River James (Rockers Of Steel #3)

by Mj Fields

  “Incredible,” I sigh as I roll to my back and look at her.

  She nods and gets up, dragging the blanket with her as she walks into the bathroom.

  When she comes out, I stand up and walk over, kiss her forehead, and point to the bathroom. “Be right back.”

  I take a quick shower, washing my hair, my face, my dick—twice. Fuck, I already want more. When I come out, she is already sound asleep.

  I lie down next to her and pull her onto me.

  “I have five hours before I have to be up.” She whines.

  “You can sleep after work all damn week, right here while I’m gone. Tonight, I need to make you come … all night long.”

  She nods and lays her head on my chest.

  My dick is hard. She smells good, and I know she tastes even better than she smells. She’s also exhausted and a nurse who has to help people and shit. All I have to do is get up, get on a plane, and sleep for at least six hours.

  I look at my clock. It’s almost one in the morning. Birthday is over. Best one yet.

  I’m so fucking tired, but I need to smoke. Yet I don’t want to get up, don’t want to move her, or wake her. I will give it five minutes.

  I wake again to soft whimpers and small movement.

  “Get the fuck off me,” he mumbles. “No. Don’t. No.”

  He mumbles as he thrashes under the covers, just like the last time. I don’t want the same thing to happen, and I know I should leave him alone, but it doesn’t hurt my heart anymore, not after three nights of assuming what I see so clearly now. It wrecks me.

  “River.” I grab his hand and squeeze. “River, wake up. Please wake up.”

  As his eyes open, he looks shocked, stunned, and then angry.

  In my state of exhaustion, I plead with him, “Don’t do that, not after tonight.”

  He closes his eyes tightly, and I lean over and kiss him. I kiss him hard like he kisses me. I rub my tongue against his lips and hear a groan. Then I kiss down his neck, across his chest, down his side, and from hip to hip.

  In the moonlight, I see the tree tattoo, and I kiss it, as well, all the way up and all the way down to the roots.

  He draws in a sharp breath as if I may have injured him, but I know it was not me who did this to him. It was not me who causes him pain. And it is not my responsibility to take it away, either. Regardless, I can’t help myself.

  Before gripping the base of his cock and licking up the underside of it, I run my tongue around his wide head, then flick across it. His hand grips my hair almost painfully as I wet my lips and slide my mouth down him.

  His hips thrust forward, and I nearly choke, but I don’t care. I willingly allow him to take what he wants.

  He guides my head up and down, up and down, faster, deeper, harder. When I pull away, he hisses, but then I grip his base and stroke him up and down as his grip on my hair loosens. Still, his thrusts don’t become any less harsh.

  I suck, hollowing my cheeks, and he thrusts as our rhythm syncs. He then reaches behind me, stroking me with his finger as I stroke him with my hand. His hips thrust, and mine grind against his touch. He pushes his finger inside, and I take him as far as I can until I nearly gag myself.

  I feel another finger. He is now sitting up, pushing in farther and thrusting faster, and then I feel it—the burn.

  His thumb presses against my clit, and I come, crying out. He pushes my head down, his cock deep in my throat, and then he comes in my mouth.

  When he pulls his hand away and lies back down, I continue sucking until I no longer feel the hot jets of his cum going off. Then I lick him clean and kiss him gently over and over until the waves of sensation stop rippling between my legs, and his breath evens out.

  I lie my head across his stomach, his cock still in my hand, and try to steady my breathing.

  Without notice, I feel tears burning my eyes. Unfortunately, he feels them, too.

  “Are you crying?” he asks, pulling me up and taking my face in his hands.

  “No,” I lie.

  He wipes away my tears and pulls me securely against him, holding me closer than he did the night before. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Bullshit, Keanna. Why?”

  “Whoever … Whoever hurt you—”

  “Don’t,” he half-growls, half-pleas.

  “I hate them. I hate them for hurting you. I hate Jesse, and I hate …” I stop because I can’t think of what he called him in his sleep. Then I remember. “I hate Henry.”

  He doesn’t let go, but his body tenses up. I feel something shift.

  “Don’t ever say that name again.”

  “River—”

  “Don’t, Keanna. Just don’t.”

  “You need to talk about it.”

  “To whom? The woman my cum has filled every orifice of? To the girl I wanna feel strong for?”

  “If you don’t feel comfortable talking to me, then—”

  “Then, what?! Talk to my ex-best friend?! A shrink?!”

  “Please, River, please don’t push me away.” I sit up as he slides out from under me. “I already know. I have heard your cries. Your pain has torn me up inside. It made me stay when I should have left a hundred times.”

  “That’s fucking great. That’s just fucking great. So what was that, a pity blow job?” he huffs. “Was earlier pity anal?! I’m not your fucking problem, Keanna.”

  “You’re my friend.”

  “Is that so?” he huffs as he pulls on a pair of sweats. “How many friends have come in your ass and mouth? You know what? I don’t wanna fucking know.” He grabs a pillow and starts toward the door.

  “Please don’t,” I practically beg.

  “Have a nice week, Keanna.” He walks out the door, shutting it behind him.

  I wipe the tears, now flowing down my face and look at the clock. It’s four-thirty in the morning. I can’t go to Natasha’s now, but I can’t stay here, either. What choice do I have, though?

  *****

  At six-thirty in the morning, I stand at the door, trying to muster up enough courage to walk out and face him. Instead, I close my eyes and lay my head against the door.

  I feel like shit, I’m exhausted, and the bags under my eyes are evidence of the weekend I had.

  River made good on his promise. My body feels bruised inside and out, and not just the parts he physically touched. My heart is bruised, too.

  Finally, I open the door, lift my chin, and walk out.

  Billy is standing at the counter. He pushes a cup of coffee toward me. “Roadie.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  I glance around, then and see River in a corner. His eyes are dark, and not just the pupils; around them, they look dark, too. He looks at me expressionless, and I immediately see something recognizable in them.

  I look back at Billy, who shakes his head.

  “He’s-he’s …?”

  “Messed up?” He nods. “Pretty badly, too.”

  Controlling myself is no longer even an option. I storm toward River, place both hands on the chair’s arms, and look him square in the eyes.

  “Look at me,” I snap, unable to control my rage. “Look. At. Me!”

  He doesn’t move.

  “What did you do?!”

  “Keanna,” Billy says quietly from behind me.

  “What did he do?!” I am shaking when I look at Billy.

  “He did what River always does. He got fucked up, and no one knows on what.”

  I turn back and face River. “You selfish, self-centered fool! Does no one matter but you?” I want to hit him. “Answer me, dammit!”

  “Fuck. You,” is all he says in a forced voice.

  “No. Nuh-uh, fuck you. Fuck you, River James! Fuck. You!”

  Billy grabs me from behind and holds me back.

  “Fuck you!” I pull myself free and turn to Billy. “When he comes out of this, if he comes out of this, tell him the girl who once was his friend is no longer. I will not wa
tch another person I care about kill themselves. I will not!”

  “I’m so sorry, Keanna,” Billy whispers, guilt in his eyes.

  I take a few deep breaths and push away the tears. “I can’t be late for my first day at my new job. I’ll grab Tink when I’m done.” I bat away a few tears that manage to spill. “Get him some help. Please, get him some help.”

  “I’ll let you know when he—”

  “No. No, I don’t wanna know. I don’t wanna know anymore.” I turn and look at River again. “I let you get high on me, and I wasn’t enough. I am fucking strong, and this”—I point between us—”friendship or fling is over.”

  *****

  After working eight hours and picking up Tink and her things from the beach house, I knock on Natasha’s door.

  When she opens it, I smile. “Want a couple guests?”

  “I thought—”

  “Plans change, and I really don’t wanna talk about it, Natasha, because I have gone nine hours and forty-five minutes holding myself together like a trooper. I’m gonna make sure Jordan gets the same smiling Auntie Keanna as he always gets, and then, as soon as he’s asleep, I am gonna curl up in your spare bedroom bed and cry myself to sleep. When I wake up, I don’t ever wanna talk about it again.”

  Understanding seeps through her expression, and she nods. Half a second later, Jordan is dragging me to his room to show me all the new cars he got for Christmas. I sit next to him on the floor for an hour, holding a large, red, plastic bin from his shelf, handing him one car at a time as he lines them up, row after row, sorted by style and color.

  When Natasha calls him for dinner, he jumps up. “Let’s go, Keanna.”

  I go through the motions, pushing my meal around my plate, listening to Jordan talk about school, and watching Natasha try her best to act like she is unaffected by me.

  After Jordan eats, we watch TV, snuggled up on the couch. Then he takes a bath and finally goes to bed. It seems thoughtless of me to think that, but considering the day’s events, I let myself off the hook.

  “You wanna talk?” Natasha asks, leaning into the spare room.

  I look at her and smile, albeit forced, but she seems to understand. She is understanding. She’s Natasha.

  “Not now, maybe not ever, but I hope you know I’m grateful you’re in my life.” My voice cracks.

  She holds her hand to her chest as if she can feel my pain. “I wish you would talk to me. It helps, you know.” Before I have a chance to say anything, she holds up her finger. “One sec. I let Tinker Bell outside; let me let her in.”

  In a flash, she is gone, and before I have time to come up with an excuse not to talk, she is back.

  Seeing Tink bound into the bedroom and jump on the spare bed without an invitation does me in.

  I am crying again and hugging her tightly around her neck.

  Natasha sits on the other side of her and pets her as she says, “Talk to me, Keanna.”

  “I am a shitty dog mom,” I sob out after not so carefully considering what I’m going to say.

  “No, it wasn’t your fault that she has a nose for … marijuana.” The ways she says it makes me laugh. Then she laughs.

  I am crying and laughing, and Natasha looks wigged out for about two seconds.

  “That’s only the half of it,” I tell her, looking over Tink’s head at her.

  “Oh, okay?”

  And then I just can’t stop the words from falling out at mach ten.

  “I should have taken Tink to the vet. I mean, she is my responsibility. What if she died? What if she died and I could have stopped it, but was so … stupid? Who believes a bunch of rock stars who use Google as a way to research the effect pot has on a dog? I’m a fucking nurse; I know better. I know—”

  “Typically, people ingesting pot plants don’t get high. It’s the heat that triggers—”

  “I don’t need you to make me feel better, Natasha. I was wrong. And to top it off, the next morning … The next morning, I let her out to go to the bathroom, and then—well, you were on the phone, so you know.”

  “No, not really. You hung up and—”

  “See, I’m a shitty friend, too. I—”

  “No, you’re not.” She chuckles softly. “But you can tell me now.”

  “Right. Well, I came in because he said he’d watch her. Here I am, thinking he was being sweet, and then … Well, then when I hung up with you, I ran outside, and there was my sweet Tink getting nailed by a bastard’s German Shepherd with a gangster name, named by a man who is fake blind, and River was gonna kick his ass. A blind man, Natasha! Who threatens a blind man?”

  “Well, apparently he’s faking blindness, and who the hell does that?” She shakes her head, suppressing a smile. “Back to Tink’s, um … you mean, like—”

  “Fucked. Doggie style. And do you know dogs ‘knot?’ There was no way to break that up. Fucking males, all of them!” I stop and wipe my eyes. “So Tink got high and fucked at the ripe old age of one, because her mother is a bigger piece of shit than mine was. I mean, at least mine didn’t have drugs lying around and get me raped. She just sat in a corner, drooling and staring at a wall until she just didn’t wake up one day.”

  As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I cover it. I close my eyes, shielding myself from looking at Natasha who is shocked, stunned, and now aware of my past.

  After a few quiet, awkward moments, she breaks the silence.

  “My ex is in prison. There is no judgment here.”

  I look up at her and nod. “I know. God, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I mean, some people are given a million and one chances to get it right and fail. He was one of them. I was hoping River was not.”

  “I was so stupid. I mean, I was so ready to have just a fling, a fuck, a—”

  “What happened?”

  I look down. I can’t tell her everything. I can’t, because for some reason, I feel like it would be a betrayal. Therefore, I give her what I can, knowing she will know the significance of it.

  “I kissed him.”

  After Keanna leaves, Billy flips his shit on me. I let him go on and on for as long as I can handle before telling him to fuck off and walking into my room where I lie on the bed and can smell her on the pillows.

  I immediately get up and tear the sheets from my bed, then flip the mattress off it. Then I lie on the box spring, face down, and fall asleep.

  When I wake to my phone’s alarm, I get up, shower, pack a bag, and walk out to the living room where the entire band, Nickie D, Taelyn, and Xavier stand, staring at me.

  No one says shit.

  I see Tink sitting on the couch, looking at me. I swear she is disappointed as hell, and that hurts worse than the thought of disappointing any of the people around me.

  “Come.” I snap my finger, and she hops down, following me outside.

  Once I shut the door behind me, I squat down and pat her head. “She’s a good girl, Tink, but she makes stupid choices, like trusting me to be able to take care of you. I mean, what the fuck was she thinking? I’m just a fucking drummer.”

  Tink looks the other way.

  “Yeah, well, now that you’re grown, you need to step up and take care of her. She thinks she’s strong, but I’m pretty sure I did some damage.” I look down at her as she gets up and walks off the porch and does her business. I grab the pooper-scooper that Billy or Keanna must have put out here, scoop up the shit, and toss it at the fucking deck next door.

  I can’t help laughing at myself when it lands on the last step at the neighbor’s.

  “Tink, did you see that? I bet that fucker sees it, too. Let’s just hope he steps in it first.”

  I stay out there as she walks around, sniffing, while I am freezing my ass off.

  When she comes back up the stairs, I squat down again. “I like you, Tink.”

  *****

  Xavier and Taelyn are in the seats next to me on the plane. Xavier’s mom, Josephina, her man, Thomas, and X an
d Taelyn’s baby, Patrick, are in the row behind us. Nick, Billy, Memphis, Finn, Sonya, her kid, Noah, and Tales are close by, too.

  I have slept off and on the entire non-stop flight from Newark. When I couldn’t sleep, I pretended to be.

  I heard them talking about me more than once. None said shit to my face, though, and it’s a good thing. I’m not in the fucking mood. Billy is lucky he didn’t get a fist in the face this morning. He’s lucky I was too fucked up.

  As we circle the runway at LAX and wait for our turn to land, I watch the clouds, envying them. That type of high—to feel nothing, think nothing, be … nothing but air and tiny droplets of water and ice floating high above the earth, hurt by and hurting nothing … that kind of high would be the ultimate.

  There are many other types of highs. Some good, like my favorite--the suppression of anxiety and anger—are basically an escape from the past, present, and future. They’re what I have chased for years. Then highs are followed by lows. Sometimes, you come down nice and easy. Other times, you feel like you dropped ten stories face first onto cement, and nothing can take away the pain … except for your next high.

  Allowing yourself to get high comes with risks. Death is a risk, which usually makes people decide to “Just say no.”

  The fear of death never made me even hesitate to smoke something, take a pill, and in the darkest of days, shoot shit in my veins. This morning’s high, though, scared the hell out of me. For the first time since I was in that shitty-ass trailer where I met Jesse, I am determined to try to stay away from getting that high ever again.

  The plane slowly descends, and as quickly as it does, the reality of the low settles in the pit of my stomach.

  As soon as we walk out through the security gates, it’s like a scene from some fucking Hollywood evening news program. Except, we aren’t celebrities, and this shit doesn’t happen unless we are at a show.

  Flashes come from all around us, and reporters ask us questions. I just pull my shades down over my eyes and pop my ear buds in my ears while the rest of my party scurries to get to the closest exit.

  I take my time because fuck that hiding shit. I see their mouths move, asking questions, while the flashes continue to pop from the cameras as I walk through the ten to fifteen reporters and cameramen who have some serious fucking personal space issues, making me walk around them. Then I finally get outside where I see everyone loading into two SUVs.