The Rockstar I’ve Loved for So Long (9 page)

“Is this how it’s going to be all the time?” Dylan heard himself shouting. It was like someone had taken over him, and it was bent on destroying Bree’s love before
his
love destroyed
her.

“Things don’t go your way and you use your tears against me?”

The words had her breathing hard, trying to stop the tears from falling. “It’s not like that!”

“For fuck’s sake! If you really want to go that bad and tail me—”

She was so mad and angry she couldn’t bear to look at Dylan anymore. Wiping her tears away, Bree said flatly, “If you’re going to put it like that, then thanks but no thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” 

The door slammed shut behind him.

****

By nightfall, Bree had calmed down as well as come up with a hundred more excuses to explain why Dylan had been such an asshole this morning. 

Technically, it was their first morning after – or at least the first they had shared together and it could have frightened him off, Bree reasoned to herself. 

She just needed to give him more time and soon, he’d realize that pushing her away would never solve things. 

By asking a favor from Saffi, Bree already knew that their recording session for the day was over and the entire band was already at a nearby complex, where the fans meet was being held.

The parking lot was full, and Bree had to double-park hers a block away before heading to the back exit. She showed her ID as an official
Minuit Rouge
employee, which Dylan had given Bree on her fifteenth birthday and replaced every year.

Inside, it was pure chaos, which Bree had expected. The fans meet had turned into an impromptu party, with everyone heating up the dance floor. The place was all gold light and dark shadows, with streaks of light from incandescent overhead lights bouncing on the walls and floor.

The music consisted of the band’s entire discography since their debut, and it blared so loudly from the speakers Bree knew it was impossible to shout for Dylan’s name or any of the other band members in hopes of finding them.

In her shirt, jeans, and sneakers combo, Bree was not just underdressed but looked pathetic compared to most other women around her. 

Knowing Dylan loved being in the limelight, she simply made her way to the front and center. Sooner or later, she was sure she would see him—

And she did.

Only, he was with
her
again.

They were dancing. They were
just
dancing. She knew that was what others would say, that others would think she was overreacting.

But at that moment, Bree no longer cared.

She gave up.

She just…gave up. 

She couldn’t do this anymore.

****

A shocked curse slipped out of Dylan’s lips when someone suddenly hauled him back from Henrietta’s clinging form. “What the hell, man? What did—”

His voice trailed off when he saw the look on Andre’s face.

“What is it?” Dylan did his best not to panic, did his best not to black out even as he found the worst kind of fear gripping him, threatening to choke the life out of him.

“It’s Bree…”

He did not wait for the rest.

“BREE!” He shouted her name over and over as he tried to look for her, forcing his way out of the crowd of women that did their best to flock to him with each step.

“BREE! BREE!” His gaze scanned the exits rapidly, desperately, and just when he was about to lose hope, he spotted her disappearing form in one of the smaller back exits.

She heard pounding footsteps behind her and Bree knew it was him. Ignoring the startled look on the security guard’s face, she just ran off, not even pausing to pick up her purse when she accidentally dropped it on the floor.

“Bree, wait!”

She ran faster at hearing the voice. It really was him. Her hand shook so badly that her car keys fell to the ground, slipping out of her tense fingers.

“Shit!”

When she bent down, he was there, too, crouching in front of her.

“NO!” Bree was so scared that he would reach for her – didn’t want any part of their bodies touching – that she fell back on her rear in her haste to get away from him.

Shock was clearly written all over his face as he took in her aversion to his touch. A bitter laugh escaped Bree. He had the gall to appear surprised that she didn’t want him touching her after what she saw? After
everything
?

“Bree?” She shook her head. The revulsion on Bree’s face made him want to howl in pain. This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be Bree
not
wanting him.

“I give up.”

Her voice was so low and threadbare thin Dylan almost thought he had imagined the words. But the defeated look on her face told him that he had heard her right, that Bree really had said she was giving up on him.

It made Dylan ramble. “Bree, let me explain.” This could not be happening. It just couldn’t.

She shook her head, looking like every move caused her pain.

“Babe, come on. It’s me, Dylan.” His own voice shook. “I love you—”

“No.” Her voice was filled with such pain it shut him up, drowning him in shame with the knowledge that he had hurt her again. 

“You can’t say that and then…” She choked. “You can’t just say that and keep hurting me…I know…I know you have this twisted reason for doing what you do, but God, Dylan, I can’t just…I give up. I’ll die, you’ll kill me more and more every time you remember something from your past and it makes you run away from me, makes you push me away while you run to Henrietta’s side.”

Bree stopped speaking, needing to fight just for the ability to breathe, the pain of seeing Henrietta going down on Dylan making her want to forget that she had ever fallen in love with a rock star everyone else loved.

She wanted to cry so badly, but she didn’t. Because maybe he was right – she couldn’t expect him to keep picking up the pieces every time she cried. 

“Bree, please…”

Gazing at him with unseeing eyes, she choked out, “I know you’re afraid about the past happening again, but I just wish that you had tried believing in
us,
even just once.”

Chapter Nine

Ariadne and Andre flanked him on each side while Dylan gazed down at his parents’ graves, wondering if he, too, was bound for hell because he couldn’t feel anything about their deaths.

Ariadne moved first, bending down to carefully lay a bouquet of roses next to his mother’s engraved name.

It had been a month since Bree had left him, a month of cold and lonely blackness, living one day to the next in a haze of alcohol until his cousins had forced him off his ass to visit his parents’ graves for their death anniversary.

“I don’t give a fuck about them,” he had shouted at the two when they told them what they planned. The smart assholes had already gotten him inside Andre’s car before revealing their destination.

“You need to get a grip on yourself if you want Bree back—”

“I don’t fucking need her! She said she loved me, but I haven’t even lost my mind like my shitty parents and she’s already left me.”

“Are you serious?” Ariadne had nearly jumped out of the passenger seat in front of Dylan as she gazed at him in incredulity. “Why wouldn’t she leave you after all the fucked up things you did, the way you kept making her see you with Henrietta—”

“It DIDN’T mean anything and she knew it! She knew what kind of person I was! I never lied—”

“SHUT UP!” Ariadne screamed back. “Just because she loved you, just because she knew you, just because she didn’t ask you to change doesn’t mean you don’t have to!”

She was near tears after she spoke, having remembered the last time she had seen Bree. It was just a day after that disastrous night in the fans’ meet party and Ariadne had never seen someone so broken in her life.

“Andre and I were there when our parents found out about what you went through. We felt so guilty about not knowing what was happening that we just…we just wanted you to do whatever you thought was best to put it behind you.”

Ariadne looked at Dylan pleadingly. “But you never did put it behind you, Dyl. You kept letting their illness and its consequences shape your life and the decisions you make. You keep trying to hedge your bets, but here’s the truth, Dyl. There’s no way to be certain of the future. All you can do is do your best now – and for you, that means loving Bree the best way you can.”

Dylan’s face was white with pain, but she could see that she was getting through to him – that after all these years they were finally getting through to him. Ariadne wanted to be happy about it but she couldn’t, knowing that all of this came at the expense of Bree’s heartbreak.

“Try, please, please, please try to remember how Uncle and Auntie were before their illness. Try to remember how happy they were and how happy you were with them…”

Dylan slowly fell to his knees. He didn’t know when he started weeping. He only knew he was. It was as if a heavy dark shadow had been torn away from his world and the sky was blue again. 

He remembered the happy days that Ariadne spoke of and which he had forced himself to forget because they made the horrible last years with his parents even more unbearably hurtful.

His father never complaining about the hours his mother could spend just window shopping, only to go back to the first shop they ever visited and buy a single item for the entire day’s trip…

His mother doing her best to read his father’s occasional articles on business even though the whole world knew she hated reading and that the most she had read were dinner recipes…

Ariadne wrapped her arms around him and he hugged her back, his tears continuing to fall. Finally, finally he could love his parents again – something he never thought he would experience and probably wouldn’t have if not for…Bree.

His Bree.

****

The unofficial “welcome party” for incoming freshmen of Christopoulos University was a huge success, if only for the fact there wasn’t enough room to breathe without accidentally kissing someone.

Bree checked her watch.
Five more minutes,
she told herself. As part of her Get-Over-It plan, Bree had pushed herself to be Ms. Sociable – and she was going to be that even if she had to draw a friendly smile on her lips with a permanent marker.

A bare-chested guy in a silver pair of board shorts suddenly appeared next to her. “Want another drink?” 

She shook her head with a smile – she was going to smile until this night over, dammit, and it would not matter –she would
not
let it matter if most guys were trying to talk to her boobs instead of her.

“What’s your course?”

“Psychology. You?”

“Marketing.”

After that, there was silence.

She was so bad at making small talk, Bree thought with an inner wince. But what else was there to say? If it had been Dylan, she wouldn’t have—

No.

Remember the Get-Over-It plan
, she told herself and squared her shoulders, turning to look at Mr. Marketing with a flirty smile this time. “Want to dance?”

Small talk she sucked at, but dancing she totally knew how to do.

****

He stayed inside his car, trying to spot Bree in the crowd of college students that filled the shores of Christopoulos University’s private beach. He knew that once he got out of the car, it would only be a matter of time before one of the students realized who he was and the crowd would be upon him.

Hopefully, by that time he would’ve already managed to whisk Bree away and have a chance to speak his piece in private.

It took fifteen more minutes before he finally saw where she was, and Dylan expelled his breath harshly. No wonder he had been having a hard time searching for her, with Bree slow-dancing with another guy, her head on his shoulder, her beautiful face turned away from him.

She was dressed in a skimpy polka-dot bikini and all he wanted to do was cover her with a blanket, toss her over his shoulder, and take her away from this testosterone-driven crowd.

“Found her yet?” Bob, the head of Staffan Aehrenthal’s security team and which the rock star had “politely” insisted Dylan use when he told the music industry’s power couple about his intentions. 

Staffan had a distinctly amused look on his face after listening to Dylan’s words of apology. “Are you by any chance treating us like the parents of the bride and you’re asking for our permission to court Bree before offering her marriage?”

Dylan had answered calmly, “If she takes me back, I will want to marry her.”

Staffan glanced at his wife. “It’s up to her.”

When he had looked at Saffi, Dylan had been surprised at the sad look on the woman’s face. It was the first time he had seen the famous fangirl-turned-rock-star’s-wife to be anything but cheerful.

“Can you promise not to hurt her again, Dylan?” she had asked quietly, her blue eyes a lot like his in color but instead of darkness, hers shone bright and clear. 

Her innocence was more than daunting, and he could feel her weighing him as she continued to look at Dylan in waiting silence.

“I can’t promise that, but I can promise you that I’ll love her best, love her always, and if I ever do hurt her, it won’t be intentional and hurting her will
always
hurt me more.”

Cold sweat had enveloped Dylan as Saffi March-Aehrenthal still did not speak. 

And then Staffan said dryly, “Drop the act, H.”

Saffi’s giggle had surprised him. “Well, I just wanted to make him squirm. He deserves it after everything he did to my friend.”

****

One moment she was
trying
her best to lose herself in the music, trying to feel a little bit more excited that she was in the arms of a young and handsome guy and then the next, someone was tapping on her partner’s back, a familiar voice saying, “Mind if I take my turn with the lady?”