Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  “What the fuck you think? Two ways this can play out for you… you two can avoid each other like the plague for the rest of your lives. I don’t see that being a feasible option seeing as our bands are about to tour together for a year. Or, you can bring your pansy ass down here and get the fuck over it. I’m not missing Red singing on this album, so I guess you gotta decide whether you’re going to,” Koi says and hangs the fuck up.

  Fuck! I haven’t seen her in six weeks, and yet it seems so much longer. The sex tape made its way around the world, and I asked her for space, she hasn’t called, text, or been in the same place I’ve been. Six fucking weeks. I asked for the space and she damn sure gave it. I’d love to see her, seeing as the last time I spoke to her I told her she should’ve died instead of Caleb. I hope she realizes I didn’t mean it.

  I pull on a shirt and some jeans in a hurry. I really don’t want to miss Red singing.

  “Where ya’ goin’?” Rosario asks from the bed.

  “I need to get the studio, something came up. I shouldn’t be long.”

  “You want me to come?” she asks.

  I try to hide my panic, “You relax, it’s your day off. I’ll be back soon.” I lean down and kiss her soft lips and give her a smile before I turn to leave.

  I make the short drive from my house to the studio and take a deep breath before I push the studio door open. The place is fucking crowded. I spot old school musicians I haven’t seen in years. Broken Access and Abandoned Shadow is here along with Hen’s dad, and even my own dad is hanging out. Red sits at the boards paying attention to something his buddy Chank just said to him. Chank is the shit. He’s an older guy, been on the road with ABB for years, and could probably write ten books with the shit he’s seen.

  I don’t see Henley anywhere and, the disappointment in my chest hurts more than I thought it would. Maybe she heard I was coming and dipped. Surely she wouldn’t miss Red singing. She’s been around moments before I arrive in the past six weeks. She spends a lot of time with Red, Derek, and her brothers here. Sometimes I smell her shampoo and perfume when I arrive. I smell it on the couches that surround the studio. I was a fool to think I’d ever really escape her.

  I have to slow my heart down every time I smell her. Rosario has been here with me quite a bit. The guys treat her well and even Red and Derek have been sweet on her. It took a while for Red to warm up, but he flirts with her nonstop now. I’m glad they’ve been so open to my relationship with her, but I’ve yet to cross paths with Henley, much less with Rosario in tow.

  “I’m ready,” her voice fills the studio from the live room.

  Her voice leads to a total silence, and Red tells her when he’s ready to record. She pulls on the strings of her guitar, producing that classic blues sound. The sound gets me every damn time. She plays and plays not giving a damn who hears. Her sultry voice finally pours out through the speakers, and my dick twitches. She’s covering, Blackest Day, by Joanne Shaw Taylor. For twelve minutes, she gives the universe the finger, and plays to her heart’s content. This is the girl I fell in love with when I was a boy. Goosebumps cover me from head-to-toe, and my dick is hard as a rock.

  Henley isn’t the only great female guitarist to live, but she is sure as fuck the best. She lifts the guitar every which way that mother fucker will go. Her guitar face changes with the music showing every damn thing she’s feeling. She is so wrapped up in what pours out of it, this place could burn down around her and she’d never know… not until she is all played out. I watch the old timers and my friends out of the side of my eye and see their bodies move to the sounds she produces. They are so wrapped up in what she’s willing to give them. There are legendary musicians standing here with erections the size of Texas all because of the pipsqueak, firecracker of a woman howling out in the live room. That’s no small feat.

  When she’s done, she pulls up one last time on her strings, and then removes her headphones and the strap from around her shoulder. She places a cigarette in her mouth, steps out the back of the studio, and I finally let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  “She gets better with age, if that’s even possible,” Chank says and everyone agrees.

  I stay tucked away in the room with the boards while I watch Hen and Red turn Whiskey and Smoke into a blues song. The arrangement is beautiful, but I’m still waiting on the vocals. After six hours of watching them play, she smiles over at Red, and kisses him on the cheek before she sets her guitar on its stand. She collects a bag in the corner of the room and enters the room I’m standing in. She sets eyes on me for half a second, and you would think she didn’t see me standing here. I’m not even sure she did. Cory stands and waits for her to say her goodbyes around the room. She has to walk by me to get to the front door of the studio. Surely she’ll speak.

  As she begins her route to the door, she makes eye contact, and presses her lips together in a forced smile. Her eyes stay on me less than five seconds before she smiles up at Memphis, kisses his cheek, and throws her arms around his neck. Then she’s gone. She’s just gone. She didn’t speak to me. I’m stunned.

  I turn around to leave as well, and I find Memphis assessing me. The man doesn’t miss shit.

  “You wanted space,” he says with an arched eyebrow and then he’s out the door.

  Fuck.

  ***

  Henley

  I exit the studio with Cory behind me as usual. The man never leaves my side, especially since my stalker’s been a busy boy. This crazy mother fucker hasn’t let up yet. He still hasn’t figured out I hate roses if my weekly delivery is any sign. Since cameras were installed around my property, he’s not been brave enough to come back, but his letters are getting more and more desperate. Desperation makes a sane man do crazy shit. It makes a psycho do shit most human beings can’t even fathom.

  Over the last six weeks I’ve mourned the loss of Jagger and Ian. Ian’s attempted to call many times. He’s shown up numerous times, but I can’t bring myself to see him. There’s no sense in handing him a longer, sharper blade with which to cut me. The local florists has made a fortune between him and my very own personal lunatic. I’ve instructed the florists to fulfill the orders and take them to the children’s hospital or hospice patients each day. It might brighten their day.

  I’ve worked in the stables each day and help Red with his exercises to ensure he’s getting stronger each day. Memphis and Koi are always here. Memphis sleeps here each night for my comfort and safety. I’m sure he wants to make sure I don’t slip back into addiction. It would be easy to numb all this pain. In my weaker moments, I question my very existence and the purpose of this life. During stronger moments, I am determined to find a way to turn all of this shit around and find the strong, independent, happy person that exists deep inside me.

  Once Cory and I arrive home, I find comfort on my meditation mat, and relax in a pose. The September breeze flows into the patio while a sixty-pound Cash stands guard over me. I stretch my muscles and focus on breathing deeply and keeping my balance. I align my spine and stretch into another position. When I’ve finished yoga, I sit in my meditation pose and find a peaceful place in my mind. I try to push to images of Jagger out of my head. It wasn’t easy to see him today. I tried not to show how much his presence affected me. I knew he was there as soon as he entered the studio. The air around me gets thick, and it’s difficult to breathe when he’s so close. My heart beats erratically, and my chest doesn’t feel big enough to hold my own heart.

  My meditation is shot to shit, and I can’t get him out of my head. Fuck this. I find Cory lounging around the house and ask him to run with me. He changes clothes but attaches some crazy belt thing around his shoulders and places two pistols in it. The man is scary as shit sometimes.

  Cash, Cory, and I start out at a slow pace, but within minutes I’m pushing my body to its physical limits. I don’t see shit around me. I find myself back at my grandmother’s kitchen window two weeks ago.
Jagger walks into my grandfather’s studio with his arm around a beautiful woman. She beams at him as the hand on the small of her back urges her forward. He held the door for her, and when he looks back down at her, he smiles. He smiles at her the way he used to smile at me. I miss Ian too. He’s been photographed with an actress a great deal lately. His texts tell me the photos are publicity stunts to pull attention away from our scandal. What he really means is he’s being photographed with another woman who is my exact opposite. She’s tall, dark, brunette, and has the whole girl next door thing going for her. Ian has to be photographed with someone better than me. I try to shake the thoughts and focus on my running, pushing myself even harder. Running is healthy. Love is not.

  “Hold it!” Cory says from behind me.

  I hear the sound of a gun go off and instantly drop to the ground and cover my head. Cash is barking like hell, and I’m trying to call him so my dog doesn’t get shot. The gun goes off several more times, and I hear a car door close and an ignition turn over.

  “Cory!” I scream hoping he will answer me.

  The shooter’s engine retreats, and Cory still hasn’t answered me. Fuck it. I finally uncurl from a ball and try to locate my goon. He’s lying on the ground one hundred yards away, not moving.

  No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  Cory groans out in pain as I approach his body. I drop to my knees and discover blood pouring out of his right shoulder. His eyes open and fill with pain.

  I pull my cell out and call for a paramedic and the law, but refuse to hold on the line at the operator’s request. Then I call Koi, who doesn’t answer his fucking phone, so I call Memphis.

  “Memph!” I scream out in relief when he answers.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Cory and I were jogging at the back of my property by the creek. Somebody shot at us and Cory is hit,” I sob but choke it back.

  “Jesus fucking Christ! I’ll be there in five minutes,” he says.

  “I called for a paramedic and gave them Red’s address. They’ll never find us back here if Red doesn’t escort them,” I say.

  “I’ll call him as soon as we hang up. Call me back if you see or hear anything else. Cory carrying?”

  I look down at the holsters on his sides and notice a gun already in his hand. I remove it, pull the clip out to check for ammo, and reinsert it. “Yeah, I’ll be armed.”

  “If something moves, and it isn’t one of us or coming from our direction, unload the fucking clip!” he sternly says through his anger.

  Memphis disconnects and I place the gun within reach so I can tend to Cory who is drifting in and out of consciousness. Blood I didn’t notice before is seeping from his belly. I turn him over to see if there is blood on his back and there is a small bit, so I assume the bullet went all the way through? Fuck, I watch too much fucking TV.

  I pull Cory’s belt from his black combat pants and then quickly remove my t-shirt over my head. I place the shirt over the gunshot wound on his belly and turn him so I can pull the belt around his midsection. I roll him again, lift his other side, and pull the belt tightly over the wound. It’s buckled it around his midsection as tight as I can physically get it. That’s gotta help right? I then slip his shoulder through the gun holster and take a peek at the wound. I strip my tank top off and secure it around his shoulder, using the straps to tie it tightly. I then check to ensure he is still breathing.

  His breathing is labored, but he’s breathing. That’s what’s important. I don’t have a clock to take his pulse with, but he’s breathing, so he’s alive.

  Memphis comes barreling in on a four-wheeler with Kip behind him, both have shotguns in hand.

  “Why don’t you have any clothes on?” Memphis bites out.

  “I had to put my t-shirt and tank on his wounds,” I reply.

  “Here,” he says and pulls his shirt over his head.

  I promptly dress, thankful that paramedics and cops won’t get to see me half naked today. I hear the sirens in the far distance and silently wish they would hurry the hell up. I don’t know how bad his injuries are, but a gut shot can’t be good. There are too many damn organs in there. I try to coax Cory to consciousness to no avail. Memphis is following Cash around as he attempts to sniff out our assailant.

  “How’s he doing?” Kip asks.

  I don’t take my eyes off Cory, “He’s still breathing. I can’t take his pulse. I’ve got pressure on his wounds.”

  “Hey, Hen?” Kip calls.

  “Yeah?”

  “You ok?”

  “Yeah. I’m not injured.” I answer.

  “You did good, girl.”

  “What?”

  “You did good. You didn’t waste time taking care of his wounds. You did really well. He will be ok.”

  I realize that this man just took a bullet for me. He may die because of me. I swallow the guilt and the what-ifs and try to concentrate on Cory’s breathing hoping to notice if there are any changes. The sirens inch closer and closer to us, until Red’s golf cart comes into sight, followed by lights and wails from the cars.

  Chapter 13

  Henley

  I drop my keys on the counter and glance at the clock on my mantle. After 18 hours at the hospital, I’m exhausted. Covered in blood, I take my tired body to the shower. Cory survived surgery and was lucky to only have minimal damage in his abdominal cavity. I waited hours upon hours to hear the news and then see him. I was relieved to see his eyes open and being the absolute worse patient I’ve ever seen. I slept beside his bed for an hour or two before he shouted at me like a drill sergeant to go home and get rest. Seriously, the man was kinda scary. I finally relented when Cory’s mother arrived to sit with him.

  Memphis drove me home and is lounging on my couch until another goon named Joe can get here to fill in until Cory heals. As the shower cascades down my body, I watch the diluted blood pool around my feet and then run towards the drain. As I scrub my body, the sounds of gunshots ring through my head. They echoed around Cory and me earlier. For a moment, I was sure I would die. I shake the negative thoughts from my skull and try to replace them with gratitude… gratitude that Cory is alive.

  When I emerge from the shower, I see Koi and Memphis channel surfing from my couch, so I tell them I’m headed to sleep and doze off within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

  I follow the guitar sounds and Caleb’s vocals through a stark white house. I smell the ocean flowing through the windows that remain open, allowing sheer white curtains to dance. I pass a kitchen, smelling of coconuts and patchouli. Through the kitchen is a small porch in which Caleb is sitting. A perspiring beer sits beside him, and he continues to play “Round Here”. His eyes remain closed as he belts out the lyrics.

  What a great song.

  I lie back in a wooden lounger and listen to him sing.

  When he finishes, he says, “Rough day?”

  “You could say that.”

  “You were brave today,” he says.

  “I wouldn’t call it bravery… more like scared shitless,” I chuckle.

  “Doesn’t matter, you kept it together and saved his life.”

  “He took that bullet for me,” I point out.

  “He was hired to do just that,” he replies.

  “Yeah,, but I’ve grown fond of Cory. His care extends beyond the paycheck. He’s a human being.”

  “He thinks of you as family, yeah?” Caleb asks.

  “I’m sure he does. I think of him as such.”

  “Hey, wanna play?” he asks and points to an acoustic guitar to my right.

  “Hell yeah, let’s do it. What do you want to start with?”

  “Wonderwall?”

  I answer him with the first chords of the song, and he laughs. I realize just how much I miss his smile. He has these brilliant white, straight teeth which push together forming a magnificent smile. Our fingers dance up and down the fret boards for hours,
forgetting we only come together in this alternate universe or reality, whichever it may be.

  We smoke cigarettes and drink beer in the heat of a tropical location. The smell of the ocean surrounds us making peace feel within my reach. A bee flies along lazily and I swat it away every so often.

  “Do you remember when you punched me on the playground?” he asks.

  “As a matter of fact I do. You were such a prick!”

  “Hey, I can’t help you were born the wrong gender. No girls allowed, club rules,” he says.

  “Yeah well your club sucked ass,” I smile.

  “That it did. You bounced your happy little blonde ass on that playground and asked to play with us. You weren’t the first girl we attempted to make feel inferior that day, but you just couldn’t leave it at that could you?” he smiles at the memory.

  “Fuck no I couldn’t. Everyone knows girls are way better than boys. It didn’t take you long after that to realize which gender truly holds all the power,” I chuckle.

  “Yeah, right around the time puberty hit. I thought something was wrong with my dick. It probably stayed hard more than not. The wind could blow just right, and I was trying to tuck the bastard away.”

  “TMI, Caleb.”

  He clears his throat and remains quiet for a beat. “When you approached me on the playground, I was already aware that you were not going to take no for an answer. You’ve always had this presence that warns people, ‘Might not play well with others’.”

  “Might not?”

  “Oh you play just fine with others as long as they don’t fuck with you. It’s the times when you or someone you love is treated unfairly that the fighter in you comes out. Not a damn thing wrong with that either. Sometimes we have to fight. There’s this delicate balance between the light and the dark. Not a soul who ever walked the earth can say they haven’t experienced both.”

  “Where you going with this Socrates?” I ask.

  “Jagger and Ian.”

  “Ah, my love triangle. How in the fuck does that shit even happen to people, much less me?”