Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  Sunday night, Kip changes the score on the Kipley website, “Kipley-2, World-2, Skanks-0.” Monday morning, Meghan bails my ass out of jail with a huge grin on her face. I am so happy to see her. I am to report straight to court, where the judge dismisses the charges with a smile, and asks whether I will press charges against Ashley Robins or not. I decline with a smile. Having the world watch her get her ass kicked is punishment enough.

  When I walk out of the courthouse, the fans have gathered, and cheer for my release. The goons usher me to a limo, where we all crawl in. Meghan bursts into laughter immediately, recounting her favorite parts of the videos.

  I am home by five, snuggled in bed with Cash, and a very talkative Rhys and Kip who have had very little sleep, and can’t seem to stop talking ninety-to-nothing about the events over the last three days. They eventually drop like flies on my bed, and I smile before I close my eyes to find sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Henley

  Tuesday, Abandoned Shadow walks into a studio with Kai Scott. At a conference room table, I hand over my song lyrics, and the men spend hours studying them while I write one last song for the album, for the child I lost.

  Never

  I didn’t know until it was too late,

  That you were even a possibility.

  I’ve never been so amazed

  By something I created.

  I’m sorry I didn’t save you,

  But I would’ve seen this through.

  I fight the universe,

  Because I never had a chance

  To show you my love.

  When the shadow of night falls,

  I feel the grief advancing,

  Because I never.

  I have many regrets in my life,

  But none compare to losing you.

  I dream of you and what could’ve been.

  I can feel your small finger wrap around mine like glue.

  I can see your sweet grin,

  Can you feel it too?

  I fight the universe,

  Because I never had a chance

  To show you my love.

  When the shadow of night falls,

  I feel the grief advancing,

  Because I never.

  Can you hear me?

  I find myself on my knees,

  Screaming out for you.

  Come back to me,

  So that I can love you,

  Before I come unglued.

  I fight the universe,

  Because I never had a chance

  To show you my love.

  When the shadow of night falls,

  I feel the grief advancing,

  Because I never.

  While the rest of the band dissects my lyrics, I find a piano. I love a baby grand, and the sound it can create. I sit down at the beautiful instrument and run my fingers over the white and black keys. It’s been a long time, but I remember how to manipulate a piano until I find the sound I need. I begin my musical process as I have for many years. Once the music stars to form, I pour my heart out to my child. I sing it over and over again until it sounds like a song, and not just words on a piece of paper. The piano ceases before the last line, and I whisper, “Because I never.”

  “You still amaze me after all of these years,” Griffin interrupts my high from the music.

  “Thank you,” I manage, emotions still running high.

  Kai stands beside him in the doorframe, “You should record it just like that. There is no other instrument that can convey the sorrow in your words like the piano will.”

  “I agree,” Griffin adds.

  “Let’s do it then.”

  Kai sets up the recording equipment, and I play the piano over and over again for hours until the music is perfect. Hours later, I place a set of headphones over my head, and step into a booth to sing. I listen to the piano through the headset and sing the lyrics along with it. Musicians don’t step up to a mic and record once. We sing it multiple times, and the producer decides which vocals sound best, and makes suggestions to the way a vocalist sings particular parts as we sing each take. The producer will choose the best take, or compile the best parts from each take.

  By the time we leave the studio, a weight seems to be lifted from my shoulders. Music is therapeutic for me. There isn’t a psych in this world that can provide that level of therapy. It’s 1 a.m. when I reach my car. As I turn the ignition over, my phone rings. Jagger’s gorgeous face is on my screen. I send him to voicemail. He calls back three times, back-to-back. When he doesn’t get me, he sends texts.

  Jagger: I need you.

  Me: Are you okay?

  Jagger: No, Hen. I am not okay.

  Me: What’s wrong?

  Jagger: I just need you. I need to touch you. I need to see you. Please, baby.

  Me: Jagger, I just can’t right now.

  Jagger: I am begging you.

  Me: Where are you?

  Jagger: Drunk off my ass at Shenanigans.

  Me: You shouldn’t be out in public when you are like this.

  Jagger: Come get me? Please.

  Me: Okay, I will be there in twenty. Meet me outside?

  Jagger: Thank you.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull up to Shenanigans, a bar close to my house. Jagger is waiting in the shadows for me and is in the car within moments. He is so gorgeous, and my heart clenches as soon as I lay eyes on him. He smells like liquor and looks like shit.

  “Please don’t take me home. I don’t want to be alone,” he pleads.

  “Okay.”

  We make the ten-minute drive home in silence.

  When we park in the garage he says, “Stay put for a sec.”

  He walks around the car, opens my door, and pulls my knees so I am facing him. He cups my face in his hands and looks into my eyes.

  “Tell me you don’t love me.”

  I look away, but he pulls my chin up so my eyes meet his.

  “Say it, and I will walk away right now. I won’t ever bother you again. Tell me you’re not in love with me.”

  I can’t say the words because they would be a lie.

  I push him away from me, exit the vehicle, and turn towards the stairs. He grabs my elbow and spins me around.

  “Say it, baby. Tell me you aren’t still in love with me. I need to hear it so I can move on with my life.”

  The words sting. He wants to move on with his life, and he wants me to give him a lie to do that. Fuck that, I won’t lie.

  I push him in the chest, and he stumbles back a few steps, “You think you are the only one hurting? You did this, Jagger! You fucking did this! And you are still hiding secrets and betraying me, and you want me to help you?!! Fuck you!”

  “Tell me you don’t love me, Henley!” he screams.

  “I can’t say it because it isn’t fucking true! I would give anything to stop loving you, to stop hurting, and feel normal again. I would give a prized organ to be able to fuck someone else, but I can’t, because my heart is still wrapped up in you! And you don’t even deserve it!”

  “No, I don’t, but I am glad you still love me. It’s selfish. I get that I’ve hurt you time and time again. This shit with your brother and Jessica has nothing to do with me. It’s not my shit to tell, Hen. You of all people have to understand that. It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with you and me.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to you anymore.”

  “Tell me you love me, and that we will work this shit out. We didn’t spend years loving each other, get the chance to be together, and let it all fall apart at the first sign of trouble.”

  “Trouble? Is that what you call hiding the fact you might have a child? You were deceitful, and you publically embarrassed me. News flash Jag, when you are a celebrity, everyone knows your dirty laundry. I didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that.”

  “So is that what this is? This separation between you and me? You are saving f
ace in the media? You don’t want to look like the stupid bitch who keeps going back when all you would actually be doing is standing by the man you love?”

  “Fuck you,” I seethe and head towards the stairs again.

  He catches me at the top stair, arms around my midsection, swings us through the door frame, closes the door, and carries me to my bed. He turns me to face him before he picks me up and gently lays me on the mattress, with his body on top of mine.

  “Wrap your arms around me,” he softly requests.

  When I refuse, he flips us. He lies on his back and wraps his arms tightly around me.

  “I just need you. Not the arguing, I just need to touch you. I need to breathe you in. I need you,” he whispers.

  I finally give in and let my body relax into his.

  “I’m sorry about the launch party. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Okay,” I offer.

  I drift off to sleep in his arms.

  When I wake a few hours later, we lay on our sides, my back to his chest, Jagger is asleep, but rubbing his hand up and down the curve of my side. I enjoy every second, and his soft murmurs of my name in his sleep, push me over the edge. I grind my ass into his erection, and moments later, I hear his sleepy voice.

  “Hen?”

  I don’t answer him. I grab his right hip and bring his body closer to mine. He lets out a groan and pushes his hand under my shirt.

  “I didn’t come here for this, baby.”

  “I know.”

  The grinding and fondling continues. He pushes my hip towards him, climbs between my legs, and begins to sweetly kiss my mouth. He’s holding back, his tense shoulders giving him away. He continues to take his time, kissing my neck, and then my shoulders. He moves on to my nipples, where he laps his tongue around my nipple. I run my hands through his short hair and almost beg him to speed up.

  He unbuttons my jeans and slides them off with my panties. I unbutton his pants and use my toes to push them down his long legs. He sits up on his knees, and pulls me to him, touching my face, and leaning in for another long, panty-drenching kiss. He breaks the kiss long enough to lift my shirt over my head, and then his lips are back on mine. My bra is unhooked, and I run my hands up his stomach, and then pull his shirt over. His lips run from my ear lobe to the bottom of my neck, and I moan, turning my head to the side as he slowly trails down.

  I hear the foil and feel the wetness of its contents when he places it in my hand. I push it down his erection, and once it’s rolled down the length of his shaft, he picks me up under my ass, and pulls me on top of him. He slides himself in slowly. I throw my head back in ecstasy. His left arms snakes around my lower back, and his arm up my cheek and through my hair, pulling me back to him. He rocks on his knees, which pulls him slowly in and out of me. I moan into his kisses, and he moans back.

  His right hand drifts back down to my cheek and pushes my face back gently so he can look up at me.

  “So beautiful. So, so, fucking beautiful.”

  He kisses me again, hand on cheek, arm around my back, and continues building pressure inside of me. The tingle begins in my toes, and rises to my center, where it explodes like a nuclear bomb throughout my body. I groan through his kisses and bite his bottom lip as the ripples tear through me.

  He follows me with his own orgasm, and as he comes, he bites my bottom lip, and growls into it. We remain locked together as we catch our breaths, our sweat mixes, and his hand runs up and down my back in long strokes. He eventually lifts my body off him, but places me in front of him on my own knees, removes the condom, and lays us both down on the bed. He tucks me into his body and kisses that spot right below my ear. We both find sleep immediately.

  When I wake, Jagger is gone. I search the house for him, but I find I am home alone with Cash. Kip’s car is gone, so I shoot him a text.

  Me: Jagger with you?

  Kip: Just dropped him off at his apartment.

  Me: Okay.

  Kip: Want to talk about it?

  Me: No, I guess there’s nothing to talk about.

  Kip: From the looks of homeboy, there is a great deal to talk about when you’re ready.

  Me: Thanks. Showering and heading to the studio with Cash.

  Kip: I will meet you there, boo.

  Me: K

  ***

  Jagger

  I should write a book on how to be a prick. I left. I just left. I woke Kip as soon as the sun peeked through the clouds and begged him to take me home. I ran. I was too afraid she would wake and freak out. I’m not sure what happened last night. I called her, a little tipsy, and I just wanted her to tell me she didn’t love me. I guess if she would’ve said it I could find some closure from it. I’m not sure if you ever really get closure from a love like this ending, but I needed somewhere to begin the process. I need her to say the words.

  I never intended to sleep with her. I just needed to hear the fucking words. Somewhere between sleep and consciousness our bodies found each other. Sometimes I think we connect on some cosmic level, and sex is no different. It was amazing. Every emotion possible was poured into the entanglement of our bodies. She poured more desperation and sadness than anything into it, and I tried to pull out the love and the memories of days gone by, but she needs something else. After that, I couldn’t bear to wake and have her utter words of regret or even pretend it didn’t happen.

  I’m scared of what she’ll think when she wakes, but I regret like hell leaving her. I should’ve stayed put and dealt with whatever penance she dished out. I deserve whatever she could’ve manufactured.

  I can’t get the images of her body out of my mind. I can still feel her skin on my fingertips, her lips on mine, and her chest against mine. I close my eyes and remember how only a few hours ago, she leaned her head back, slightly parted her lips, and let go. When she did, she held onto my shoulder with her left hand and raked her right hand down my chest, right over my heart.

  I’ve heard guys say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone, so maybe I should give the theory a try. I don’t think it is possible I can ever get over her completely, but if the heart-wrenching pain can be lessened, then I will try anything. I am so tired of waking up lost and alone in this world. I am sick of wondering where she is and how she’s doing. I can’t take another night of reaching out for her in my sleep only to awake and find she isn’t there. Her side of the bed remains cold.

  Fuck, I can’t do this much longer.

  Chapter 15

  Henley

  Rhys is antsy when I walk in, and almost jumps out of his skin with excitement, “Kai set up auditions for some guitarists on Friday! Holy shit, we might find a guitarist!”

  He folds me into a hug and am glad his happiness is so infectious. I need it after waking up alone this morning. I don’t know what the fuck is going on between Jagger and me anymore. Why would he leave me? I am the one who is angry with him, the one who doesn’t trust him and should regret what happened in the early hours of the morning. Surprisingly, I don’t. What the fuck? I am an emotional wreck.

  We spend the day attempting to arrange a song and have accomplished a good bit with it by the time midnight arrives. The next few days go the same and become the routine we find ourselves in when we record an album.

  We stay in the studio all night Thursday, into Friday morning. When ten a.m. rolls around, we are dragging ass and gulping coffee and energy drinks. Kai takes us to a small auditorium in Santa Monica, where the auditioning guitarists will perform for us. He found us twenty potential candidates, and I hope we find someone through what I know will be an excruciatingly painful process.

  The first five candidates alternate between shredding on their guitars like they’re at a fucking Pantera concert and killing me slowly with the blues. They are good, but not what I am looking for. The sixth candidate is a woman about my age.

  Rhys greets her enthusiastically being the playboy he is. She is an attract
ive girl with a punk rock vibe. She scoffs at Rhys’ introduction, and rudely plays without conversing about her experience, what she’s playing, or her familiarity with our songs. I instantly look at Griffin who shakes his head no. Fucking A, no. I don’t need a bitch on tour or in the studio. Griffin thanks her for her time and advises we will be in touch.

  Candidates seven through nineteen are all talented guitarists, but I don’t have an instant connection to them. Maybe I am kidding myself into believing I will find someone I can have an ounce of connection with like I did with Caleb.

  Candidate twenty walks out and introduces himself as Memphis. Cool ass name. I wonder if it’s his real name. He advises he’s been playing for seventeen years and is twenty-nine years old. He is familiar with our work, and rocks out to several of our earlier hits. He plays “Along the Watchtower” and seamlessly fades into “46 and 2,” which seamlessly leads into “Little Wing,” and then into “Freak on a Leash,” into “Midnight Rider,” into “Black Dog,” into “Hoochie Coochie Man,” to “The Unforgiven,” then “I Can’t Quit You Baby,” and then he picks up where he left off in “46 and 2,” and plays the whole damn song until the end. It is one of my favorite Tool songs. Jesus Christ, we just found our guitarist. He is the epitome of a rock star. Tatted up both arms, chucks on his feet, a guitar face that would make angels weep, and he is so lost in the music. We watch him play for almost an hour, and none of us can bear to stop him. He goes from one genre and decade to another with such ease, and only an extremely talented guitarist can do that and make each transition seamless.

  When he stops, we all applaud, whoop and holler in excitement. He smiles back at us, easing back to the reality of this world.