Fight the Spark: Sons of Sinners Part 1 (A Rock Star Romance)

by Grace James

  “But?” I prompted.

  He shook his head slightly and looked down.

  “Do you – do you want to talk about it?” I asked hesitantly. I was sure he wouldn’t want to talk to me, but I couldn’t not ask.

  He took a breath and I could see that he was frowning a little. “I honestly don’t know. No one’s ever really asked me that before.” He looked back at me and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes had softened and there was pain there, a hint of vulnerability that I had never seen before, nor expected to see.

  This was Blake, after all.

  He was normally all cocky swagger, wise cracks and inappropriate comments.

  Tonight there was a wounded side to him, just under the surface. I had glimpsed it earlier, when I had called his morals into question, and now it was bubbling up again.

  “Would you want to hear it?” he asked quietly, and my heart broke a little for him then. He seemed so lost, like he was in unfamiliar territory.

  Hell, I was in unfamiliar territory.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I mean, of course, if you want to tell me.”

  He looked at me for a long moment before he spoke. “My dad came here tonight.”

  “Oh.” I know it sounds silly, but I’d never thought of Blake as having actual parents. I mean, of course I knew he must have had parents, but he always seemed so self-sufficient, so in control, so larger than life, that it was hard to imagine him ever having relied on anyone.

  He gave a tiny smile. “Yeah, ‘oh’.”

  “Did he watch the show?”

  “No. When someone working the Twelve Steps walks in to a bar, it’s your civic duty to turn them out, right?” He spoke with an air of wry resignation.

  “He’s…an alcoholic?”

  He just nodded and looked away into the night again. I could see him in profile. His face was set and his jaw was clenched. The soft moonlight highlighted the top strands of his messy hair, swept down the bridge of his nose, brushed across his forehead, just above his eyebrows.

  He looked almost ethereal.

  Suddenly, he looked down, sighed and nodded, almost imperceptibly, to himself – if I hadn’t been watching him so closely I probably would’ve missed the nod. It was like he’d been having a discussion with himself and had just come to a conclusion.

  “My mom died when I was thirteen,” he said quietly.

  My heart pounded in my chest. That was the last thing I had expected him to say. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Blake, I had no idea.”

  He lifted his head and looked at me, a ghost of a smile played across his lips. “No more apologies, remember? And how could you have known?”

  “I – I guess I couldn’t...”

  “Was a hit and run,” he started, his smile disappearing. “I was waiting in the car, I saw it happen. She’d been to the store. She was crossing the street on her way back to the car and...and then she was just gone. He hit her and...she just flew up in the air...” he trailed off and looked away again.

  I waited. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

  When he continued his voice was like sandpaper. “Seemed to take forever for her to come back down...then when she did…the sound…”

  I heard a click in his throat as he swallowed.

  Without thinking, I reached out and took his hand in mine. It was big and rough and warm. He squeezed my hand, enveloping it in his much larger one, clutching me in an unselfconscious way that surprised me.

  “By the time I got to her she was already gone…there was so much blood, more than I ever thought could be inside a person…”

  I was fighting back tears at this point. I couldn’t imagine going through something so horrible. I had never lost anyone really close to me. My grandma had died when I was younger, but that was natural, to be expected.

  It wasn’t violent like this.

  And it wasn’t my mother.

  “They caught the guy who hit her.” There was a bitter edge to his voice now. “He was a kid really. Just got his license. Driving like a dick to impress some girl.”

  I squeezed his hand. “That’s awful, Blake.”

  He nodded, still not looking at me. “My dad always liked a drink, y’know? Family trait, I guess. After she died, drinking’s all he ever did.” He shrugged. “He just gave up. Nothing left to try for.”

  “He had you,” I said quietly.

  “Yeah, he did.” His voice was heavy, weary, and so sad. “Not anymore though. Got out of there when I was sixteen and never looked back. Haven’t seen him in years, then he just starts showing up, saying he’s sober now, that he wants to make amends. I just – I can’t even look at him.”

  I was filled with an overwhelming urge to comfort him. Without thinking, I got to my feet and stepped between his legs which were still braced on the bumper of the truck, and hugged him.

  He stiffened for a fraction of a second – then he hugged me back. Just locked his big arms around my back and held me tight.

  We stayed like that for a few seconds and then all of a sudden Blake dropped his arms and pulled back, looking me dead in the eyes. “Thank you, Princess. For listening. For letting me talk.”

  “I...yeah, that’s ok,” I stammered, stepping back. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  He gave me a tiny smile. “C’mon, we should go find my dumb-ass cousin before he drinks himself into a coma.”

  Just like that, the spell was broken.

  The rest of the night at Filthy Joe’s played out as usual. Everyone apart from Blake got drunk – Connor got way too drunk. We hung out in the bar until they closed down the party, then we all went back to the house that Blake and Kane shared and partied into the milky dawn.

  Everything played out like it always did. But, for some reason, I felt that something had shifted subtly that night.

  Little did I know that that shift would soon become a landslide.

  45

  It was little things at first. Things that sound really silly if you say them out loud, like He didn’t text me back last night. Things that, if you mention them, end up making you sound like a wacko.

  So you don’t mention them.

  Because you’re not a wacko.

  But then the little things turned into medium sized things. Things that you can mention without sounding crazy, but things that can be explained away by logic and reason…and still leave you looking like a little bit like a wacko.

  As winter started to give way to spring, around six months after Connor and I started dating, I found myself feeling like a wacko more and more often.

  46

  One ‘medium sized’ example occurred one Saturday night after a Sons of Sinners show at The Pit, the club that Connor and I had met in. Hayley, Mel and I had gone to watch them again.

  After the show, I went to look for Connor and found him, Blake and Kane in a corner booth, together with three girls I didn’t recognize. The girls were maybe wearing enough clothing between them to make up my entire outfit.

  Groupies, I assumed. By this point Sons had amassed a fairly large following.

  They were all laughing uproariously at something Kane had said and one of the girls had her hand on his knee. Didn’t take a genius to figure out where that was going. Another one of the girls was almost falling all over herself in her eagerness to get Blake’s attention. She was laughing and flicking her hair back over her shoulders, throwing looks at the other girls like she was the cat that was about to devour the cream. I heard a snippet of their conversation.

  “You were awesome tonight, Blake,” she gushed.

  “Glad you enjoyed it, Cassie.” Blake smirked. “Does that mean I get to enjoy you later?”

  Ew. I wanted to vomit just a little bit. But Cassie didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to think it was just about the most romantic thing she’d ever heard.

  The third groupie was sitting close to Connor, not close enough to actually touch him, but close all the same. I felt a prickle of jealousy and tried
to squash it.

  He’s just being polite. Rational Amy spoke up. The groupies are the ones buying the tickets, after all.

  He caught my eye as I approached the booth and I waited for him to extricate himself or else make it clear that he wanted me to come sit with him, like he usually did.

  But he didn’t get up.

  And then she – the groupie next to him – started talking to him, practically whispering in his ear, actually. He broke eye contact with me and turned to her.

  I thought for sure he was going to excuse himself.

  But he didn’t – instead he got into what looked like a really deep, and kind of intimate, conversation with her.

  While I just stood there.

  For a moment, it felt like my world had tilted on its axis.

  I looked at Connor in rising disbelief. He was engrossed in whatever Little Miss Groupie Bitch – as she would forever be known in my mind – was saying. (I’d just like to point out that I know that’s not fair. She wasn’t actually doing anything wrong – but right then, I was just angry at them both, and it was way easier to direct my anger at her than him.)

  I felt like an idiot, just standing there, like I was on the outside looking in. I whirled away from them and fought my way back through the crowd, seeking out Hayley and Mel.

  I soon found them, standing by the bar with Derren.

  “Whoa, hey, what’s up with you?” Hayley asked, as soon as she saw me.

  “Connor is over there with Kane and Blake thanking those ‘fans’ for their ‘support’.” I bit off sarcastically.

  “Uh-oh, Connor’s gonna get his nuts toasted tonight, huh?” Derren chuckled.

  “Shut up, idiot,” Hayley said, swatting him on the arm.

  “Sorry. He’s just talking to her though, Amy. Doesn’t hurt to be nice to the fans.”

  “There’s being nice and then there’s being too nice.” Piped up Mel. I shot her a look of thanks – I was starting to feel like I was making a big deal out of nothing.

  “Nah, he’s just paying his dues,” Derren said.

  “You’re not,” I pointed out.

  At that, Derren actually did look a little uncomfortable.

  “Do you want me to go over there?” Hayley offered.

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t worry about it, Amy,” Derren tried again. “You know what he’s like, he just –”

  Hayley held up her hand and cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “Is anything you’re about to say going to make her feel better?”

  Derren frowned and his mouth worked wordlessly for a moment.

  “Then don’t say it,” Hayley ordered.

  Despite my anger at Connor, I couldn’t help a little snigger at Derren’s downhearted expression.

  “You know what will make me feel better, D?” I said, throwing him a bone. “One of your funny stories – preferably one where Connor gets his ass handed to him.”

  Derren grinned as he launched into an anecdote.

  I kept glancing back at the booth while Derren spoke. When I saw Connor throw his head back and howl with laughter at something Little Miss Groupie Bitch had said, I wanted to claw her eyes out – and punch him in the jugular. Derren must have been aware of where my real attention was directed, because he kept making his story more and more outrageous, until I couldn’t help but get drawn in. Eventually, I started laughing along with the girls as he talked.

  That was the moment Connor chose to appear at my side.

  He threw an arm around my shoulder and nuzzled into my neck. “Have you ever had sex in the alley out back of The Pit?” he asked, in a low, seductive voice.

  I nearly went apoplectic.

  I shrugged him off me violently. “Are you KIDDING me right now?!” I pretty much shouted in his face.

  His face contorted into a confused frown. “What the hell?!”

  “You actually need to ask?!” I said in disbelief. I glanced around at the others, but they were already edging away from us, eyes firmly averted – the floor must have been really interesting.

  “Fucking clearly I do. What is it?!” he snapped.

  “That girl, Connor! You were flirting with her right in front of me!”

  “Jesus, Amy, I was talking to her. She’s a fan of the band. I can’t talk to a fan? I’m just supposed to ignore them?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying!”

  “What are you saying then? Don’t talk to anyone else at all, just you, is that it?!” The righteous indignation in his voice riled me even more.

  “What I’m saying is that you don’t have to ignore me and flirt with some other girl just because she’s a ‘fan’!” I air quoted the last word scornfully.

  Connor’s voice went hard. “I told you, I was just talking to her. If you can’t handle the fact that I have to talk to other women, then we are fucked.”

  I felt a spark of fear run through me. “What do you mean?”

  Connor shook his head and looked away. “I have to talk to other women, Amy. It’s part of the job. It’s too early in our career for me to ignore...someone who’s supporting the band.” I noticed his avoidance of the word ‘fan’ and felt a stab of guilt. “But that’s all it is – talking!” He looked back at me in frustration.

  It was my turn to look away. I was suddenly feeling silly, like I’d been acting like a brat.

  If you can’t handle the fact that I have to talk to other women, then we are FUCKED.

  What had he meant by that exactly?

  I didn’t want to find out.

  I sighed and looked back at him. “I’m sorry.”

  “You just...you need to trust me.”

  “I do!”

  He nodded stiffly. “Alright. Then act like it.” He brushed past me and went to the bar.

  I stared at his back, concentrating on blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall.

  47

  That was just one example.

  There were others.

  For one, he stopped inviting me along when he hung out with his friends – I know that makes me sound a really clingy and co-dependent, but let me explain: I didn’t expect to always be included, but for the first few months of our relationship, he had asked me to hang out with them lots of times, so when he stopped, I noticed.

  But when I called him on it, he made out like it was all me.

  We met up for breakfast (well, I say breakfast, but by the time Connor arrived – late – it was actually more like lunch) one Sunday at a diner near my place and I asked him if he wanted to go to the movies, they were showing a re-run of A Clockwork Orange, and Connor loved Kubrick.

  “Well actually, I’m seeing it with the guys later,” he said around a mouthful of blueberry pancakes.

  “Oh, yeah? Who’s going?”

  “Uh, Matt, Luke, maybe Jimmy.”

  I waited for him to invite me, but he just kept eating his pancakes and sipping his coffee.

  Eventually, he looked up at me. “What?”

  “Um, nothing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “What now? Just say it already.”

  Okay, I know every girl does the ‘it’s nothing’ thing when they’re mad and I know guys hate it, but the ‘what now?’ comment really pissed me off all the same – it made it sound like I was always complaining.

  “Ok, fine,” I snapped. “I just thought that you would maybe invite me along too?”

  “You want to hang out with those guys?” he asked incredulously.

  “I want to hang out with you.”

  He sat back and set down his cutlery. “You’re the one who said you needed to study more! Just last week you said that. Waa waa I got a C, waa waa I need to average at least a B.” His impersonation of me was whiny in the extreme. “I asked you out twice this week and you had to study both times – so what? I should just sit at home and wait ‘til you’re done?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying, Connor!”

  “Then what are you saying? ‘Cause
I can never fucking figure it out!”

  “I just thought you would ask me to go along with you, that’s all.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  WHAM. Sucker punch. No explanation. Just like Nope, don’t really want you there.

  I know my face betrayed my hurt and I know he saw it, because his eyes softened the slightest bit. He leant forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Alright, look, it’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you. It’s just that I know you don’t really like Matt and Luke –”

  I broke in. “That’s not true –”

  “Yeah, it is. And I know why. They’re stoners –” THAT was putting it mildly, they were a hell of a lot more than that, but I didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t exactly help my cause. “– and you’re not comfortable with all that. Whatever. But we’re going to see A Clockwork Orange, Amy.”

  I frowned. “So..?”

  “So, it’s –” He winced a little, but I could tell he was trying not to smile. “It’s trippy.”

  I squinted at him. “A Clockwork Orange is ‘trippy’ so you don’t want me to come with you? That makes no sense, Connor.”

  And then all of a sudden, it made perfect sense.

  I gritted my teeth, and I could tell from his expression that he knew I’d figured it out.

  “You’re going to get high and then go watch it aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the only way to watch it.”

  I won’t go into what happened after that, suffice to say shit got ugly.

  48

  But one thing that didn’t change was Connor’s ability to win me over, and my willingness to let him.

  A few days after the argument in the diner, Connor showed up at my place late one night.

  When I opened the door and saw him leaning against the door jamb, I was already half way to forgiving him – he just looked too good. Slightly disheveled hair; dark, slim fitting jeans; old, bottle green Henley with the buttons open; black necklaces resting on his chiseled chest; battered, brown leather jacket topping it all off.

  Damn him.

  Then he pulled a DVD out of his jacket pocket and held it up so that I could see the front: Four Rooms, co-written and directed by Quentin Tarantino. I’d once told him that I’d never seen that movie, but that I really wanted to.