SOUTHSIDE HIGH: Rockstar Enemies to Lovers Romance (Tempest World Book 1)

by Michelle Mankin

  “I saw what happened.” His hands on my shoulders, Dizzy turned me to face him. “It’s just girls being starry-eyed. They didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know. I get it. I’m cool.”

  But I wasn’t, really. I’d been up early today and late to bed the night before. Studying hard had been my pattern for weeks. I was exhausted and stressed. Plus, I was all out of sorts after the incident with Bryan. Although it was all on me, my expectations being dashed—even if based on a nonexistent reality—still felt like rejection.

  “You’re not cool.” Dizzy studied me like I was a math equation on the SAT. “You’re all worked up about the test tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” I shook my head at him in disbelief. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” he asked.

  “Zero right in on what’s bothering me.”

  “I’m your brother. I know you best.”

  Better than my boyfriend, apparently. War hadn’t said a single word about the test. He was all caught up in the band and the success we’d had tonight, which was understandable. But still. I’d been over here by myself a while. He’d obviously noticed but couldn’t be bothered to come over himself.

  “I just need to go home,” I said. “Get some rest. Can you take me?”

  Dizzy’s gaze shifted to a platinum-blonde at the far end of the bar, sipping an umbrella drink. “Of course I can.”

  “You have plans,” I muttered, feeling like a loser. I was even putting out my brother with my morose mood.

  His expression became resigned. “I do, but I can change them.”

  “I can walk myself home.”

  “No fucking way, Lace. That’s not safe, and you know it.”

  “We kicked ass,” War said, suddenly deigning to appear. He put one hand on my shoulder and knocked his other on the bar top as if to emphasize his statement.

  My focus on my brother, I hadn’t seen War approach. Bryan was with War, and he wasn’t alone. He had two girls clinging to each of his arms, and he had yet to put on a shirt.

  I never should have asked him if he’d thought about kissing me. It would have been better to have remained silent. Of course he wasn’t into me. Nauseating regret swirled inside me. Predictably, wishful thinking had gained me nothing but disappointment.

  “What’s going on?” I asked War, giving him a brittle smile.

  “The reps wanna take us out. Talk and shit. You’re coming with.” He squeezed my shoulder.

  “She needs to get home,” Dizzy said, speaking up for me. “She has the SAT tomorrow.”

  Gratitude burned in my eyes as I exchanged a glance with him.

  “Who the fuck cares about the SAT?” War said, frowning at me.

  It was the absolute worst thing he could say. I stiffened as he spun me around by my shoulders.

  “Lacey, this could be it. You’re not gonna get a surer shot out of here.”

  Another blow. War never gave me props for my goal or all the studying I did. That hurt, but I pretended it didn’t.

  “Diz is right,” I said with a shrug. “I can’t go with you tonight. I’m sorry. I need to go home and get some sleep.”

  War frowned. “You really think a little sleep is going to improve your score?”

  “I sure hope it will,” I said, keeping my voice steady as my fingers curled into my palms. “I’ve been studying for weeks.”

  “We’ve been practicing as a band for an entire year. Tempest is more important.” War squeezed my shoulder once more, then released me as he said firmly, “You’re coming. I’ll take you home after.”

  My jaw dropped as he turned around. My obedience to him in his mind was a given. War was a lot of things . . . a lot of them good. But his arrogance right then rubbed me the wrong way.

  “No.” Hopping off my bar stool, I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not coming with you.”

  He spun around, his nostrils flaring as he faced me. “Lacey . . .”

  “No, War. This is really important to me, and you just dismissed it, and me, and all my effort like it doesn’t matter.”

  “That’s not true.” He gave me a hard look. “I just know the odds. You told me yourself that scores typically don’t improve by more than twenty points.”

  So he had been paying attention. Sometimes I wondered.

  “I have to try.” Lifting my chin, I noticed Bryan watching me closely on one side, and King and Sager moving to stand beside my brother on the other.

  “No, you don’t.” War shook his head. “Not if trying is beating your head against a brick wall. Tonight, you come with me. Support me. You feel me?”

  Maybe another time without an audience watching with rapt attention, I might have buckled under and given War what he wanted, but not tonight. Tonight, I pushed back, and he didn’t like it.

  “I’m leaving,” I said, turning away from him and heading for the door.

  “Oh no you’re fucking not.” War grabbed me before I’d even taken two steps. His ringed fingers closed firmly around my upper arm.

  “War, don’t,” Dizzy said, his warning tone making the fine hairs at my nape stand on end.

  “Stay out of this, Lowell.” War glared at my brother, then narrowed his eyes on me. “This is between Lace and me.”

  “You’re hurting me,” I told War, wincing as the metal of his rings bit into my flesh.

  He loosened his hold but didn’t let go. “I’m trying to help, not hurt, babe.”

  “Then let me go.” My lips trembled a little, and I hated myself for showing that weakness, any weakness, in front of everyone.

  “You really want to make an issue of this now?” He glanced pointedly at the suits, a woman and a man. Their faces glowed as they stared at their phones, pretending to ignore us, but were undoubtably listening to our disagreement.

  “It is an issue.” I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration but didn’t. “It’s my future.”

  “Your future?” His expression turned to solid stone. No compromise, no understanding, he was a completely impenetrable wall. “Your future separate from my future, is that what you mean?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yes, I guess, if that’s the way you want to look at it.”

  Despite us being together for a year, we’d never made any declarations of devotion to each other. Had I been deluding myself about the level of his affection?

  Digging my fingernails into the skin at my palms, I held my breath, waiting to hear what War would say, but dreading it. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “So be it,” he said sharply, releasing me. “You go on and do what you have to do right now, and I’ll do what I need to do, separate from you.”

  “War—”

  “Done, Lace. We’re done.” War’s eyes sliced through me, severing all the previous ties that had bound us as effectively as a blade. “C’mon, Bry.” He jerked his chin in the air and turned to stalk away while I just stood there staring at him.

  For once, I wasn’t distracted by what my childhood crush thought of me. Not when my boyfriend had just destroyed me.

  Lace

  Hurt and furious, I slammed through the door and stepped outside. Before I’d taken more than a few steps across the bar’s parking lot, my brother caught up to me.

  “Hold up,” Dizzy said, and I turned to face him.

  “I can’t stay.” Dropping my gaze, I wrapped my arms around myself and swallowed repeatedly. My view of the concrete swam.

  Done. We’re done. War’s words echoed in my head.

  “Just stay for a minute while I go back inside and talk to him.” Dizzy let out a frustrated exhale. “I’m sure I can—”

  “Stop it, Diz. You’re not sure. And neither am I anymore.”

  I’d thought War and I were tight, but I was wrong. Good that I’d held back a part of myself, knowing how he was. Sad, though, that part of the reason I’d held back was hoping Bryan would notice me. In the end, both had forsaken me.

  Reeling, I was closer to tears than I’d been i
n years, but even reeling I didn’t want Dizzy involved. “Don’t jeopardize your position in the group trying to fix what’s unfixable.”

  “I don’t care about that. You’re more important.”

  “I love that you think that. But I care. Tempest is your ticket out of Southside, and you know it.” I had my own ticket, but just the one. The scholarship was more important now than ever. “Go back inside. Don’t make War your enemy because of me.”

  The door behind us slammed open. Stupidly, I lifted my hope-filled gaze, only to be disappointed. Again. When was I finally going to accept that hope had forsaken me long before War or anyone else had?

  “Hola, Lace.” King lumbered over to us, his expression gentle. “You okay?”

  “Hola to you too,” I said, but I didn’t answer his question. My status was to be determined.

  “You’re not okay.” Shaking his head, King stepped into the glow of the streetlight along with Dizzy and me. “War is an hijo de puta.”

  A son of a bitch. Yeah, that was accurate.

  “Let me take her home, ese?” King moved between me and my brother. “You need to go back inside. Represent with those reps. The shit they’re talking about seems serious.”

  “What about you?” Dizzy asked him.

  “Mi hermano Sager has my back.” My brother.

  “All right, if . . .” Dizzy paused, glancing at me.

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine. King can take care of me.”

  “I love you.” My brother threw his arms around me and hugged me tight.

  “Love you too,” I whispered.

  My throat was raw as I watched him go back inside. We rarely exchanged those three words. To us, love was important and not to be taken lightly. Our mother had been a wretched example, taking us for granted, rarely speaking of love, and showing it even less. Uncle Bruce never did. He didn’t even factor in my mind as family.

  “Dizzy’s a good brother,” King said softly.

  “Yes, he is.” I nodded, then shivered as a blast of cold wind sliced right through me.

  “Here.” King unzipped his jacket, shrugged out of it, and draped it around my shoulders.

  I tried but couldn’t avoid seeing the concern in his gaze. I also couldn’t avoid remembering my first walk with War, when he’d carefully placed his hoodie around my shoulders. He’d won my heart that night, sharing his secrets and being gentle with me.

  Had I made a mistake? Had it all been a lie?

  “Thank you, King,” I said, then cleared my throat. His kindness shone brightly in a night that had turned darker than dark. I’d lost my boyfriend and probably even my role in the band. Cold, I drew King’s jacket that retained his body heat around me.

  “You’re welcome.” He moved closer.

  “It means a lot to me, you doing this.” My nostrils and eyes stinging, I dropped my gaze, training it on his Cannibal Corpse T-shirt as if the macabre design somehow contained the answers to the universe.

  “Lace, maybe it will help if we talk—”

  “You going to be okay without your jacket?” I asked, interrupting him. My voice cracked under all the strain. “It’s pretty cold out here.”

  After only a slight hesitation, he said, “Sí, soy bueno.” Yes, I’m fine. “It’s not that far to walk.”

  “Six blocks,” I said, and he shrugged.

  “Better get going then. Mind if I put my arm around you?”

  Meeting his gaze, I said, “I don’t mind.”

  “To keep you safe and both of us warm.” Gathering me close, he gave me a long look and shook his head sadly. “Oh, la pobrecita.” Poor little girl.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Not me. You. You’re crying.”

  “I’m not.” I crushed the polyester of his track jacket in my grip.

  He gave me a skeptical look. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” My cheeks were dry; it was only my eyes that were swimming.

  “Okay,” he said.

  His arm lay heavy on my shoulders, but it was comforting to be held. He was comforting to have beside me. King was an imposing figure, and the few Footit’s patrons remaining in the parking lot gave us both a wide berth.

  As we turned right at the end of the parking lot, then crossed the street at the crosswalk, I began to feel slightly less emotional and a lot less concerned about my surroundings. Strolling along the deserted Ave at this time of night, Southside was almost peaceful. No gunshots. No dogs barking. No sirens . . . at least not at the moment.

  King filled the silence, peppering me with questions about music. He thought it was highly amusing that I liked Britney Spears and Metallica.

  “Dude,” I said in a teasing tone. “Good music is good music.” I lifted a brow. “Though the key to a person’s heart is supposed to be their set list. So, what’s the deal with you and Cannibal Corpse?”

  “It’s loud. It expresses how I feel. Drowns out the other shit. Helps me forget the pain for a while.”

  “I can relate to that for sure.” I touched his arm, and he gave me a tight smile. I knew his brother’s death was the pain he alluded to. King might joke a lot, but he was far from over that loss.

  “Your dress is pretty,” he said offhandedly, as if just now noticing it.

  “Thank you.” I noted the abrupt change in subject and guessed the reason for it was to avoid any further conversation about his brother. I let him have that play without acting like I noticed, just like he’d given me a pass about the non-crying. “I made it myself.”

  “No way.” His eyes widened.

  “I like fashion.” I shrugged. “I might not be able to control much . . .” Like where I came from. Who my mother was. What people thought of me. “But I can control how I look. That’s something, right?”

  “That something’s pretty cool.”

  “Don’t be too impressed.” I gave him a small smile. “I only ripped apart and reassembled two old dresses from the consignment shop.” They’d been in poor condition, but parts of them had been salvageable. Like me, or like I hoped I was.

  I bit my lip, recalling how averse hope was toward me. That wasn’t good. I had a test tomorrow. I needed all the hope and good vibes I could get.

  King’s head suddenly snapped up. “Walk a little faster,” he said tersely, his hold around my shoulders tightening.

  “What is it?” I asked, my heartbeats quickening along with our increased pace. “What’s wrong?”

  “A patrol car just went past us and slowed down. Shit. It did a U-turn. It’s probably nothing. Don’t . . .”

  Before he could finish, the patrol car that had screeched to a stop beside us, practically blinding me with its strobing lights. I threw my arm up, shielding my eyes.

  “Down on the ground,” a man barked, the order blasting at ear-splitting volume from speakers. “Both of you, put your hands over your heads.”

  “It’ll be okay,” King said, taking a step away from me. “Do whatever they say.”

  He lowered himself to his knees on the concrete. Shaking, I followed his example and was almost immediately frisked from behind. A moment later, cuffs were roughly clapped around my wrists.

  “On your feet,” the officer behind me ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” I said obediently.

  Disoriented by the lights, though, I struggled to comply, wobbling on the high heels of my booties. Apparently, I moved too slowly because I found myself lifted in the air, yanked by my handcuffs into a standing position.

  Scared out of my wits, I breathed in harsh pants, my heart pounding like a jackhammer. My stomach rolled, and I was afraid I might be sick. Blinking rapidly, I swallowed again and again.

  As my stomach settled and my eyes adjusted, I located King. Quiet, he remained on his knees on the pavement only a few feet away, his eyes as wide as mine.

  The cop with him looked mean. His mouth a cruel gash, he pulled a baton from his tool belt and extended it. I gasped as the metal rod smacked flesh, hitting King in the mi
dsection. King grunted but didn’t crumple, and he didn’t cry out.

  “Stop it!” I shouted. “He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

  “Quiet!” The cop harassing King whirled around and gave me a disdainful look.

  “Why are you doing this?” I cried.

  He didn’t answer my question. Looking even more pissed off, he asked, “Where were you two headed just now?”

  “My house,” I rasped, willing my heartbeats to slow. “My uncle’s house.”

  “At two in the morning?” Beneath the short brim of his cap, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me.

  “Yes, sir. We’re in a band. King, I mean, Juaquin and me.”

  “A band, huh?” The cop’s gaze narrowed more. “Is that street code for some kind of gang?”

  King spoke up, his voice sounding strained. “Not in a gang.”

  The cop turned to face him. “Your brother certainly was.”

  “That was his choice, ese, not mine.”

  “His choice got my former partner shot.”

  “I’m sorry. But my brother isn’t me.” King’s voice cracked. “And he’s not even here anymore.”

  “Maybe their story’s legit, Smyth.” The cop holding me shifted me by the shoulders to face him and studied me.

  The bright lights continued to flash, making it difficult to focus. I was frightened, but I noted the cop with me was big like his partner, big like Randy from school. Both cops were bullies like Randy was. Only they were bullies with badges.

  “If you’re in a band,” the cop with me said, sounding suspicious, “where were you playing?”

  “Footit’s,” I said. “We play there a couple of nights a week.”

  “Rebel Heart is playing there tonight.” Still holding me by the cuffs, he shook me a bit as if to rattle the truth from me.

  “We’re the opening band. Tempest.”

  “Fuck,” Smyth muttered. “I’ve heard of that band. My niece is into them. Better release ’em.”

  “In a minute. I’m not through with this one.” Smyth hauled King over to the building beside us and shoved him into the brick wall, face first. “I’ll have you eventually,” he said, rearing back and slamming his baton into the back of King’s legs.