DARE: A Rock Star Hero

by Scott, S. L.

  She sits back up and laughs. “And here I thought it sounded romantic.”

  “I slowed the tempo.”

  “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

  “He doesn’t,” I say, “because she fucked around when we were out of town.” The line still makes me chuckle, and I’ve sung it a million times.

  Over a blanket of empty containers that hold the remains of pasta salad, various fruit, and cupcakes, her laughter rings around us and keeps me smiling. Watching a boat cruise by, she says, “I love being near the water.”

  I wrap my arms around my bent knees. “I’d like to have a house out on the lake one day, some property to let my kids run free without worrying, and to be able to have the whole place wired and amped without any neighbors close enough to complain. It’s a big dream.”

  “You’ll have that one day. I know you will. You’re on a path to success.”

  I return my gaze back to her and smirk. “Says the lawyer.”

  “It’s not my dream, but it was a goal. I proved to everyone I could do it.”

  “You sure did. What’s next?”

  “The bar exam in July.” She gets up and moves to sit in my lap. With her tucked inside my arms, she adds, “And, well. We happened so fast, so I don’t know if you’ll be into this or anything, but I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d like to come to my graduation party?”

  Hearing her stumble over the invite has me tightening my hold on her, but I’m surprised by the invite. We said no hiding and here she is taking a big step for me. “I know it feels like we’re not on steady ground with so much still to learn about each other, but I appreciate you asking me.”

  “It means meeting my dad, mom, and everyone at my house.” She twists to look me in the eyes. “We’ve joked about it, but as we also said, I don’t want to hide us. You’re a part of my life, and I want you there. Only if you want to be there, though.”

  “I want to be there for you.” Pushing that long east side versus west side down, I’ll do this for her. “When is it?”

  “This coming Saturday. Are you booked?”

  “Oh. Um. Yeah. Let me see what time we go on.” I pull out my phone and hit the date. “What time is the party?”

  “It starts at six.”

  I kiss her cheek. Knowing how she’s putting herself out there for me has me feeling on top of the world. “I’ll be there. We don’t go on until eleven. I can cut out around nine to meet up with the band.”

  “Thank you. You know, I’ve been thinking. I don’t know them well, but maybe the band would like to come? I’d love to have them there and get to know them better.”

  “Are you sure? They can be rowdy.”

  “It’s only for a few hours. No one is getting wasted or anything. There will be my dad’s associates and friends. This feels more like for my parents than for me anyway. But the band will make it more fun. What do you think?”

  “I’ll ask them.” Rubbing my hand over my head. “It’s nice of you to offer. Will your friends be there?”

  “Yes. They’ve rsvp’d.”

  “Have you heard from them today?”

  “I heard from Stascia. She texted.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.” When she looks out the window, I ask, “Are you okay?”

  She smiles and leans her head to the side. “You don’t have to worry about me. I love being here with you.”

  “Good.”

  A siren sounds behind us, and we look back to where I parked. “Ah, shit.” We stand and watch as a cop walks toward us. I mutter, “What the fuck? ”

  The flashlight shines in my eyes causing me to squint. When he directs it in Weatherly’s, I’m ready to take this fucker down. “How can I help you, Officer?”

  Waving the flashlight on the ground around us, he says, “This is actually private property.” His eyes check out the picnic. “You don’t have alcohol out here do you?”

  “No.”

  His eyes have stayed on me for the most part, but there’s something about the way he looks at Weatherly that stirs anger inside. “You okay, ma’am?”

  Surprised by the question, her head jerks. “Yes. I’m fine. Having dinner with my boyfriend.”

  His gaze slides back to me. “Boyfriend, huh?” There’s a long pause, and then he nods. “Someone called it in.” Angling the flashlight toward the nearby offices, he adds, “Like we have nothing better to do than break up lovebirds having dinner. Sorry about this, but I’ll need to ask you to pack up and leave.”

  “No problem.” We bend down and start packing up the empty containers.

  Weatherly is on her knees, helping. She looks up at me and says, “It was a lovely meal. Thank you.”

  Well, damn. Can I get any luckier? I steal a kiss. “It was lovely because of the company.”

  The cop whistles and starts walking back with us. Small talk is not something I want to make with this guy, but when we reach the truck, I set my guitar down and hold open the door for Weatherly. “Have a good night, Officer.”

  “Have a good one.” He gets in his car and sits while we load in.

  When I put the cooler bag into the back, she says, “Might want to put that up here. We wouldn’t want it to blow out like our underwear.”

  I chuckle while shoving it behind my seat and put my guitar case on top of it. “You think someone on that dusty old back road has found them?”

  “I hope not. I’m still mortified.”

  Climbing into the cab, I shut the door and start the truck. “Don’t stress about the small stuff. I’m fairly sure no one wants our underwear.”

  “You’re right. They weren’t my sexiest anyway since I was dressed for my law exam.”

  “Legal briefs.”

  She giggles over my bad joke. Reaching over, I squeeze her knee, making her laugh even harder. “That tickles.”

  The siren flashes. Eyeing the cop behind us, I shift into drive. “Guess we should get moving.”

  “Do you want to come over to mine?” she asks.

  “You don’t want me to take you out? Go somewhere and have a drink to celebrate you finishing law school?”

  “We can do that at mine. I have a bottle of champagne I’ve been saving for this occasion.”

  “I’ve never had champagne.”

  “You haven’t?”

  Shrugging, I reply, “Guess I haven’t had an occasion for it.”

  “One day, you will.”

  I keep one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on her leg. “And what occasion will it be? My wedding?”

  “When you sign a record deal.”

  Her certainty takes me by surprise. “You think?”

  “I know. You’re amazing. The music is amazing. The Heroes are going to be huge one day.”

  “I appreciate that, babe.”

  “I only speak the truth.” I turn to go downtown when she says, “You’ve mentioned kids and a wedding. So that’s in your plans?”

  I hadn’t thought about it but said what I thought. I guess she brings it out in me. “The grand plan. Not something I think about—”

  “Sounds like you have a little.”

  I grin, not sure if she can see me or not in the dark of this cab. “A little.” I glance at her. “Very little.”

  “Okay. Okay. I get it.” I can practically hear an eye roll in her response. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

  “The basics are that I do see myself with a family one day. I want the life I didn’t have, and I can create that. What about you?”

  “I would like to be married. I also want to start my career, but I can see being a wife and mother. I think it would be amazing to have a family of my own.”

  I slip my hand to the base of her neck and rub. “Seems we’re on the same wavelength.”

  “Better to know now than down the road when it’s too late.”

  “True.” I turn on the radio.

  She starts laughing. “Okay, I got the hint. How about we talk about
the next week? That’s less intimidating than a lifetime. What days do you play?”

  I pull into her parking garage and find a guest spot on the second floor. “I have to check the schedule, but I think we’re booked every night but Wednesday.”

  She hops out of the truck and comes around. “What can I carry?”

  “I’m only taking my guitar with me.” I lock up and hold her hand while we head to the elevator. She lets Stan, the doorman, know I’m parked in the garage, and we go upstairs.

  Setting my case down just inside the door, I turn and lock up as she heads to the bedroom. “I’m going to change clothes. The champagne is in the wine cooler if you want to pop the cork.”

  “Glasses?”

  “Left cabinet. Top shelf.”

  I pull the bottle out of the little fridge and study the label. I took Spanish, so I don’t know what this says in French. I bet it’s expensive. I’ve just popped the cork when Weatherly strolls back out dressed in those booty shorts I like so much on her and a tank top that could pass as a second skin. I approve. She clearly has no idea how incredible her body is.

  I’m so used to women trying to impress me with their tits and ass hanging out of some skimpy lace that Weatherly being herself is more of a turn-on than the others ever were. Graceful and natural. Gorgeous goddess.

  “You ready to celebrate, hero?” She picks up one of the glasses and holds it between us.

  I pick up the other. “Here’s to you, babe. I may not have taken this journey with you, but I’m so proud that I have the honor of being here now.” I tap my glass against hers. “Here’s to you. Congratulations.”

  We drink with our eyes locked. It’s fizzy and tastes all right, but I prefer beer.

  “Aw, thank you,” she says and takes another drink, finishing half that fills the fancy glass.

  I top it off, and then we go out on the balcony. She lies down on the lounger while I lean against the railing facing her. “What are your dreams?”

  “To be a lawyer.”

  “Really? That’s what you dreamed of as a kid?”

  She takes another sip and looks past me at the stars. “What I dreamed of could have never come true.” Her eyes find mine. “So does it matter anymore?”

  “Yes. It matters.”

  “Then tell me yours. Did you want to be a musician?”

  “Music wasn’t a part of my childhood. Silence. Complete silence was.” I finish the champagne in my glass and set it down on the table. “It must be the fucking bubbles making me stupid.” Standing there staring at the lights of the city, I guess it’s just time to open up. “My dad hated noise. He never wanted a kid. He didn’t want a wife either.” I laugh, but it’s humorless. Just a nervous habit I can’t seem to break when I talk about my childhood. “He wanted someone to wait on him without them having a say. My mother and I were neither. She was too strong, and I was too much of a kid—loud and boisterous—both of which she adored and encouraged once we were gone.”

  “Dare?”

  “You don’t have to feel sorry for me or anything. As I said before, she left him. She took me and nothing else.” It took me years to get the sight of her bloody and beaten out of my mind. Sometimes, it was so horrible in my dreams that I swore it couldn’t have been real. But she had scars, internal and external, to prove that it was true. I can’t help but wonder if that aided her eventual downfall. Bruised her inside where no one knew until it was too late. She shouldn’t have died so young . . .

  Her hand rests on my back as she moves to my side. “What happened to him?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. Fuck him.”

  The heat she brings when she leans her cheek on my back is welcomed. I close my eyes and savor the feel of her. “You and your mom deserved better.”

  “We did, but we won in the end. He didn’t realize the force she became. She was studying architecture when she got sick. She loved to drive around and study the unique buildings and houses of Austin.”

  She comes around and rests her forearms on the railing next to me. “What was her favorite style?”

  “I forgot the name. Vintage Mediterranean isn’t right, but it was something like that.”

  “Like old Hollywood homes. She’d probably love my parents’ house. It’s an old Mediterranean. You’ll get to see it Saturday.”

  “We probably drove by it one time or another. As for my dreams, we don’t make a lot of money now, but the potential is there. So anything is a possibility.”

  “When you get a record deal.”

  I smile at her and rub her back. “Yes, when we get a record deal.”

  “Do you mind me asking how your mom died?”

  “She had pneumonia. She had a cough for a while, and then she just couldn’t get out of bed to go to work. It was so quick. That was the worst part of it. No time to process her sickness or the finality of her being cut from my life. She deserved to live a long life, ya know?”

  “I can’t imagine how hard that would have been. You must have felt so alone.”

  “Yeah, I did. But I had Lennox and Helen.”

  “She sounds amazing.”

  “She has been there for me . . .” I feel my heart thrumming, and add, “She helped me with the picnic.”

  “That was nice. I hope to meet her one day.”

  Wrapping my arm around her, I pull to me. “I want you to meet her.” I lean my head against the top of hers. What I’ve learned about Weatherly is that she is kind. Selfless. Thoughtful. Loving. She just invited me to join her and her family and friends to celebrate her graduation. I want her to be a part of my tradition. “So Sunday is this thing we do each year. Helen is going to make dinner after. Maybe you’d like to go?”

  Her arms wrap around me, holding me so tight that she makes an oomph sound. “I’d love to. What’s the occasion?”

  “My mom’s birthday.”

  23

  Dare

  Days drag because I’ve been living for the nights.

  Nighttime is Weatherly time.

  My senses are heightened around her, my emotions mixed up. She acts bigger than her small frame exposes, making me feel protective over her, though I haven’t earned that right. Or the job as her boyfriend, technically.

  I don’t know if we make sense or not, but she feels right. So I’ll take the job title and fulfill the requirements as long as she lets me.

  Her diamond earrings catch the passing headlights, sparkling on her ears. She wears the tiniest gold band around her middle finger. There’s no doubt that the jewelry is made of the real stuff. Precious metals and stones I can’t afford.

  Yet.

  This car, though . . . Fuck me, it’s nice, though it still pales compared to her. Her skin is softer than the leather seats of this expensive car, reminding me that she’ll bruise easily if I’m not careful—physically, emotionally. Her eyes tell more of a story of what’s going on in her head than the fancy screen on the dashboard can ever map out.

  Tesla’s are expensive, but Weatherly is exquisite.

  I don’t think I’ve ever once used that word. But here I am, using fancy as fuck words to describe the feelings I have for this woman.

  I’m fucked. Shaking my head, I stare out the car window to distract me from the crazy going on inside my head. “Not to be nosy, but since I’ve been inside you, I figure I have a right to ask a few personal questions.”

  “That’s so crude, Dare.” She glances at me, that fire lit inside her baby blues. Then she laughs, and her gaze returns to the road. “And so hot for some reason.” I think she has a few crazy ideas going on inside her head too. Maybe I bring it out in her. Now that’s hot. “Ask away.”

  “How does a twenty-three-year-old afford a car like this?”

  She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, which has her hands perched at nine and three, just how we’re taught as kids. My girl is so responsible.

  She might find my crudeness hot, but for some reason, I find her good girl image so fucki
ng sexy. I don’t know if I want to defend her from the world or taint her so no one looks at her the same way I do. Right now, I’m leaning toward the latter.

  “I’m sure you won’t be surprised that my parents gave me the car for Christmas.”

  “That’s quite a gift. Santa’s generous at your house.”

  “Yes. Very generous,” she adds quickly.

  I scoff. “I got a bottle of whiskey under my tree. It was a tree made of beer cans, so maybe it was fitting.”

  Her gaze latches onto mine briefly before returning to the road ahead. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. There’s nothing I hate more than people feeling sorry for me. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I turn to look outside the window, though I’d rather be still staring at her. This is not healthy. I’m not sure we are either, but I’m taking the risk without regret.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” I snap, my twisted emotions getting the better of me. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She goes quiet, and I feel like shit for snapping at her. “Fuck.” She didn’t do anything wrong. I need to set my ego aside and fix it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m okay with a beer can Christmas tree. Gifts don’t mean anything to me,” I lie. “I don’t need shit given to me. I’m fine earning my way.”

  What am I doing? Why am I upset? Whatever I’m burnin’ up about, she didn’t cause it. I reach over, sliding my hand under her hair at the nape of her neck. “I’m tired. That’s all. I have a lot on my mind, and with my mom’s birthday coming up, I tend to be a little more live-wired with negative energy.”

  “It’s okay.” Even in the dark of the car, I see a pink color her cheeks. It reminds me of the roses growing on the side of the house—soft, delicate, intoxicating. “Do you visit your mom’s grave much?”

  Her tentative tone leaves me feeling worse for snapping at her. “We can talk about anything. Nothing is off-limits to you. I don’t talk about my mom much, but I’ll talk about her with you.” I exhale the anxiety I’ve been feeling as the date nears, and then add, “She has a plaque. We had her cremated. I was nineteen, and we had no money so a grave and a coffin . . . funerals are expensive.”