Hard Rock Deceit: A Rock Star Romance

by Athena Wright

  "I'm sorry," was all he said. He turned to Noah. "What happened with the rest of the show?"

  "Fuck the tour," Noah said bluntly. "You focus on getting better."

  "The doctor said I can leave tonight. No long term effects." He pointed to the bandage on his forehead. "Just a little bump."

  "Better make sure there's no brain damage," Cameron said, forcing a grin. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

  August returned Cameron's rude one-finger salute. "One too many."

  The twins laughed. Noah's lips twitched into a relieved smile. August reclined back, looking peaceful.

  I stepped into the room.

  "This wasn't the first time."

  My words echoed loudly in the hospital room. All eyes were on me. The others frowned, confused. The look on August's face was one of trepidation.

  He knew what I was going to say.

  He didn't want me to say it.

  Too bad. After what I'd figured out, I couldn't keep quiet.

  "How long has this been going on?" I kept my voice cool and calm, no hint of the primal scream waiting for its chance to be let out.

  August didn't say a thing.

  Cameron eyed me. "What are you talking about?"

  August kept his gaze steady, looking me straight in the eye, not avoiding our staring contest. I could see him thinking. I could see the lie about to make its way past his lips.

  "How long, August?" I repeated. "How long have you been taking drugs?"

  He cast his eyes down, breaking our stare. His shoulders slumped and tensed at the same time, bracing himself.

  "A year," he said quietly. "Maybe more."

  Eerie silence filled the room. The kind of silence that preceded a thunderclap, hairs on the back of the neck standing up in anticipation.

  Pandemonium broke loose. Every band member spoke at once, voices raised, incredulous and outraged by turns.

  I hung back, watching the fall out.

  The minute I'd seen August collapse, falling to the stage, hitting his head with a sickening crack, I'd known.

  His sore shoulder. Taking something from the roadies and telling me it was just aspirin. I chided myself for not seeing it before.

  But how could I have ever guessed? August, a drug addict? The idea was laughable. He was so put together. Mature. Responsible.

  He was August Summers.

  He was the man I'd come to lo—

  My heart squeezed in my chest.

  — The man I'd come to care about.

  And he'd been lying to me the entire time. Lying to his closest friends. Lying to everyone.

  Ian turned to me.

  "How did you know?"

  I wasn't unaware of the accusation in his tone.

  "I've seen it before," I said. "Asking me for help with his pained shoulder. His glazed eyes. Distant. Unfocused. Just like they were on stage before he collapsed. I've seen his eyes like that before."

  Cameron snarled at me.

  "You knew this whole time and you didn't say anything?" he seethed. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "I didn't know," I insisted. "I just figured it out."

  "You said you helped him with his shoulder." Ian frowned. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

  "He—" I flicked my gaze to August. "—He asked me to keep it from you. He didn't want you to worry."

  "Why the hell would you keep a secret like that?" Cameron asked. "Don't you think we had a right to know our friend was hurting?"

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Cameron was right. I should have told someone. This whole thing could have been avoided.

  "He made me promise."

  "You don't go making stupid promises like that when someone's in trouble!" Cameron exploded.

  "Cam." Damon barked. "Lay off."

  Cameron turned murderous eyes to Damon, opening his mouth to speak. Damon held up his hand, cutting him off. He turned to me, eyes mournful, but full of understanding.

  "We all know what it's like to keep secrets we shouldn't," Damon said, speaking to the others.

  They fell silent, absorbing his words. August had been sitting quietly this whole time. Noah broke the silence.

  "How often?" he asked.

  "I'm not an addict," August replied immediately.

  "How. Often?"

  "Only once in a while. My shoulder's always been a bit strained since the car accident. Touring and performing every night just makes it a bit worse. It's not a big deal. It's like taking a Tylenol or something."

  "Are you fucking kidding?" Cameron said. "You're abusing drugs!"

  "Like you can talk," August finally snapped. "We all know what goes on at your parties."

  "For fun!" Cameron shouted back. "Like having a drink. No one at my parties get so fucked up they pass out and almost die."

  "Cameron." Noah spoke quietly. "Don't yell."

  "Yelling's the only way to get through his stubborn head."

  "It's not a big deal," August said.

  "You not seeing why it's a big deal is a big deal," Ian insisted.

  "I'll stop," August said.

  The others stared at him. A small glimmer of hope lit up Ian's eyes. Some of the anger left Cameron's expression, his face softening.

  "It's not that easy," Noah said doubtfully.

  "Sure it is," August said easily. "I only did it once in a while. I told you. I'm not addicted. I'll stick to Tylenol 3 or whatever. Something legal. I'll only take what the doctor tells me to." He cracked a small smile. "No more scoring from roadies."

  We all knew Noah was right. It was never that easy. But we all wanted to believe it. We wanted to believe August when he said it wasn't a problem. We wanted to believe everything would go back to normal.

  "This still doesn't make up for the fact that you lied to us," Cameron warned.

  "I'm sorry," August said, his tone earnest, sincere. "I should have told you guys. I really didn't think it was that big of a deal."

  "What about your shoulder?" Damon asked. "If you're in pain, how can you play? I hate to say it, but should we start considering a backup plan?"

  Panic hit August's eyes.

  "It's fine," he said quickly. "I'll adjust. I'm sure whatever the doctor gives me will help. I can start getting massages, resting more during our breaks. Taking it easy like you guys always say I should."

  "Taking it easy? I never thought I'd hear those words from August Summers. Now I know you must be on drugs," Cameron drawled.

  August and Ian laughed. Noah's lips tilted upward.

  Concerned still lined Damon's brow. He wasn't as convinced.

  But August had promised.

  It wouldn't be easy, but I'd be there for him.

  As upset as I was that he'd lied, I wanted to help in any way I could. August had been helping me, supporting me, encouraging me.

  Now it was my turn to support him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I should have been focused on the glowing screen in front of me. Hundreds of photos still needed sorting and editing. I'd been behind in my work ever since August…

  I closed my eyes against the bright lights of my laptop.

  …Ever since August's fall, which was what we'd begun to call the incident.

  Opening my eyes, I snuck a quick glance at the front of the bus. The guys were alternatively watching a movie and checking their phones.

  Cameron grinned almost wickedly as he texted. I didn't want to know what he was saying to his girlfriend. I assumed it was dirty. Ian typed rapidly, his thumbs moving at a blur. Noah spoke into his phone in low tones. The soft curve of his lips, almost a smile, was the closest to a pleasant expression I'd seen on him so far. Damon's eyes were on the TV, expression eager as he watched a deadly car chase.

  But every so often, their eyes would wander to August.

  The drummer sat on a sofa, leaning back into a corner, one arm draped over the back. His relaxed posture made him look at peace. His head was buried in a book, the same book I'd seen him reading on
the first day of the tour. Either he didn't notice the guys staring at him, or he was pretending not to notice.

  After what happened, we all agreed to watch over August.

  It was an odd feeling, keeping an eye on the person who usually kept an eye on everyone else. I wondered how odd it must have felt for August, to be under the watchful eye of all his friends.

  It wasn't that we didn't trust him. He told us he was done with the drugs and we believed him. Or, we wanted to believe him. We all knew it wasn't that easy. But maybe for August it was. He never failed when he put his mind to something. If anyone could do it, it would be him.

  The bus pulled into a parking lot. We were in front of a large grocery store.

  "Time to stock up." Cameron stuffed his phone in his pocket and hopped up from the sofa. "We ran out of nacho chips and beer days ago. I don't know how I'm supposed to live like this."

  "You could at least eat a banana or an apple once in a while," Ian said. "It won't kill you."

  "Hey, you can get potassium poisoning from too many bananas. It's totally possible to overdose on—"

  Every froze as Cameron realized what he'd just said.

  "Sorry," he cringed.

  "It's cool." August waved his hand in the air dismissively. "We can't tiptoe around the subject. Not with the way you guys are watching me like I'll go off the deep end any minute."

  "We just want to be sure you're okay," Ian said.

  "I'm doing fine. I'd tell you if I wasn't."

  "Would you really?" Damon muttered. He shook his head and spoke out loud. "I'm heading in to get something caffeinated."

  "Anyone else?" Cameron asked. "Ian, Noah?"

  Cameron purposely didn't look at me as he said it. Neither did Ian or Noah. They had been chilly to me ever since August checked out of the hospital. Cameron especially.

  "You coming?" Damon called back to August.

  "I'll stay here."

  Damon paused, staring at him.

  "I'm staying, too," I said, meeting Damon's eyes. "I don't need anything right now."

  Damon had been the only one not to give me the cold shoulder. He'd said in the hospital that they'd all kept their fair share of secrets. Maybe he didn't feel he could judge me for keeping August's.

  I wondered what Damon's secret was.

  The twin studied me carefully for a minute. He gave me a nod.

  "Cool. Be right back."

  August craned his head around, watching me click away on the mouse, feigning work.

  "You don't need to babysit me," he said.

  At least he sounded amused, not annoyed.

  "It's not babysitting," I countered. "It's moral support."

  August stood and approached me, wrapping his arms around me from behind.

  "Thank you for being so understanding. For not being upset."

  "I am upset."

  I whirled around in the swivel chair to face him. Soft blue eyes, clear and bright, gazed into mine, waiting patiently. As if expecting me to finally blow up. I fought to keep my expression smooth, to keep my brow from furrowing.

  "You lied to me," I said calmly, suppressing the scream that was clawing its way out of my throat. "You made me lie to everyone else."

  August cast his eyes down and nodded. "You're right. It wasn't fair of me to ask that of you."

  "But getting mad at you and shouting won't fix anything."

  "It might make you feel better. Call me a stubborn idiot like Cameron."

  "You're a stubborn idiot."

  The corner of his mouth twitched. "Now say it again, but put some fire behind it."

  "Don't sound so amused. You're lucky I'm not throwing things at your head and shouting obscenities."

  "You should. It's better to let it out."

  "I don't want to be mad at you. Right now, I just want to help."

  A teasing smile played on his lips. "You can help by giving me a massage."

  "You just want me to put my hands on you."

  "Selfish, I know. But you'll get something out of it, too."

  My fingers tingled at the idea of placing my hands on August, on being giving free permission to touch that smooth, firm skin.

  He was right that I probably shouldn't have suppressed my anger. But it was also true getting mad wouldn't help. I could push it aside and focus on helping August through this.

  We exchanged positions, him taking the chair, me standing behind him. He moved to pull off his shirt and winced.

  "Does it hurt?" I asked, worried.

  "Just a bit," he admitted. "The new stuff doesn't work as well as the old stuff."

  I didn't say, of course it doesn't. The old stuff was strong enough to put you in the hospital.

  "Let me help."

  Like a replay of that first concert, I tugged his shirt up and over his head.

  My breath caught, then exhaled nosily in disappointment. He was wearing an undershirt, covering his chest and back. His muscled, tattooed arms and broad shoulders were bare. I could enjoy that, at least.

  I placed my hands on his shoulders, near the curve of his neck, and started to knead with my thumbs, softly, gingerly.

  "I don't really know what I'm doing," I said.

  August groaned, half-pleasure, half-pain. "Just keep doing that."

  "I don't want to hurt you."

  "You could never."

  I'd been this close to a bare-chested August before, but I'd never laid my hands on him this easily. I was able to stoke and rub and caress in any way I chose. It was freeing.

  It was also arousing. This was supposed to be a soothing, healing touch, an innocent moment between us. But ever since that night on the roof, nothing between us had been innocent. The feeling of his warm skin under my hands inflamed the most secret parts of me.

  The groans and moans leaving August's lips didn't help cool down that heat.

  Still, I tried to push those thoughts away. This was about August, not about me.

  "I'm already feeling much better," he said with a pleased sigh.

  "Does it hurt very much?"

  "A little. Not all the time. As long as I take it easy I should be fine."

  If he was fine, he wouldn't have needed drugs in the first place.

  I didn't say anything. There were other questions I wanted to ask.

  "In the hospital, you said something about a car accident. Was that the same one…?" I trailed off, giving him time to brush me off if he didn't want to talk about it.

  He nodded slowly.

  "Yes. The same one that killed my parents."

  "You said you got away with only a few broken bones."

  "The strain on my shoulder was minimal enough it didn't show up at first. It's only when I overwork it that it becomes a problem."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "It must be hard. That constant reminder of what you lost."

  Slowly, he turned around in the chair, facing me. I kept my hands resting lightly on his shoulders. When his eyes met mine, I saw they were full of pain.

  "It almost destroyed me," he admitted. "Especially the way it happened."

  "How did it happen?" I asked softly.

  Spreading his knees, he tugged me to come stand between them, his forehead resting against my stomach.

  "I was arguing with my parents. Something stupid, I don't even remember. I was always so stubborn. My dad turned around in his seat. He didn't see the other car coming. Didn't have time to swerve away. They got hit head on."

  I hugged him tight, pressing my cheek to the crown of his blond head. August inhaled a slow breath before continuing to speak.

  "I couldn't get over the guilt for a long time. I blamed myself for their deaths. But the worst was the rage I felt."

  He tilted his head up to meet my eyes. There was no sign of the anger he spoke about. Only sorrow, regret.

  "It was a drunk driver. It wasn't his first time either. He'd been driving on a suspended license. He shouldn't have been on the road."

  August squeezed his eyes closed.r />
  "I was so angry. I hated that man for taking away my parents. I wanted him to suffer, like they had suffered, stuck in the twisted metal of a car, broken bones, punctured organs, bleeding out until their bodies finally gave up. I wanted him to feel that."

  My heart was heavy in my chest, aching for August. I'd never experienced something as horrible as he had. I couldn't imagine going through it and coming out okay.

  "I put all that guilt and anger and hate into my music. I didn't try to suppress it. I let it out. I let it overtake me, let it consume me, and used it to fuel my art."

  "And that helped?" I asked softly.

  "Not at first. But eventually, slowly, the rage lessened. The guilt eased. Not completely, but enough. Enough that I could live with it. I don't know who I'd be without the music. I don't know what I'd do without it. It made me what I am. It continues to shape me to this day."

  I could imagine it. A young August, railing against the world, misery and hatred balled up inside, turning him bitter and harsh. It so easily could have been that way.

  But he'd found a way to cope. He'd not only found a way to make it through, but to thrive, despite all the pain. His music had saved him.

  Under my hands, August's shoulders were still tense. I squeezed them gently.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have bought up all these bad memories."

  He shook his head and placed his hands on mine.

  "It's only fair. I managed to guess so much about you. I want you to know about me. About my past."

  And what about your future? I thought. Do I have a place there?

  I shouldn't have been thinking things like that. It was too soon. Too deep.

  But when August collapsed on stage…

  When he hit the ground so hard, unresponsive, lips turning blue, barely breathing…

  My heart nearly gave out. My lungs crumpled in my chest. I wanted to scream and scream and never stop.

  I thought I'd known fear before.

  Now I knew was true terror felt like.

  "Hey."

  I blinked as August cupped my cheek, bringing me back to the present.

  "I'm okay," he reassured me. "I'm fine."

  He always knew what I was thinking, feeling. He knew me better than I knew myself.