Scarred Melody: A Rockstar Romance: Bold Melodies Book One

by Heather E. Andrews

  We ran through the lyrics and chords a few times, then sang the song in its entirety. The mixture of my voice with Elsie’s overwhelmed me with a sense of home. I wasn’t alone anymore. I was with Elsie and she complimented me perfectly.

  “Wow,” she said breathlessly. “Maybe you were right.”

  I nodded, relief flooding through my body. The connection I felt with her, in that moment, was entirely new to me. Any resentment I had over being forced into being there dissipated. At that moment, there was nowhere else I’d rather be.

  “Let’s record.” I motioned toward the booth and she nodded.

  We recorded the instrumentals first. Then took turns at the microphone before putting the parts together, recording the video for the label using her equipment and a chintzy recorder. I could tell she didn’t use it very often, but it did the job.

  Later, after a good meal and a glass of wine, we sat together in her living room, giving it one final viewing. The words didn’t haunt me anymore with Elsie’s angelic voice cutting through my deep baritone. I could hear rock and blues, gentled by her softness.

  “It’s amazing,” I told her.

  “I wasn’t sure, in the beginning, but you’re right. It came together really well.” Elsie smiled, making my heart swell.

  “Yeah.” Her eyes captivated me. They were lit with a gentleness I hadn’t seen from a woman since my mother. Not realizing what I was doing, I reached out and put my hand on her knee, squeezing. I needed to connect my body to hers in some way. She jumped at the contact, but I didn’t move my hand.

  “Thank you, Elsie.”

  “What for? I’m just doing my job.” Her voice squeaked.

  “For helping me find joy in the music again. It’s true, I’d escape in it to hide from the world but I haven’t been happy doing it for a long time.” It was like I was seeing colors again after living in a black and white world.

  She nodded and entwined her fingers with mine. “I’ve been where you are, Skyler. Just keep playing, the music will find you and help you through everything you feel.”

  “When were you lost?”

  “After the accident. I felt so guilty that I survived and she was gone. She’d picked me up from violin practice to take me home; the therapists called it survivor’s guilt. I’m not sure I bought what they were trying to sell, but it was twice as hard for me because I’m not as naturally connected to my emotions as a regular person.”

  “Regular person? What do you mean?” Her words confused me, but I persisted, needing to know about this dynamic woman.

  “I’m on the autism spectrum; I’m high functioning, but I don’t feel emotions like other people. That’s where music comes in; it facilitates my feelings. If I experience a great need to play a song, it’s my mind seeking an emotional outlet,” she explained hesitantly.

  “That’s fucking amazing.” I was in awe. She knew her limitations, and she found her way around them. It only made me admire her more.

  In just one day, she’d turned me completely around. I’d dreaded coming here, letting someone else work on my music. Now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to work with anyone else ever again.

  She smiled shyly, squeezed my hand one more time before taking it back before quickly changing the subject away from her. “Okay, so we’re sending this off to Amelia now. She’ll review it and put it up tomorrow.”

  I reluctantly removed my hand from her leg and nodded. “Awesome.”

  “So this is working out?” Her deep green eyes turned to me, unsure.

  I nodded, my eyes never leaving hers. “You have no idea.”

  Her smile was glorious, like a blast of light. Her body seemed to vibrate with joy. I could tell she was having trouble containing it. I watched her grab her shirt and begin thumbing the fabric between her fingers. What was that all about?

  “You must have some sort of musical voodoo, Elsie Clarke, because I’m ready to rock-and-roll.”

  The Band

  Skyler

  Elsie hit send on the email to her sister and I took a deep breath, relieved it was over. Amelia will put it on YouTube tomorrow, and hopefully we can start recuperating my reputation. I don’t imagine I’ll be redeemed with a single song—and a cover, at that—but I’ll be happy to be moving in the right direction. The thought of putting out a song with me and Elsie was also very attractive to me. Having her voice mixed with mine filled me with an unusual sense of pride.

  The doorbell interrupted my thoughts. I knew who that was. The guys were here.

  “That’ll be the goon squad. Stay here. They’re a bit rough around the edges. I don’t want you to see the feral animals they are before I whip them into shape.” I motioned for her to stay behind, not knowing what to expect.

  Camilla hired these guys to work with me. I should’ve been involved in selecting them, but at the time, I was so busted up over Jake and Zeke leaving. She’d chosen younger musicians because they were less expensive, looking for exposure. According to Cam, they reminded her of Benny and me when we were first starting. If I’d thought about it, I would’ve taken that as a warning.

  Working with them on the first album had been a nightmare. Admittedly, I hadn’t given these guys a fair shake, comparing them to Jake, Zeke, and Benny on the regular. The adjustment period was long but eventually they followed my lead like I was the Pied Piper.

  I opened the door and Rush stumbled in. He fell to the floor, reeking of alcohol and weed.

  Great.

  Rush was notorious for causing trouble. During the tour, he’d go missing. We’d find him holed away with a bottle, a joint, or a groupie, depending on his mood. He was constantly embarrassing the hell out of me. Showing up to a recording studio drunk didn’t surprise me as much as it should. I stepped around him, not even offering him a hand up.

  Rhys and West followed him inside, instruments in hand. Rhys had clearly been the designated driver, which didn’t surprise me. Of the trio, he was the most mature. A southern boy through and through, polite and well-mannered. West wavered a little on his feet, but I could see he was in the present. West was the jokester, always making light of Rush’s shenanigans and mocking Rhys’ accent.

  “What the hell happened? You guys show up drunk and high? You’re supposed to be professionals,” I admonished them, disgusted they were going to meet Elsie like this. I only hoped any respect and rapport she and I gained over the last day wouldn’t disappear because I had the mental equivalent of toddlers working for me.

  Rush climbed to his feet.

  “Professional rock stars. You know what I mean, right, Sky?” Rush elbowed me in the ribs, winking as if I shared a secret with him.

  “Dude, we just stopped at the local watering hole to get a drink before coming over. It’s a long drive!” West said. He was my drummer, standing two inches above me. His long legs were amazing for the drum set.

  “It’s nine o’clock at night and you’re at a label-owned location. That means we’re on the clock, guys. You shouldn’t be hammered and high as kites.”

  “Whatever you say, old man. Don’t want to get in the way of our soaring record sales,” Rush snarled with sarcasm.

  I shook my head. Rush wasn’t happy working for me from the beginning; he saw himself as the leader of his own band and resented being someone’s backup. He’d openly admitted he took the job because working with Skyler Dalton was supposed to earn him a reputation as someone in demand.

  “Hi! I’m glad you guys made it.” Elsie sauntered through the foyer, a bright smile on her face.

  “Damn, Sky! You didn’t tell me we were coming to Freddy Krueger’s house.” Rush laughed hysterically at his joke, referring to Elsie’s face. Luckily, Rhys and West had the good sense to keep their mouths shut and look embarrassed. “What the hell happened to her? It’s like she fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down, dude!”

  Elsie’s mouth transformed from a smile to a pursed frown in a nanosecond. Her face turned as red as a tomato. My pulse jumpe
d with fury. How dare he?

  “This is Elsie Clarke, you punk-ass.” I grabbed Rush by the collar, shoving my face within an inch of his. I emphasized her name, hopefully they’d be smart enough to figure out whose daughter they’d insulted. “She’s a ten-time Grammy winner and has written more music than you’ve had the privilege of playing. Show some goddamn respect!” With a flick of my wrist, I pushed Rush away from me. It threw him off balance and he fell back to the ground.

  I turned to Elsie to see the mask of indifference had returned to her face. All happiness was completely wiped away. Her long hair was now pulled to the side, covering her mottled skin.

  “I’m sorry for these dick-heads, El. Their mamas didn’t let them out much as children.” It relieved me when the ghost of a smile came to her lips.

  “Ma’am, I’m Rhys Nicholson, I play guitar for Mr. Dalton.” Rhys stuck out his hand to introduce himself, his southern accent as thick as molasses. He was probably the only one I saw true potential in. He had the good sense to show up appearing sober, at least.

  “Nice to meet you. You can call me Elsie.” She took his hand, offering him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Thank God, Rhys has the good sense to introduce himself like a professional.

  “And I’m the infamous West Mitchell, drum man extraordinaire!” West did a quick circle as if exhibiting a piece of art. He wasn’t as drunk as Rush but definitely not sober. He held his hand out for her. His attempt to lighten the mood only gained him a quirk of her eyebrow. West was talented but he let himself get dragged into Rush’s schemes. If he could get his head out of his ass, he had a chance.

  “This piece of shit here is Rush Connor, my bass player,” I introduced him, praying to God he kept his mouth shut.

  “If you weren’t mashed up, you’d be hot!” Rush slurred.

  Elsie’s eyes went wide; her mouth dropped open. I growled and grabbed Rush by the shirt again, pulling him upright.

  “Do you know how to not be an asshole?” I shook him.

  “What do you mean? I’m right! Look at them tits! And that ass, damn. Maybe if we put a bag over her head, I’d…”

  Rush didn’t finish his sentence before Elsie ran from the room.

  I closed my eyes and counted to five, taking a deep breath. I could only hope and pray this didn’t affect my working relationship with her. We’d been making genuine progress.

  “You’re a fuckin’ dick, dude.” Rhys shook his head. I mirrored his sentiments exactly.

  Dragging Rush by the nape of his neck, I took him to the living room, ignoring his protests.

  “If anyone ever tells you just to be yourself, Rush, ignore them. It’s terrible advice.” I pushed him down on the couch. West and Rhys followed, sitting across from their pathetic excuse of a band mate.

  “You’ve not only made an ass of yourself, but you managed to insult Ellis Clarke’s daughter. You know, the person who signs your fucking paychecks.” I emphasized the label owner’s name, trying to plow through Rush’s drunken haze. “It’s time you grew the fuck up, Rush.”

  “I don’t see what the problem is. She wants me.” His smile was sloppy.

  “Yeah, like a case of herpes,” West said, having the good sense to look embarrassed by what happened.

  “Hey! I got that looked at…” Rush stammered.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I screamed right in his face. I’d never babysat preteens, but I imagine this is what it would be like. “We are in her home. We’re going to be using her studio. She is our hostess. We are here at the pleasure of her family’s label. What that means, fuckface, is that you do not insult her. You show her respect. You do not discuss her scars; they are irrelevant. That woman has more talent in her pinkie than the three of you on your best day. We need her, and you might’ve just blown it. Do you get me?”

  I was pacing the living room, raging at them. How dare they say that shit to her? What must she be thinking? What if she thought I was the same?

  My guys from MD would never have embarrassed themselves, or me, that badly. They were professionals. We may have acted like clowns in the beginning, but the learning curve had been steep and if we fucked off, we were discreet.

  These guys earned their spurs working in the studio, providing backup for other acts, but I knew little about them when Cam hired them. Regret swept through me. I sat down and cradled my face. I couldn’t even look at them, I was so disgusted.

  “I want all of you to go out to the cabin, find a room and sleep off the booze. We are here to work and not play, you got that?”

  West and Rhys nodded, solemnly.

  “Rush? You fuckin’ hear me?” I stood abruptly, standing directly in front of him.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He stumbled into an upright position. “I shall obey, Master.”

  “You got a problem, Rush? There something you want to say?” I poked his chest with my finger, getting up in his grill, my face contorted in rage. He could only push me so far. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t need all his teeth to play the bass.

  “Me?” He laughed in my face. “What can I say to the great Skyler Dalton? The man who was supposed to make all our dreams come true?” He swept his arms wide, including West and Rhys.

  I stared at him, confused. What is he trying to say?

  “You were a sure thing they said!” Rush screamed in my face, his misery clear. “A sure thing to bring us to the top; make us a shit ton of money. But you’re like a bad penny, man. Your album tanked and now our names are on that shit!”

  Rush’s words hit me in the chest. I knew how disappointed the band was with how the album performed, but it hadn’t occurred to me it would reflect on them professionally. Stepping back from Rush, I bowed my head.

  Damn, I’m a self-centered prick. Of course, it would affect them. Losing Benny really put blinders on my eyes. When I set out to make that solo album, it hadn’t even occurred to me it wouldn’t sell and make it to the charts, but I’d had my head buried deep in the sand. What other shit have I fucked up?

  “Yeah…yeah, okay. I’ll own that, guys. The album tanked. I get it, but the only place we have to go is forward.” I took a moment to look each of my guys in the eye. Rhys was intent, West was uncertain, and Rush was skeptical.

  “The label is talking about dropping us… dropping me. This means, by default, you too. Coming here to work with Elsie was our only option. She’s won awards and trust me when I tell you guys, this woman is wicked talented. I guarantee you, if we follow her lead, we’ll pull out a multi-platinum.”

  “You got it, Skyler. We’re down.” West stood, somber. “Right guys?” His eyes immediately went to Rush.

  “Yeah, whatever.” Rush stormed out of the room.

  “I’ll do what I can to keep him in line. I’m sorry, man,” West said, following him.

  Rhys stayed behind. “It’s a good thing he doesn’t rely on his personality to make a living,” he joked.

  I couldn’t help but laugh, appreciating his humor. “Yeah. You guys are younger; I know this whole rock-and-roll lifestyle thing can be overwhelming when a year ago you were broke and couldn’t get a date.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself, bro!” Rhys laughed. “Seriously, though, yeah, you’re right. We drank free at the bar tonight, just dropping your name. Rush was all bent out of shape because he couldn’t go home with this chick. It set him off. Hopefully, no paparazzi were out there.”

  “Fuckin’ paps. That’s the last thing we need right now.” I shook my head. My history with the paparazzi was dreary. Ten lawsuits and two restraining orders later and they’ve learned a modicum of respect for my space, but there’s always fresh meat out there looking to make a name for themselves.

  “Don’t give it no mind, boss.” Rhys cuffed me on the shoulder and followed the others out.

  I hoped and prayed Rush hadn’t decimated my working relationship with Elsie. I wish I could just tell him to walk, but I had no other bass player on backup and we needed to get to work pronto.
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  My heart ached thinking of the look on her face when she rushed from the room. I wanted to rush to her, explain everything, and hope she doesn’t hate me or insist we leave. God, how did I let my life get so cocked up?

  Memories of My Wishes

  Elsie

  I slammed the door to my room and immediately grabbed my guitar. It wasn’t fancy, but it was my mother’s and one of my most treasured possessions.

  Taking it to the balcony outside my room, I sat in one of the wicker chairs and strummed it gently, the sound of the chords calming my emotions. Normally when I was this upset, I’d play Memories of My Wishes, but it didn’t feel right. It reminded me too much of Skyler, and I didn’t want to think about him right now.

  Closing my eyes, I just played, singing whatever song came into my head. Scars by Papa Roach, In the End by Lincoln Park and I even went to T-Swift’s We Are Never Getting Back Together for the anger factor. Tears fell from my eyes and I had trouble getting out some words, but the emotions were coming, they were processing.

  I was going to be okay.

  What was I thinking, going into the foyer without my mask? Why haven’t I been wearing it this entire time? I never take it off when I work with clients. I wear it to keep them focused—no one needs that kind of distraction.

  When I’d taken off my mask in front of Skyler that first day, it was to challenge him, to see if he’d walk away after the hissy fit he’d thrown. He passed the test. He asked what happened, and there was only light pity in his eyes, but certainly no fear or disgust. After playing with him in the music room, I’d forgotten my scars were there, and it felt so good to be sucked into the music with someone I jived with.

  Skyler Dalton lived up to my expectations of him. He exceeded my expectations.