Lullabye (Rockstar #6)

by Anne Mercier

  As I waited for my body to reach some level of normalcy, my eyes scanned the yard, darting from the half-naked girls draped over bare-chested guys in the huge hot tub on one side of the deck to a couple making out against the wall on the other. My eyes almost bugged out when I realized the guy’s hand was tucked up her skirt, as she arched into him. Feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment, I dropped my gaze, but curiosity got the better of me and I scanned the yard again. Couples were making out all over the place, some girls were kissing each other while guys watched, and some guys were sharing one girl. More than one couple were at second base and one couple was almost hitting a home run…on a sun chair. I had walked straight into an alcohol-fueled orgy.

  Feeling uncomfortable, I hurried back inside the house to find Elena and announce my immediate departure. I tried to remember the route back. When we had first entered the house, the door had opened into a huge reception area with two curved staircases leading up to the first-floor balcony. I had made out hallways, shooting off in each direction, to what I assumed were bedrooms. The snippets of conversation that I had overheard on the walk over informed me the football team, better known as Chastity Fallen, all lived here. All thirty-six of them, and from what I witnessed on the deck, it seemed the team lived up to their name.

  Certain I was heading in the right direction, I rounded the corner of the dimly lit hallway and bumped face first into a wall of abs. “Ahhh, shit.”

  “Watch it, beautiful,” a deep voice said.

  Cupping a hand to my nose, I craned my neck to see the guy now blocking my path. “Sorry.” My voice came out small. It was his eyes. Although I couldn’t quite make out his face, they were as cold as ice and looking straight at me.

  “I’m sure you can make it up to me?” He eyed the stamp on my hand, a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. I brought my hand down, thrusting it behind my back and feeling panic rising in my chest. “Hmm, I don’t think so.”

  It happened so fast. One minute I was standing with my face to his chest, and the next minute, the guy had me pinned against the wall. I felt him harden against my stomach, and I had to force down the urge to gag or punch him in the face. But as his hands gripped my hips, the anger coursing through me was replaced with terror, and I tried to break out of his hold. “Get the hell off me.”

  He laughed, watching, his eyes cutting right through me. The knowing glint in them made my whole body tense with an indecipherable emotion. “Most girls here would pay to be in your position.” He brought his mouth down to my ear and whispered, “Pay to have my dick pressed up against them-”

  “What the fuck, man. Leave her alone. Look at her, she’s terrified,” a steady voice called out from the dark hallway beyond us.

  The guy released his hold on me, and I was able to get a proper look at him. He was tall, at least six-foot. His blond faux hawk was styled to perfection and his ice-cold blue eyes stood out against his light skin. There was no denying that he was gorgeous, in a very I-eat-girls-like-you-for-breakfast way.

  “Lighten up, Pierce, I’m just having some fun. Isn’t that right, beautiful?”

  Pressed up against the wall, I tried to will myself invisible, unsure of what to do. Seventeen months ago, I would have kicked him in the balls, but now? Now, I was so broken that I didn’t know how I felt. Not really.

  “Dude, leave it. There are enough girls downstairs.”

  My eyes tried to scan the narrow hallway for the owner of the voice, but it was too dark to distinguish him from the shadows.

  Ice eyes stepped back, and relief washed over me. “Fine. Let’s go,” he said to his friend who remained hidden in the shadows. He released me, but not before whispering in my ear, “I’ll see you around, beautiful.”

  My whole body was shaking; his voice was like a million spiders crawling underneath skin. Through squinted eyes, I could just make out the silhouette of the second guy. He was a little shorter and his hair looked darker. As soon as they turned the corner, I gasped, forcing down the tears pooling in my eyes.

  Shit, Ana. Get a grip.

  My body moved on autopilot. The laughter and muffled conversations around me were inaudible as I tried to keep it together.

  “Chica, are you okay? You look like you ran a marathon.”

  “I- I’m fine,” I panted as Elena pulled me into a hug. My body recoiled at first, but as she held onto me, apologizing for earlier, something unexpected happened. I relaxed; the pain and grief strangling me started to dissipate slowly and I sagged into her.

  For the first time in over a year, someone’s touch was comforting and a hint of a smile played on my lips. Perhaps, Chastity Falls was the answer to my prayers after all… Just as long as I could avoid ice eyes.

  Wherever You Will Go (Try Again #1)

  ©2014 Stephanie Smith

  Brooke

  I am numb. As I sit here and stare at the coffin in front of me, I don’t understand how we got here, how I got here. My gaze is fixed on nothing in particular, just the sight in front of me. My mind isn’t sure if this is really happening.

  The church pew is hard under my bum, and both of my hands are being held and squeezed tightly. My mum is on one side of me, and on the other, my best friend Rachel. Neither one of these women have left my side since the accident.

  Although I know all this, although I’m aware of everything around me, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like I’m not really here, like Nate isn’t lying in that coffin, and this is one fucked-up nightmare.

  Listening to the pastor read aloud the letter I wrote for Nate, reality comes crashing down around me, stabbing me in the heart. I know this is real. I know I really am here, and I know Nate is lying in that coffin. This isn’t a fucked-up nightmare but reality. The new fucked-up reality which is my life.

  I listen to the words I typed and printed onto a beautiful champagne-coloured card, the words I’d bled onto the computer screen. I’d cried massive amounts of tears wishing Nate were here and wishing I could tell him how I felt, how much I loved him and how much I needed him.

  My chest is tight and pain flows through me. My heart has shattered into a million tiny pieces. I’m not sure how it’s even still beating. I’m numb to the world around me, numb to all feelings.

  I keep replaying that day over and over in my head, wondering how it all went wrong. How did something so precious get ripped out of my hands in the blink of an eye?

  After Nate and I made love, we lay in bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms while talking about anything and everything to do with babies. What gender we wanted and why. Would we find out the sex, and the positives and negatives of having a daughter versus a son. How would we decorate the nursery? What stuff did we need to buy?

  Our hands had never left each other as we chatted and discussed all our thoughts and feelings on the subject. Nate had rubbed his strong hands up and down my back, caressing my ass cheeks and the backs of my thighs, then working his way up to start the whole process again.

  My hands had pressed up against his chest, grazing over his pectorals and down his strongly-defined stomach, sliding my fingers down to his sexy V. I’d said to Nate I didn’t know why we owned a king-size bed when we always ended up wrapped together right in the middle taking up hardly any room at all. He’d laughed and replied it was room for all the kids we were going to have to jump in with us. He was so excited about us starting a family, which made me wonder if he had been holding off for me, waiting for me to say I was ready.

  When Nate had finally unwrapped himself from around me to go to the bathroom I watched as he strolled in. He was walking lighter, and I knew he was on top of the world. Before entering, he’d turned his head and given me the widest smile and a sexy wink.

  It was later that morning when I received the knock on my door which altered my world forever. Nate had been in a car accident on the way to the office. An older gentleman had run a red light and hit Nate’s car, driver’s side. The impact killing him instantly.

 
I wish I could stay in our last perfect moment. Instead, I’m pulled back to the hell that is now my life. No longer able to ignore the blubbering and sniffling, I look to my left and see my mum holding a handkerchief to her nose, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes pinched shut with pain.

  For a fleeting moment I wonder what she has to be so sad about. I know my parents loved Nate; they welcomed him into our family with no reservations. This surprised me at the time, being that I’m their only child, and a girl at that. I thought my dad was going to be a bit tougher to conquer, but really I should’ve known: Nate could charm anyone. Not in a used-car salesman type of way, but in the way which was just Nate. He was honest and sincere with everyone he met. Respectful of his clients, fair to his employees and loving and loyal to anyone who was special and meant something to him.

  So yeah, I knew my mum was upset, knew she would feel the loss of her only son, but what had she really lost? She had Dad to go home with. When she felt sad or lost, Dad would hold her and comfort her. Who did I have? What would I do tonight when the pain became so overwhelming that I was throwing up in the bathroom? When I couldn’t think of living another day without him and struggled to breathe remembering Nate wouldn’t be the first thing I see in the morning?

  The guilt settles in and I give Mum a light comforting tap on her knee. Mum’s eyes pop open and meet mine for a brief moment before I turn my face back towards the wooden box my soul-mate lies in.

  The heat of Mum’s stare burns the side of my face while searching, looking, and wishing to see something. I could save her the time and tell her there’s nothing left. Anything I had lies in that coffin, and I am broken beyond all repair.

  Normally, I’m an emotional person. Nate would laugh at me all the time when I would cry at silly advertisements on the TV, like the one with the war heroes returning home to loved ones, or the one where the cutest dog ever rolls around in the toilet paper. Don’t ask me why. Or the one about funeral insurance where the old couple are walking down the street holding hands, and suddenly the man disappears leaving the woman walking alone. I wonder if our reactions would’ve been different if we knew then it would soon be us.

  Nate wouldn’t recognise me sitting here today: eyes dry of tears, face blank, and body numb. I don’t know why I’m having this reaction. Part of me thinks it’s because deep down I don’t want everyone to watch me fall apart, the other part of me thinks it’s because during the last week I have cried myself out of tears, but most of me thinks it’s because I’m broken.

  No longer the Brooke I once was. The happy Brooke, the vibrant Brooke, easy-going, laid-back, and positive Brooke. I’m missing something, and I know exactly what that is: my partner, my conscience, my brainstormer, my handyman, my therapist, my negotiator, my cheer squad, my best friend, my other half … my soul mate.

  The pastor calls the pallbearers, and I watch as Saxon leads Nate’s father, Mark, along with Logan and Jake, who are Saxon and Nate’s other best friends from college. It means a lot to me that they flew in on such short notice. I know they’re both busy in their own careers as well, Nate being the only one of the four who has settled down … or had settled down.

  I guess I’ll need to get used to talking about Nate in the past tense, as he was instead of as he is. In thinking that notion, a lump forms in my throat and a tightness pulls in my chest.

  I watch as they carry my husband out. This will be the last time I see him, walk with him. Standing to follow, there is relief as both my hands are released. Rachel gets to her feet and wraps her arm tightly around my waist, as if she thinks she may have to lead me, help me walk, or carry me even.

  My knees weaken, and I think perhaps she may be right. My dad rushes to my side and grabs a hold of me by my elbows. I lean back into him and let him hold my weight. He may be the only man left in my life to support me. The only man left who I can lean on, rely on … depend on.

  I decided to have the wake here at the funeral home since I hadn’t determined exactly what I wanted to do with Nate’s ashes yet. I was pretty sure I was going to purchase a memorial plot at the cemetery, but I knew whatever I decided it would be something I would do alone.

  Walking down the aisle, I glance around in amazement at how many people are here, considering Nate doesn’t have a huge family. He only has the one sibling, his younger sister Molly, and his parents’ families all live out of state. I shouldn’t be so amazed. I knew the perfectness of Nate better than anyone. He never met anyone who didn’t like him.

  I always wondered why he had chosen me, chosen me to love and to cherish, to spend forever with, and to make a home and a family with. Tears build in my eyes as I place my hand protectively over my belly.

  Once we reach the foyer I pull out of Rachel’s grasp and head for the bathroom. I look up, willing the wetness in my eyes to dry and not fall. The sedation and numbness begins wearing off as the tightness in my chest expands. I can’t go on like this.

  Entering the bathroom, I quickly check the stalls and then proceed to lock myself in one. Using some toilet paper I push the seat lid down, dropping myself onto it as I lean forward with my head between my legs.

  I know it won’t be long before they come looking for me, never leaving me alone for more than five minutes to even shower or use the bathroom. I know they think they are being helpful and looking out for me, but I feel like I can’t catch a breath. I haven’t been able to feel the air in my lungs for nearly a week. Will I ever be able to breathe properly again?

  Trying to pull myself together, I stand, brush off, and straighten my semi-fitting simple black dress and head towards the kitchen. Feeling somewhat maintained and put together, I push open the kitchen door and stop mid-step. The small amount of breath I was holding leaves me; the ominous lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes return.

  I meet his eyes and stare as he looks so deeply into mine. His eyes are like a mirror, a reflection of my own. Loss, anguish, affliction, and sorrow pour out of them. He gives me a small, sad smile, which causes my stomach to coil in a tight knot.

  Before I even have time to think, I’m running to him. Throwing my arms around his waist I hold on for dear life, letting everything I feel leak onto his dress shirt. Saxon tenses before he slowly wraps his arms around my back. Being that I only stand at five-foot-three, and he is at least six-foot-four, I am cuddling his waist like a small child.

  Saxon bends his knees as he leans lower to meet my gaze and places two hands on my cheeks. Wiping my tears with his thumbs, he whispers, “Oh, baby girl.”

  Looking into his eyes, I know why I’ve broken down. Why I’ve let him see me at my most vulnerable. Saxon is the only one who truly understands … the only other person here who has lost their other half … their best friend … their soul mate.

  He breaks our stare like he can’t possibly stand to see anymore and stands up straight. He wraps his arms around me again somehow even tighter than before, like this time he is the one holding on for dear life. I let him, placing my face back against his chest.

  We stand like this for what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes. His pain and heartache seep out of him and flow over me. It’s strangely comforting, and not at all unsettling.

  Eventually my tears settle, and I’m finally able to take a deep breath. I have been waiting all week for some break from the crushing pain, and for a small moment, I have it.

  The kitchen door opens and there are mumbled voices, but I am too disconnected to discern them. Suddenly the heat of Saxon leaves me as he hands me over to my father, who hugs me tightly. Someone kisses the top of my head and mumbles something, but I’m not sure whether it’s my dad or Saxon.

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