Rock Free

by Virna DePaul

  “Fuck,” I said, blowing the word out on a long exhale. This I hadn’t anticipated. Little Red’s dad was a famous preacher?

  “Peter Crawford has this whole service thing for hours on Sundays on Channel 185,” Tucker added. “My grandma is obsessed with him. She sends him money every month. Any time I visit her, she makes me watch him on TV. I can’t imagine he’d approve of his daughter coming to our concert. It’s probably why she ran.”

  “Maybe. She said she loves our music. And she certainly seemed to like what we did together. But as soon as the crowd found us…”

  I didn’t like the idea of Sara being embarrassed to be seen with me. In fact, the very thought pissed me the hell off. She’d seemed so cool. So… free, despite also being shy. Hell, she’d pulled off her T-shirt and showed me her breasts, so…

  Fuck. I’d sucked on the tits of a preacher’s daughter.

  I pulled my own phone out of my pocket and pulled up the internet, typed in “Peter Crawford,” and sucked in my breath.

  Tucker was right. Peter Crawford wasn’t just any preacher. He was the preacher. One who made millions. Who was watched by millions.

  “She must be one of those preacher’s kids who broke wild once they got to college. The type who will do everything wrong just to piss off Daddy?” Tucker said.

  Yeah, I thought, baring your breasts to one of the world’s wildest rockers would do that. But then why run? Because as much as she wanted to piss off her dad, she just couldn’t do it in the end? Not when it meant public exposure?

  According to her emails, she was majoring in religious studies at NYU, so maybe she was prepping to be next in the evangelical line.

  All I knew was that my mind was spinning. And that I wanted to see her again. But this news…

  “I should probably just return her phone and forget about her,” I mumbled.

  Or not.

  Maybe she had run off because she didn’t want her father to see us together, but maybe that had more to do with who her father was than who I was. What if she felt trapped? Conflicted? What if she’d felt the same connection that I had and wanted to see more of me, too? I knew what it was like to yearn to be free, to be who you really are despite who your family wanted you to be.

  As a kid growing up in Little Rock, Arkansas, I’d had a great family life. My parents had been proud of me from Day One, as was my community and even my church. Until I’d confessed I was bi. After that, they’d all pretty much shoved me out the door.

  Same with my high school girlfriend, Lindsay. She’d dumped me immediately, even though my feelings for her hadn’t changed just because I’d confessed my body responded to men as well as women. Lindsay had left me with my heart broken wide open, and I still wasn’t sure where all the pieces had gone.

  Maybe Sara was on that same track. Maybe she wanted freedom her family just couldn’t give her. Maybe that’s why she’d been drawn to me.

  I took Sara’s phone back from Tucker. I doubted she’d respond well to someone showing up at her dorm at…I checked the time…three in the morning. “I’ll make sure it gets back to her tomorrow.”

  “Great. Then let it go from there?” Tucker said. “Don’t want to get involved in a massive and possibly televised family drama, right?”

  Bad memories flooded my mind and tension crawled up my spine. My mom and dad making a scene in front of my youth group elders after I came out to them. My parents asking if my sins could be “fixed.” That was the last time I went to that youth group. Or any group. My parents barely spoke to me, and when we did, it was brief and stilted.

  Maybe Tucker was right. Maybe I should forget about Sara. I was living a charmed life. Why risk making waves? Hell, Sara’s father had the potential to be a fucking tsunami.

  So tomorrow after the band’s meeting with our video director, I’d head over to NYU and turn in Sara’s phone.

  Then I’d do something I did extremely well.

  Something Sara did well, too.

  I’d walk away.

  Chapter 3

  Sara

  Running away from Wes Shaw last night had been both the smartest and stupidest thing I could have done. All I knew was that I felt miserable and I missed him.

  How could I miss someone I’d known all of thirty minutes? Granted, we’d become intimately acquainted in that short time, but—

  An ear-piercing scream filled the air, making me wince.

  After a restless night’s sleep, I’d met my sister at Chuck E. Cheese. Now, kids ran around me, their happy shrieks and laughter reminding me of the screaming fans at last night’s Point Break concert. I’d been one of them, having no idea at the time that I’d soon be stuck in an elevator with Wes …or that it would be the most magical night of my life.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  His gray eyes. That hungry mouth. The way he took my breasts into it and breathed in the scent of my skin as he suckled. The smell of his neck, taste of his tongue, feel of his lips…everything. Thinking about Wes would turn this good girl bad. And that’s why I wanted more.

  But I couldn't have it.

  He was a famous rock star. I was a famous preacher’s daughter. And when I recalled the looks on the crowd’s faces when we’d been rescued... My cheeks still burned. The knowledge that other people had clearly known what we were doing in the elevator made me cringe, and the chance someone could have photographed us and my father might see the photo had worry eating into my gut.

  What had I been thinking, letting go of my inhibitions with someone like Wes?

  You’d been thinking how gorgeous he was. How sweetly he comforted you. How beautifully he sang, and how delicious he tasted and felt. Come on, can you really blame yourself, Sara?

  Smack dab in the middle of Chuck E. Cheese, I almost smiled. Okay, so fine. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Any girl with a pulse would have probably taken advantage of her time with Wes in that elevator. But it was over now. Yes, we’d had a magical encounter, but unlike Cinderella and her prince, Wes wasn’t going to come after me.

  And besides, I didn’t want him to.

  Liar, my heart whispered.

  It was too bad I’d lost my phone, though. I’d called the venue and asked about it, but no one had seen it. Was it possible that Wes had it? Even though it shouldn’t have, the thought that Wes might be carrying even a small part of me with him made me feel a little better. Granted, if he looked through my stuff, he could probably track me down, but since I hadn’t heard from him, I figured that wasn’t going to happen.

  Which filled me with both relief and disappointment. Talk about being conflicted.

  “Sara, are you even listening?” My sister, Rebekah, bounced Isaac, my newest baby nephew, on her hip, staring at me with concern in her eyes. “I said Mother’s doing so much better,” she repeated.

  “Oh yes. I know.” For a moment, thoughts of Wes dissipated and I focused on the happy knowledge that my mother’s cancer treatments were going well. “I talked to her yesterday. She—”

  A running child barreled into me, kicking my shins so hard I gasped in pain. Lord, why had Rebekah chosen to meet me at Chuck E. Cheese? She and her four kids were visiting our mother’s relatives in New York for two weeks, and I could think of so many other places I’d go if I was a tourist in the Big Apple. Then again, my oldest three nephews and nieces were a rambunctious bunch. I loved them to pieces, but wow…

  “Anyway,” I said, “mom sounded great when I talked to her. She just wishes she could have joined you and the kids on your visit.”

  Rebekah sniffed. “I can’t believe she actually convinced Father to let you go to school in New York in the first place.”

  “Me either,” I murmured. Father had wanted me to attend the same Christian college in South Carolina as my older sisters, but I’d wanted to walk my own path.

  I wasn’t like the rest of my family. I loved them, but sometimes I felt like an outsider. I believed in God and had a strong sense of faith, but my
beliefs weren’t bound up in the restrictive rules my father preached. Peter Crawford created believers and followers from fear rather than love. What I was learning at NYU was about the history of various religions, the languages used, how religion as a whole came to be, and so much more. My studies had led me to believe one had to come to one’s own theology by choice, not by threats or family tradition.

  When Father finally agreed I could come to NYU, he’d set out a few ground rules: stay in the dorms all four years, take classes in religious studies, and join the biggest youth group and ministry on campus. I’d done some of those things but not all of them. I’d also had sex, smoked my first cigarette, had my first alcoholic drink, and tried a little weed. I was doing things Father wouldn’t approve of, hanging at clubs he most definitely wouldn’t approve of, and most recently kissing rock stars I couldn’t forget about.

  And while I sometimes felt guilty about my strong adventurous side, I can’t deny who I am. At least not to myself. I’m hiding it from my family, of course, but what other choice did I have?

  Rebekah was now talking about Cindy, her friend from her youth group who apparently was “lost” in Los Angeles after she moved there for work. Cindy had no husband to speak of, no children. According to Rebekah, Cindy was a failure.

  In my mind, I cheered for Cindy. She was probably having the time of her life in Los Angeles. Yes, girl! Get that single life! But I hated how judgmental Rebekah and my family could be. I hated that they had me convinced that if they found out I was less than the ideal Crawford girl, they’d all disown me.

  Not my mom. Well, probably not my mom. Of them all, she was the most tolerant.

  But Mom was sick. Even though her cancer treatments were giving her additional time, the doctors didn’t think she had more than a couple of years left. I couldn't risk losing my family, losing her by revealing I wasn’t my Father’s good little girl, by announcing I wasn’t going to join the family ministry when I was done with college. There would be time to tell my family about the real me later. Much, much later.

  “Sara, are you okay? You’re zoning out on me,” Rebekah said, calling a quick order to Zeke to stop pushing Esther too hard down the slide. “You seem so quiet today.”

  “It’s a bit hard to hear over the shouting and the rodent band.” I pointed to the animatronic figures of rats onstage, playing music. “Plus, I have a lot on my mind. Classes, tests, and other stuff I can’t stop thinking about.” Yeah, that was it—tests and stuff. “Sorry—what were you saying?”

  “I was asking what’s on your mind. Is it your upcoming graduation?”

  Well, that certainly was on my mind. I knew Father expected me to return to Texas after graduation, when what I really wanted to do was to explore NYU’s Master’s program in Religious Studies. Maybe even get a full Ph.D. elsewhere if I liked grad school. But the last time I’d brought up even the possibility of that, Rebekah had shuddered and compared New York to Sin City, and she hadn’t meant Vegas.

  Before I could answer Rebekah’s question, she suddenly clapped her hands, making me jump. “You know, I’ve seen you like this before. Only then you were sixteen and Bobby Hill caught your eye. You were dreamy. Half-listening. Come on, Sara Anne Crawford. You can tell me. Is there a cute guy in one of your religion classes?”

  I snorted and nearly choked.

  Yeah, my mind kept returning to a cute guy but the thought of Wes sitting next to me in American Religion wearing a Polo shirt and studying a Bible the way Bobby Hill had made me both laugh and cringe. “Don’t remind me about Bobby Hill. He was positively gross. Then Father saw me attempting to flirt with Bobby and made me copy the first five books of the Bible over until my hand cramped.”

  We laughed together at the memory, and affection for my sister made my heart swell. Staring at Rebekah, I could feel myself weakening. I didn’t want to keep pretending. To keep holding secrets. I wanted to tell her I’d had a couple of boyfriends already. That I was no longer a virgin. That I’d become a diehard fan of the biggest rock band on the planet and had made out with said rocker in a broken elevator.

  But as much as I wanted to believe it wouldn’t happen, part of me couldn’t shake the knowledge that Rebekah would judge me. That she might even tell father.

  So I remained silent. I put my arm around my sister and watched her kids play. And I once again thought of Wes and what might have happened last night if instead of running away from him after we were rescued, I’d run straight into his arms.

  Chapter 4

  Wes

  I stuck my hand in my pocket and stroked a finger over Sara’s phone, the texture reminding me how smooth her skin had been last night, even as I tried to focus on what Henri, the video director we’d hired, was saying about his vision for our upcoming concert movie. At first, I was psyched we were going to film one. I mean, who didn’t want to be up on a big movie screen? But this French guy, Henri, didn’t completely get who Point Break was. Nikki, Tucker’s girlfriend, had recommended him to us, and yeah, the guy had great credentials, but I wasn’t totally buying his artistic vision. There was something missing from the ideas he’d been pitching—something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  But every time I popped off with an idea, Henri ignored me or made some snide comment about me not having training and therefore not knowing what was needed. I didn’t press the issue. No one knew this, not even Tucker—and he and I were pretty close—but during Point Break’s off-time between tours last year, I took a cinema class in LA. I found it fascinating—so fascinating that I’d signed up for an online BFA program in film directing.

  The truth was, I wanted a Plan B. Or C or D, something to fall back on when Point Break ran its course. The Rolling Stones and Aerosmith aside, most bands did not last fifty years. I wanted another outlet for my creativity, something where I could have a long-term career in case things didn’t work out.

  Directing was one of those outlets.

  I’d only done two student films before, but I had great ideas, and this guy just wasn’t listening to any of them.

  Still, I shut up and listened during the meeting, aware that my frustration with Henri was probably a result of my shitty mood more than anything else. What had happened last night with Sara had left me ungrounded in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Was it simply my ego that couldn’t handle that a girl had left me high and dry, apparently without a second thought? Or was what Sara and I had shared really worth this kind of obsessing about?

  An hour later, Henri finished his presentation and we were finally free to go. I got into my sports car, which I rarely drove because fuck, New York traffic, and a short while later I was at the Newark airport. I’d been planning on dropping Sara’s phone off at her dorm as soon as the meeting with Henri was over, but this morning my friend Vickie called, asking for a ride home. I was happy to do her a favor, of course, and I was excited to catch up. She’d just spent half the fall backpacking through California, starting in Oregon and ending up in Los Angeles. I missed LA and my Beverly Hills home, even if the place was pompous and way more than one dude would ever need. Still, purchasing it felt like a big “fuck you” to the life I’d left behind, or more precisely to my family and friends who’d rejected me because of who I was. Who I am.

  In addition to picking Vickie up and hearing about her trip, I was also hoping she could help me out. Because every time I thought of returning Sara’s phone to her, I was tempted not to walk away from her, like I’d planned to, but to ask her to spend time with me. To explain why she’d run away. To explore whether the time we’d spent together in that elevator had been a fluke or if there really was a special connection between us.

  I couldn’t believe I was so hung up on a girl I’d known for all of thirty minutes, and that was beginning to worry me. Hence my plan to not just give Vickie a ride home, but maybe give her a ride in bed, too. Fuck knew I needed to get my mind the hell off Sara. Vickie and I went way back as friends with benefits, and I knew she’d be into getting
down and dirty, even if it was just to get another girl out of my head.

  Like my bandmates, she didn’t know I was bisexual, and as was the case with Liam, Tucker, and Corbin, I’d considered telling her several times, if only because it felt weird not sharing something so integral about who I was, like I was ashamed of it or something, which I wasn’t. Ben knew because I’d fucked him. Other guys knew because I’d fucked them. Why did anyone else need to know? Even when it was in my own head, I hated any suggestion that I was obligated to broadcast my sexual preference in order to be ‘honest’ with others, probably because it was how I had felt when I’d come out to my family all those years ago, and they’d judged me because of it.

  It was also the reason I’d come out to my high school girlfriend, Lindsay. Her response? To break up with me because she knew eventually I’d “miss dick” and end up leaving her, so she was leaving me first. I’d loved her, and I’d never cheated on her, never even been tempted, and she’d said that to me—like me being bisexual meant I was incapable of fidelity.

  Of course, given my past experiences, I’d considered the possibility I didn’t want to tell my bandmates and Vickie because I feared they’d reject me, but come on, I didn’t really believe that.

  It was just a…non-issue. My family had made it an issue. Lindsay had made it an issue. But fuck them. If there was ever a reason to tell anyone else I was bi, I would. If I was to ever get in a committed relationship with someone, say Sara for example—God, that was such a ridiculous thought but I couldn’t deny having it, so fuck it—I’d share all of me with her. But that wasn’t going to happen and therefore I was just who I was, no explanations necessary. I was Wes Shaw, rock-star-with-no-obligation-to-tell-anyone-who-he-liked-to-fuck.

  At the airport, I had to grin when I saw the tall brunette step off the curb and wave at me. I pulled over and stepped out.

  “A monster backpack and a guitar. Such a load of luggage.”