you?"

Joe answered. "Probably. We were still struggling in those days. Every show was a chance to make all of this happen, everything we have now. But now that we have it, to keep it, we have to protect ourselves, and each other. Thing longer term. We're older now, hopefully a tiny bit wiser."

"And that's why Matthew is taking time off?"

"Exactly." He looked directly into the camera. "Get better, brother. And then come back so we can stay on this wonderful ride together. Forever."

I only half believed him, but it was a great quote, and there wasn't really anything else left to say.

I spent the rest of the day on the phone with my office, getting content posted from older footage. The site was buzzing from the interview and text posts I was writing. Becca gave me updates as they moved a few dates, but ended up only cancelling one show.

Reading comments on the site, an idea came to me. Fans were posting best wishes and prayers to Matthew. They were disappointed that he'd be missing shows, but sent love and understanding that his health was the most important thing. For all of his worry that he was unimportant, invisible, I was cheered to see how wrong he'd been. Everyone who heard Dream Defiled knew the magic was those four men together. And maybe there was a way I could make him see it too. Even if he never spoke to me again, it was worth it if he could see how loved and necessary he was. To his band, and their fans.

In between calls, I reached out to Dex, Joe and Rick, explaining what I wanted to do, and how they could help. We made plans and for the first time since Matthew had stood, vibrating with anger in my doorway, I had something to look forward to.

When I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast, I took my notebook down to the café and for a quick meal. Once I'd ordered, I scribbled down a bunch of the ideas rushing through my mind, trying to keep up with my thoughts. Questions and topics, plus notes of things to look for to supplement my little project: old video and photos, documents, emails if I could get any access, and a list of people to talk to. It was ambitious, but exciting.

In the back of my mind, a tiny nagging voice kept whispering that I was doing this to get Matthew back. And, maybe I was, in part. But I knew the chances of that were remote, and even if he never spoke to me, never looked at me again, this was still worth doing. For him. For me. For the band. That small bit of selfish hope didn't change any of those facts.

On the table in front of me, my water glass was sweating, and I absently watched a drop slide slowly down the side. Unbidden, a memory overtook me. My eyes drifted closed and my fingers curled into fists.

*

Matthew sat with his back against the wall. His shirt was damp with sweat and clung to him, highlighting every inch of lean muscle. He noticed me staring and beckoned me closer. "What are you doing all the way over there?"

I grinned. "Enjoying the view."

He arched an eyebrow and smirked. "It's even better up close."

"I know." I got up from the chair, grabbed two beers and went to sit next to him. As I held out one of the dripping bottles to him, he grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a kiss. Heat emanated from his body and I sank into it as our mouths crashed together. His tongue quested between my lips, tasting of citrus and that uniquely him sweet spiciness.

He kissed me hard until I was breathless, and then pulled back to look at me. My chest was heaving, and his eyes were dark and hooded with desire. Matthew released me long enough to whip his shirt off, wad it up, and place it on the floor. He eased me down on my back, positioning my head on the tiny pillow he'd created.

With muscles I couldn't name flexing above me, he slid one of the cold bottles over the tiny gap between my t-shirt and jeans. I shivered happily, and watched intently.

Matthew leaned down and kissed the cool, damp line he'd created across my heated flesh. "Fuck, I love your stomach. I could spend my whole life looking at it, touching it."

My fingers itched to cover me, but I grasped his head instead, pulling him up to kiss me again. This time it was sweet and slow and tender, like we were sitting in a lovely field of flowers on a warm spring day, rather than the reality – that we were groping each other in a tiny office in a club while an after-party raged around us.

These few stolen moments were everything to me. When he'd snatched a bucket of beers and grabbed my hand without saying a word, I felt like the world made sense, like I'd found my place in it.

And now, with his body resting over mine, an impossible sense of safety and danger overwhelmed me. The paradox was terrifying and invigorating.

Matthew raised up on one elbow and stared down into my eyes. His sparkled playfully. "Thirsty?"

"A little."

His gaze swept down over the rise of my chest. "I'd think so. You were dancing hard out there."

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess I was. Shame you couldn't join me."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Would've been quite a scandal, true. But I enjoyed watching. Imagining those moves in private." He tipped the beer, getting a small sip in my mouth, and more dribbling over my cheek. Quickly, he leaned down to lick it away, and then buried his face in my neck. When he spoke again, his voice was rough and quiet. "I thought about you dancing just for me. Naked, slowly. And I knew I couldn't take that. As much as I love to watch you move, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I'd grab you and touch you, kiss you, take you."

I moaned softly. "Sounds like fun."

He kissed me where my pulse was thudding under my skin. "It sure does. It can be." He pressed his lower body tight against mine, pushing the evidence of his burning desire, searing me.

My hands slid up his back, enjoying the sensation of his soft, sweat-slicked skin under my fingers. "This isn't exactly a private place, you know."

He nipped at my shoulder, pushing my shirt out of the way. "So what?"

I giggled. "For a nice guy, you're very naughty."

"That's why you love me," he murmured, sliding his lips and tongue over my collar-bone and down between my breasts.

I didn't reply, but a place in the back of my mind was screaming, terrified that it was true. That I did love him. But before that terror could consume me, Matthew's hand, chilly from holding the beer bottle, slid up the front of my shirt and under my bra. His fingers closed around my nipple and it puckered immediately.

He shifted so his body rested between my legs and he grinded against me. "I need you, Ellie. Right here. Right now."

I couldn't speak, so I answered with my body. Kissing him hard, gripping his back, undulating against him desperately.

Matthew swore, bit down on my lip briefly and then began to tear at our clothes. Buttons and zippers felt like unfair barriers, and sliding denim over skin was a daunting quest. The few seconds it took him to find a condom felt like an eternity.

When bare skin met bare skin, everything else disappeared. I groaned as Matthew's fingers slid between my thighs, spreading my wetness, finding how ready I was for him. He pushed inside, so hard, so thick. As our hips met, his gaze locked on mine and I thought I might erupt already.

"You're perfect," he whispered as he began to move inside me.

"You're crazy," I replied, teeth clenched to keep from screaming with pleasure.

"You're everything." With those words and one hard thrust, he sent me flying, and then joined me. Fused in body and mind, we were everything. Together.

*

"Here we go," a voice said, jolting me back to the real world. The waiter put down my meal and I tore into it, devouring the sandwich with one hand and writing with the other, still struggling to shake the memory that left me aching in more than one way. When I was almost finished eating, I got a text from Val, with a smiley face and a link. I clicked it and was sent to a traffic report for the
HSTV
site. After scanning the page, I pumped my fist and did a little dance in my seat, not caring that the two men at the table next to me were staring at me like I was nuts.

The whole world could think I was crazy and it didn't matter in that moment. The report was incredible. Engagement numbers were through the roof, and sharing on social media was ridiculous. Smiling, I finished my food, paid, and went back to my room. In the elevator, I called someone I knew I could share this success with. Someone who'd understand.

My brother picked up in the middle of the first ring.

"Well
la-di-dah
, if it isn't the darling of new media," Steven said.

I laughed. "Asshole."

"Such language is not fitting a celebrity of your stature."

"Shut up. I'm calling to gloat, do you mind?"

"Sorry. Please, gloat away."

I rolled my eyes. "Can't now, you ruined it."

He chuckled. "Yeah, right. I was just about to call you."

"Great minds…"

"Indeed." He paused. "I'm on the site right now, you're killing it, El."

"I know!" I rattled off some of the numbers, feeling giddy.

"That's great, especially for the company, but I'm excited about you."

"Huh?" I unlocked my door and went inside, setting everything down on the desk.

"Haven't you seen what's going on?" Steven asked

"With what?"

"The
HSTV
site."

I sat down and crossed my legs. "That's what I've been telling you about."

"No," he said lightly. "Have you actually looked at it, at what people are saying about you?"

"Hold on a sec." I opened my computer, pulled up the public site and checked the latest entry. The video was short, just a leftover shot of the members of Dream Defiled rehearsing from last week. I'd had the editors cut in a short bit of my interview, where Dex talked about their songwriting process. Not much of a post, but there were hundreds of comments, most of them actually interesting, and not just about the band. Surprised, I checked a few other posts and it was the same story. People were talking about me.

There were the ubiquitous assholey comments, insulting everything from my weight to my voice to my posture, and even one about the color of my shirt. But there were others, too.

"What the hell, Steven."

He laughed. "Good false-modesty. Did you see the one with your groupies?"

"Shut up."

"They're organizing. I'll send you a link to the Tumblr."

"Stop teasing me. It's nice to have something to counter the opinion that I am the ‘fattest, ugliest, stupidest monster ever born,' but don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. There's a bunch of girls dyeing their hair to look like yours."

"Oh my god," I muttered, feeling a tightness in my chest. "I don't understand this."

"Come on, you must. Have you watched your videos lately?"

I frowned. "Not really."

Steven sighed. "You know how much I hate saying nice things to or about you, but, you're rocking it. Not just getting good footage out of the band, either. You're on fire. Honest and open. It's coming right through the screen. Everyone can see how much you care about what you're doing. You're not just spitting snark and grubbing for gossip. You're making every viewer feel like they're in your shoes, digging deep and getting closer with a bunch of superstars." He exhaled loudly. "Shit, you're making those egomaniacs in tight pants look like real people. Read the comments. They feel like it could be them out there on the road."

I was speechless for a moment. In all the madness of the past few weeks, I hadn't spared a second to think about how I was coming across. I'd been so frantic to just keep afloat, I hadn't looked at the bigger picture for myself.

Steven cleared his throat. "Did you hang up?"

"No."

"Good. Look, kid, you've done it. You made thousands – tens of thousands – of people walk in your shoes. See what you see, feel what you feel."