Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3)

by Nicole Simone

  “Ain’t that the truth. Your rock stars receive half a million a year to shimmy their hips and jam on their instruments.”

  “They are not MY rock stars,” I said.

  “You have been following them around for the past couple weeks, I’m sure you’ve gotten to know them pretty intimately.”

  “In a sense I have, sure, but it’s not like I follow them into the bathroom.”

  Annie laughed. “Damn. I was hoping there would be some steamy shower scenes in the documentary.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

  “I forgive you.” The thirst for gossip twinkled in her eyes as she added, “Have you seen any of them naked though?”

  “I think half of America has seen them naked.”

  “Come on Melody,” she whined. “Throw a girl a bone. I’m an out-of-work disgraced schoolteacher who needs a dash of excitement. It would really cheer me up.”

  I caved under her pitiful expression. “Fine.” Lowering my voice, I glanced around the restaurant to make sure nobody could hear us and used Annie as my confessional for the guilt that had been eating away at my conscience. “Sean, you know, the drummer?” She nodded. “Well, there is kind of an attraction between us.”

  “Ohhhh! On a scale of one to ten, how strong is it?”

  “Eight,” I said without hesitation.

  “Has anything happened?”

  “We fell asleep talking the other night and we almost kissed.”

  “Why almost? I would climb him like a tree.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Annie rolled her eyes as if she had heard that excuse a million times. “Please, take it from me: that kind of connection doesn’t come around often, which is why instead of fighting for my job, I fought to save my relationship instead.”

  “I don’t like to get involved with my subjects.”

  “Your subjects in the past weren’t Sean freaking Dallis.”

  She had a point there, considering the last documentary I’d filmed had been on location in a remote jungle where the only available men wore loincloths.

  The waitress dropped off our food along with hand wipes and Annie’s extra-large cocktail, a blue and red concoction.

  “You looked like you swallowed the canary. Is there a component I’m missing?” Annie sipped her alcoholic monstrosity and winced. “Hoo-wee!”

  “I’m engaged.”

  “Oh.” Judgment radiated off of her like toxic fumes.

  “Sean and I haven’t sleep together. For the most part, it’s been completely innocent.”

  “It’s none of my business Melody.”

  Her rigid demeanor caused a stirring of panic. She had to believe me. “I swear on my mother’s grave, Sean and I are just friends, nothing more.”

  Annie served herself half the collard greens. “Okay.” She licked sauce off her fingers and then picked up her fork. “How’s your sister?”

  The rest of dinner our conversation was filled with small talk, a swift departure from the fun and easy time we were previously having. Annie didn’t have to express what she thought of me, it was written on her face, and I didn’t blame her—not one bit.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?” I FLIPPED to the second of the hundred-page legal document that had been sent over to me that morning. “Eight grand in alimony? I thought she wanted to fucking find her inner peace and discard material possessions. Money grabbing…” I muttered the rest of the damning sentence under my breath.

  Noah wandered in from the back of the bus in a cloud of steam. Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and sat across from me.

  “Look at this!” I turned the document toward him and angrily jabbed my finger at a line of text. “She wants my house on the lake, the house I bought way before she was a blip on my radar, the house she hates! God, what else is she going to take next? This bullshit has been going on for eight months already. I’m sick of it.”

  “Some divorces can drag on for years.” At my raised brow, he changed his tune. “But I’m sure yours won’t.”

  “I sure as fuck hope not. She is bat shit crazy if she thinks I have eight grand a month to pay her.”

  “Did you get a prenup?”

  My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose as a headache throbbed behind my eyes. “No, we were married three weeks after we met. It was a whirlwind romance and honestly, I didn’t think she was like this.”

  “Materialistic? A cheater?”

  “All of the above.”

  “Divorce brings out the ugly in people.

  “There wouldn’t be a divorce if she had kept her legs closed.” Noah palmed the bottle, clearly wanting to say something but afraid to overstep his boundaries. “What? You can say whatever you want to say.”

  “I figured your eyes had been opened to the other side of the coin since you met Melody.”

  “Speak in plain English.”

  “Your ex-wife probably wasn’t planning on having sex with her yoga teacher. They probably tried to resist their attraction as much as you Melody and are.”

  I regarded him coolly. “Are you justifying her actions? She brought another man into our bed while I was gone.”

  “Not at all, but who knows what factors went into that decision? Maybe she was lonely and he filled a void, or maybe he brought something into her life she hadn’t known she needed. Would you call Melody a cheating whore if she decided to sleep with you?” Catching the tick in my jaw, he got his answer. “Exactly, you wouldn’t. There are million paths to choose in life, and your ex-wife chose one you didn’t see coming, but that doesn’t necessarily make her a bad person.”

  “I’m sensing you’re trying to say I shouldn’t hold a grudge?”

  “Bingo. It only hinders your trajectory going forward and keeps you stuck in the past.”

  “Were you a monk before you were a musician? Is that where all this zen wisdom came from?”

  Noah laughed. “Not even close. I was a steel worker.” As private as Matthew, he didn’t reveal the rest of the story and slid out of the booth. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’m beat.”

  “Night.”

  Returning to the stack of papers, I called it quits after three seconds and stretched my arms above my head. With all my bandmates busy, I wandered to the rooftop pool at Melody’s hotel to find some peace.

  The past few months had been a long, dragged-out war I didn’t see ending any time soon. Noah was right—I needed to free myself from the toxic emotions I felt toward my ex-wife—but that was easier said than done.

  She had cheated, had stolen my dog, and was now demanding large sums of money as if she deserved it. I may have been on the road a lot, but as far as good husbands go, I took the entire fucking cake: never missed a birthday, sent flowers on each anniversary, and supported her dreams, which changed on a dime. One minute she wanted to open a cupcake shop for dogs, the next a pillow fort themed bar.

  Dammit. I bent over backward for her and what did I get in return? A divorce.

  Plopping down on the lounge chair, I kicked my feet up and stared at the inky black sky. Jazz music played softly from down below on the street. My lungs drank in the humid night air as I closed my eyes.

  Melody’s situation was different. She was marrying Marco out of obligation and if she broke her vows to remain faithful to him, it would be considered a Hail Mary.

  “Sean?”

  My gaze landed on none other than the woman I was currently dreaming about. Melody wore a pensive expression, as if she was considering bolting.

  “Hey. What are you doing up here?” I wondered.

  “I could ask you the same.”

  “The bus got too stifling and I needed some fresh air. You?”

  She shuffled her feet. “Same.”

  “Do you want to sit and stay a while? It would be nice to have the company.”

  “I shouldn’t. I have tons of work to do.”

  I held up the banana cream pie I’d snagge
d from the bakery on the corner after the concert. “I’ll share my dessert with you.”

  “Why does everything that comes of your mouth sound dirty?”

  “I’m a rock star. Rock stars have to scream sex and danger.”

  With a grin, she said, “I haven’t seen the danger part.” Seeing the wicked gleam in my eye, Melody laughed. “Don’t get any ideas. It wasn’t a challenge.”

  “It sounded like one.”

  “Well it wasn’t.” She smoothed down her jeans and perched on the edge of the lounge chair. “You guys sounded brilliant tonight. I’ve never seen a band put their heart and soul into the music like you guys do. It’s no wonder the audience goes wild.”

  “Did you have fun being part of the action?”

  “I did, and the best part is I got a killer opening scene that practically makes the movie.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious. Sitting upright, I crossed my legs. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “It will be a while before you do.”

  “How long?”

  “Six months to a year. The footage has to be edited, sound corrected, color corrected, and so forth. There are tons of moving parts when it comes to making a movie.”

  “What’s your favorite part of the process?”

  Melody chewed her bottom lip, evoking R-rated images that flooded my mind. I chased them away, but not without a struggle, and focused on the conversation instead of the fantasies I wanted to act out with her.

  “That first moment when I’m scribbling ideas in my notebook, planning out the shot list and crunching numbers for the always painfully small budget,” she said wistfully. “The beginning is my favorite part because after that you’re running off coffee and exhaustion, stressed to the max.”

  “Sounds like how it is when we are in the recording studio.”

  “Do you have any plans to lay a record down?”

  While the creative freedom we got from signing with a small independent label had its perks—as did the fact our boss was one of our closest friends—we had to pour every last cent from this tour back into the band. “Luke said we had to build buzz before we dropped a couple grand on studio space.”

  “Ah. Smart businessman.” Melody hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “My laptop is waiting for me. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “You sure you don’t want to stay? The stars are brilliant tonight.”

  A teasing smile hitched up her lips. “Are you also an astronomer?”

  “My phone is. Come on, working or eating pie while staring at the stars?”

  “When you put it that way…” Settling back onto the lounge chair, she pinned me with a look. “No funny business though. Promise.”

  “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

  “I mean it Sean. We’re friends, which means none of your body parts can touch any of mine.”

  “Is that another one of your rules? Because if so, then you already broke one by wearing that tank top.” Her brows pulled together as she frowned. “You said long sleeves and pants are required if we hang out.”

  “It’s almost a hundred degrees out. Just keep your eyes trained on my face and we should be fine.”

  Melody underestimated her sex appeal. She could be wearing a paper bag or wrapped in duct tape and I would still want to fuck her.

  SEAN WAS RIGHT—THE STARS were brilliant.

  I leaned my head backward and pointed at the one twinkling directly above. “What’s that one called?”

  Aiming his cell phone at the star, his brows crinkled. “Regulus is a white and ultramarine star in the heart of the lion constellation, Leo.”

  “My sign!” A cherished memory materialized. “On Sundays, my mom read our horoscope for the week to my sister and I. With the newspaper open across her lap and our signs circled in red pen, she traced each sentence with the tip of her finger, following along as she spoke. After she was done, our predications were carefully cut free and laid on our beds. I saved them in an old shoebox in my apartment.” I looked at Sean out of the corner of my eye. “When’s your birthday?”

  “December third.”

  “A Sagittarius.” I sorted through my dusty knowledge of astrology. “You’re a positive person, a great listener, and have a vivid imagination. Am I close?

  “Nailed it. My high school report cards all had the same comment at the bottom of each one.” In his teacher voice, he quipped, “Sean needs to stop concocting wild tales to his classmates.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “Where should I start?”

  His rich laugh warmed my lower stomach. I turned onto my side and tucked my hands under my cheek, content. “Start with the craziest story you were stunned anyone believed.”

  He thought for a moment. “Okay I got it.” Clearing his throat, his voice took on a deeper tone as he delved into the tale. “As a hobby, my dad is a cliff diver. He jumps off the tallest peaks into pools of water without any harnesses or safety gear. Six years ago, he and I traveled to the southern end of Lanai Island in Hawaii. His mission: to conquer Kaunolu cliff, an eighty-two foot drop. Any wrong moves equals death.”

  I played along and sucked in a dramatic breath. “Oh no.”

  “I stood with him at the edge, uneasy about acting as his spotter; my swimming skills weren’t the strongest. I told my dad this, but he reassured me, saying he had jumped a thousand times and hadn’t died yet. ‘Just remember,’ he said, clapping me on the shoulder, ‘Count to fifteen. If I haven’t surfaced by then, call 911.’ Hands at a ninety-degree angle, he dived into the dark blue.” His eyes were grim with what was to come. “I waited, but my dad’s head didn’t break the surface. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—no sight of him. I checked my cellphone, but didn't have any service. Running to town wasn’t an option either. By the time I made it back, my dad would have been without oxygen for fifteen minutes. Before I knew it, I was free falling. I hit the water with a jaw-numbing smack. Murky green surrounded me, making visibility slim to none.”

  Unable to handle a story about the death of a parent—even a fake one—I interrupted him. “If this doesn’t have a happy ending, I don’t want to hear any more.”

  “It does. I rescued my dad. The end.”

  “And your friends ate it up.”

  “Hell yeah they did. I was dubbed a hero for the rest of my senior year.”

  Shaking my head at the gullibility of teenagers, I also couldn’t blame them. Sean weaved a masterful tale chock full of suspense and tension.

  “Your imagination is colorful,” I said.

  “It comes in handy when writing songs.”

  “Why haven’t you produced any of them?”

  Luke and Matthew had penned the majority of the singles on Five Guys’ albums. According to Wiki, they had ten number one hits between them, a powerful duo.

  Sean shrugged self-consciously. “Who says they’re any good?

  He acted as if the media hadn’t done any damage to his ego. Away from the harsh lights of the stage and his bandmates, the smoke screen cleared.

  “Are you afraid to show your work?” I wondered.

  “Matthew and Luke have seen some of my early drafts. It didn’t fit in line with the vibe Five Guys was going for.”

  “Too poppy? Too rock ‘n’ roll?”

  “Too angry.” At my curious gaze, a tight smile stretched his lips. “My ex-wife and I weren’t in the best spot.”

  I recalled the moody lyrics from “Broken Lullabies”. “It seems like Matthew is more open to emotional angst now that he is an independent artist.”

  “True.”

  “Promise me you will him show him your lyrics.”

  “If you promise me you will not quit documentary filmmaking and morph into a housewife.”

  Thrown, I gaped at him, unsure how he had heard about my tentative break (retirement sounded too permanent).

  Sean massaged the bridge of his nose and then looked up at me with utter disappointment. “It’s true then? You’re thr
owing away your passion because a guy asked you to? Why? Marco is a poet. He doesn’t need to have a home-cooked meal on the table at 5 o’clock.”

  “I’m not throwing away my passion, I’m adapting it to fit into my new role as a wife.”

  “Do you hear yourself right now?” His anger fizzled in the air like a live wire. I reeled back, afraid to get burned. “You survived the death of your mother, traveled the world, and built a reputable career as a documentary filmmaker at the age of twenty-seven! You have lived, seen, and done more than most people do in their entire boring existences. Why are you letting Marco steal that from you?”

  My arms locked around my waist. Turning my chin, I stared at the placid water of the pool. Survived or ran from? I often contemplated the difference.

  I wasn’t going to lie and say it didn’t make me physically ill to think about putting my career on the hold, but Marco and his son needed me. After we got hitched, we would relocate to a tiny town upstate while Hendrix went through treatment.

  Sean’s hand on my knee jerked my eyes onto him. “Sorry. I really suck at this friend thing.”

  A weak laugh rose from my throat. “You have the right to your opinions.”

  “Doesn’t mean they be should be shared.” He offered me the container of banana cream pie. “New rule: no more talking about Marco, your relationship, or anything heavy. Easy breezy is the new theme for the evening.”

  “Deal.” I glanced around the patio. “Did you bring any silverware?”

  “Shit. No.” A wicked grin spread across his face. “Guess we are going to have to get creative.” He scooped up a mound of whipped cream with his forefinger and held it out toward me.

  I arched a brow. “Gross Sean. I don’t know where your fingers have been.” He plopped the cream onto my crinkled noise. My eyes widened incredulously. “You did not just do that.”

  “I’m afraid I did.”

  I snatched up a handful of banana pudding and smeared it on his cheek. The yellow substance dripped onto his shirt as Sean looked at me with war in his eyes. I jumped free from the lounge chair in the nick of time and a banana slice hurled past my head.