by Shey Stahl
Ignoring the obvious, his alcohol addiction, I focus on the notebook again. We’ve been over song lyrics for the past week, but Revel decided to pen out the chorus and write chords with it. He’s taken my heartfelt words I shared with him and woven them beautifully with his, as if we were sharing the same heartache.
Her thorns dig deep but still I’ll keep your lies secret
You were never mine to keep
Why’d it have to be your knife in my back?
If that’s how this goes, it’ll be my gun and your head
Now lie down, it’s the bed you made, suffocate in my silence
I’ll surrender these roses of revenge
I gasp at the last line. “This is amazing, Revel.”
He gets quiet, just staring at me.
I take a deep breath, pulling at the ends of my sweater. “Do you want to perform it on the tour?”
He nods, and it’s my turn to stare at the bloodshot eyes and scruffy jawline. Underneath it all, the alcohol swimming in his veins, he’s still a boy, one who’s been hurt. He gave a girl his love only to have her betray him and these words, his hurt, his act of revenge isn’t just about me. It’s proving to the world no one can truly keep you down.
He holds his hand out to me and I never hesitate to take it, his eyes closing at my touch. I want to say something, anything, but I realize it’s not needed.
You know in the movies when they show you a montage of scenes where they recap a series of events? I’m going to do that for you to give a taste of those fourteen days and what they lead up to.
I must first add, when Revel is out of control, there’s no talking him down. He’s going to do what he wants regardless of what anyone else says.
In Phoenix, we perform “Tennessee Whiskey” in front of twenty-five-thousand people. It’s during the chorus when his eyes never leave mine I finally understand why he chose the song. Beautifully broken, this guy’s liquid vice goes deeper than I ever knew, and I wish I was enough for him. It’s later that night he gets in a fight with the concert bouncers for what reason no one, including himself, knows. Seriously though, who gets in a fight with a concert bouncer when you’re the one performing?
The answer is a simultaneous, Revel Slade. Also that night, he does cocaine off the drums and shoves Hardin off the stage into the audience. He also burns his shirt on stage for reasons none of us know.
At the Sprint Center in Kansas City, he has a bottle of wine before the show and incites a riot in the crowd to which sixty-three people are arrested. Surprisingly, Revel is not one of them.
Between the Detroit and Grand Rapids shows, we record “Roses of Revenge” in one day in the basement of a bar that his friend owns. It’s effortless and unique and everything I imagined a duet to be with him.
In Napa, California, at the Napa Valley Expo, it’s our first performance at the end of the night where we do a song together with all the bands. Revved, after three bottles of wine, decides on “You Shook Me All Night Long” and let me just say this, my chemistry on stage with Revel is unreal. If Hensley didn’t hate me before, she certainly does now. I have no idea what’s going on with me and Revel, if anything, but he’s all over me any time we’re on stage together, and Hensley notices. Everyone notices.
For a while, I think it’s only because of her and he’s doing it to get a reaction from her, or Breckin, or my dad. As you can see, so many possibilities here and I’m left confused yet intrigued by the attention. It makes me feel wanted, beautiful, and something only he makes me experience—desired by the king of rock and roll. With his persona as a sex symbol, I feel untouchable on stage.
I thought doing a song together would be a disaster, one trying to up the other, but I have to admit, it goes seamlessly into the encore and the crowd goes crazy for it.
In Salt Lake City, Utah, after a two-night show, Revel and Deacon stay up until seven the next morning and play me an acoustic version of Creedence Clearwater Revival, my favorite band growing up, Green River album. I can’t sleep the next day just thinking about that night and the way his voice stays with me even when he’s not in the room.
Your voice is my favorite sound.
It’s in Vegas at the T-Mobile Arena where I realize how deep I’m in with Revel. It happens when I hear him play an acoustic version of Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door.” As he sits center stage, his foot propped up on the last rung of a wooden stool, I see it for the first time. The loneliness he hides so well and unfortunately, how bad his drinking problem is. All that aside, it’s the words falling from his lips that I react to. It’s those tragically beautiful lyrics that worry me.
Surrounded by smoke, he sounds in pain. Tortured, agitated by wounds that run so deep. Every once in a while, a singer will come around who can transport you into another world with the power of their voice in such an effortless manner you don’t even realize it’s happening. Until you’re breathless.
Until you don’t even realize you’re crying.
That’s what Revel Slade does to you.
Liz approaches me, her smile genuine, but I can tell there’s a warning coming. “He looks good tonight,” I tell her, making conversation.
“He is.” The song ends, Revel stands, reaching for his other guitar a stagehand gives him, but sways in the process. “But he has a problem.”
I know what she’s referring to. His drinking. I hadn’t realized how bad it truly was, or perhaps I hadn’t wanted to see it, but truth be told, I never see him without a drink in his hand, or nearby.
“There’s a reason why the band’s called Revved. When he gets to a certain point, there’s no going back.”
There’s no going back? Did that mean his drinking or love? Ha. You and I both know someone like Revel doesn’t love. After seeing the way he treats Hensley, I doubt he felt anything for her. And if he did, how deep could it have been if it was so easily discarded the moment it ended?
Revved’s set ends. Revel’s the first off stage, reaching for his cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey he’d been taking shots from the entire night.
He makes his way toward me, pausing as he gets within touching distance. His chest expands with a deep breath. “What was that about?” he asks, wiping his face with a towel.
“She was commenting on how good you sounded out there.”
He reaches for me. Heated stares and fingers linger on my hip. He draws me close, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat. My lips part and I already taste him on my lips, the flavor I crave.
“And what did you think?” he asks, his gaze intense as he backs me up against a speaker.
I smile, focusing over his shoulder at Liz who’s watching us. “Amazing as always.”
He brushes my hair off my shoulder, his face as blank as an untouched canvas. He’s so good at controlling his emotions. He’s like the whiskey he’s drinking. Strong, powerful and if you’re like me, you underestimate its potency.
For the next two weeks leading up to Christmas, I spend every night with Revel, but only in the confines of the shadows of my tour bus and never in the public eye, never around his band, and certainly, not ever where my dad can see.
In the prying eyes of the public, we deny. We snub any question related to our relationship, because for the most part, neither of us know what’s happening. I’m adapting to his tour life. My inhibitions, my insecurities for not seeing myself as worthy of this genre, every single time I step on stage with him, they slip away. I become more assertive and I like the feeling of fitting into his world. Yet still, he denies me. He refuses to have sex with me. Every time we get to a point of no return, he pulls back.
I think it’s me.
I think maybe I’m not what he’s looking for and maybe I’m just enough to pass the time. I’m not entirely sure.
I’m left feeling inadequate and confused. Overwhelmed by his words yet longing for the moment it changes. On my tour bus in Scottsdale with The Black Keys playing softly in the background, I question his inte
ntions. Again.
“Why won’t you? What happened to you saying you couldn’t wait to make my cunt bleed?”
“I lied.” He settles himself between my legs, and I keep mine wrapped around his waist, unwilling to let go. I can’t control my breathing when he shifts, his erection grinding into me. He moans into my mouth, hands under my shirt, palming my breasts.
“Why?”
“To get a reaction.”
“So now that I’m offering, you won’t?”
His mouth is hot against my skin, frantically moving from one spot to the next. Keeping one arm around my back, he struggles to rip his flannel away and the T-shirt underneath over his head. Excitement hits me, my eyes follow the lines of his muscles and the ink covering them. Without words, he reaches under my bottom to wrap his hands around my thighs to spread them wider.
His knees slide against the bed, his hands working on his belt buckle hastily and then unzips his jeans. All the while, his eyes are on mine—dark, pleading, wanting. “Tell me no. Don’t let me do this,” he begs, pushing his jeans down to his knees, trying to fight his desire and need for this, too.
I don’t. I can’t. “Just fuck me, Rev,” I plead, frantically clawing at him, desperate for justification. In my head, I think if we have sex, it’s justified. My hands seek what I need between us. And when I touch him there, he groans, his head falling forward. “That’s what I want.”
“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He plants his right hand firmly on the mattress, his other resting by my head. With his blood consumed by alcohol, his movements are slow, his words drawn out.
When I shake my head, his head dips forward, his arms and body shaking as he leans in.
Meeting my stare, I know what’s coming next. The denial.
And then it comes. “Fuck.” He sighs, shaking his head, hands trembling. “Not tonight.” Pressing his weight forward, his hips connect with mine, his eyes drop between my legs, watching. “I can’t do it,” he whispers, before pulling away.
Pain hits my heart like a knife, turning and twisting with the rejection. “Why not?”
“What do you want from me?” he asks, his mouth on my neck, then my jaw and finally my lips.
His kisses, they plead. His movements, they dictate mine. For those reasons, I don’t answer his rejection. Reeling in the taste of whiskey and drunk on his kiss. Deepening the kiss, his tongue swirls with mine. I grasp his hair, pulling him closer and rubbing myself against his erection. He lets us continue like this for a moment, me arching toward him, humping him as his body remains rigid, on the edge of rejecting me again.
Both of us are a melody of moans and frantic hands. Pulling his mouth from mine, he rolls me, so I’m on top of him. Straddling him, I rip my shirt over my head and let it fall beside me. Leaning forward, my curtain of red hair hides my heated cheeks.
Reaching up, Revel brushes my hair off my shoulder, dancing his fingertips along my collarbone, over further until he reaches that hollow spot of my throat. With his thumb on one side, and his fingers on the other, my breath catches, the beating in my heart seizing with the grip around my neck.
His eyes darken with dilating pupils and his lips capture mine. Digging his fingertips into my neck, he lifts his hips and grinds into me. Pleasure like I’ve never felt before rushes through me and I want more, so much more from him. I want everything. Peeking one eye open, I watch the quick rise and fall of his chest, my own kicking in.
Our kiss breaks, too much for him and he struggles to stop where we both know this is heading. Breathing hard, his nostrils flaring with every exhale, he looks vulnerable, undecided and hesitant to continue. He might not know what he wants, but I do. I arch again, moaning like the chorus of the sweetest songs. Revel’s eyes lock with mine, so intense it’s like he’s letting me into his soul, as dark as that might be.
“Please?” I ask against the restrains of his grip on my throat. I saw the sex tape online, remember? I knew going into this Revel was into more than your standard sex. What he provides, it’s indescribable. I can be kinky, can’t I? Or at least I think I can. I might be naïve, but I’ve had sex, and I know I can give him what he wants. I close my eyes and try to stop thinking but it doesn’t work. “Why do you want me innocent and untouched? Your body obviously says otherwise.”
“I want you. That’s not the problem here. It’s you. You’re not ready.” Revel pushes out a quick breath, releases his hand from my neck and then before I know it, he has me on my back again, grinding into me over and over again. And while I love it, his boxers are still on, as are my panties. I wiggle and squirm, trying eagerly to take our underwear off, but he stops. A low rumble vibrates in his throat, his tongue swirling with mine. He breaks our kiss and then rolls off me onto his back, breathing heavily. His hand finds his hair. “And we’re not doing it on this fucking bus that you probably fucked him in.”
My cheeks burn. He’s not wrong. I never thought about it like that. I sit up and reach for my top next to me, tears stinging my eyes.
Revel notices. He rights his jeans and then sits up, his mouth on my shoulder. I turn my head to look at him. “I don’t understand you.”
“Princess, no one does, not even me.”
The next day, at a sold-out show in Phoenix, Revel lights the stage on fire with tequila, and sends Hardin to the ER with second-degree burns just for giving me a lemon drop during sound check. I have a feeling it was more than the drink judging by the knowing smirk on Hardin’s face, and the murderous expression Revel wore when he dropped the match at his feet as he said, “Burn in hell.”
I know what you’re thinking. Or at least I know what I’m thinking. He’s beyond crazy. My mom used to tell me if you give a man a mask, he’ll show you evil. For Revel, the mask was the stage. Up there, he didn’t have to pretend. Adrenaline took over and the man you got was the one underneath the shy side he presented outside the spotlight.
“You could have killed him,” Liz points out as we’re standing outside the venue. Her hair is a mess, her eyes tired. I think she needs a break from Revel and his madness. Good thing we have four days off for Christmas.
Revel blows off the accusation and lights up a cigarette, smoke billowing in ribbons around his face. “Oh for fuck’s sake, he’s fine.”
“You’re lucky he is,” she spits back at him, storming off in the other direction with her phone pressed to her ear.
“You coming?” his bandmate asks him as they step inside the black sedan heading toward the airport.
I don’t move from my place next to him. It’s not that I’m expecting anything. I should be flying home for Christmas, but I linger, curious where he might be going.
With one hand shoved in his pocket and the other holding a cigarette to his lips, Revel doesn’t answer, but he and Cruz exchange a look.
Cruz shrugs, smiling. “All right, man.” He pauses, running his hand through his hair. “See ya in Denver.” He points in my direction, then winks. “Tell Tinkerbella I said Merry fucking Christmas.”
I laugh, shaking my head. Bella flew home this morning, but I had a feeling those two would be hooking up again soon.
And then I’m alone with him, anxiety clawing at my throat like it’s suffocating me. I struggle to breathe normally, anticipation almost too much.
His eyes illuminated under the street lights, words soft as the wind between us, his whisper rough as he breathes out, “I have a cabin in Tahoe.”
I look up at him, his face—it’s expressionless. He’s good at hiding, but those eyes, they always tell a story. It’s an invitation, should I want it. “That sounds nice.”
I knew any time spent with Revel would forever be around his entourage or mine, and in the public eye. His level of popularity is on an entirely different planet than mine. His fans, his loyalty to them, the paparazzi, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced or would have experienced. Alone with him, where no one knows where to find us, it’s a beautiful fear I can’t quite grasp the meaning of.
GIVE HER WHAT SHE WANTS
REVEL
I’ve never been good at small talk, but Red, she never stops talking on the way to the cabin. Maybe it’s from nerves, but I’m tempted to toss her out of the car a couple times.
“I can’t believe you set Hardin on fire,” she says, shaking her head and looking over at me.
I rest my hand lazily on the steering wheel and roll my head toward her. “He ain’t fucking innocent.”
She nods, as if she knows not to push the issue.
My eyes drift lower to her breasts, her legs, everywhere I wish my goddamn mouth was instead of me driving.
I know what you’re thinking, or maybe it’s just me. If you’re wondering why I haven’t had sex with Red, that would make two of us. I give her some bullshit excuse of me wanting her untouched and innocent, whatever that garbage line was, but the truth, I don’t know why. Something about it just hasn’t felt right. It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so badly in my life, but I haven’t been able to make myself do it. It like I’ve been protecting her virginity, even though I know it’s nonexistent at this point.
So I asked her to come to Tahoe with me. Maybe a weekend alone will change my feelings. Unfortunately, I didn’t check the weather report before I decided taking Red up to the cabin would be a good idea. Selfishly, I knew it was my chance to have her alone without the prying eyes of everyone else so completely enthralled by our relationship.
By the time we reach the ski resort, the flakes are falling harder, pelting against frozen cheeks and clinging to our eyelashes the moment we’re outside the SUV.
“Have you ever been skiing before?”
I look over my shoulder at the ski lifts in the distance. “A few times.”
Transfixed by the views, Red stands in the snow for a moment. Forget the frozen toes and shivering skin, she’s caught up and twirling like a child. Her bright red locks stand out against the purest of whites. Pink cheeks and twinkling green eyes find mine. The wind howls, piling up drifts of snow as she steps toward me. “Why did we stop at a garage? You can’t drive up there?”
