The last two years had seen her mature into a beautiful young woman. She had always been pretty—maybe even too pretty for her years. Now her long legs were less coltish, more shapely. The sophisticated, delicate beauty of her high cheekbones and thin, straight nose that had before made her appear older than her peers in school, were now a graceful, natural fit. The eyes were the same, though. Those extraordinary hazel eyes that could turn green so deeply and suddenly they took your breath away. He had gotten blissfully lost in those eyes so many times.
But as he watched her hug Conor and touch him familiarly, he felt that fracture of his heart once more. He had spent the last couple years thinking of her as the one who rejected him, so to see her here now and focused on Conor only reinforced that bitterness.
The trace memory of another female walking away from him reasserted itself, and he realized with some shame that it was easier to move on without Sophie in order to push past those emotions. And so he had treated her horribly. To protect himself, he rationalized.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So, which one of you came up with the name ‘Rogue’?”
All four boys—Gavin, Conor, Shay, and Martin—burst into laughter. They were crammed into KROQ’s studio doing a live appearance to promote the radio station’s upcoming summer music festival in Irvine, just outside of Los Angeles. Rogue was one of the headliners. They sat elbow to elbow in swivel barstools, headphones on in the low light of an amber wash.
“Ah, I suspect there’s a story there,” the DJ said. He stood opposite them, as he would have been blocked from their view by the various computer monitors and other equipment if he sat down. “Let’s go ahead and take this momentous occasion of your first visit here with us to come clean.”
“No can do,” Gavin said. “We took a solemn vow never to reveal the origins of our band name.”
The others laughed, but the DJ saw his opportunity.
“All right, here’s what I’m going to do. The first caller who can tell me the story will win VIP tickets to see you—Rogue—at the Weenie Roast.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Gavin said.
“It’s a well-guarded secret,” Conor added.
The DJ nodded with obvious skepticism. “We’ll take a quick break and be right back to answer that revealing call.” He gave the station’s number before throwing it to commercial. “You will be astounded at what fans can dig up,” he told the band. “Just wait.”
“I guess we’ll see,” Gavin said.
~
Upon the return from the break, they fielded two calls where fans didn’t even try to take a guess and instead begged for tickets.
“I told you, it’s no use,” Gavin said with a shake of his head.
“You may be right. One more try at this,” the DJ said. “Hello, caller, you’re on the air with the members of Rogue. Can you tell us what the origin of their name is?”
“I’m calling for my friend,” a female voice said. “She’s the one that knows the story but she won’t get on the line.”
“Okay, and what’s your name?”
“Gracelyn.”
“Let’s hear it, then, Gracelyn.”
“I’m not sure I have it exactly right because she started to tell me and then when I said I was going to call in she freaked out. She wants me to hang up right now.”
“This is intriguing,” Gavin said.
“Anyway,” the caller continued, “she said it has something to do with Marty—Martin?—getting confused between the word rogue and a scholarship? Rhodes scholarship?”
“Fuck me,” Conor said.
“Sophie,” Gavin said. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he recalled the exact details of how their band name came to be.
The band’s practice had been cut short by rain. The band, plus Sophie, were all crowded into Conor’s room, as Beck’s Midnite Vultures played in the background. Conversation turned, as it increasingly had, to the inevitable need to go to London in order to get recognized. Conor sat on the end of his bed, toying with an acoustic guitar version of their song, “Feel It.” Gavin beat the floor in time, mouthing the lyrics inaudibly.
“What we need is a manager,” Shay said. “If we could get someone to work for us, someone who actually knows what the fuck he’s doing—”
“Unlike us!” Martin added with a laugh.
“Aye, we’re not the greatest band in the world, but we will be,” Gavin said, interrupting himself mid-lyric as Conor played on.
“True, enough,” Shay said. “But to get there, we have to find someone who has a bleeding clue about the music industry. I’m not sure going to London just for the sake of it will help us much.”
“When would you go?” Sophie asked, eyeing Gavin.
“Dunno, darlin’.”
“There’s not much to stick around here for,” Conor said.
“Well . . . .” Gavin looked at his girlfriend and gave her a reassuring smile.
“What, you’re going to let a girl stop you, Gav? You—the most ambitious of us all?”
“There’s no rush at this very moment, Con. We haven’t even played a single gig yet. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Yeah, and Sophie’s not going to be here forever, either,” Martin reminded them.
“Just the school year,” Sophie agreed, unable to keep the sadness from her voice.
“Look, Sophie, you can work it out,” Martin suggested. “You’re a smart girl—get yourself a rogue scholarship and come back for university.”
Sophie met Gavin’s eyes and after a moment they both laughed.
“What?” Martin asked, his face coloring.
“I’m sorry,” Gavin said with a grin, “what kind of scholarship?”
“Rogue.” Martin said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world and weren’t they idiots for not knowing what he was saying.
But his response was met with laughter from all of them this time. Conor put down his guitar, went to his bookshelf and pulled out a thick, antiquated dictionary. He let it drop with a thud in Martin’s lap.
“Do us a favor, then. Look up rogue and tell us what it means.”
“Just tell me what I did wrong,” Martin said mournfully.
“Now, now—you’ll never learn ‘til you look for yourself,” Gavin chimed in, grinning.
“Thanks very much, mother,” Martin replied as he opened the fat text.
They all waited in anticipation as he flipped through the pages.
“Ha ha. So I was a wee bit off. Rogue: somebody who is unscrupulous or dishonest, especially somebody who is nevertheless likable,” he read with a flat voice. “A fun-loving, mischievous person; an individual varying markedly from the standard. There, happy?”
“Good word,” Sophie said.
“Wrong one though, I get it,” Martin said and smiled, shaking his head.
“Let me see that,” Gavin said, taking the book from him. He scanned the other definitions and found one marked “dated” and read it aloud to the others, “A rogue is also a person who jokes and behaves in a way which you do not approve of but whom you do not want to criticize because you like them too much.”
“All right! I get it—joke’s not funny anymore,” Martin said.
“No, Marty, I’m not joking you,” Gavin said. “It is a good word. Seems to me . . . it’s a good name for our band.”
There was silence as they all contemplated the idea. Finally, Conor nodded and without a word picked up his guitar and began to play again. Gavin looked at Martin and was met with a proud grin—he had discovered it after all. Finally, Shay appeared unsure as he squinted at the thought of it for a moment. At last, he nodded in approval.
“Then it’s settled. Rogue.”
~
“Sophie? Are you there?” Gavin asked, pushing his chair behind him as he stood up.
“Who is Sophie?” the DJ asked.
“Please, Gracelyn? It’s Gracelyn, is it?” Gavin closed his eyes and bowed his head, pressin
g his headphones tighter to his ears with both hands.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Please won’t you put Sophie on the line? I need to speak with her.”
“Gavin, not like this,” Conor said urgently but Gavin ignored him.
It had been nine months since the show at the Palladium where Gavin had cruelly dismissed Sophie. In that time, he had thought of her often. There was no doubt in his mind that he had been an immature ass but he hadn’t been able to find the courage to reach out to her. Now it seemed she had made the first effort once again and he wasn’t going to screw it up this time.
There was a muffled conversation on the line, the reluctance on Sophie’s part clear enough.
But then he heard Sophie’s voice as she said a soft hello.
Gavin let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Opening his eyes, he fixated on the chrome pole holding the microphone in front of him. “Sophie, I’m so glad you called.”
“I didn’t call, actually. That was Gracelyn. I learned my lesson. I’m not trying to force anything, okay?”
“No, don’t say that. I know I was a dick last time. Let me apologize in person. I need to see you. I need it like oxygen, darlin’.”
He saw Conor shaking his head out of the corner of his eye. Their manager, James Kelly, was squeezed into a corner just beyond them and his face was flushed red, matching the color of his hair. The DJ was watching him with barely contained glee at the intrigue of it all. Let them gawk, Gavin thought. His need to connect with Sophie far outweighed any of their concerns.
“Look, I know I’ve a slagging coming. And I’ll only welcome it. As long as you give it to me in person. Say yes, Sophie,” Gavin said.
“Um, I guess we won the VIP tickets to the Weenie Roast? I can see you there?”
“Is that the best you can do?” He hoped she would remember the expression. They had often used it to challenge each other, both playfully and during a row.
“It is.”
Gavin nodded to himself, despite the disappointment of her response. “That’s grand, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The connection was broken as the DJ told Sophie to hold the line so that she could give her information to a production assistant.
For the rest of their segment, Gavin rebuffed efforts to get him to elaborate on what had just happened live on the air, while Conor diligently pushed the conversation back to the band and their upcoming performance.
CHAPTER NINE
Gavin exited the elevator and rounded the corner toward his hotel room. The band was staying at Chateau Marmont in West Hollywood for a few days and had already taken full advantage of the pool during the day and the Bar Marmont during the evenings. Since its inception in the late 1920s, the hotel had famously cultivated a celebrity clientele, carefully marketing the prospect of star-gazing opportunities for other guests who craved proximity to fame. And now Rogue was staying there as both minor celebrities and tourists themselves.
If Gavin hadn’t forgotten his cell phone, he would still be at the bar with the others. But as soon as he turned toward his room he knew his evening plans had changed completely.
A blond girl sat on the floor in front of his door. She wore a light summer dress with a cropped jean jacket and was toying with her own cell phone. It took him less than a second to recognize her.
“Sophie,” he said, his smile wide and beyond his control.
Startled, she looked up at him and scrambled to her feet at the same time. “I’m sorry to bother you like this. I just didn’t want to meet again in the middle of a crowded room.”
“Come here,” he said. He reached out to hug her but she shook her head.
“I just wanted you to know that I’m not coming tomorrow. In case it mattered.”
“Jesus, Sophie.” He dragged his hand through his unruly hair, letting it rest on the back of his neck as he appraised her. “So, that’s it, then?”
“I—”
“You want nothing to do with me? After what we had?”
“Gavin, don’t—”
”You’re giving up? You’re—”
“You broke my heart! You broke it.”
He froze as he took in her declaration. He saw her eyes tear up and darken. “Darlin’, I know. Just—”
A well-dressed couple in their thirties appeared at the end of the hall, hanging on to each other as they staggered and laughed drunkenly. They seemed to find it hilarious that they were having such a hard time getting their key to open the door to their room.
Gavin used the distraction to open his own door. “Come in. So we can talk for just a minute.” He searched her eyes but couldn’t read her. He guessed it was because she didn’t know her own mind at that second. “Please.”
Holding the door open wide, he gestured for her to enter with his other arm. She hesitantly stepped inside, and he knew he needed to be careful not to spook her.
~
The room was small, decorated true to its original design with antique pieces of furniture, though its baseboards and carpet had gone unmaintained over the years. Sophie felt claustrophobic as Gavin shut the door behind him.
She had wound herself up into a mess of anxiety after the phone call to the radio station. It had all played out so quickly. One minute she and Gracelyn were talking about going to a party that night to celebrate the end of finals, and the next minute the radio in the background caught their attention. Sophie had tried to pretend disinterest but her friend would have none of it. Before she knew it, Gracelyn had coaxed out of her a brief description of how the name Rogue came to be.
She had never intended to reach out to Gavin again. Not after how he had treated her last time. Despite her belief that he had been putting on a macho rock star show and that he couldn’t have really meant to be so cruel, she knew the bottom line was that whatever they had was over.
But hearing his pleading voice over the phone had felt so good, so reminiscent of the boy she had known. And she had come close to being seduced by it. But after the adrenaline rush faded, she realized she had no desire to set herself up to experience a repeat of the casual arrogance he had displayed at the Palladium. Especially not in another backstage scenario with groupies and other hangers on watching the spectacle.
It wasn’t hard to sort out that the band was staying at this well-known hotel. Gavin was a rock music aficionado and would have been curious about its history of wild escapades from the likes of Led Zeppelin and Jim Morrison of The Doors. She had called and asked for Gavin’s room and was put through without delay. The band wasn’t big enough to need false names.
And now she was here, in front of him. To what end? Why hadn’t she just not shown up at the festival? The answer was obvious to them both as they locked eyes. He closed the short distance between them. Her heartbeat quickened and her breathing went shallow. The heat of mutual desire was palpable.
“This heart,” he said as he brushed his fingertips over the bare skin below her clavicle, “if I broke it, I want to mend it now.”
Sophie shivered with the tickle of his touch and caught him trying to hold back a smile. She took a step back, her legs pushing up against the bed.
“I may have been waiting for you at your hotel room, but I’m not your groupie. Don’t insult me with a line like that.”
His face fell but she saw that her words had reached his core. He took a step back and had the decency to look embarrassed.
“This is why I didn’t want to see you in the mix of all the ‘rock star’ stuff. I know it’s been three years, but don’t forget that I know you.”
He looked away from her, to windows that were only partially covered by the sheer curtains. The bright city lights shone through, and the Sunset Boulevard traffic was a constant hum.
“At least,” she continued, “I know who you were. I don’t know the person I saw last time. I guess part of why I came tonight is to find out why you were like that. With me. Me, Gavin.”
He looked back at her an
d she could see him pulling up a wall around himself. His body lost its natural fluidity and his eyes lost focus.
“I’ll admit I was a bastard. Okay? I was just caught up in the whole scene we’re in now. It’s a fucking head trip, suddenly being catered to for any little whim. I guess I’ve gotten carried away with it. I’m sorry.”
She eyed him but he didn’t continue. “Is that the best you can do?”
“Fuck’s sake. I’m sorry, Sophie. What more can I say?”
“I guess that’s it.” She nodded while at the same time blinking back tears. There was nothing else to say. That spark, the magic they had shared hadn’t just faded. It was dead.
“No, don’t go,” he said when she took a step toward the door. “Sophie,” he said, desperation in his voice, “you broke my heart, too. You broke it first.”
~
There he went again. Exposing his wounded heart. Sophie had always held the key to unlocking his most tortured and unvarnished emotions. This was different from the reputation he had fast been earning for being confessional in his songs and interviews. Those efforts were more calibrated than what they appeared, though. He had a natural instinct for how to manipulate his songs and image. That didn’t carry over into how to handle his emotions when it came to Sophie.
She turned back to him, incredulous. “What does that mean?”
“Darlin’, don’t you know it gutted me when you left?”
“It was hard for both of us, but what other choice was there?”
He watched her for a moment, trying to conjure up something other than his truth. Fuck it, he thought, opting to confess all.
“You know very well that the choice was for you to stay and for us to get married.”
Sophie mirrored the reaction she had given him the first time he suggested this three years earlier. It was a quick dismissal of the idea.
“I was sixteen—”
“Nearly seventeen.”
“Gavin, it was romantic and amazing for you to even consider such a thing. But we both knew it was impossible.”
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