Rifted Rock: Secrets of a rock star series

by Pace, Paisley

  “You have feelings for this girl?” he said.

  “We fucked a couple times at the country house.”

  “Oh, I already knew that,” he said, with a graceful wave of his hand. “I assume you fornicate with every comely young vagina that crosses your path.”

  “You make it sound so uncouth.”

  “I just didn’t realize you actually like her,” he said, locking me in the gaze that was so like my own.

  “Andrea’s…well, she’s amazing. She has real talent, Darrel. Those songs—“

  “They aren’t hers.”

  “What do you mean, they aren’t hers?”

  “I mean, she didn’t write them.”

  “She didn’t write the songs?” I couldn’t believe it. And not because I was smitten with Andrea. I’d heard her sing, learned the story behind the lyrics. There was no way anyone could have penned those songs.

  “Her boyfriend did,” Darrel continued. “She was trying to dump him and pass them off as her own. But he found out and came back just in time. We would have been in a ton of legal trouble otherwise.”

  “Her boyfriend. “ Bile backed up in my throat. “You mean that sleazebag Jonathan?”

  “Yeah. Kent had to re-write the contract, and then Andrea wouldn’t sign it.”

  “Then there’s still time.” I grabbed my phone and went to dial Andrea. No, that was a bad idea. She was with her abusive ex now. He wouldn’t take too kindly to a guy with my reputation calling his girlfriend.

  I didn’t want to endanger Andrea further. So I called Kent. He picked up right away.

  “Kent, is Andrea still with you?” I asked.

  “She just left with Jonathan. Is everything all right? You sound upset. And possibly drunk.”

  “I’m fine. I only had three drinks. Listen. You’ve got to call Andrea. Tell her to come back right now. She’s in serious danger.”

  “Vance, you’re not being very logical right now.”

  “This situation is not what you think, Kent. Jonathan is abusive. He’s the reason Andrea was on the run.”

  “Abusive?” I could hear the wheels starting to turn.

  “Yes. Physically, emotionally. That’s why she never mentioned him to us. She was trying to start over.”

  “He said he wrote the songs and she was trying to pass them off as her own.”

  “That’s bullshit. He may have made the beats, but Andrea was responsible for everything else. I worked with her. I know she’s got it. The gift.”

  Kent was quiet, his business mind calculating, weighing the various tales he’d been told, trying to find truth within the balance. “Then why didn’t she say so during the meeting today?”

  “Because, dumbass, she was afraid! Afraid he’d beat the shit out of her again!” It seemed so obvious to me. I wondered how Kent could be so dense.

  Then I remembered he hadn’t experienced physical abuse. Andrea and I had.

  “Are you still there?” I asked.

  “Vance, I believe you,” he said. “I’m such a fool. I noticed Andrea was being unusually quiet. I thought she was tired.”

  “We’ve got to stop her from signing those forms,” I said.

  “She bought herself a little time,” Kent said. “She said she wanted her lawyer to look over the contract.”

  That’s my girl, I thought. Then I remembered Andrea wasn’t my girl. Not anymore. She never really had been.

  No, Andrea wasn’t mine, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help her. Right now, she was in danger. But I knew she wouldn’t answer my calls.

  “Get Andrea on the phone,” I said. “Or better yet, Jonathan. Tell him there’s a tiny error on the contract—nothing big, just a typo, but we need give him updated forms to sign. That’ll get him back to your office.”

  “But what about Andrea?” Kent asked.

  “She’ll be with him,” I said. “Trust me. He’s not going to let her out of his sight.”

  Chapter 22

  As I waited to hear from Kent, who was setting up the meeting with Andrea and Jonathan, I paced the wooden floors. I needed to get some tension out, so I went to the second floor and banged out a few miles on the treadmill while Rage Against The Machine blasted in my headphones.

  Afterwards, sweaty, spent but still on pins and needles, I hit the shower. Even though I was miles away from the site of our last encounter, the hot water and fragrant body wash made me think of Andrea. I wished she were here to soap me down, her warm, soft breasts slippery against my chest, her tight cunt slick against my member. I was hard and throbbing just at the thought of her. If only I’d thought to take a photo of her beautiful body. She didn’t even have to be nude. Just the slight of those luscious curves would be enough.

  I jerked myself off, quickly and with a sense of resignation. Semen spooled down the drain along with the hot water, and I stepped out and toweled off.

  I could have easily pulled up a dating app and had a groupie here in less time than it took to order takeout. But I felt no desire for anyone except Andrea. What had that magical woman done to me?

  My phone lit up with a text from Kent. Andrea and Jonathan are on their way over. Get here when you can.

  I’d never leapt into my jeans so fast. I punched the intercom system and yelled to Darrel that we needed to leave as soon as possible. When I got downstairs, he was standing in the kitchen, drinking orange juice straight from the container, eyebrows raised.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “I have a Narcotics Anonymous meeting at six,” he said.

  “That’s an hour from now. Come on, let’s go.”

  “Ugh, I’ve spent enough time in offices today.”

  “We all have to sign the forms, dumbass.”

  “Can’t we Parent Trap this situation somehow? Just put your hair in your hat and pretend to be me.”

  “For the millionth time, this isn’t summer camp, and you aren’t Hayley Mills.”

  “Duh,” Darrel said, fluttering his lashes and holding his head at a feminine angle. “I’m obviously Lindsay Lohan.”

  “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.”

  “I don’t think you’re taking my recovery seriously enough.”

  “Fine. Show up to your meeting an hour early. I’m going to Kent’s office with or without you.”

  I’d forgotten how insufferable my brother could be sometimes. I stalked to the door and grabbed my keys.

  “Jeez Louise, I’m just kidding, Vance.” Darrell caught up to me just as I was unlocking the door.

  “’I’m not in the mood for jokes right now,” I said darkly.

  “Wow. Somebody’s pussy-whipped.”

  “Like I said. Not in the mood.”

  Fortunately, Kent’s office was only a few blocks away, and though we passed a couple walking tour groups, nobody bothered to talk to us. We arrived at Kent’s office just as Andrea and Jonathan we walking in.

  “Well, howdy stranger!” Jonathan said, a shit-eating grin and broken capillaries spread across his face.

  “Hi,” I said gruffly. “Hello, Andrea.”

  Her mouth tightened and she nodded slightly as Jonathan conveyed her away from me, his hand squeezing her elbow.

  She didn’t remove her sunglasses, not even when we stepped into the elevator. Not even when we entered Kent’s office and she and Jonathan sat on one side of the conference table, across from Darrel and I, Kent at the head.

  Either she was trying out the incognito rock star look or she was hiding something. I suspected the latter.

  I couldn’t help but blame myself. This was all my fault. If only I’d been less emotional, less ready to blame Andrea. If only I’d felt safe enough to make her tell me the whole truth—even the parts that made her feel ashamed of herself.

  “Andrea, you don’t have to do this,” I blurted. “You don’t have to sign the contract.”

  Andrea didn’t speak or remove her sunglasses. Instead, Jonathan opened her mouth. “Oh, yes she does.�
��

  “Andrea, we can figure things out. Wing it. You and I have both done that before.”

  Jonathan’s frown turned into a downright grimace. A hellish anger gleamed in his eyes as he looked from me to Andrea, whose expression remained hidden behind her sunglasses. “You’ve been fucking around while I was in the clink? With this STD-laced son of a bitch?”

  “Now, I wouldn’t say our mother was a bitch,” interjected Darrel.

  “Shut up, faggot,” Jonathan said.

  “Hey now,” Kent said, looking uncomfortable, his hand hovering over the phone as if he were thinking of calling the police. “Let’s keep it civil.”

  “Vance,” Andrea said, her soft voice cutting through the chaos.

  “You did fuck him!” Jonathan crowed. “You filthy whore!”

  “You need this for your career, for Brothers Three,” she continued, quiet but firm. “You need the songs.”

  “I need you, Andrea,” I declared. “You’re my inspiration.”

  “Vance…” Her mouth quivered. I saw a tear run down her cheek.

  “I knew it,” Jonathan said, smirking. “I just knew it. Well, hope you had fun with this little slut, Mr. Big Time Rock Star. Because she’s all mine now. And so are my songs.”

  He ripped the contract in half and spit on the Oriental rug. “To hell with all you. I’ve got an agent now. And he’s gonna get me an even better deal.”

  The door slammed behind him. Kent, Jonathan, Andrea and I all sat in stunned silence.

  “Well,” Kent said, rapping his knuckles on the shining glass table. “It’s not the worst contract negotiation I’ve been part of.”

  Chapter 23

  Andrea

  I looked from Kent to Darrel to Vance, who was gazing at me hungrily, longingly. In spite of everything, I felt my body respond to his presence, his desire. But all around us, the dust was settling. The contract was null. Jonathan had made off with his—our—songs.

  But the way Vance was looking at me…that gave me hope. Until the door swung back open.

  “Andygator. Let’s go,” Jonathan said, sticking his head back into the office. “That means now.”

  Vance’s eyes burned into me, as if to ask me what I was going to do. I didn’t know, myself. I didn’t want to leave with Jonathan. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And I was technically homeless again.

  “Don’t make a fuss now, Andy,” Jonathan said.

  I could leave with him now. Or he could come find me later. I knew I wouldn’t fare well if he had to hunt me down again.

  Reluctantly, I stood. But before I crossed the room, I cast one last look at Vance. His fire-hot gaze glimmered with unspilled tears.

  “Andrea, don’t go!” Vance said. “I’ve been thinking—we should rebrand Brothers Three so it’s you and Darrel singing. Not me faking.”

  Jonathan looked at Vance, intrigued. “What do you mean, you faking?”

  “Vance, careful,” Kent hissed.

  But Vance stood up, his 6’2” frame making Jonathan seem stooped and small by comparison. “The whole band is a lie,” Vance said. “I can’t sing. Darrel is the real talent. I’m just the face of the band. I can’t fake it anymore.”

  “Vance, think about what you’re saying,” Kent said. “Things are going to blow up in your face.”

  “They already have,” Vance said. “I don’t have Andrea in my life.”

  My heart surged, and I ran forward into Vance’s warm, strong embrace. My mouth met his and we kissed eagerly, exploring each other’s taste as if for the first time. I wanted to stay in his embrace forever. He gave me the strength to do what I should have done years ago.

  “It’s over, Jonathan,” I said. “Take the songs and go to hell.”

  He raised his hand and I shrunk into Vance’s chest. Vance wrapped his hands tightly around me in a protective posture, and I buried my head in his chest. I heard the sound of a punch hitting its target. When I raised my head, I saw Darrel standing over Jonathan’s prone body, his hand clenched in a fist.

  “Nobody calls me a faggot,” he said, smiling.

  Jonathan sat up and shook his head. He touched his hand to his mouth and looked at the blood that darkened his fingers, astonished. “You goddamn cocksucker,” he said. “I’m going to sue the shit out of you.”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Kent said. “My lawyers would love to see you in court. Plus, that way, Andrea can finally get justice for the abuse you’ve heaped on her for the last six years.”

  “You couldn’t,” Jonathan said, looking at me.

  I thought of Vance’s generous offer, his ultimate sacrifice of exposing his fraudulence. He’d already risked his livelihood for me and explained his willingness to re-start the band. I had no doubt that together, we could prosecute Jonathan and get him locked up for a long, long time.

  “I can,” I said. “I can leave you, Jonathan. In fact…”

  I looked at Vance, his gaze loving, excited and vulnerable all at once.

  “I already have,” I said, and when my lips met Vance’s, I felt a tiny explosion—not a meth fire’s destruction and devastation. But the pop and spark of something magical about to start.

  Something, in fact, already had.

  Epilogue: Two months later

  Andrea

  I didn’t think I’d catch on to professional musicianship quickly, but after a month in the studio and another month of intense, twelve-hour rehearsals, Kent, Vance and Darrell all agreed I wasn’t just up to speed—I was as good as any backing vocalist and rhythm guitar player Brothers Three had ever played with.

  We’d co-written an all-new album and scheduled a tour to coincide with the release of our first single. The songs had been restructured to give equal weight to Darrel’s voice, my voice, and Vance’s amazing guitar and piano solos. Vance had been working with a top-of-the-line vocal coach to get his singing ability back—but he didn’t feel quite ready for the solos yet.

  As a matter of fact, neither did I.

  It was just a sound check at a hip venue in the French Quarter—low stakes, a sort of warmup to the tour—but my nerves got the best of me when the spotlight hit me. The vast auditorium seemed to roil and sway. I imagined people booing and egging me. Brothers Three had been known for its female groupies—how kindly would they take to a new girl in the band?

  And even though he was back in jail, the thought of Jonathan lurking in the crowd always threw me off.

  “Stop. Andrea’s off the beat,” Kent said over the speakers.

  “Again,” Darrell said, rolling his eyes.

  “You know, you can tell this guy to fuck off any time you want,” Vance said.

  “Hey, you fuck off!” Darrell clicked his drum sticks together four times. “From the top! And a one, and a two—“

  This time, feedback screeched from the monitors. I clapped my hands over my ears. “I’m sorry, Kent,” I yelled to the sound booth. “Can I take fifteen?”

  “I needed a smoke break, anyway,” Darrell said, standing up from behind the drum kit.

  “Just make sure it’s a tight fifteen,” Kent said.

  I flopped down on the leather couch in the green room and propped my feet on the cooler. Vance followed me in and cracked open a beer from the cooler. He sat opposite me on the couch. I wanted to grab his hand, but as a couple, we were still under the radar. Kent had said we both needed to seem attainable. Actually, “fuckable” was the word he’d used.

  I understood the logic of it. But in my heart, I wondered if Vance actually wanted the best of both worlds: the stability of a girlfriend, and the excitement of being available to groupies. I knew he could fuck a girl in less time than it took most guys to grab a sandwich.

  “Hey babe,” he said, pulling my legs off the ice chest and placing my feet on his lap. “Everything all right?”

  “It’s great,” I said, not wanting to trouble this beautiful, generous man who’d done so much for me. “It’s better than great. Our songs are better th
an ever before. Our tour is selling like hotcakes. We’re got this great gig—“

  “You don’t have to sugar coat things on my behalf. I can tell you’re nervous.”

  I slumped as Vance rubbed my calves and ankles soothingly. “You can?”

  “Yeah. I can hear it in your playing. You keep getting lost—and honestly, I can tell you’re holding back when it comes to your voice.”

  “I’m just…scared.”

  “That’s normal, babe. Stage fright is part of life for every musician. But listen, we’re well rehearsed, and the minute we start our set, you’re going to—“

  “I’m scared of losing you,” I blurted.

  “Losing me?” Vance blinked his sexy, blue-green eyes. “But we’re about to literally share the same tour bus for the next six months.”

  “I guess that’s part of what concerns me. What if we get sick of each other?”

  “I could never get sick of you, Andrea,” Vance said. “I love you. So much.” He kissed the palm of my hand.

  “What if…” I bit my lips. “What if you want to have sex with some groupie? You could literally pull any girl out of the crowd and fuck her in the bathroom in less than ten minutes.”

  I hated myself for blurting that out. Now I sounded like the jealous, insecure girlfriend. Who wasn’t actually a girlfriend—at least as far as the world knew.

  “Andrea. I’ve been there. Done that. More than I care to remember. I’m not about that life any more,” Vance said, wiping a tear from my eye.

  “Your fans don’t know that.”

  “Our fans.”

  “Andrea.” Vance pulled me against his chest and laid kisses on my head, my cheeks, each closed eyelid. “Is that what this is about? I only want to have sex with you. You’re the most amazing, gorgeous, talented, strong, fascinating woman I’ve ever known.”

  His lips found mine, and I felt his strong, steady heartbeat. Vance had never given me any reason to question him. He was solid. I knew, at that moment, that the doubt and jealousy was all coming from my past trauma. I knew I could find the strength to trust Vance, even without the public girlfriend label. I could sing and share all my love and warmth in every note, without holding back.