The Jagged Heart

by Trinity Lee

  The Jagged Heart

  The Jagged Heart

  Midpoint

  The Jagged Heart

  (Book 1 of the Phoenix Murphy Story)

  by Trinity Lee

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

  Copyright © by Trinity Lee 2012

  Smashwords License Statement

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental. Contains graphic sexual content. Not recommended for those under 18.

  All characters depicted are over 18 years of age. This is a work of sexual fantasy and does not recommend or endorse unsafe sex.

  *****

  He paced and up and down relentlessly. He was miserable, he was alone, but more than anything, he was hungry. He opened the fridge door again, as though food might have miraculously appeared while he wasn't looking. Nothing. A can of soda and a small block of cheese growing blue mold.

  He glanced out of the window. They were all down there still: photographers with long-range lenses and reporters with laptops and some with old-fashioned pen-and-paper notebooks. There was no way he could risk a walk to the shops with the press pack there, and he'd burned so many bridges in his home town that there was no one he could call and ask to go to the shops for him.

  He couldn't believe how quickly he'd become institutionalized, used to having someone do everything for him. Leaving a band as big as Mudride was like being discharged from prison, or from a psychiatric ward, he reflected. For two years, he hadn't had to book a plane ticket, a hotel room, buy groceries or pay a bill. Fay was always there to handle stuff like that for him, and if Fay wasn't around, someone from the record company would do it.

  Phoenix distractedly ran a hand through his mop of brown hair, narrowed the dark eyes that had broken thousands of fans' hearts and sat down on the bed with his guitar, soundlessly strumming. No point in plugging it in. The walls were paper-thin, and the neighbors here hadn't been impressed with him even when he was the guitarist in one of the world's biggest touring bands, let alone now he was a washed-up twenty-one-year-old with scandal trailing in his wake.

  He had enough money in the bank to last a few months, and the rent was paid up for six, but his problems went deeper than just cash. He'd left a trail of destruction behind him. After all, he wasn't the only one who was sitting in a room kicking his heels and wondering what to do next. When he'd walked out, finally did it after months of threats, the band were mid-tour and halfway through promoting their new album, and now they'd had to cancel tour dates all over the world, leaving fans furious and promoters demanding their money back.

  He knew that they wouldn't be able to recruit a new guitarist in time to carry on the tour, and he'd chosen the time of his departure to cause as much chaos as he could. He felt sorry for Dylan and Zed - they were his friends and none of this was their fault - but more than anything, he wanted to destroy Taylor, Mudride's too-hot-to-handle lead singer. All Taylor cared about was Mudride, and Phoenix knew that wrecking the band was the best way to get at him.

  He sighed. He couldn't remember when getting revenge had become such a big part of his life. Was it only two years since he'd sat in the same studio apartment, breathless with the excitement of being asked to audition to join his favorite band? He'd been so innocent then, little more than a nineteen-year-old fan handed a winning ticket in the lottery of life, his hours of obsessive practice in his small-town bedroom turning into a reward he could not have dreamt of.

  And now he couldn't even go home to his mom and step-dad. The gossip mags had filled pages every week with every little detail of his on-off-on-again-off-again relationship with Taylor, and he burned with shame at the memory of how he'd let his mom discover the truth from a sleazy gossip column, instead of calling her and warning her. The fact that she'd been totally cool about it just made him feel even worse, and it hadn't sat right with him ever since.

  Damn Taylor. Even hundreds of miles away in LA, Taylor haunted him, invading his thoughts at every turn. Those ice-cold pale blue eyes, the taut, whip-thin body, the hands and lips that could melt him inside and make him feel like no one had ever made him feel, before and since: Phoenix was obsessed, and the only way he knew to get Taylor out of his system for once and all was to keep a safe physical distance between them.

  The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time. He groaned. It would only be a matter of time before the neighbors complained about the scrum outside and he had to move out. He'd thought the madness wouldn't last more than three or four days at most, but it had been more than a week, and they showed no sign of leaving.

  He walked over to the door and pressed the intercom without waiting to hear what the sleazeball had to say, whoever it was.

  He knew there were good journos, of course, like Ethan, who had promised to be so much more than just a friend until Phoenix had hurt him, too, but they were few and far between.

  "Why don't you fuck off and leave me alone?" he snarled into the box. "Go and find yourselves someone else to stalk."

  "Phoenix, stop being an asshole and let me in."

  He stepped back in shock. It wasn't the last voice he expected to hear - that would have been Taylor's - but it was close.

  The last time he'd seen Mudride's bass player, it was the look of disappointment in Dylan's eyes that had hurt him the most. Dylan had been the rock that he turned to every time things got bad with Taylor, and he had even fallen asleep in Dylan's arms one night after writing himself off with a bottle of Jack and sobbing himself into a stupor.

  He'd wondered briefly how his life would have turned out if he'd fallen for Dylan instead of Taylor... not that he'd planned to lose his heart to a guy in the first place. But nothing had ever happened between Phoenix and the handsome blond bass player - and nothing ever would, now that Dylan was head-over-heels crazy in love with his tattooist boyfriend, Sam. No, he and Dylan were like brothers, or they had been until Phoenix ruined it all.

  "OK, but make sure you don't let in any of the scum that are down there," he said, buzzing Dylan in and leaving the door open.

  Thirty seconds later, Dylan was in through the door, hands up in surrender.

  "It's OK, I haven't come to give you a hard time," he said, his blue eyes showing nothing but compassion for the sorry figure slumped on the narrow bed.

  He loped over to Phoenix and put his arm around him.

  Phoenix leaned against him, grateful for the first physical contact he'd had with anyone in five days.

  Dylan put his hands on Phoenix's shoulders and looked him in the eye.

  "Don't worry, Murphy, I'm not here to talk you out of it. We tried that and I know your mind's made up. I hope you don't hate me for what I'm going to ask you."

  "Ask away. My life really can't get a lot worse." Phoenix's voice was dull.

  "I've got a hired bike outside. If we can lose the paps, there's someone I need to take you to meet."

  Phoenix recoiled in shock.

  "If it's Taylor..."

  "It's not Taylor," reassured Dylan. "There's no way I'd do that to you. I'm sorry I can't tell you any more, but if I let you know it's something you can do for the band, to stop the whole thing going down the toile
t, is that enough? I know you'd like that to happen to Taylor, but think about it: do you really want to hurt me and Zed, too?"

  Phoenix stared at Dylan, trying to second-guess him. If it wasn't Taylor, who in hell was it? And what could it possibly have to do with him?

  "OK," he said reluctantly. "I've been climbing the walls in here. And you're right: I owe you and Zed. But if you're taking me to see Taylor, then I'll never speak to you again."

  Dylan put his arms around Phoenix, and Phoenix relaxed against his chest, briefly tempted to kiss Dylan on the lips and see what happened, then remembering about Sam. Moving in on Dylan like that would be a manipulative move worthy of Taylor, and Phoenix didn't want to be anything like Taylor any more.

  "I wouldn't do that to you, Murphy," said Dylan, ruffling Phoenix's hair. "Taylor's my buddy, asshole that he is, but he doesn't know that I'm here. You gotta believe me."

  Phoenix was already up off the bed, eager to leave his prison.

  "We gotta get past this lot first. How fast did you say your bike was?"

  The hired Harley proved itself more than capable of outrunning the pack, and Phoenix was almost sorry when the ride ended outside an anonymous motel just outside the city limits. It was good to have the wind in his hair again, leaning into Dylan's leather-jacketed back and forgetting his troubles.

  His curiosity was piqued now. Who the hell stayed in a place like this? And what was Dylan up to that was unsanctioned by Taylor? If it was to do with the band, then going behind Taylor's back like this was seriously risky.

  As they walked up the single flight of rickety stairs, Dylan had a spring in his step, Phoenix noted, like he was excited about something.

  He tapped hard on a door, and a guy, wearing only a faded pair of jeans, opened it and pulled Dylan into a tight hug, smiling over Dylan's shoulder at Phoenix.

  Phoenix recognized him instantly, and a shock wave ran through him.

  Caedem Hardy. More than two years since Phoenix had last seen him in the flesh, even if that had been at a distance of fifty feet, Caedem on stage with Mudride, and Phoenix in the audience, a nineteen-year-old fan.

  He'd have known Caedem anywhere, even without the curly dark hair that was now transformed into a severe buzz-cut. When Phoenix had replaced Caedem as Mudride's guitarist, everyone had commented on the similarity, but Phoenix had never seen it himself. Until now.

  Caedem released Dylan and stretched his hand out to Phoenix, who looked at Dylan, bewildered.

  "What's going on?"

  Dylan smiled enigmatically.

  "I'll leave you guys to it. Best if I don't interfere. Murphy, call me if you need a ride back. I'm in town for the next twenty-four hours, and I'm booked into a room on the top floor here - 304."

  And before Phoenix, open-mouthed, could protest, Dylan was slipping down the stairs, revving up the Harley, and then the engine faded into the distance, and he was standing in the entrance of a cheap motel room, faced with a guy he never thought he'd meet.

  "I shouldn't be here," muttered Phoenix. "It's too weird, and I'm not in a good place right now."

  But Caedem reached out his hand and put it on his arm, and suddenly the force between them became something unbreakable, and a shiver went through Phoenix's whole body as he saw into his future.

  "Please. Just let me explain."

  And so Phoenix followed him into the room, heart in his mouth, feeling that his life was going to be turned upside down all over again, and hating Dylan for doing this to him.

  The room was empty and as bare as a monk's cell, except for the four beautiful guitars lined up against the wall. Phoenix never let anyone else touch his own guitars, but he couldn't resist, heading for the vintage Strat and picking it up, strumming the first chords of the first Mudride song he had ever learned, the irony totally lost on him.

  Caedem threw back his head and laughed in disbelief.

  "You play that better than I ever did and I wrote the fucking thing," he said wryly. "Talk about the apprentice outclassing the master."

  Phoenix was suddenly shy as Caedem sat down on the bed beside him.

  Caedem was only seven years older than him, but the guy was a legend. It was his technique that Phoenix had copied, his picture that had adorned Phoenix's teenage bedroom wall, his chords that he had learned by heart - and his place that Phoenix had taken in Mudride.

  When he'd joined the band, it was as if Caedem had ceased to exist. Such was Taylor's fury at his betrayal that Zed and Dylan were forbidden even to mention his name, and on the few occasions Phoenix had asked questions about him, Taylor's anger had burned so white-hot that he hadn't done it again.

  Phoenix glanced sideways at him. He was even more beautiful close up than he'd looked on stage or in photographs, his fine features and full lips accentuated by the severity of his haircut. And as he looked deep into Caedem's eyes, Phoenix saw himself, not only in the similarity of their coloring, but also in the pain hidden inside them.

  Phoenix had so many questions but, as he gently leaned the guitar back against the wall, he knew they could wait.

  There was something about Caedem's presence that filled the room and made Phoenix gravitate towards him like a moth to a flame. He reached out his hand and touched Caedem's arm, and there it was again: that electricity.

  Caedem covered Phoenix's hand with his own, and for a moment, Phoenix thought he was going to pull him towards him, but instead he removed Phoenix's hand from his arm.

  "I didn't ask Dylan to bring you here for this," he said.

  "For what?" breathed Phoenix, moving closer, so he could see the fine lines around Caedem's eyes and inhale the warmth of his skin.

  "He's taught you well," said Caedem bitterly, and both of them knew he meant Taylor.

  "Then why am I here?" Phoenix pouted.

  "I've got a business proposal," said Caedem. "Or rather, Dylan has. You've just done to Taylor exactly what I did more than two years ago - and look where it got me. I got a one-way ticket to rehab. Taylor got you, and made a million. If you think you can screw him over by leaving the band mid-tour, think again. He'll regroup and replace you, just like he did me.

  "The only people you're hurting are Zed and Dylan. And yourself. Dylan called me up to see if I'd rejoin the band for the rest of the tour, so they can fulfill their touring commitments and make sure the album doesn't bomb. I can learn the chords from the songs you wrote for the last two albums by listening to them a few times, but it'd be quicker and more authentic if you taught me."

  Phoenix laughed incredulously.

  "Why would I do that?" he spat. "Dylan's crazy if he thinks I'd help Taylor get the band back together."

  Caedem turned to him, and suddenly he looked older than his twenty-eight years, misery in the almond-shaped, so-brown-they-were-almost-black eyes that were the only ones Phoenix had ever seen that were exactly the same color as his own.

  "It's not about Taylor," he said. "Forget Taylor. Think about Dylan and Zed and the number of times they've been there for you."

  "What's Dylan told you?" hissed Phoenix, his face close to Caedem's.

  Caedem shrugged, and Phoenix could see the honesty there, and the pain.

  "Nothing. But I was you, remember. You took the place I'd had for seven years and the dynamics of the band stayed the same. I know Dylan was there for you because he was there for me, picking up the pieces every time Taylor..."

  "So it's true about you and Taylor," challenged Phoenix. "Taylor never talked about it, and Dylan and Zed always changed the subject when I talked about you."

  "Yes, it's true," sighed Caedem. "In the end, the only way I could get away from him was by doing what you did - walking away. Just don't make the same mistake I made and think you can hurt Taylor. The guy's not human. He doesn't have feelings like you or me."