Hard Rock Fling: A Rock Star Romance

by Athena Wright

  "Goodnight, Ian."

  "Bye." He wouldn't look at me.

  I closed the door behind me softly.

  The further I got from his apartment, the stronger the ache in my chest grew. I forced myself to ignore it.

  I wasn't kidding myself. As much as I wished it were otherwise, I'd known what we had was temporary. I'd done the right thing by calling it off before things went too far.

  But somewhere deep inside, I could feel my heart shattering anyway.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ian's ego must have taken a huge blow. Being the one broken up with, and not the other way around, had clearly effected him.

  I hadn't wanted things to be awkward between us. That was wishful thinking. He'd been avoiding me ever since our "break up." He barely glanced at me when we were in the same room together. From the way he acted, it was like no girl had ever turned him down before.

  He didn't seem angry with me. He simply didn't acknowledge my presence. Whenever I directed a question at him, Damon answered, pretending to be his brother.

  I had expected Ian to shrug and tell me something flippant like, it was fun while it lasted. But instead, he had quietly agreed and then proceeded to deny my very existence.

  Or maybe that's what he did whenever he dumped a girl. Maybe he stopped caring entirely.

  We're just having fun.

  She's nothing to me.

  The memory of Ian's words made my throat close up. I didn't expect things would be like this when I broke it off. I expected Ian and I could still be, if not friends, at least on friendly terms with each other.

  It turned out, I really did mean nothing to him in the end.

  "You sure you want to sit in on this?" one of the assistants asked me. "It's going to be the same old questions they're always asked."

  The band was scheduled to appear on a local talk show to promote their new album. It wasn't finished yet, but the marketing department decided to get ahead of promotions. They wanted fans excited before releasing a single song.

  I tagged along because I wanted to see them in action, so to speak, when they talked to the DJ. Every person acts slightly different depending on the situation, whether signing autographs for fans, performing on stage, or talking to the media. I needed to know more about Darkest Days to make sure I was getting the concepts right. I needed to make sure the concepts really fit with their personalities.

  My mind threatened to drift to Ian again. My chest began to ache. I viciously yanked my thoughts back to the present.

  I took note of my surroundings to distract myself. The radio studio was like a police station interview room from a TV show. There was a table in the middle of the room with a chair on one side and a second chair across from it. The wall nearest the door had a one-way mirror. It was cold and sterile, aside from the microphones and other recording equipment on the table.

  "You sure it's a radio interview and not an interrogation?" I muttered.

  Another assistant shot me a glare, shushing me as she walked by with an extra chair under her arm. She set a group of five chairs around the table so the band could sit comfortably. I'd arrived early with the others. The radio host was nowhere to be seen.

  There was a commotion in the hallway. The band had arrived. I resisted the urge to duck behind one of the other interns. I didn't need to. I was on the other side of the recording room, behind the one-way mirror. The guys couldn't see me through the glass.

  They were dressed up as if they were ready to go on stage. Odd, considering it was a radio interview. No one would see what they looked like. I noticed a few people snapping pictures here and there, and then it made more sense. The PR and social media team would no doubt be posting pictures of this interview all over the internet.

  Cameron was the only one dressed sort of normal — or as normal as Cameron could get, which simply meant he was wearing a t-shirt to go along with his dark denim and decorative chains. His bright red hair was wild as ever, strands falling over his face, nearly obscuring his kohl-smudged eyes.

  Black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt was August's usual outfit. Platinum blond hair was tied at the back of his neck. Despite the loose hair that kept falling out of his short ponytail and into his face, his thoughtful expression didn't falter into annoyance once.

  Noah had slung his ever-present leather jacket over his shoulder instead of wearing it. The tight black t-shirt fit him well, although the dark color hid the toned abs all fangirls squealed over during their rare appearance.

  Ian and Damon walked in last, green eyes flashing with mirth at something Cameron said. A spike of painful desire speared my heart. Heat flooded through my body, centering between my legs.

  Every. Single. Time. The longer I went without being in Ian's presence, the more I forgot how much power he had over me. Then I would see him again and be reminded. Vividly.

  I fought to put my feelings aside and simply observe. The Twins both wore matching Metallica shirts and faded jeans ripped at the knees. Their hair was styled up, spiked, but still seemed soft to the touch.

  I knew exactly how soft Ian's hair was. I'd run my hands through it countless times while he'd kissed me. While he'd touched me. While he'd been inside me.

  My thighs clenched together at the flood of memories.

  Why exactly had I called it off again?

  Ian's eyes flickered around the room, as if seeking something. He glanced at the mirror and stopped. He was staring right at me. He couldn't see me, could he? The glass only went one way. My breath caught in my throat as I met his green eyes.

  This. This was exactly why I'd called it off. One look and I was ready to melt. One look and my heart throbbed with longing.

  I made the right choice, I told myself. None of it was real. It was just sex.

  And that's all it was ever going to be.

  "Glad you all could make it." The radio DJ walked in a few seconds after the band members took their seats. She wore a plain navy shift-style dress but was well accessorized with thin silver and gold necklaces around her neck and matching bracelets.

  I wondered if she always dressed up for work, or if this was because she was interviewing a famous rock group. She appeared tired with bags under her eyes, which explained the extra large coffee she carried. I watched with the other assistants and interns behind the mirror as she shook hands with them all and made her greetings.

  "Nice to meet you all. My name's Tonya." She sat and took a huge gulp of her coffee before continuing. "If you don't mind, I'll go over a few of the questions I'll be asking, so we can make sure the interview goes off without a hitch."

  "Our manager sent over a list of questions you're to ask us." August gave Tonya a pointed stare.

  "Yes, I've read them. I won't go off script too much, but sometimes interviewee answers take us to interesting places. If we're veering too close to a subject you don't wish to talk about, let me know."

  Cameron leaned over and whispered something to Noah, who let out a small snort.

  "Mostly I'll be asking about your new album," she continued. "Your inspirations, where you got your ideas, things like that. Noah, I'll also be asking about the meaning of the lyrics. You're the main lyricist, right?"

  Noah nodded shortly.

  "And August, you're the main composer?"

  "That's right. Although we all work together to finalize every piece."

  "Actually, each of us has worked on individual songs," Cameron said, "so there's at least one written and composed solely from each member on this album."

  Tonya's eyes lit up. "I'll be sure to ask each of you about that." Her eyes shifted to a digital clock on the wall counting down and hurriedly took another few mouthfuls of coffee. "We'll be on air in about thirty seconds. Put on your earphones and sit closer to the microphones."

  The band arranged themselves in time for the ten second mark. The on-air light flipped on. Tonya immediately broke out into a huge smile as she spoke into the microphone and introduced her guests. The
smile made her voice sound cheerful and wide awake. Maybe that was her own version of fake-it-til-you-make-it.

  "So fellas," Tonya asked, bright and chipper. "First things first. Why don't you say hello to your fans who are listening. Our social media feed exploded when we announced you'd be on."

  "Our fans are the absolute best," Cameron said. He leaned into the microphone. "You hear that guys? We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. We love each and every one of you."

  "I can practically hear the screams from here," Tonya said. "You just set aflame the hearts of a hundred girls."

  "Only a hundred?" Cameron sounded insulted.

  "You're lucky if it's a hundred," Noah muttered, his arms folded over his chest. Cameron made a face at him.

  "Is that why you always strip on stage?" Tonya asked. "To appease your fans?"

  "Nothing makes girls cream in their panties more than a shirtless guy in jeans. And I would know." He gave a smug grin.

  Tonya moved on smoothly, "let's talk about your new songs. I've heard it's a concept album. Can you tell us a little bit about it?"

  "The theme of the album is the rise and fall of a relationship," August answered. "From first love, to passionate sex to heartbreak."

  "And the album was a team effort?"

  "We all worked together closely to make it the best we could," Damon answered.

  "Noah, how do you feel about singing other people's lyrics?"

  "It's fine."

  Cameron nudged him with an elbow. Noah grumbled quietly, but sat up and answered.

  "The words don't need to be written by me. It's fine as long as I can understand the meaning behind them. The guys and I have worked together for a long time. When I read the words they've written, I can feel the truth of their feelings in my heart."

  It was such a poetic thing to say. It was also the most I'd heard Noah speak. His gravelly voice sounded as erotic in person as it did on stage.

  "Cameron mentioned before the interview each member wrote a song themselves. August, did you find it difficult to write lyrics?" Tonya continued. "You're mainly the composer, yes?"

  "Lyrics aren't my strong point," August admitted. "It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to say."

  "And what is that, exactly?" Tonya pressed.

  "You'll find out when the album is released."

  "Fair enough. Cameron, what about you?"

  "Writing my own song was so much fun. Although August made me take out all the really dirty words, that jerk. He wouldn't even let me say fuc—"

  Noah clamped a hand over Cameron's mouth.

  "Remember boys, we are on public radio."

  "And then we've got The Twins," Cameron continued. "Their song rocks."

  "You two wrote your song together?" Tonya asked.

  "We did," Ian answered, leaning forward into the microphone. "My brother and I wrote these awesome dueling guitar solos. The fans are gonna go crazy over it."

  "I thought each of you worked on a single song yourselves," Tonya asked.

  "The Twins are basically one person anyway," Cameron said.

  Ian froze, his shoulders tensing up.

  "Why didn't you each write your own song?" Tonya asked.

  "Damian wrote the song," Damon said.

  "That's what we call those two." Cameron jerked a thumb at both of them. "Damon and Ian."

  "And which one is which?" Tonya asked.

  "Doesn't matter." Damon chuckled. "Like Cam said, we're practically the same person."

  Ian turned away. His eyes almost met mine through the mirror again before they flicked away, a pained expression on his face.

  A beep sounded in the room and Tonya glanced at the clock quickly. "It looks like it's time for a commercial break. We'll be back in a few minutes with more questions for Darkest Days." Tonya took off her headset and shook out her hair. "Great job so far. You've got a few minutes."

  The guys got up from their seats and stretched their limbs. Ian made a beeline for the door. It caught my attention, but no one else noticed. Damon was distracted by Cameron making a wisecrack, joining in with the laughter.

  I got the urge to follow him, but stopped myself. So what if Ian was upset? So what if no one else noticed? It wasn't my business anymore. Whatever it was, he could handle it himself.

  But Damon and Ian's voice kept echoing in my ears.

  We did everything we could to keep it a secret.

  She won't find out!

  Worry filled my chest. I remembered what I'd asked him that night at his apartment, before I'd broken it off.

  Has Damon helped you through stuff?

  Just the usual bullshit.

  But Damon's attention was elsewhere. He hadn't noticed his brother run off.

  And that look I'd seen on Ian's face…

  You should go after him, August had said at Cameron's party. Don't let him be alone.

  I bolted from my chair and ran.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ian had almost disappeared down the hallway. I was about to call out to him when he slipped into the men's washroom. I hesitated. Maybe he wasn't upset after all? Maybe he really just needed a break. I still wanted to talk to him and make sure he was okay. I waited.

  Swearing and cursing came through the washroom door. Ian's voice. I paused for a brief moment — this was the men's washroom, after all — before pushing open the door. I hoped there was no one else inside. That would be beyond awkward. There was row of stalls and empty urinals. I turned the corner to find Ian standing in front of the mirror over the sinks.

  My heart stopped.

  Ian's fingers were covered in blood. He pressed a wad of paper towel to his lower arm, near the back of his wrist. His whole body was shaking. The counter was smeared with red. My breath hitched, echoing loudly among the tiled walls.

  He whirled around. His eyes were wide and glassy. The expression on his face went from shock, to shame, to anger, all within seconds.

  "Get out," he snarled. He pressed harder on his wrist.

  I realized what this was, what Ian was doing. It was like a blow to my chest.

  "Ian…" I couldn't make myself say anything other than his name.

  He growled and whirled around, shoulders hunched over. "I'm fine. The hand dryer had a sharp edge. That's all."

  My heart nearly burst out of my chest with a dozen emotions. Fear, worry, nausea. I struggled to push them aside. The last thing Ian needed right now was for me to freak out. I slowly pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and folded them over. I approached from behind on uneasy feet.

  "Let me see." I kept my voice steady and purposely soft. He yanked his arm away when I reached for it.

  "I told you to get out."

  I placed a hand on his back and felt him shaking. "It's okay. Let me help."

  "I don't need your help." But despite his words he seemed to deflate, all fight going out of him. I took his limp arm and pulled away the wad of blood-soaked paper.

  I winced. A long, thin cut on the back of his arm. Perfectly straight, no jagged edges. It was deep. I was sure it went deeper than he'd planned.

  I kept my voice to a near whisper. "Was it a razor blade?"

  He swallowed, a thick sound, before taking in a shaky breath. He nodded silently.

  I placed the fresh wad of paper towel over the wound and pressed. Ian hissed, jerking away reflexively. I held on, not letting him go.

  We were both quiet for long moments, me with my head bowed over his injured arm, him with his face turned away. He stared at the door like he was contemplating making a run for it.

  I took his other hand and pressed it over the cut in place of mine. I wet another handful of paper and cleaned his hands and the sink, wiping away the streaks of blood.

  "How long has this been going on?"

  He didn't answer. Instead, he peeled off the paper towel and showed me.

  Dozens of thin scars with ridged skin, silvery-pink. One single line of scabbed over skin. It couldn't ha
ve been more than a few weeks old.

  "That time I saw you coming from the washroom. This is what you were doing?"

  His hands trembled. I glanced up to meet his eyes, still glassy. From pain? From endorphins?

  "You can't tell anyone."

  "Ian…"

  He grabbed my shoulders with both hands, paper towel fluttering to the floor. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it still looked painful. "Promise me you won't tell anyone. Please. If August finds out, he'll make me quit."

  Did he mean quit the band, or quit cutting himself?

  Ian clutched at me desperately. "Promise me."

  I tried to speak in soothing tones, tried to reason with him. "You need to get help."

  "I already got help!" He let me go, storming away the few paces he could in the small washroom. "We already went on hiatus once. We can't do it again."

  "Maybe that's what you need."

  "No." Ian's lips were firm, his eyes resolute. "You don't get to make that choice for me."

  "Someone clearly has to."

  Ian shook his head vehemently. He shoved his hand inside his pants pocket and pulled out a pad of white gauze. He'd been prepared. How often did he do this? He folded it over into a rectangle, thick but narrow. He pressed it to his arm with one hand and took his wrist cuff from the sink with the other.

  "No one needs to know."

  He put the cuff back on, buckling the straps tight. It completely hid the scars and pressed the gauze over the wound. It would scab over underneath the leather. He was going to hide it from everyone. He was going to go out there and pretend everything was fine.

  "At least talk to your brother." Damon would know what to do. Right?

  "What do you care, anyway?"

  Tears stung my eyes. A vice squeezed my lungs. "I care. Of course I care."

  "We're just a fling, remember?" He threw the words back in my face, sharp and biting.

  "I can't sit back and watch while you hurt yourself."

  He stared straight through me, expression blank, but I could see the distress in his eyes. "Then I guess it's a good thing you don't have to."

  He turned his back on me and walked out.