Rock Star Romance Ultimate: Volume 1

by Olivia Cunning, Jayne Frost, RB Hilliard, Crystal Kaswell, Michelle Mankin, Emily Snow, Athena Wright

  Lace

  Twisting my hands together I sat on my bed and stared out the window at the courtyard, by now a familiar tableau. The soft gurgling of the fountain was the only sedative I had left. No more methadone to keep me company. It had been tapered off days ago.

  Just me and my sober self.

  Well, and Dr. George. The other rehabbers referred to him harshly as Sawbones. I wasn’t really sure why. The wrinkled old psychiatrist seemed benign with his grey hair and grey beard, his kind eyes and soft tone, like some benevolent grandfather figure.

  It wasn’t the session with Sawbones that had my stomach turning summersaults. It was my first mandatory group session, and I wasn’t relishing the thought of laying out all my baggage in front of a bunch of strangers.

  A quick glance at the clock had my stomach roiling. Time was up. I took in a careful breath and straightened my shoulders.

  You can do this.

  I pushed off the bed, stepped into my slippers, crossed the room resolutely, flipped off the light switch, and opened the door.

  “Hey,” a musical female voice called out. “Hold up.”

  I turned and saw a young woman with long platinum hair locking the door to the room next door to me. She was beaming an infectious double dimpled smile as she walked over. Her smile even put my brother’s illustrious one to shame. Despite my nerves, I found myself grinning back at her.

  “I’m Bridget Dubois. I just saw you in the cafeteria the other day. You got in last week, didn’t you?” She didn’t pause to let me answer. She spoke each sentence in rapid fire succession. “You’re coming to the group session, aren’t you? You look a little pale. Don’t be nervous.” A micro-pause. “Really, don’t be.” She glanced at me, white blond eyebrows arching up expectantly. She reminded me of a pixie with her petite frame, her sparkly blue eyes, and her exuberant manner.

  “I’m Lace Lowell.” I held out my hand which she took and squeezed once before letting go.

  “Nice to meet you, Lace.” She studied my face for a minute before waving for me to follow her down the hall. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to talk the first time if you don’t want to. Believe it or not, I didn’t.” Another dimpled smile. “I think you’ll be surprised. It’s really helped me to know other people have gone through the same stuff that I have.” As we entered the cafeteria together, she continued to jabber while I looked around. The tables had been moved to the side and there was now a circle of plastic chairs near the windows.

  I took a seat in the circle beside Bridget and tried to focus on her rather than on the upcoming session. “Why are you here?” I asked quietly.

  Her gaze slid away. She stared out the window introspectively before looking back at me. “Usual story.” She shrugged. “I fell in love with the wrong guy. Got pregnant. Family disowned me.” Her light and breezy tone said one thing, but the expression on her face told a different story. This girl had been hurt deeply. There was a lot more to Bridget Dubois than I’d initially thought.

  “Lace.” Dr. George took a seat on the other side of me and squeezed my shoulder. “Welcome to the group. We don’t have many rules except that what’s said here remains confidential and that we only speak in generalities about any physical abuse, mental issues, or drug problems. No graphic details here, please. Today’s topic is responsibility. His gaze slid to the brunette across from him. “Brenda, why don’t you start us off?”

  I listened to them one after another and started to relax. A lot of the stuff they shared was frighteningly familiar. Bridget was right. Minute by minute, I was feeling less like a freak, less like a loser, and less like a loner to be here.

  I could do this.

  I made eye contact with Dr. George. He nodded his approval.

  “My name’s Lace Lowell,” I began. “I’m addicted to heroin mostly. Although I’ve done some cocaine and other stuff, too. I’m an addict like my mother was. I’ve been using for about two years now. I tried to get my boyfriend to help me taper off, but I realize now that wasn’t going to work out. I’ve got to take responsibility for my own choices or it won’t happen. I’m the one who made the decision to take that first dose, and in the end it’s got to be me who decides not to do anymore.”

  ***

  I cursed under my breath, ripped out, crumpled up, and tossed another sketch aside. The wadded up ball of paper joined the growing discard pile that looked like white snowballs against the green grass. I was irritated and jumpy. Though my fingers were busy, my mind shifted into reverse. I’d figured out today why Dr. George’s nickname suited him. He had this nasty ability to cut through all his patient’s bullshit like some old time surgeon dispensing with a gangrenous limb.

  He’d certainly cut uncomfortably deep in the session with me today.

  You need to be self-reliant, Lace. Stop looking for a man to come rescue you every time you get into a bind.

  He was right. I pushed my hair back behind my ears and let out a heavy sigh. That was exactly what I’d been doing. First with War, then after that fell apart, with Martin, then War again. And always Bryan held in reserve.

  I sucked.

  I blinked back the burn of tears as I stared down at the sketchpad on my knees. That pathetic dependence on the men in my life needed to stop. It was a trap, letting someone else’s approval define me. I was the only person who could redefine things.

  Sawbones had also made me confront my unresolved feelings toward a father I’d never known. There was definitely a dotted line that connected my lack of a father figure to the lack of judgment I’d used choosing the men in my life.

  But worst of all, he had forced me go back to a place today that I’d never wanted to return to…my childhood. He had pushed and prodded until I told him everything. How worthless my mother had made me feel. That I meant less to her than her next high. How still to this day it galled me to have been denied the love of someone I hated so much. The level of vitriol that had spewed out of me had been shocking. I hadn’t realized until that moment just how much anger and resentment I still carried around. The drugs had obviously been my way to cover that all up. Sawbones showed me that I needed to stop repressing and find a healthy way to deal with those emotions.

  No more of this bullshit. I needed to let go of the past and wipe the slate clean. And I needed to have a plan for my future. It was up to me and me alone to be the woman I’d once believed in, a woman who despite her shitty mother and lack of a father was strong and capable of doing whatever she set her mind to do. Sure, I’d made mistakes, a shit load of them. I had a lot of owning up to do. But I was ready to make amends. Whether or not the people I’d hurt forgave me was up to them.

  Though I knew the hole I’d dug for myself was a deep one, I no longer felt overwhelmed by hopelessness. Getting off the drugs was the first step on the ladder to getting out of that hell. I could see light up there at the top, and that’s where I wanted to go.

  I took in a deep calming breath. Seven days. No drugs. A huge accomplishment. It’d seemed like forever since I’d been this clear headed. The first couple of days in rehab had been easy though compared to the last few. The more the methadone dose had been lowered the edgier I became. Sawbones had suggested I start sketching again, but so far, the task had just been an exercise in frustration.

  A shadow suddenly fell over me, blocking out the sun. “Hey, Bridget.” I knew who it was without turning around. She had become my constant companion since that first group session. No matter what I tried to do to dissuade her, there was no shaking the irrepressible girl.

  “Whatcha doing?” Bridget picked up a ball of paper from the discard pile. “Wow!” she exclaimed after un-crumpling it. “This is really good”

  I glanced over at the drawing. The evening gown. The one that reminded me of the dress I’d worn to prom. “It’s ok.” I shrugged. “But the hemline’s not right.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Bridget asked sitting down beside me on the concrete bench.

  I reminded myself t
o be patient. Though she was a bit hyperactive and talked my ear off. She had a good heart. And she’d been extremely supportive of me, even holding a cool washcloth to my head last night when the withdrawal shakes had woken me up. “The hem should probably have a decorative border, maybe eyelet lace. I don’t know.”

  Bridget studied the drawing, smoothing it out across her thin tan legs. “I think you’re right. Like that stuff they wore under their dresses in the late fifties. A really cool lime sherbet color might work.”

  Actually that would look really great. I reached under the bench and pulled out my colored pencils. I shaded in the color while Bridget watched.

  “I told you,” Bridget said with a satisfied nod when I was finished.

  I gazed at the golden tanned platinum blonde. I’d been ready to dismiss her idea out of hand. In fact I’d been trying to keep her at arm’s length, as I did with practically everyone else, especially women. Yeah, yeah, I had issues. “You’re into fashion?” I queried.

  “Duh, isn’t everyone?” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “I’ve got a stash of In Style magazines in my room. Wanna see?”

  “Sure.” I raised my brows, surprised to uncover a rebellious streak in Bridget. I grabbed my stuff and followed her back inside. The Second Chances’ facility was completely closed off from the outside world. No phone. No television. No internet. No contraband magazines.

  I sat on the bed beside her while I thumbed through the stack. “These are brand new,” I exclaimed. “How’d you manage that?”

  Bridget smiled, two dimples flashing above a mouth of pearly white teeth. “I have all the latest gossip magazines, too.” Apparently, she had leveraged one of the security guards, who had a crush on her. I was just happy to have something to read that wasn’t a dusty old Harlequin novel. Suddenly, I went completely still, my hand resting on his face. Rolling Stone Magazine. “Bigger and Badder than BS” was the headline.

  Vaguely, I realized that Bridget had stopped talking. The girl glanced back and forth between the magazine cover and my pale face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I swallowed. No. Not quite, though he still haunted my dreams.

  “You know those guys?”

  I nodded.

  “Holy shit!”

  “Don’t get all starry eyed. It’s no big deal. I grew up with them in Seattle that’s all.”

  Bridget looked at me with skepticism, taking the magazine and flipping it open to the article. “There’s a picture of you in here.”

  I glanced over. Sure enough. It was from the performance in Atlanta. I tried to close the magazine.

  Bridget stopped me, her finger on the text, her blue eyes wide. “You and War?” she asked.

  “Not anymore.” I shook my head.

  “Men are bastards, huh?” Bridget closed it up, crossed her legs, and leaned closer. “Lace, come on. You can tell me. After all, I’m your best friend.”

  I stared into the sparkly, but sincere eyes of the woman beside me. Was she? She was definitely the only one.

  Bridget held my gaze, nodding as if she could read my thoughts. “You’re prickly, but I like you. I was there when you told your story, remember? You had a crappy childhood, but I’ve never once heard you use it as an excuse. That’s unusual. There’s an inner strength in you. A resolve. You’re gonna make it, Lace Lowell. You’re a winner and I like to be on a winning team.”

  My eyes stung from the unexpected praise. I was getting way too sappy in here. “Thanks,” I could hear the thick emotion in my voice. “I don’t really see myself that way. But going back to drugs is not an option for me. They cost me everything that I cared about.” I vividly remembered the disappointment in Bryan’s eyes when he’d seen my tracked up arms.

  I sighed heavily.

  Bridget patted my hand. “It gets easier.” Her expression sobered, suddenly looking much older than her age. “At least it does in here.” Worry darkened her eyes. “Five more days till I’m done. How much longer for you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  Bridget mock cringed. “If you ever need anything when you get out, you call me. Promise.”

  “I promise.” I smiled. “Teammate.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  * * *

  Bryan

  I nodded to Vandergriff aka the ‘Buzz Buster’ as King had dubbed him. Our band’s new enforcer was built like the Incredible Hulk, his muscles bulging beneath his cheap polyester suit. We had to check in with the guy twice a day, morning and night. He’d traveled with us on the twenty-eight hour bus ride from Miami to Minneapolis and on the four hour flight up to Vancouver, the last stop on the tour. His methods weren’t pleasant, but he’d been successful. Not that I was giving him any trouble. I was just biding my time, holding it together, until I could talk to Lace. The only one of us he hadn’t gotten into line yet was War.

  I searched the backstage area, but there was no sign of him. I hoped our lead singer wouldn’t screw up this final concert, but I had an awful feeling that he would. Warren and I hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Miami. Actually, he pretty much wasn’t on speaking terms with anyone in the group. The Morris betrayal had opened up a rift between him and the other guys too. It wasn’t something that would be easily forgotten or forgiven. Not that War was much interested in bridging the gap. If anything, he’d gotten more temperamental, more demanding, and more unpredictable.

  Tempest had barely taken the stage on time in Minneapolis because of him. He’d locked himself in a room backstage with a couple of fan girls the roadies had pulled from the audience. Apparently, the usual groupies wouldn’t do for His Highness anymore.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Dizzy asked me as he tightened the strings on his Gibson.

  “Not since we landed and he made that big scene about the lukewarm beer in first class.”

  “King’s right. The dude’s got it bad.”

  “What?” I rolled my shoulders.

  “LSD.”

  “Shit. You’re kiddin’ me.”

  Dizzy barked out a laugh. “LSD. Lead singer’s disease, man. War’s got a real bad case.”

  Speaking of the diseased monster, he had finally arrived. War was obviously wasted. His head was slumped to his chest, his arms were draped around two women, and his legs wobbled under him like limp noodles.

  I glanced over to see if Vandergriff had noticed. Sure enough, Buzz Buster was already heading straight toward him with a dark look on his face. He dismissed the two girls and had grabbed War as he started to fall forward. War lifted his head, his lips twitching right before he blew chunks all over Buzz Buster’s shiny black dress shoes.

  “Bullet. Dizzy,” Buzz Buster cursed. “Come help me with this asshole.”

  “We’re screwed,” Dizzy mumbled as we hurried over. “We’ve only got thirty minutes before we’re on.”

  “I’m fine,” War insisted, rocking back on his heels. He put his hand on his hip but his attempt to appear belligerent was sabotaged by the fact that he almost fell over again. “Get me my shades!” he yelled at one of the roadies while pulling his black bandana lower over his beer goggled eyes.

  “I don’t believe you, man.” I shook my head.

  “Yeah, well.” War’s gaze cut to me, his stare surprisingly steady considering the intensity of the alcohol reek emanating from him. “I can’t believe you either, asshole.”

  We glared at each other. The undercurrent of restrained violence between us saddened me more than I was willing to admit. Numbly, I nodded when Buzz Buster ordered me to keep an eye on War while he and Dizzy went to round up some Red Bull.

  I drug a frustrated hand through my hair. The tour, the group, my friendships, my life, everything was going to hell. Maybe I should try to salvage some of it. “Listen,” I told War, taking a step closer. “I’m sorry. Sorry about busting you in the jaw. Sorry about you and Lace. I know how you must feel.”

  “You don’t know anything,” War growled.

 
“I know what a low tolerance you have for rejection. I was there when your father…”

  “Shut up!” War’s shouted eyes narrowed. “I don’t care about that bastard and I don’t give a fuck about that bitch Lace, either.” He spat the words out, a cruel grin twisting his lips. “The only reason I was ever with her was because I enjoyed watching what it did to you.” It appeared to amuse him to see how much his words affected me. “It used to be nice having you trail around after me like a puppy, always ready to do my bidding. But it got old after a while.” He waved his hand in the air. “In fact, all this shit’s gotten old.”

  Buzz Buster returned and thrust a Red Bull into War’s hand. “Drink up,” he ordered. “And keep it down.”

  War took a long swig and wipes his mouth. “Listen all,” he projected, loudly enough that everyone backstage turned in our direction. “I have a special announcement to make.” He pointed at me. “I’m not working with this mother fucker anymore. I’m quitting after tonight’s show.” He stumbled to the edge of the stage, brushing past Dizzy. “Now let’s get this shit over with.”

  I didn’t move. Shock had frozen my feet in place.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  Lace

  I stood in the foyer, staring out the glass doors at the circular driveway, waiting for Dizzy to arrive, equal parts trepidation and excitement. I was ready as hell to get out of this place, to see my brother, to watch television, to surf the web, and to wear something besides a Second Chances’ track suit. But I was really worried how I’d handle things out there in the real world…on my own.

  After paying the rehab bill, I still had ten thousand left from the signing bonus that Black Cat had given me. But I knew I wasn’t going to keep it. I was planning to give that back and work out some kind of repayment plan for what I’d already spent. I had taken that money under false pretenses. And being a cheat and a liar didn’t sit well with me anymore. Especially not with the person I had set my mind on becoming.