My Fake Rockstar Boyfriend (Rock and Rogues, #1)

by Remy, Cate

  BY THE TIME TRACY WOKE up the next morning and got on the bus to head to New York, the engagement pictures had gone viral on social media. She couldn’t believe the millions of followers offering their likes and congrats, including some pretty big name celebrities.

  Deacon’s band cheered when they got on the bus. They think this is real. The guilt Tracy carried grew heavier on her shoulders as she watched Luka and Nick hug and joke around with Deacon.

  “Welcome to the adult world now,” Luka said “Next thing you know, we’ll be congratulating you on your first family home mortgage and baby pictures.”

  “Slow it down,” Deacon urged. “I’m not competing with you just yet.”

  The bus started moving once the band settled down. Deacon sat next to Tracy and presented a pair of headphones. “I want you to hear the intro on this new song I’m going to perform.” He took out his phone to bring up the recording. Just before he pressed play, Tracy’s phone rang.

  “Let me get that first.” She reached into her purse. Auntie Olivia was calling. It made Tracy smile. They hadn’t talked in a week. “I’m glad you called. I’m on my way to New York.”

  “Tracy, Candace just showed me your engagement ring on Photogram. I’m so happy for you.”

  Her enthusiasm to talk to her aunt deflated like a helium balloon. “You saw it?”

  “I sure did. The ring is gorgeous. Your sister is showing another picture of it to me right now. She’s here with me while I’m getting my treatment.”

  Tracy felt awful. Her aunt was in the hospital getting dialysis and was excited about fake news created by her and Deacon.

  “Are you talking to your aunt?” Deacon leaned over and asked in a low voice.

  “Do I hear Deacon?” Auntie Olivia asked. “Put that boy on the phone and let me talk to him.”

  Tracy wanted to make her phone disintegrate. Not good, not good, not good. “Just a moment, Auntie.” She gave the phone to Deacon. “She wants to talk to you. It’s about our engagement.”

  He put the phone to his ear. “ Hi...yes we are...mm-hmm. Thanks, that’s sweet of you to say, ma’am. Yes, I’m really happy.”

  Every word Deacon communicated to her aunt was like bees stinging Tracy’s skin. She pressed her nails into the rubber arm of the bus seat and tapped her foot. She couldn’t wait for the call to end.

  “I’m going to hand the phone to Tracy. Oh, you’re about to get up and leave? Tell her to call you back later? Okay, have a good day, ma’am. Bye.” He pressed the end call button and gave the phone back to her. “Your aunt is a sweetheart.”

  “How dare you?”

  He gave her a surprised look. “Where’d that come from?”

  “Why did you talk to my aunt that way? You sounded so happy we were engaged.”

  He made sure the other band members couldn’t hear them before he spoke. “What else could I have said?”

  Tracy turned away from him, even though she could still see his reflection in the window. “I trust my aunt. I should have told her the truth, that this is all for publicity and nothing else.”

  “Wouldn’t it upset her even more then when we eventually call off the engagement?”

  Her chest rose in a sigh. “You bet it would. She wants me to be happy, not living some fake kind of happy.”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand everything after it’s all over.”

  If her health remains. The sad, bitter thought put Tracy on the verge of tears. She couldn’t let Deacon or the other band members see her cry. “Excuse me.”

  Deacon made room for her to squeeze out of the row. She went past the other band members and disappeared into the bus bathroom.

  DEACON MESSED UP AGAIN with Tracy. For the rest of the bus ride, she sat in another row with her laptop on the other seat so she could work during the trip. He knew she was doing it to avoid him.

  He got why she was upset. She couldn’t tell her aunt the engagement wasn’t real. But she understood the terms of the contract from the beginning. She couldn’t say anything, not even to her closest family members. So why was she mad about it now? What changed?

  He decided to do his own work. He took out his song notebook and jotted down lyrics that popped into his mind. He was feeling more creative these days. It wasn’t hard for words to flow on paper like they used to be. At last, the creative block he experienced for years was finally starting to wear away.

  “Another couple of hours and we’ll be in New York City.” He heard Luka talking to his wife on the phone.

  Deacon set his pencil and notebook on the seat beside him. So much for song lyrics. Now he was thinking about the next destination.

  Ash, seated across from Luka, glanced briefly at the drummer before turning his eye to Deacon. He got up and sat in the row behind him. “Writing new material?”

  “Trying to. What are you doing?”

  “I couldn’t help overhearing Luka. It made me wish I pressed for a better concert booking. One that’s in New York rather than Buffalo.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Buffalo,” Deacon argued. “People can drive up there if they want to come to the concert.”

  “Are you kidding? New Yorkers don’t drive if they don’t have to. Anyway, I did the next best thing. I have your engagement party scheduled for tomorrow night at this new nightclub in SoHo. Some important people are going to be there.”

  Deacon rested his head on the back of the seat. Now he had to prepare himself to be on for people at his fake engagement party tomorrow. “Why’d you have to have this party in New York City?”

  “I thought I already told you.” Ash shook his head and went right back to whatever he was doing on his cell phone.

  Deacon wasn’t looking forward to this leg of the tour or tomorrow’s party. If there was a way to bypass New York City, he would. Now he couldn’t get out of it.

  THE NEXT NIGHT, DEACON showed up for the engagement party with Tracy on his arm. Just as his manager said, the club where it took place was in the trendiest spot in SoHo. It was some lounge with retro neon lights, eighties vinyl furniture, and new wave synth music set to make people think they were in a time warp.

  Ash made sure guests adhered to a dress code of funky colorful attire. Guys had on blazers with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Women wore shoulder pads. Those with long hair swept it to the side in a ponytail or made it big with tons of hairspray to emulate hair metal video vixens.

  Even Tracy got in on the act. She wore a red belted tunic, stirrup pants, and a pair of chunky yellow earrings. Deacon thought her matching yellow headband was hilarious. After they finished greeting guests, she surveyed the crowd. A Duran Duran tribute band played music on the stage. “You have to admit, Ash went out of his way to bring back the eighties. I’m impressed with his creativity.”

  “That makes one of us,” Deacon grumbled.

  She looked at him and his plain t-shirt and blue jeans. “I’m surprised Ash didn’t tell you to wear a blazer or at least a polo shirt with the collar turned up.”

  “I wasn’t feeling it.” The band played louder and he had to raise his voice. “I wish we just kept driving to Buffalo.”

  She put a hand to her ear. “Sorry I didn’t catch that. Let’s go out in the hall.”

  He welcomed any opportunity to get out of the room with its obnoxious colors and swarms of people he didn’t even know. He followed her outside in the hall.

  “You were saying?” she prompted.

  “It wasn’t anything important. I guess you could say I’m a little grumpy about stopping in NYC.”

  “You do seem sulky.”

  “I’m glad I can always count on you to be honest.”

  The corner of her party-themed fuchsia pink mouth lifted in a smirk. “Would you have preferred a nineties grunge theme instead for your party?”

  “It’s not about the theme or the party.”

  Her smirk went away to be replaced by a look of concern. “Then what is it?”

  Her expression
took Deacon by surprise. People usually didn’t look at him that way. He wanted to confide in Tracy yet some discomfort remained. “I didn’t want to come here because my father lives in New York,” he admitted. “He has a place in Brooklyn. We haven’t spoken in the past decade.”

  She was silent for a moment. “But you said you grew up in Chicago.”

  “I did. My dad’s a linguistics professor. He moved here to teach when he got hired by Rutgers.”

  “I’m not trying to be nosy, but if you haven’t spoken to him in a while, he might want to see you.”

  “I’m not going to even bother.”

  “Deacon, ten years is a long time. People can change.”

  “Not my dad. He wishes I had done something with my life the way he and my brother have. They’re both academics.” He recalled the times when he got less-than-stellar grades at school. English and Reading came so easy to his older brother. The only A’s he got were in choir and band.

  “Maybe your dad didn’t understand why you liked music. Auntie Olivia didn’t think my career choice was very practical, either, at first.”

  “It wasn’t all about career choices.”

  Tracy waited for him to say more. He wanted to turn away from the conversation, but something compelled him to go on. “I struggled with dyslexia when I was a kid.”

  His heart beat fast in his chest after revealing his secret to her. What would she think of him now?

  A look of sympathy crossed her face. “I’m sorry. That had to be tough growing up.”

  He didn’t sense any condescension or patronizing in her tone. He went on to tell her more. “I had to go to a speech therapist for years. I got worse after my mother died. My father was embarrassed that his son could have trouble speaking or doing well in school.” You’ll never make anything out of your life with music, his father’s words echoed in his head even after all these years. Why don’t you pick up a book once in a while and learn to read?

  “Does your band or your manager know about this?”

  “I never told them. It wasn’t necessary. Music comes naturally to me, but it’s still hard to write lyrics. That’s a big part of why it takes me longer to write and record songs.”

  The music blared from the party when someone opened the door. The sound brought Deacon back to the present situation. “Anyway, we should head back in there and finish this party.”

  Tracy agreed. “Deacon, thanks for telling me. I get it if you don’t want to see your father. That’s your call.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for listening.” He didn’t know what else to say.

  The party continued for another hour before the DJ wrapped it up. Deacon and Tracy thanked the guests for coming. After a few publicity shots for social media and the newspapers, deacon got into a car with Tracy to go back to the hotel.

  Once he got to his room, he took out his phone and checked his list of contacts. He kept his father’s number stored in the memory. The number had a New York area code, yet Deacon hadn’t called it in ten years. His dad likely changed numbers. He stared at the contact information for several minutes before the phone went to a screensaver. He unlocked it and returned to the contact list. Here goes nothing. He called the number.

  Deacon glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was after one in the morning. He should have waited until daylight. What was he thinking? He started to hang up when the phone went to voicemail. “You’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. Harris Westmore. I’m unavailable at the moment. Please leave your name and phone number and I will return your call.”

  He waited for the beep. He spoke each word as slowly and clearly as he could. “Dad, it’s me, Deacon. I’m in town for a day before I head to Buffalo for a concert. I wanted to say hello.” He paced around the hotel room as he left his message. He felt ridiculous. His father didn’t want to see or talk to him. “Don’t worry about calling me back if you’re busy. Again, I just wanted to let you know I was in town.” He ended the message. It sounded like the worst kind of rambling ever.

  He showered and changed out of his clothes and went to bed. He placed the phone on the charger. He saw there were no missed calls or texts. Why would there be? It was late at night, and his father wanted nothing at all to do with a son who could never get his words right.

  TRACY THOUGHT ABOUT Deacon the next morning when she went into the hotel gym for a quick run on the treadmill. Last night, he told her about his struggles with dyslexia and his rocky relationship with his father. What he said explained his behavior: the times he was silent, the delays in communication. She interpreted some of it as rude when it was something else entirely.

  No wonder he used to party and pull juvenile stunts. Not to mention when he kept drinking all those energy drinks that promised to keep his mind alert and focused. It pained her to think about the different coping mechanisms he used to get through the day. His level of fame and success didn’t matter. He still struggled with his speech and the trauma of his father’s rejection.

  Yesterday, he trusted her with his secret. She was glad he felt comfortable enough to confide in her.

  She finished a three mile run and stretched to cool down. Then she went to her room. She was caught off-guard when she saw Deacon knocking on her door. “What is it?” She came up to him in the hallway.

  “I tried to call you on your phone, but it kept saying no signal.”

  “I was in the hotel gym.” She used her towel to wipe her face, embarrassed to be standing in front of him, sweaty from head to toe. “What did you need?”

  “I ended up calling my dad last night.”

  She was impressed. “Did you get a chance to talk?”

  “No, it was late. He left me a voicemail this morning while I was getting coffee. He said he wants me to come see him today.”

  “That sounds promising.” Tracy was happy for him to have a chance to talk to his father again.

  Deacon didn’t match her smile or enthusiasm. “He read saw our engagement announcement in the New York Times this morning. He wants to meet you.”

  Tracy’s runner’s high hit a new low. Deacon’s father thought they were engaged for real. This was bad. Deacon’s plan to gain publicity got more and more complicated everyday “I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to meet me. Did you call him back?”

  “I tried, but his phone went to voicemail again. I think he’s teaching this morning.”

  She forced out a breath. “So what do we do?”

  “I know you don’t want to go, but will you come with me? We’ll only stay a while. I’ll let my dad know our bus leaves this afternoon.”

  She touched her hair gathered in its ponytail. “This isn’t the best way for you to visit your father after ten years.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

  Tracy exhaled again. “Let me get a shower and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  As he went away, she slid the key card to get into her room. Here they go again, telling another lie, this time to Deacon’s father. What a way for father and son to resume speaking to each other. She felt ashamed of herself for going along with this plan. What else could she do now that they were both in the thick of the mess they made?

  Chapter Ten

  Deacon stood at the doorway of his father’s Brooklyn flat. He glanced at Tracy standing next to him. She looked elegant with her hair gathered back into a low twist. She wore a yellow and white striped dress. Seeing her in the sunny color lifted his dark mood, if only for a little while.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the buzzer on the door.

  He heard footsteps approach from the inside. He stood up straight, sneaking a peek down at his attire. The khakis he spent thirty minutes ironing already had wrinkles. The burgundy shirt he put on was too hot in the New York summer humidity.

  The door opened. His father looked exactly as he remembered, except for his beard. It used to be black. Now it was nearly all gray.
r />   “Hey, Dad.”

  His father’s stern gray eyes were framed by gold wire glasses. His gaze went from Deacon to Tracy and back to Deacon. “Come in.”

  Deacon let Tracy go in first and then he followed. The entry hall of the small flat was decorated with black and white photography on the wall. Tracy slowed her walk to study them. His father said nothing. He decided to break the silence. “Dad, this is Tracy, my fiancée.”

  His father’s expression softened when he extended his hand to Tracy. “It’s good to meet you. I saw your picture in the paper with my son. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

  Deacon thought he sounded cold. Tracy just smiled and and shook his hand. “Thank you. It’s good to meet you, too, Mr. Westmore. Deacon told me you’re a linguistics professor, but he didn’t tell me you like to collect black and white nineteen forties photography.”

  His father’s eyebrows rose. “You’re the first person to comment on those photos. They were taken in the forties. The photographers used the chiaroscuro technique to play with the different elements of shadows and light.”

  “Similar to the film noir movies of the time.”

  Deacon watched his father’s expression. He could tell he was impressed with Tracy. “Do you like film noir?” his father asked her.

  “Two of my favorite movies from the time are Casablanca and that detective film The Maltese Falcon.”

  “It’s nice to see young people engaging in culture instead of dumb superhero movies and whatever it is they call music these days.”

  Tracy didn’t bat an eyelash. “I have to say, Dr. Westmore, I like superhero movies and modern music, too.”

  Deacon’s father motioned for them to follow him. “I have coffee and tea in the kitchen. I would have ordered lunch from the deli up the street, but deacon tells me you’re both heading to Buffalo this afternoon.”