by Virna DePaul
“You’re our only living child,” Dad stated gravely.
“What?” I croaked, my hands clutching the armrests hard enough to whiten my knuckles.
“Before you were born, your mother suffered two miscarriages.”
Mom hung her head and nodded, a picture of anguish. “The doctor said it was a lingering result of the drug and alcohol abuse.”
“On both our parts,” Dad seemed to remind her, squeezing her arm. “She said that we had destroyed our bodies inside, and they were still rebuilding, too fragile to support another life.”
“Your father went on to pursue the Mr. Universe competition to get stronger and prove to himself that he could be the best without steroids. He quickly got sponsors, and gained a following. And he did it. All by himself.” She smiled at him proudly.
“And I was able to stay close to home all the time, through every pageant, to be close to your mother.”
Inhaling, Mom found her smile again. “So, when you—our little miracle came—we were shocked, and thrilled. The doctors had said that a healthy baby wasn’t in our future. Your father named you Gwendolyn because it means blessed one. The light of our life.”
Throat dry and mind grasping wildly to understand, I asked her, “That’s good, isn’t it? Didn’t that, didn’t I, bring you closer?”
“You did. I became pregnant again six months after you were born. Rich and I…” Her voice trailed off and she averted her eyes, struggling under an unknown weight.
“We celebrated you, Gwendolyn. Too much. Too often.”
“I didn’t know that I was pregnant until…” Her nostrils flared as she battled a sob.
“We didn’t realize that we were back on the path to addiction until we lost the fourth baby,” Dad said. “So, since then, we’ve almost stuffed ourselves into bodies that are more machine than human, more mechanical than emotional.”
“I didn’t know how to cope with the pain. And I blamed myself. I still do. I thought it meant that I was not fit to be a mother. All I thought about for months, if not years, was how badly I wanted to shoot up to escape the hurt. Your father saved me.”
“And your mother saved me with her love.”
“His dedication, power, rigor, and adherence to a strict routine and schedule kept me sane. I’m not unhappy, Gwen. I’m not unhappy at all. I’m just dealing with ghosts and grief every day.”
“I love your mother, Gwendolyn. And you. More than anything.”
Mom’s voice grew scratchier. “I’m so sorry I let you believe that I was afraid of your father when I was really only scared of myself. I love your father. I didn’t know how to talk to you because I never thought I deserved it. And I was always afraid I’d slip up and say something that would reveal who I used to be.”
“Who we used to be,” Dad muttered sadly.
“I’ve been sober for twenty one years. And it’s all thanks to him.”
Dad shook his head, reached out, and took my hand. “I’ve gone about this all wrong. I thought I could control the future, and you, with rules and lies and fear of failure. I haven’t been truthful to myself for decades. There is nothing I want more than to let loose for one night and step back in time, even to step back from the present and watch you blossom. But either of us relapsing is the second thing that scares me the most. The less I controlled you, the less I felt like I controlled myself. And the more you started to pull away, the worse it got.”
“Living with that fear has turned us both into people we don’t like. If addiction is genetic, then you're definitely predisposed. And that’s why your father got so angry every time you’d enjoy alcohol, or go out.”
I only became aware of the tears on my face when my mother sat forward and carefully swiped one away with her thumb. The two people sitting in front of me whose personas were years in the making had changed so much in a matter of moments. “Mom. Dad.” Awe struck, the spark of illumination turned into a blazing flame. “What kept you together was the fact that you were able to overcome your fear, your addictions, as a unit.” Not sex. Not money. Not fear of my father.
Dad held my eyes and my heart shattered, along with whatever disdain I had harbored for him, when I saw tears appear in his eyes. “I can’t ask for your forgiveness enough.”
“Neither can I, sweetie,” Mom confessed.
Lips in a trembling line, I shook my head vigorously. “You don’t need to. I already forgive you.”
My father swallowed a sob.
Guilt smacked into me. “I’m so sorry I’ve been such a handful lately. I didn’t know.” In hindsight, it made so much sense. And I felt like garbage for thinking so poorly of my father. Granted, he hadn’t made it easy for me to see the golden knight in him, but I hadn’t been looking very hard either.
“Sweetie, please don’t apologize. I love you so much.”
“We’re going to get through this together.” Mom smiled, looking between the two of us.
I looked at my empty hand. “How can I help?”
“By enjoying yourself, safely of course, and sticking to your craft. Your father and I are going to back to Hawaii—to the treatment center—to come up with alternate methods of living, and a whole new lifestyle. We’ve realized that it’s time to make some changes, and we need help forgiving ourselves. It’s a beautiful facility, dear. A lot like a dream vacation.”
I smiled through my tears. “That’s wonderful. When do you leave?”
“Monday morning.”
“So soon?” I questioned, beset by a twinge of panic. My parents would be away from the mainland, and I would be the farthest away from them that I had ever been. And so soon after uncovering such an epic secret?
Dad laughed as best as he could. “I would have purchased the flight today had any seats been available. We don’t want to live this way anymore. And we don’t want to put you through it either.”
“Don’t worry, honey,” Mom reassured me, as though she could read my mind. “We’ll call from the island. When we get back, we would love to meet your new friends.”
I blinked rapidly, suddenly remembering. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Dad, do you remember that night at Nativo? When Garrick said he was falling in love with me?”
“I’ll never forget it,” he mumbled with a wry smirk. “Boy had balls.”
“Richard,” Mom chided him softly.
“Sorry, Ab. Guts. I saw so much of the old me in him.”
“And that was why you hated and mistrusted him so much,” I finished. “I can see that now. He gave me a bagel.”
“What?” Mom and Dad said in tandem, clearly not appreciating the gesture as much as I did.
“It’s a long story,” I chuckled.
Mom lit up. “I want to hear all about it when you have time. How do you feel about him, dear? Do you love him?”
“Yes. I love him too. I came to tell you that we’re going to start dating for real—in public. And I wanted you to know before the rest of the world did, because I deeply respect you both. And I want you in my life, even if you don’t approve of him. Dad, thank you for your guidance and support and encouragement, and even your strict rules that guided me to the successful path I’m on. But…”
“It’s time for you to establish your own rules, follow your own road, and declare your independence.”
I nodded.
And he smiled with tears in his eyes. “Then I think a reevaluation of Garrick Maze is in order.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Garrick
Over four weeks later, just after wrapping up the mid-season episode of Straightlaced, I stood hand in hand with Gwen on the red carpet. Shane and Erica stood on our left and Tyler on our right. We were back in Hollywood. The entire cast of Straightlaced had received invitations to the premier of Up in Flames, the prequel to Blast Zone. Due to the fact that my character had not been born, I hadn’t been cast. Didn’t bother me in the slightest; even if they offered me a role in an upcoming sequel, I’d decline in
favor of continuing the television series anyhow. The members of Point Break had been invited to attend the premier, too, as they had landed the honor of writing and producing the theme. However, they were currently on the North American leg of their first world tour.
After the tour first started, Liam had called me, needing some advice, confiding that he’d met a girl he was interested in. I’d told him not to let the fact they were different stop him from going after what he wanted. After all, taking that kind of risk had brought me where I was today. When I’d told Gwen about Liam’s call, she and I had talked about meeting up with the band at some point. I’d teasingly accused her of wanting another close-up look at Liam. She’d laughed and kissed me and told me—her expression and voice completely sincere—that Liam couldn’t hold a candle to me when it came to singing a love song.
Believe it or not, the girl had gotten me to sing to her several times now, and the way she always looked at me when I did just made me sing louder.
I had patched things up with Dominic as best I could, and I promised to come home for Christmas for the first time since the incident. It felt good to have that burden lifted. We would never be what we were, but this was a start.
“Hey,” I whispered, leaning over toward Tyler. “Where’s Alice? The invite said you could bring a plus one.” Waggling my eyebrows, I grinned.
He stared idly, exuding more disdain than he usually did for me, and promptly switched to stand beside Shane and Erica. I chuckled.
Gwen’s parents had returned from Hawaii last night, and we would be visiting them for dinner at their house this weekend. Feeling thrilled to see the house in which Gwen grew up, I was also battling nerves. Meeting her father had been nerve wracking. What would it be like to step foot in his home?
However, Gwen always dismissed my concerns as needless, claiming that he was seeking help. She did not share everything with me, but she had said that her mother and father had stayed at a transformational facility to relax, distress, and cope with unresolved issues. Gwen had been on the phone with her mother and father on a daily basis, checking in. I had never seen her so happy.
“Tonight’s the night,” I said, leaning in to whisper into her ear.
She bit her lip excitedly and shimmied her shoulders. Once we had passed the picture section of the walkway and came to the press pad, it finally happened. Shane, Tyler, and Erica had gone inside, bypassing the throng of flashes and questions. Before she vanished, Erica flashed me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“I see you’re holding hands,” exclaimed a female reporter, eyes primed with a thirst for good gossip.
I caught her name with a glance at her press tag, hanging from a slender lanyard. “That’s right, Gina. We are.”
“Are you a couple? Or is this all for show?”
Turning my head, I looked at Gwen, searching for any sign of fear or shadow of doubt on her pretty, freckled face. “Yes. We are an exclusive couple. We’re in love. We’re happy. And that’s how it’s going to stay.”
The paparazzi within earshot instantly cut their interviews and clamored to get closer, the din around us escalating from a buzz to a shouting match.
Gina, however, would not be bullied out of the way and thrust her microphone at us once more. “Well, this is news! Aren’t you worried that a relationship between you off-screen could affect the show? What if you break up? Isn’t it traditional not to date fellow actors until the film wraps up?”
I flashed Gwen a confident smirk, reflected back at me through her own.
“Geez, Gina,” Gwen said with a radiant grin, facing the reporter with squared shoulders. “Don’t be so straightlaced.”
* * *
After the premiere, Gwen and I hit a swanky bar on Sunset Boulevard for a private, playful evening. Inside, we had a few drinks and many toasts to celebrate our success, as well as that of the action movie industry, to Gwen’s capricious, amazingly seductive chagrin.
I certainly had plans for the remainder of our night once we found ourselves alone.
We filed outside where a cab waited at the curb around two a.m. I held Gwen’s hand. There was rarely a moment we were together these days that I wasn’t holding her hand. On the way to the car, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Normally I would have ignored it, but just then Gwen stopped to rifle through her purse. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the text, grinning when I saw it was from Liam.
You were right.
That was it. No explanation needed. I’d been right about him needing to take a chance on the girl he’d told me about. Instinctively I knew that if Liam really had found the one, his lifestyle was probably going to be a huge hurdle to overcome. But hey, I’d done it. I had faith he could do it, too.
Don’t blow it, I texted back.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket. Yep, Gwen and I definitely needed to track Liam down, especially if it meant meeting the girl who had finally entranced the hard-partying rock star. I turned to tell Gwen but before I could, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.
“I’m so happy,” she said. “The happiest I’ve ever been.”
My heart swelled and my body buzzed with warmth and all I could think was: This girl. Thank God I found her.
I rested my forehead against hers, hugged her, and rocked us back and forth, enjoying the moment. Basking in the knowledge that our futures were going to be filled with moments upon moments just like this one.
Love isn’t a flare.
It isn’t even an eternal flame.
For Gwen and me, it’s a magnificent, white-hot, never-ending inferno.
Thank you for reading Rock Sexy.
If you enjoyed spending time with these characters, be sure to check out
Liam’s story in Rock Strong. Here’s a sneak peek:
ROCK STRONG EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Abby
When Dr. Bronsky handed me my Master of Music diploma from Juilliard in December and said, “You and that cello are going places, Miss Chan,” I was pretty sure he didn’t mean the North American leg of a rock band’s world tour. Needless to say, it’s not what I pictured myself doing either. By now, I was hoping to be playing for the New York Philharmonic, making my way to Principal Cello and shining like the diamond of the string section, as I’d imagined it my entire twenty-three years up until this point.
However, a cellist cannot live on bread alone.
So when good friend, fellow string performer, and violinist Rosemary Bourré told me that Point Break, the rock band on the cover of the most recent Rolling Stone (four guys covered in tattoos and piercings—how original), was looking for an on-tour cellist to replace the one who’d dropped out last week, I forced myself to hear her out. Rose had already auditioned for their string section months ago and had gotten the part.
Join me, Abby! she said. It’ll be fun! she said.
According to Rose, all I’d have to do was play backup to their two love ballads, sleep on a bus from April through July, and collect my paycheck. At summer’s end, I’d return to NYC and hopefully have enough money to pay off some school loans and put down money for my first apartment on the Upper West Side. I could audition for the Philharmonic, make my mother proud, marry a famous conductor, and live the rest of my life in perfect harmony.
Hey, a girl could dream.
So when I’d told her that I hadn’t even had to audition—the manager hired me over the phone based on Dr. Bronsky’s recommendation—Rosemary had squealed, bounced, and hugged me tighter than an E string. I am so crazy for doing this, I’d thought, and Samuel, my boyfriend of four years, agreed, warning me if I took the job, he couldn’t guarantee he’d be there for me when I got back.
Is that right? So be it, I’d thought. In fact, I’d taken the opportunity to do what Samuel had been hedging doing: I’d broken up with him.
Part of me knew I had to do it, if only to see what the world had to offer outside of Samuel Bautista. Part of me was relieved that taking the job had forced an en
d to a relationship I knew hadn’t been working for quite some time. And part of me, well…part of me just needed eighteen thousand dollars.
So here Rosemary and I were, a week after they signed me on and two days after arriving in LA for the first time, ready to see what the world of rock ’n’ roll had in store for us. After a couple of informal rehearsals sans band, the string section seemed ready. Now, I was about to jump my next hurdle—getting through Point Break’s Feel the Burn kickoff party—a real rock star soirée as far from Brooklyn as one might possibly imagine at the posh Southern California home of their manager, Robbie Levine. Never would I be accused of being a party girl back in Brooklyn. In fact, the most partying I’d ever done was the night after my Strings final exam at Samuel’s parents’ house where Rosemary, Jaromir, Kim Lee, and I all sat around the Bautistas’ living room, laughing, drinking wine, and talking about how we were going to make it big one day.
We’d meant playing for any of the world’s most prestigious orchestras, not following around a screaming front man and his guitar-plucking toadies as they reveled in alcoholic excess and female companionship.
So this house…this was another league altogether, and to be honest, it was scaring the crap out of me. Next to me, however, Rosemary was all fluttery eyes. “Wow, Abby. Did you ever imagine this would be our first real gig?” She beamed, beer bottle in hand, glancing around the partyscape.
We’d been working since we graduated, of course, but that had entailed the occasional wedding. Nothing like this. “I imagined it a little less…LA.” I mean, we were in LA, so that didn’t quite make sense, but even this was beyond where my imagination had gone. I clung to my wine glass like it might keep me afloat in the sea of money and fluff.
“Abby, we’re in Beverly Hills. Beverly frickin’ Hills.”
