Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series

by Kathryn C. Kelly

  She won’t. Believing I’m so desperate for Sloane I’d stir up this shit storm, is easier on her conscience. Having me here has been hard, I guess. It means her loyalties aren’t one hundred percent in Mom’s corner. Now, she has a reason to turn her back on me.

  “Georgiana,” she says again as she floats into the nursery and freezes. Motionless and speechless, she stares at me like I’m a just landed interplanetary being. Grandma’s skin is spookily white as if all the blood has been sucked from her body.

  Grandma’s eyes fill with…tears.

  Awful images jam through my head. We expect Josh at any moment. Grandma loves Josh. No one has an issue with my brother. He’s one of the few reasons she’d cry, but only if… “Josh! Is Josh…has something happened to him?”

  “He’s okay,” she croaks. “He stopped at the country club for a drink with a friend.”

  “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this? Is Mom and Dad okay?”

  She closes her eyes, then draws herself up and stiffens her spine. Her never-before-seen vulnerability vanishes, though she remains pale. For the first time, I notice the e-tablet in her hand. So focused on her, I missed it.

  She slides her finger on the screen and hands it to me, before adjusting her cashmere, button-down sweater situated on her shoulders.

  “She’s a whore, to put it simply.”

  A man’s voice blares from the tablet, interrupting my consideration of Grandma’s attire. I’ve never had a formal introduction, but I know Sloane’s father. He witnessed that awful day in Denver, in Sloane’s study.

  “My son has never touched that girl,” he says and holds up a document. “It’s all here. Her drug use.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Mason, Sloane is well known for his excessive lifestyle, especially where women are concerned,” the reporter states.

  “You’ve hit upon the exact word. The key word. Women. Not a little two-bit hussy. She’s a crazed fan and we will bring charges against her for defamation of character.”

  “You’re doing the same, aren’t you? Defaming this young lady’s character?”

  “I’m appealing to my son’s fans on his behalf. I have documented proof of Miss McCall’s behavior. DNA results will be released as soon as her baby is born. Not only will Sloane be exonerated, but she will have to wait for the results from four different men, to identify her child’s father.”

  “Your accusations against this young girl are as serious as her accusations against your son. If she is indeed, a crazed fan, what does Sloane say?”

  “What can he say? Unfortunately, he’s a public figure and will be targeted by all types. This young girl—” He sneers those words— “is meaningless and useless to Sloane. He made the mistake of visiting her in her hospital room, which those photos show. His only crime is reaching out to her as a fan of his. What a mistake! If he never sees her again, it’ll be too soon. How did she repay his kindness to her? By destroying him. Or attempting to. He’ll rise from this, as he has every obstacle in his life.”

  “Well, there you have it. Rand Mason, Sloane Mason’s father, responding to reports Georgiana McCall is pregnant.”

  Everything Sloane worked so hard for, all he’s sacrificed to remain with the band he founded, is…meaningless and useless.

  Because of me. As I am to him.

  Utterly crushed, I back away, shaking my head in denial.

  “Rand isn’t going to get away with this, Georgie,” Grandma says in a calm, frigid voice. “Believe me.”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

  “You’re my granddaughter,” she snaps. “Don’t fall apart over his lies. They’ll win if you do.”

  She’s thinking about winning when I’ve already lost?

  The minutest hope Sloane would find his way back to me kept me going. One day, he’d love me. I never foresaw he’d ever despise me. For any reason. Sloane went out of his way to keep me at his side.

  As I turn, pain shoots through me. My emotional hurt becomes a physical one. Panting, I stumble to the rocking chair and drop into it.

  Sloane’s career is gone. His music meant so much to him. He loves it, always has, and his sister Steffie introduced him to it.

  My head swims and my pulse thumps frantically.

  “I want to talk to him,” I whisper, sniffling.

  Agony in my stomach and back makes me cry out.

  “Grandma!” I cry. “It hurts.”

  “You’re stressed.” Her hand touches the top of my head.

  I groan. “Do something.”

  “I think you’re going into labor.”

  As if my body needs to hear those words, water suddenly streams from me.

  Hands clenched together and resting in my lap, I keep a bland smile on my face as Mother introduces me to Reed Hamilton, the eighteen-year-old she’s chosen as the father of Georgie’s daughter. The brat isn’t yet born. Georgie has been in labor for so long Mother left her and called this emergency meeting with Reed and me. Questions abound in my head. Most especially, why she’s ignoring my want that Jane and Joe take the whelp off of our hands. The way Mother is going about this hints she wants to spare Georgie heartache.

  The maid holds out a tray to me. “Another scone, ma’am?”

  “I’ll have more to drink. Nothing more to eat.”

  Conversation pauses as I respond. Scowling at Mother’s lifted brow, I thrust my glass to the maid and wave her away. Reed sits next to Mother on the settee in her small, informal receiving room. They’ve been chatty natties, planning for introductions between Reed and Georgie and how best to handle questions from any of his friends and family who are in the dark. Basically, everyone in his piss-poor little world.

  “You aren’t my daughter’s type,” I say with certainty. He’s handsome, but he’s too clean-cut, with his dark blue blazer, light blue shirt, red necktie, and tan slacks. Straight out of an Ivy League school. Sniffing, I lift a brow. “Not Georgie’s type at all. If I may say so, Mr. Hamilton,” I add crossly at the displeasure on Mother’s face.

  Reed flushes and lowers his lashes, hiding his brown eyes, though I caught his irritation. “I understand, ma’am. But Mrs. Sanderson wanted us to meet.” He waves his finger between him and I, as if my opinion matters. “So you’d put your mind at ease that I would never betray your daughter. Mrs. Sanderson understands the excitement of having a first grandchild.”

  A small smile plays on Mother’s lips, but she clears her throat and gives Reed a meaningful look. He shifts in his seat. I don’t understand the exchange. However, some of my tension seeps away and I nod, too closely watched not to acknowledge the words. Mother really believes a part of me cares about Georgie. Of course she has this boy here for my benefit. I get it now. She thinks I’ll regret removing the child from my daughter’s life. Unless my granddaughter served some purpose for me, I want nothing to do with her.

  “I’m not prepared to be a goddamn grandmother. I’ve found a couple who will adopt my daughter’s brat. While you seem like a nice young man, no one will ever believe Georgie slept with you. She doesn’t have the intelligence to choose someone so normal.”

  I toss my hair over my shoulders. It isn’t my intention to draw Reed’s gaze to my mouth when I lick my lips, but he watches me. His stare slips to my breasts, displayed in a modest V-neck dress.

  Empowered by his heated regard, I straighten my shoulders.

  Mother uncrosses her legs and rises to her feet. “If you’ll excuse my daughter and I, Reed.”

  Alarm races across his face, but she doesn’t care, her look skewering him into following her threatening order couched as a polite request. His face flames red as he stands, his erection pressing against his slacks.

  “My office, now!” she hisses. “Wait for me there until I take care of Cassandra.”

  Swallowing, he scratches his nape. Not a strand of his wavy brown hair is out of place. I didn’t know Parnell when he was Reed’s age, but somehow, he reminds me o
f my husband. The way he dresses, perhaps, with such care and looks at me as Parnell once did. The moment Reed lopes away and closes the door, Mother goes on her verbal assault.

  “I’ve had enough of your games, Cassandra.”

  “Games? Me? I’m not the one who’s hiring a surrogate father for Georgie’s baby.”

  “Stand-in, not surrogate,” she corrects. “Sloane Mason was more than happy to plant his own baby in her.”

  Whatever high I’d gotten from my interaction with Reed, craters at her reminder. Rage builds inside of me as I imagine Sloane fucking Georgie and coming in her. He used a condom with me. What became of them when he stuck his dick in her?

  “He made her pregnant on purpose.” Georgie allowed him in her pussy, but she’s still under-aged. He’s losing a lot because of her. “That’s not important,” I continue in dismissal. “I want to know why we haven’t moved forward with the adoption?”

  “Do you have any feelings for her at all?”

  Certain this is a trick question, my head spins as I search for the best way to respond. I come up blank. “Why?” I ask carefully.

  Another brow lift directed at me makes me examine my deepest throughts.

  “Mother, she was my daughter—”

  “She’s still your daughter.”

  Squeezing my temples, I ignore her hard tone. “She needed to learn to stand on her own two feet. Parnell and I thought it best. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…those are important years. If we solved all her problems, she’d never learn to fix her own life.”

  Mother’s snort grates. “Remind me of how old you are, dear? Aren’t I still fixing your problems?”

  “That’s different!”

  At my words, she returns to her seat and crosses her legs again. “Humor me and explain how.”

  “As if I know. It just is. Daddy died years ago. You had nothing else but me to concern yourself with. It’s your duty. I would never embarrass you or compete with you. I know better. Georgiana didn’t back off when her father made me feel as if I were worthless. She encroached on the younger man who thought I was beautiful and made me feel alive.”

  Why can’t she get that? How many times will I have to reiterate why I needed Sloane to need me? Tears rush to my eyes. “While Parnell had his affairs, I could’ve been happy sleeping with Sloane.”

  “Would you have been?” she asks in a gentler tone. “He would’ve been traveling the world and sleeping with every woman who wanted him. Which is every woman.”

  I cry harder. “You don’t.”

  She chuckles. “We repel one another,” she admits. “But I’ve had my share of younger men. The gardener for instance. He’s thirty. Happily married. A great lover.”

  Disgust dries my tears up. “That’s goddamn gross, Mother.” Just the images are vomit-inducing.

  “Suppose you’d seen him first and wanted him?”

  I know what she’s getting at. “She didn’t see him first!”

  “She did, and we both know it.”

  After Mother told me, I found out about it. How she discovered Georgie met Sloane at the party the day before he fucked me, doesn’t interest me. I remain silent.

  “Cassandra, dear, as your mother, if you were interested in my gardener, I’d step back and let you have him.”

  “Again, Mother, it’s your job to make me happy. I have a son, a husband, and a social life. My time is more valuable than focusing on her.”

  “Your insight amazes me, dear.” Mother’s smile is condescending. “When you gave birth to the child, what did you expect of her?”

  “Does it matter?” I ask crossly. “This has nothing to do with Sloane. By the way, I’d never compete against you for a gardener.”

  She taps her fingers on her knees and purses her lips. “You’re as much of a groupie as Georgie is. And as obsessed.”

  “Obsessed with him? Are you kidding me? I loathe his music.”

  “But not his status. You’re ill, and it ties back to your daughter and her boyfriend. However, I hold your husband fully responsible. You never knew of Sloane, until Parnell’s little sex games brought him to your bed. If not for him, Sloane would never have run across Georgie again and you never would have gone from ignoring the child to despising her. You want the satisfaction of claiming the sex symbol, rock god, everyone wants.”

  “That makes me ill?”

  “It makes you human. What makes you ill is your obsession. My God, dear, I’m almost worried you’ll hurt him one day.”

  I’d never hurt Sloane. Georgie? I doubt I’d sully my hands ridding the world of her, but my position remains firm. I wouldn’t lift a hand to save her life. If analyzing my behavior eases Mother, then she’s welcomed to do it.

  “Yes, I admit, his lifestyle fascinates me,” I concede. “His fame puts stars in my eyes. And, yes, if he were a gardener or…or Reed Hamilton, I’d step out of Georgie’s way. None of that is the case.” This appointment is a waste of time. I can’t see the reason for it, when I had worked the situation out to how I wanted it. “Why is Reed here?”

  “Sloane’s been arrested,” Mother explains unnecessarily. “As I sat with Georgie in the hospital, she made me promise I wouldn’t put her baby up for adoption.”

  “And you agreed?” I screech, betrayal slicing through me at her nod.

  “In exchange for her promise she won’t ever contact him again. A better arrangement for your peace of mind than allowing those people to adopt my great-granddaughter.”

  “You paid them off, didn’t you?” I whisper dully. “They aren’t going to adopt the baby?”

  “I did,” she answers without remorse. “But I also found another child for them. My gardener helped me.”

  Mother’s capabilities continue to astound me. Suddenly, I’m tired and weary, and sick of it all. I want my life to start over. I don’t want to be stuck in this body, my actions and thoughts and mistakes limited due to age.

  What if I am a groupie of Sloane’s? Of the whole goddamn band? That’s acceptable for Georgie, but not for me? I’m as caught up in the Sloane Mason frenzy as every other woman. Except Mother, of course, who fucks her thirty-year-old gardener.

  Oh my God…EW!

  My shoulders heave as I gag and clap my hand over my mouth.

  “Stay out of my bedroom, dear, and concentrate on your own.” She smirks at me, always knowing the workings of my mind.

  “Why don’t we bring Reed back in and settle the details? Then, you go home and rest. I’ll call you when Georgie and her daughter are released from the hospital.”

  “Shouldn’t he be there to sign the birth certificate?”

  “Then you’re on board?”

  “Reluctantly.”

  “Excellent, dear. He’ll sign in due time. I want Georgie to meet him, so there’ll be no complications.”

  “You know best, Mother.”

  My words mollify her and she offers me a genuine smile. “I love you, dear. I do what I do for you. No one else.”

  My hurt eases at her admission and it helps me to accept her decision to allow Georgie to keep Sloane’s baby. For now.

  He’s my rock star and there’s no bigger fan in the world than me.

  Chapter Four

  I’m having a little girl. I’m carrying Sloane’s daughter. I just want him to know.

  Those words roll in my head as the high-tech, security doors shut behind me. A grating grind of metal upon metal that makes me grit my teeth. I’ve been in custody for seven fucking days that feels like ten goddamn lifetimes. Some assholes are really locked up for life. The extent of their hopelessness is unimaginable.

  Two deputies stand beside me, but they aren’t rushing my exit. We’ve already left the secure area and are now in a corridor, where I’ve halted in front of the door that will open into the waiting room.

  For fucking days, I’ve been working on fumes, with little sleep. After being whisked away from the hotel and to a police station, my father used his power and influence to have me
extradited back to the States within twenty-four hours. A battalion of press corps documented every humiliating moment. Back in Houston, I was fucking charged with statutory rape, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, coercion, and sexual battery, then I stewed in my solitary cell for another four fucking days. Two days ago, I had my arraignment, where I offered up my Not Guilty plea. Finally, my exorbitant bail was set late yesterday.

  It’s morning, and I’ve bonded out.

  My father’s doing again. I owe him and we both know it. With all the crimes I’m accused of, and the severity, I would’ve been in jail until my preliminary hearing at the very least. Wallowing in my self-righteous, self-pity, I made a deal with the devil. Everyone believes the head honcho of hell is named Lucifer. Satan’s real alias is Rand Mason.

  Does that make me his demon spawn?

  Georgie would have the world believe so. Thanks to her, my life’s under a microscope. Yet, no scrutinizing every fine detail of my antics over the last eight years has yielded one example where I’ve fucked an under-aged girl. Not even Georgie. I hid her very well. Therefore, her credibility is questionable, and public opinion is solidly in my favor.

  Before I open the doors to freedom, I draw in a deep breath, anticipating the fucking frenzy on the other side.

  Bitter hatred toward Georgiana McCall wells deep within me. When I get my hands on her, she’ll be so fucking regretful she betrayed me and had rape charges brought against me. I hate her to the same extent I once…loved her.

  Whether I like it or not, I did love her. It’s a grudging admission, one I’ve resisted for months, but it’s the truth. I fell in love with her and had to let her go. At least until she turned eighteen.

  The little cunt.

  Words from her radio interview roll in my head, the moment she betrayed me tearing me apart.

  “Do you intend to file charges, Miss McCall?”

  “Yes, Sloane seduced me. I'm only sixteen.”

  At this point, her voice cracked. I don't need a fucking recording to remember every fucking word. Her conversation has replayed nonstop in my head.