by M. S. Parker
“Nah,” Dave chuckled. “You're on tour, man. This is no big deal, and I'll see you afterward, right?”
“Yeah.” I stared grimly at the pick at my feet. “For sure.”
“I gotta go.” There was the sound of movement from the other end of the line. “One of the prisoners is being released today, so there's cake in the community room. If I can't score heroin, sugar's the next best thing, right?”
I didn't laugh, but Dave didn't notice. He never did.
“Alright, talk to you later. Rock hard or whatever.”
“Bye, Dave. I'll talk to you soon.”
The line clicked.
I sighed and threw my phone onto my bed. Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a long time. Dave wasn't getting any better, and I didn't think throwing him in rehab after rehab was helping. He never took anything seriously, and I just wanted to shake and scream at him until he did. But I couldn't, not when all he'd have to do is point the finger back at me.
Dave said he was fine, and he didn't need me, but did that mean I should believe him? Was giving him his space the right thing to do? Or did it just feel like the right thing to do because I was terrified of the alternative?
Forty-One
Hazel
Being on tour with Flagship Inferno, as I’d learned over the past few months, was a little like living inside one of those department store revolving doors. On one side was the road. On the other was the spectacle. The shows, the parties, the wild ride of debauchery. As soon as we finished one, we’d turn to the other. And then we’d be back again. As long as I kept moving ahead of the panels of glass, things were fine. But I knew the moment I stopped or tried to change course, the door would crush me.
Not a perfect metaphor, given revolving doors weren’t known for their lethality, but I could practically feel my back against the glass, trying desperately to stop the door on its axis. If I could, maybe Sean and I could stay on the road forever, and I wouldn’t have to watch him revert to the Rock Star again. And again.
And again.
Because he would. I knew he would. And I wanted him to share his music and passion with his adoring fans, and to enjoy the taste of being young and successful and alive. I just didn’t want to have to watch myself lose him.
This was where we’d had our problems before. Even though something had changed between Sean and me since then, Tucson was going to be the first real test of what that change meant. Especially to him.
We arrived around mid-afternoon, and I only caught glimpses of Sean until he took to the stage that evening. I watched from backstage, periodically stepping out to take a few pictures of the guys performing, but otherwise staying out of everyone’s way.
Sean was in his element. I got an amazing shot of him with his guitar slung over his back while both his hands cupped the microphone. He stared out into the crowd, hair dusting across his eyes, and it seemed like he was gazing into the abyss of space itself. A sea of hands reached for him, knowing they’d never be close enough but desperate to try all the same. And although no photo could ever capture the hauntingly beautiful rasp of his voice or the way his muscles bunched and flexed under skin shimmering with sweat, this one came damn close. Photo or no, I knew this was a moment I would never forget.
The show was just as wild as all the ones before it. There were thousands of screaming fans, all desperate for a millisecond of attention from the gods on stage. And I knew the most dedicated and the luckiest of those fans would be backstage in less than an hour. Some of them were there for the other guys, but most of them were there for Sean. They’d want his picture, his name on their boobs, and his tongue down their throat. They all did. And Sean was always happy to oblige.
The worst part? I’d have to be there for all of it. Capturing the moments for eternity, no less.
My stomach felt uneasy just thinking about the evening to come. I knew it was just part of his persona, and it didn’t mean anything to him. I meant something. I had to hang onto that fact since it would be pretty hard to remember when his lips tasted like bubblegum lip gloss later.
As the guys performed their encore, I slipped backstage and occupied myself by checking and rechecking my batteries and memory cards while I waited for the horde to gallop in.
The song finished. The screams were deafening, even from backstage. And then four sweaty men, laughing and joking with each other, joined me backstage.
Sean looked like he was about to make a beeline for me, but security was already there with the first of the lucky few who would get to meet their rock idols. Before Sean could even say anything to me, a girl was hanging off his arm and telling him how she was his biggest fan. He smiled pleasantly for the camera, even though the first few shots were just of her staring up at him adoringly.
Soon, she was swapped out for another girl, then another. After a while, I started noticing a pattern. Anytime one of the girls got close or started feeling him up, Sean would find a way to politely redirect their attentions elsewhere. So far, he hadn’t kissed a single one.
I didn’t want to read too much into this behavior. Maybe he just wasn’t feeling like it tonight. Maybe none of the girls had struck his fancy so far. In any case, his evident lack of interest in playing tonsil hockey with his fans had nothing to do with me. As tempting as it might be to think so.
The next fan in Sean’s lineup took her place at his side. She was half legs, with an ass you could’ve seen from space. None of the other girls had sparked as much jealousy from me so far as she did in the first three seconds of posing with Sean. Her long hair and perfect white smile easily put her a few notches above the rest of the girls who’d come backstage tonight, and she knew it. She curled up against his side the first moment she could, going up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear while I took photos on her phone and resisted the urge to “accidentally” drop it. The girl smiled at him, her gaze flitting from his eyes to his lips.
Oh god, she was going to kiss him. This Kylie Jenner wannabe was going to kiss the guy I had feelings for, and I was going to have to watch. Like hell I’d take a photo of the moment for her scrapbook.
She pursed her lips and leaned in.
I grimaced.
She ran her hand up his chest.
I held in a breath.
Sean turned away.
Wait, what?
I blinked a couple times to make sure I’d seen what I’d just seen. Sean had angled his face away from the girl’s the second before her lips found his, even though she was sexy and adored him and would have been priority number one on his to-do list not long ago. And then, if that wasn’t confusing enough, Sean pointed at me.
“Sorry, darling,” he said. “That’s my girlfriend over there. She wouldn’t like it if I traded spit with all these beautiful girls.”
My fingers slipped, and I nearly did drop the phone accidentally. Girlfriend? Had I heard that right? Was I having a stroke? Maybe I wasn’t here at all, and this was some sort of fever dream I was having while passed out in a hospital bed somewhere.
The fan seemed just as confused as I was, except her confusion was riddled with rage. She glowered at me, like it was my fault she was being denied a chance to taste a rock god's lips. Which I supposed it was. Then again, I still wasn't sure what to think.
“Whatever,” the fan snarled. “You guys are no Aerosmith.”
With that, she stormed away from Sean, snapped her phone out of my hand, and stomped off to parts unknown. My hand hovered in the air where it had been poised to take photos. I dropped it slowly beside me and looked to Sean, brow knitted in confusion.
He was already pulling the next fan over for a photograph, and one of her friends thrust a phone in my hand. Life grinded along again on its slow axis, even though my own world had just been upended and shaken like a bottle of pulpy orange juice.
Sean's only response to my confused expression was a devilish wink and a smile was so bright and disarming I nearly dropped this new girl's phone.
What the hell just happened?
I started snapping photos, studying Sean through the pixelated screen as if his true intentions might be hiding there. I looked for signs that he'd changed. But he looked exactly the same. The dark fringe of his hair brushed over his forehead, some strands falling down over his dark eyebrows and across the electric blue of his eyes. The curve of his smile was playful yet devious. For all intents and purposes, he was the Rock Star I'd come to both adore and fear. The one with the power to whip thousands of screaming fans into a frenzy, and also the one with the power to crush my burning embers of passion into ash.
What did I mean to Sean? To the Rock Star? This was a question I mulled over while I took photo after photo, an unending line of fans streaming from one side of me to the other.
If I meant more than I thought I did, which was the only conclusion I could come to given today's shocking twist, then I had something of my own to figure out. Sean made my blood hot and my skin electric. He made my body quiver and melt. But what did that mean? And if I allowed myself to fall for him, what would that mean for me?
Forty-Two
Sean
The tour bus loomed ahead of me, and I let out a grateful sigh. My body ached, and I was more tired than I had been in a long time. It was a happy tired though, one cultivated from hours of hard work and hard living. I was a little buzzed, though not usually as drunk or high as I routinely was at the end of one of our parties. Which was also one of the reasons why I was so tired. At this point, I'd normally be reaching for an upper, but the only drug I craved was the comforting nothingness of sleep.
The party had been a quieter one than normal. Or maybe it just seemed quieter when I wasn't trashed off my face. It'd been enjoyable though, and I could easily say it was the first time in a long time I'd left the party with such a feeling of weightless elation. Things seemed like they were going right for once. I didn't know why, but I suspected it had something to do with Hazel. Everything good in my life recently came with the hint of her perfume.
The guys were sprawled across the leather couches inside the wide trailer. Vince passed a joint to Alexander just as I entered, his pink eyes meeting with mine.
“Hey man,” he said. “Surprised you're here tonight.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” His condescending tone pierced a hole in my happy dog, and my good mood slowly leaked away.
Justin was staring at me with a hardened expression. “The first time it happened, we thought you'd passed out drunk somewhere. Then we found out you spent the night with that photographer chick.” He grabbed the joint as it passed down the line and took a deep puff. “I thought sleeping over wasn't your style.”
I narrowed my eyes at them. “What is this? Are you going to sit me down for a fatherly chat?”
“What the fuck happened with the fans tonight?” Justin asked, blowing past my question. “You pissed a bunch of them off. That's not like you.”
I ground my teeth. “Says the guy who claims to know nothing about me.”
“I know you're friendly with the fans. And I know they rely on it. How hard is it to make out with a few needy girls to keep them all happy?”
The rest of the guys seemed to fade into the background. Whatever his issue was, I knew it came from all of them. But none of the others would ever question me like this.
“Tonight, I didn't feel like being as friendly,” I replied. “I'm into Hazel, and I'm trying to balance things out. That's all.” I took a breath, trying to calm the white rage that tingled at my fingertips. “I can be myself and the Rock Star. I don't need to choose.”
“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Justin rose, stalking over to me. He stood a couple inches shorter than me, and I could tell he resented having to direct his glare upwards. “Get your dick out of her and think about the band. This isn't about you. We're a package deal. We have an image to maintain. And maybe this hasn't occurred to you yet, but that image relies on the Rock Star taking the stage and Sean Morris taking the back seat. Especially when it comes to the photographer.”
The rage sizzled as it grew. “She's got a name, man. And you know that.”
“She's got a nice ass and a hot little mouth. But so do millions of other girls.”
“That's enough!” I roared, pushing Justin by the shoulders. He staggered back and fell onto the couch with an expression of bewilderment. “You can all fuck straight off. I'm the fucking golden goose, so that puts me in charge. You all got where you are now from riding on my coat tails, and I refuse to sit here while you spit poison at me.”
None of them said anything. The smoke from the joint, now hanging idly from Alexander’s fingers, was the only thing in the room to move. It curled lazily toward the ceiling while we stared at each other. Then I turned on my heel and stormed out.
I would stay in Hazel's trailer tonight. Hell, maybe I'd stay in Hazel's trailer for the rest of the tour. At least there I could count on some respect.
At least there I was understood.
Forty-Three
Hazel
I stared at the screen, rubbing one of my tired eyes with a closed fist. I should head to bed, but looking over the photos from the day was always my favorite part. I liked seeing all the things I'd missed while taking the photo. And admittedly, I liked treating the photos as memories and sorting back through the moments. Back through Sean's moments. From him coming out on stage and sending a current of pure energy through the crowd, to the photos I'd taken throughout the party where I was obviously still trying to figure him out.
I heard footsteps pounding up the steps to my trailer, but before I even had time to register that somebody was coming, the door was already being flung open. Sean was standing in the doorway, fists clenched and jaw tight.
“Get up.”
Sean's dark, dangerous voice flicked a switch in my body. Suddenly, my skin was on fire.
I did as he said, confused as to why he looked so pissed and expecting some sort of confrontation. For what, I didn't know. And I didn't ask either. It wasn't because I was afraid of him – I would never be afraid of Sean – but because I was rendered speechless by his raw male beauty. The angry grit of his teeth. The flare of his nostrils. And the powerful, sure steps he took toward me before grabbing me by the waist and slamming me back against the trailer wall.
The collision stoked a fire within me, and I moaned before his mouth even crashed over mine. He bit my lip and sent me soaring. I held him tightly, my hands clawing at his back like I was worried I'd float away if I didn't hold on with all my strength.
What had gotten into him? Not that I was complaining, since this was the hottest kiss we'd ever shared. His tongue speared into my mouth, hands holding my body so tightly it felt like there would be handprints on my waist for the rest of my life. My core sizzled with heat, sparking every time he ground his hard length into me. His mouth dominated mine, crushing and bruising my lips until I was breathless with need.
But there was something troubling about the energy running under his skin. Something wasn't right with Sean. Something had happened.
I managed to summon the will to push him back a step, sucking breath into my lungs like I was resurfacing from a long, deep dive.
“Hey,” I said, brushing an inky strand of hair from his face. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong.” He slammed his mouth over mine again. This time it took me longer to untangle the thoughts of concern from the ones of lust.
I pushed him back again. “Sean...”
My warning tone apparently did the trick. His eyes met mine, and though he didn't step back, there was a definite, if momentary, retreat from his pursuit of my body.
“Justin and I had a fight,” he said, his nostrils flaring from the memory. “Apparently the band is concerned about our image. They think because I'm not doing what I'm expected to anymore, not living up to this stupid fucking fantasy our female fans seem to have, that I'm endangering our future.”
I raised my ey
ebrows in surprise. I couldn't tell whether I was more surprised Justin would bring this to Sean's attention or that I wasn't the only one who'd noticed a change in Sean.
“Is it me?” I asked.
Sean's eyes darkened. “Hazel, I don't give a shit what any of those assholes think, okay? And you shouldn't either.”
With that, we were apparently done talking. He leaned down and hoisted me up with his hands on my butt. I swung my legs around his hips, and this time it was me who restarted the kiss.
We could talk about this later. We could think about this later. But there was a fire burning between us I knew was impossible to ignore.
Sean dropped me onto the bed and started ripping off pieces of clothing. He couldn't reach my skin fast enough, and as soon as I was naked before him, he dropped his lips to my neck and began trailing hot, passionate kisses down to my breasts.
He was rougher than normal, biting and sucking as much as he kissed and licked. His fingers dug into the flesh of my breasts, kneading and squeezing. I could barely breathe with the intense pleasure of it all. Could barely think. All I could do was fumble with his clothes as well, urging him to slip out of his pants and boxers while I tore at his shirt.
Sean kissed me again, holding my neck and chin in one hand in a gesture that would have been tender if it weren't so possessive. In his own way, he had fought to make me his tonight, and now he was taking his prize. And god, did it feel good.
