The Complete Rockstar Series

by Heather C. Leigh

  All I can do is pray I have the strength to actually go through with it. After hanging up with Kate, I set up at the kitchen table with my laptop and finish a few notes for work. Restless, I pour myself a glass of wine and surf a few news websites. The entertainment section of one draws my attention. I click on the link, knowing what I’m about to see is likely going to solidify my resolve to do what’s necessary in order to have a healthy future.

  The bold color photos take my breath away and leave my heart stuck in my throat.

  No more. I can’t take any more.

  Hawke

  Loud banging wakes me from a fitful sleep. I glance at the clock next to my bed. Ten fifteen. Slivers of light peek around the edges of the window shades. So ten fifteen in the morning, then.

  I roll to a sitting position and groan. My hands are scraped, bruised, and stiff as a board when I flex my fingers. The banging grows louder.

  “Jesus.” I throw off the sheet that tangled around my legs during the night and stand up… only to nearly collapse to the floor. “Fuck!” My knees and lower back ache bone-deep, and the muscles of my thighs and glutes scream in protest when I catch myself on the tall dresser.

  The noise level outside my door gets so loud, I’m worried a neighbor will call the cops. Better not be the fucking paps out there. In only my briefs, I limp down the hall and put my eye to the peephole.

  “I can see your damn shadow, Evans. Open the fucking door.” Gavin’s overprotective boyfriend, Mitch Hale, is on the other side of the door, his expression thunderous.

  Shit. Mitch used to be FBI and now he does private security. He also loves CrossFit, is several inches taller than me, and way, way more muscular. Bonus fact, he actually killed a man to defend Gavin.

  As much as I don’t want to talk to Mitch, I can’t not open the door. He’ll stand out there shouting all damn day. Resigned to having what looks likely to be a not-so-nice encounter with my best friend’s significant other, I flip the locks and Mitch storms in.

  “You fucking prick!” Before the door can even shut behind him, Mitch is up in my face, his mouth pulled back in an angry sneer.

  “Can I at least put some pants on before you dismember me?” I ask wearily.

  Mitch steps back and crosses his arms over his wide chest. Large biceps stretch the sleeves of his T-shirt. Fuck. He’s not as big as Dax, but he’s still bigger than I remember.

  “Go. If you’re not back out here in two minutes, I’m coming to find you.”

  He’s deadly serious. Mitch doesn’t sugarcoat things and he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important. I don’t think I’ve ever spent time around the man without Gavin being present or nearby. I spin on my heel and hurry to my room to throw on a pair of sweats and a shirt I find on the floor.

  I’m almost done brushing my teeth when I hear Mitch call out. “Thirty seconds, Evans!”

  He’s really pissed. I spit out the toothpaste, wipe my mouth, and return to the foyer with no time to spare.

  “Do you want some coffee?” I ask, ignoring Mitch’s lethal glare to wander toward the kitchen. I know I need some.

  A large hand grips my shoulder. I’m spun around and slammed into the wall next to the door, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. Mitch fists the front of my shirt, leaning in until his nose is nearly touching mine.

  “No, I don’t want any fucking coffee. This isn’t a social call, you little shit. What I want is for you to fucking think of someone else for a change, you selfish prick!” He smacks the side of my head with an open palm to prove his point.

  I hold my hands up in surrender. “What the hell, Mitch? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Mitch’s steel gray eyes flash with fury. “That’s because you’re a self-centered asshole.” He grips my shirt tighter, pulling me forward only to thump my head and shoulders back into the wall.

  “Fuck, Hale! That fucking hurts, you dickhead!”

  “You haven’t begun to hurt, Evans.” Mitch releases me and stalks away only to come right back to get in my face again. “I’m tired of watching Gavin all torn up over your shitty behavior. Tired of seeing the stress on his face, eating him up from the inside.”

  “I don’t know—”

  Mitch pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and shoves it at my chest. His fist drives into my sternum, hard. “Ow!” The livid expression on Mitch’s face has me stifling any further complaints. I unfold the crumpled paper to see what has him so fired up.

  Oh crap.

  Tired—my legs sore, my back sore, my hands sore—I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, staring at the article Mitch printed from some gossip website.

  Hawke Evans- Still Living on the Edge

  Everyone knows that Evans, drummer for the Grammy-winning Sphere of Irony, enjoys a good adrenaline rush. In the past, he’s been spotted skydiving, heli-skiing, and mountain biking near his home in Boulder, Colorado, as well as partaking in other risky activities all around the world. Nothing, however, compares to the real-life danger involved in his latest pursuit—solo free climbing at Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California.

  We have exclusive photographs of Evans scaling the side of a large cliff without the use of ropes or safety devices, also known as free soloing. Using only his hands and feet, Evans ascended a boulder which, to the naked eye, appeared to be multiple stories off the ground. Upon checking with park rangers after Evans completed his climb, we found out the rock formation towers almost twenty stories, or two hundred feet, in the air. All of this done without ropes or safety devices of any kind.

  What will this relentless adrenaline junky attempt next? Will he end up hospitalized as he was during Irony’s first tour after an off-road motorcycle accident? We’ll keep watching this high-flying risk-taker to keep you informed.

  “Oh my god.” The paper falls from my hands and I hang my head.

  “Yeah, oh my god,” Mitch says sarcastically. “Get your shit together, Evans. I refuse to watch the man I love continue to go through hell because of you.”

  I tilt my head back to meet Mitch’s cold stare. “I-I will.” My chest constricts and I nearly break down.

  Mitch sighs, his gray eyes softening. He crouches down next to me and puts a reassuring hand on my leg. “Hey. It’s not easy, I get it. We all have a history that seems impossible to overcome. I can tell you from personal experience that it’s hard work, but not impossible.”

  Mitch pats my leg one last time before getting up and letting himself out.

  I have no idea how long I sit on the floor. Long enough for my ass to go numb and my feet to get cold. Long enough to realize that Mitch is absolutely right about me. I’m selfish, so wrapped up in my own misery that I can’t see past it to recognize the wreckage I leave in my wake.

  I think about yesterday, when I reached the pinnacle of the huge granite boulder. The day was beautiful, the sun shining without a cloud in the open sky. My chest was heaving from exertion and my limbs ached, but I felt alive. I stood at the edge of the cliff and closed my eyes, wondering how it would feel to swan dive off the rock. Would the thrill of the fall prevent me from feeling any pain when I hit the bottom?

  Eventually, I backed away from the edge to lie down on the flat surface. The sun heated up my skin and I cleared my mind of all thoughts, letting the moment take over. I felt…peace. For that brief period in time, I was content, almost happy. It was only when I heard the voices of other climbers scaling the opposite side of the boulder that I got up and rappelled down.

  Can I find that kind of contentment without the danger? Can I find it with Abby without dragging her down?

  I have to find it somewhere, or I’ll wreck everyone I know before swan-diving headfirst off a cliff.

  Abby

  My pulse races through my veins as I knock firmly on the door. The fast, nervous rhythm of my heart falters when it opens.

  “Abby.” Hawke says my name as if it were something physical he could cling to, whis
per in times of need. Like a life preserver tossed his way right before drowning.

  Somehow, my legs carry me inside the modern space even though my mind and heart are screaming at me to run away. Anything to keep me from going through with my reason for being here.

  “I’m so glad you called,” he says, hesitating a fraction of a second before engulfing me in his arms, surrounding me with his scent. I sigh, allowing myself this tiny piece of happiness, giving Hawke this moment of peace. Because it’s all about to end.

  Hawke buries his nose in my hair and inhales, squeezing me tighter. I have to choke down a sob. As I wind my arms around his waist and hold onto him, my soul splinters into thousands of tiny fragments. I turn my head to rest my ear on his broad chest—a chest I’ve touched and kissed so many times I couldn’t possibly count them all—and listen to the steady beat of his heart.

  “Hawke.” I pull back and reluctantly, he releases me.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  I avert my gaze, unable to look at those beautiful eyes. “No, I’m okay. Can we sit?”

  Hawke pauses and I’m sure he just figured out something is wrong. For all his flaws, Hawke isn’t stupid. In fact, he’s quite intelligent, which makes his self-destructive behavior that much more painful to watch.

  “Okay.” Hawke directs me toward the long sectional in his living room.

  I sit, and as much as I want to curl up in a ball and cry, I force my posture to remain upright. I have to project strength, even if I’m falling apart inside.

  “What’s going on, Abby? Is this about Jessica?” Hawke’s voice is soft, unsure. A far cry from the brash man I know. One who speaks with conviction. Whether he’s joking around with his bandmates or fleeing to calm his anxiety, Hawke can be angry or frightened or nervous at times, but he never, ever sounds uncertain.

  “Jessica?” I remember images of the gorgeous starlet hanging all over Hawke as he pulled her through the club and refrain from acting like I was punched in the gut. “No, not about her, Hawke. You can date whomever you like.”

  I make the mistake of glancing at Hawke’s eyes. They’re soft and molten, shining with both love and fear. He reaches out and takes one of my hands, pulling it to his mouth to brush a kiss across my palm. I shiver in response to the intimate gesture.

  Hawke takes that as a green light, shifting closer to cup my face. His warm lips cover mine before I can stop him and heat floods my body. Hawke’s fingers press into the back of my scalp, sending delicious chills down my spine. He tilts his head and plunges his tongue deep into my mouth, the piercing scraping and rubbing, driving my lust up a notch. When a low rumble vibrates from his chest, I remember why I’m here and tear myself away, breaking the kiss.

  “I can’t, Hawke.”

  “What? Why, Abby? I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

  My heart shatters like glass, fracturing into a million shards that slice up my insides, leaving me raw.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Hawke. That’s why I’m here.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head and cut him off. “I’ve been in therapy, Hawke. I have to fix myself or I’ll never be happy. Part of that is to stop trying to fix everyone in my life. I can’t fix you, Hawke. I can’t keep trying. I’ll never succeed and it’s killing me to watch you destroy yourself.”

  I stand up to leave, but Hawke jumps to his feet, grabbing my by the arms to stop me. “Abby, don’t! I can change. I want to change, Bee. Please.”

  Tears cloud my vision, streaming down my cheeks. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t…” My breath hitches when I inhale. “I have my demons and you have yours. I’m dealing with mine. You aren’t.” I maneuver out of his grasp. “I love you, but I can’t watch you die. I won’t.”

  “Don’t do this, Abby. I need you.” The sound of Hawke breaking down nearly has me changing my mind, running back to comfort him as I’ve done so many times before.

  Not this time.

  “I’m sorry.” I grab the doorknob, escaping while I’m still able to move, because I know that once I stop holding back, I’ll be paralyzed with grief.

  I make it all the way home before the dam breaks. Sitting in my car in my driveway, I cry long and hard for the man I love. Behind his protective wall, behind the glasses he doesn’t need to wear, the piercings that make him look dangerous, and the tattoos that cover a multitude of scars, lies a scared, unhappy man.

  I can’t fix him, I never could. I can only hope he fixes himself, otherwise he’ll end up just like Nick.

  90

  Hawke

  “Do you have anything to say? You can start anywhere.”

  I chew on the stud in my lip and stare at my hands. “This is stupid,” I grumble to the gray-haired, kind-faced man sitting across from me.

  “What’s stupid about it?” he asks. I shrug and continue to worry at my lip. “Let me ask you something,” the man continues. Without looking up, I nod my consent. “Why are you here?”

  That gets my attention and I flick my gaze back to him. “What do you mean ‘why am I here’?” I huff. “It’s obvious. I’m crazy, right? Isn’t that why people see a shrink?”

  The man leans back in his chair, lifting an ankle to rest on his knee. “So you believe everyone who needs therapy is ‘crazy,’ as you put it?” He makes annoying little air quotes around the word crazy.

  I scoff, irritated. “I don’t know, Doc. What do you want me to say? I don’t know anything. I play the fucking drums for a living.”

  “All right. Well, I’ll tell you something about therapy. People come for lots of reasons and rarely is it because they are crazy. In fact, most of my patients are very normal people who happen to have one or two quirks they need ironed out.”

  I glare at the very expensive celebrity psychiatrist I found through a friend who used to have a drug addiction. “One or two quirks, Doc? I have a metric fuck-ton of quirks. You could fill a 747 with my quirks.”

  “Oh?” His bushy eyebrows lift. “Such as what?”

  I laugh. “Where to start. Jesus, how about the fact that I killed my parents and little sister? Is that a quirk? Can you fix that, Doc?” I drag a hand through my messy hair and drum the other nervously on my leg.

  “So, you killed your family? Did you use a gun to do it?”

  “What? No!”

  “Okay. A knife?”

  “Christ, Doc. No! They died in a car accident. Fuck, I wouldn’t murder them. I fucking loved them!”

  “Oh, well you said you killed them. I could only assume you meant murder.” The doctor stares at me. His light eyes hold no judgment, no pity, no emotion of any kind except interest. “So you were driving the car, then?”

  “What? No! We were hit by a drunk driver.” My leg begins to bounce in time with my fingers.

  “I see. So you didn’t kill them. I must have misunderstood.”

  Now I’m pissed off. I bring my hands to my head and grip my hair, pulling in frustration. “You’re not listening, Doc. I called them to come get me! I took ecstasy at a party and the entitled douchebags I was with left me passed out on the beach alone! My family was in the car, on that road, because of me!”

  The doctor leans forward, smiling, clasping his hands together. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Abby

  “Justin, you look great!”

  The young man in front of me is a far cry from the one I first met. This man is smiling, flashing adorable dimples I never knew he had. His dark blond hair is shining and healthy, carefully tousled into a faux-hawk. He’s gained some weight and must be working out because his face is fuller and his chest and shoulders look wider.

  “I feel great, Dr. Kessler.” Justin crosses the room, arms open, and wraps me up in a hug.

  “I’m so happy for you, Justin.” I blink back tears. I can’t cry in front of a patient. It would be totally unprofessional, even if they are tears of happiness.

  “Me too, Dr. Kessler.” Justin steps back, releasing me. He drops into
his usual chair, sprawled out like a typical young college kid.

  “You had a birthday recently. How did that go?” I listen, thrilled as Justin describes the good time he had on his birthday.

  “I had a test coming up, so you know, I couldn’t go out all night and party. Plus, Dr. Mendel said I can’t drink alcohol with my meds.”

  “And you’re only twenty, Justin,” I tease.

  He grins. “Yeah, that too. But I went to the beach with some guys from my dorm and we had a blast.” Justin looks ready to burst with excitement.

  I laugh at his enthusiasm. I’ve never seen him like this, and it’s definitely not mania. Justin is happy.

  “So I guess the retreat we found helped?” I ask, referring to the private mental health resort in Arizona that specializes in treating bipolar disorder.

  “It was awesome, Dr. Kessler.” Justin bites his thumbnail, his brow scrunching for a moment. “To be honest, I hated it at first. Being forced to go to all those group therapy sessions sucked. But once I heard other people speaking, how their problems sounded just like mine, it didn’t seem so bad.”

  I smile. “That’s great, Justin. What else would you like to talk about?”

  “Well…” He ducks his head and his ears turn bright red. “I might have a girlfriend.”

  My heart nearly bursts with joy. This… this is what I would have wanted for Nick. I can’t change the past. I mean, most of the medications Justin takes didn’t even exist ten years ago. But when I see how happy Justin is, the aching hole inside doesn’t hurt as much.

  * * *

  Rain is so rare in Southern California, I don’t bother keeping an umbrella in the car. Fortunately, the drizzle is light, a gauzy mist that clings to everything instead of actual raindrops falling. My shoes are soaked by the time I weave through the rows of headstones and monuments to find the right one.