Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  “Like you don’t love it.”

  The smile she gives me goes straight to my cock. I just used a word I had no intention of using and even though it wasn’t quite as bad as it could be, it still leaves me open to rejection. But she doesn’t deny anything, just smiles.

  We sit like that for a couple more hours while Tori tells me about what she’s been doing on a daily basis and I catch her up on some of the latest news with the kids.

  “How are things ramping up for State?” she asks, and I sigh.

  “I’m trying not to say too much about it.”

  “Why not?” she asks, brow furrowed.

  “We could barely afford the bus and stuff for regionals and that was only with Ian’s generous donation. I can’t ask him to donate again and there’s no money left to pay for the trip. We always knew it might come to this.”

  “I still owe you a donation,” she says. “For that show you played with us.”

  “Tori, you know I just played that show because I can’t say no to you, right?”

  “It’s nice to have confirmation,” she says with a sly grin. “But I’ll still make the donation. The kids deserve it.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t have contracts or anything anymore. Maybe you should save that money?”

  She shrugs. “It’s not like I’d do anything better with it. I want to help. Please?”

  I nod, refusing to argue any more when I so badly want this to happen. “Okay. Thank you. Really.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Visiting hours will end in fifteen minutes,” the receptionist says, and we both deflate at the announcement.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Tori says, her big eyes looking into mine, tugging at my heartstrings.

  “I know, but three days will go by before you know it and I’ll be here for the next visit.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “And you’ll be here when Onyx picks me up at the end of next week.”

  “Yep, if you want me to be.”

  “Well, you’re supposed to be taking me home with you,” she says, her voice warming up with those words.

  My cock twitches and I force back a growl. “Believe me, I am.”

  She bites her lip and kisses me, hard this time, and long enough that the receptionist clears her throat pointedly with a look at us.

  “PDA is frowned upon at these types of things,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Fuck them,” says Tori, kissing me again.

  I indulge in it for a few seconds longer before pulling back. “You’ve been doing such a good job following the rules. No need to end the streak now.”

  “You’re no fun,” she pouts.

  I glance around, making sure no one’s looking. Everyone’s consumed with their own goodbyes, so I kiss her again, hard, making her gasp.

  “I’m plenty of fun when it’s appropriate,” I say, pulling back without anyone else noticing a thing.

  Tori’s red, gaping at me, her eyes wide. “You are such a jerk.”

  “Just something to think about at night when you’re all alone,” I growl in her ear.

  “I have a roommate, asshole,” she growls, but it turns into a laugh.

  The receptionist announces that our time is over and I stand with a sigh, giving Tori one last hug. “I’ll see you soon. Stay out of trouble.”

  “I’m actually trying for once,” she answers.

  I leave Malibu feeling way better than I did when I came.

  The next day at work, I head into Joey’s office to tell her that Tori wants to take on more hours. Even after everything that happened, I never told Joey that I wanted Tori taken out of my program. She knows that Tori is unavailable for the next week or so, and if she pays attention to entertainment news at all, she’ll know why, but it doesn’t really matter. Tori’s a volunteer, not an employee.

  “Do you have a minute?” I ask, knocking on Joey’s propped-open door.

  She looks up from her computer screen and takes off her reading glasses, thin lines forming around her mouth with a frown.

  “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you anyway. What’s up?”

  “Tori’s going to be back soon and she was saying she’d like to put in a lot more hours, maybe try out different programs. Made it sound like she’ll take all the hours you can throw at her.”

  Joey nods. “That’s very generous of her. She’s welcome to volunteer as much as she wants. But that kind of brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  The grim lines in her face make my stomach drop, and I clutch the arm of the chair. She’s about to drop a bombshell on me, even if I don’t know what it is.

  “I’m not going to waste time beating around the bush. We’ve lost our federal funding.”

  “What?” I shout, jumping to my feet. The measly funding from the feds is all that keeps this place running besides the occasional donations from famous friends of the arts like Ian.

  “That’s the long and short of it. Feds are cutting funding to a ton of programs they’re deeming ‘unnecessary’ and guess who’s included in that.”

  “That’s bullshit! We’re not unnecessary. Juvenile incarceration rates are the lowest they’ve been since the ’nineties in this neighborhood.”

  “Serge,” Joey says, breathing a sigh, her fingers steepled in front of her face. “They’re cutting programs like Meals on Wheels. If they think elderly people eating is unnecessary, how do you think they feel about a bunch of inner city kids singing?”

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, raking my fingers through my hair. “How long do we have?”

  “Probably a year, maybe less? I’d start looking at alternatives ASAP, though.”

  I blow out a heavy breath, pacing around the room. They can’t do this! This is everything to me. This center, these kids, they can’t take it all away. I won’t let them!

  But how can I stop them? I’m just a broke junkie with nothing to offer. I’ve spent the last half a decade hiding out in this place, using it as a buffer between me and the rest of the world, trying to protect myself from the things I think I’m too weak to deal with. But maybe it’s time for me to finally leave the safety of this nest. Because the nest needs me.

  Maybe Tori has a point when she says I need to be back out there. Maybe it’s not the craziest idea to want to put on benefit shows to support the center. Maybe I can do it without giving into the stress this time.

  It’s a lot of maybes, but what else do I have right now? What choice do I have but to indulge in maybes and fantasies?

  “Serge?” Joey says gently, and I realize I’m still in her cramped office pacing and muttering to myself.

  “Sorry, just thinking. I’ll get out of here.”

  “Yeah. I’m really sorry,” she says. “I know you’ve really poured your heart and soul into this place.”

  I frown. She’s underselling herself. Joey does way more here than I’ve ever done. “I’m not the only one,” I say meaningfully. “I’m not giving up on this and you shouldn’t either. I’ll figure something out.”

  She looks like she’s going to protest, but then she presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Good luck,” she says.

  I hear her silent ‘you’re going to need it,’ but I don’t acknowledge it. I’m going to work something out. I’m going to find a way to make this right. Even if it means I have to face some demons I thought I was through with.

  Chapter 14

  Tori

  The next three days feel like they take forever, but at the same time, I’m glad that I have them. I glad I have the time to myself, to really think about everything that’s gone wrong in my life and how I want to make it better. And when Serge returns, just like he promised, I feel more relaxed than I have probably since I got into the business.

  No wonder celebrities do this shit over and over again. It really is like a spa. Except there’s individual therapy three times a day, group once a day, and nearl
y every minute of my time is planned and accounted for to the point that I need to ask permission to take a piss.

  So it’s not all sunshine and roses, but I’m happy. And I’m even happier that Serge is here.

  “Hey,” I say, wrapping him in a hug. It feels like it’s been months since I’ve seen him, not just a few days.

  “How are you?”

  I nod. “Okay. How are things?”

  The polite smile fades and my throat closes up. Shit. He’s realized he doesn’t want to be with me after all.

  “The center’s losing its funding,” he says, and one panic is replaced by another.

  “What?” I don’t believe it. That center is everything to Serge. It’s the reason he’s been able to stay sober all these years. Losing it must be devastating him. And he looks hurt, he looks worried, don’t get me wrong, but he doesn’t exactly look like a guy that’s devastated. “What are you going to do?”

  We walk to one of the plush couches and he sits sideways on one end and I do the same on the other, our knees touching in the middle of the couch like we’re kids at a slumber party. At least I think that’s what kids did at slumber parties. I never got invited to any because I was weird and frequently dirty as a kid.

  He gives me this shy, almost uncertain smile and rubs the back of his head nervously. I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to spill it.

  “Well, nothing’s set in stone obviously, but I’ve been thinking of ways to raise the money we need to keep the center going, and I was thinking about organizing a benefit concert. Depending on how well it goes, maybe a couple a year, whatever we need to keep the lights on the place. And then I could get back out there, at least a little. I think I’m ready for it.”

  My heart turns to lead, but I try to keep my face neutral, try not to show how much that thought freaks me out. Before rehab, I would have jumped at the idea of Serge wanting to get back into the game, but I understand more now. I know what it means that he’s even considering it. I know what a big deal it is, and I’m worried I’ll lose him to his demons.

  Or that I’ll get to meet them and lose my own tentative hold on sobriety. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to keep on the straight and narrow if I’m staying with Serge and he’s falling off the wagon.

  But I’m not going to rain on his parade. He’s still hesitantly smiling, obviously waiting on my input, like a puppy hoping I was serious about the word ‘walk.’

  “That seems like a good solution,” I say carefully, not wanting to discourage him, not wanting to make this about me. Because that’s something I’ve learned about myself in the last week and a half. I make everything about me and it needs to stop. I might be famous, but I’m not the center of the fucking universe.

  “And…” he says, dragging the word out, his smile growing, “I was wondering if you might be interested in joining me?”

  There it is. There’s the noose to hang myself with. I know I should say no. I should tell him that it’ll be too much pressure and I’m sure I’ll fail. I should tell him that the stress will be too much, that I’m sure I’m going to ruin it all by being my normal fuck-up self, but I don’t.

  I don’t tell him any of that.

  “I’d love to,” I say instead, smiling back, hoping he doesn’t see through me. But I think Serge is too excited about his new endeavor to really notice. He kisses me hard.

  “That’s so awesome, Tori. I think we’re really going to be able to do something great for the center. For the whole community maybe.”

  His eyes are bright and wild with excitement and I can already see how much this means to him. I want him to succeed and I’ll do everything I can to help, but I don’t have a lot of faith in myself.

  Serge stays another hour, talking about this or that, before he leaves and my heart goes with him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but every time I see him walk away, I feel like he’s taking a piece of me with him.

  I leave the visiting area, now without someone to visit with, and wander around the place, settling by the pool. Visiting hours are pretty much the only time where every minute isn’t accounted for, and it’s the first time I’ve actually been able to sit by the sparkling pool and look out over the ocean vista.

  It’s nice. But it would be nicer with Serge here. Hell, if Serge were there, I’d take a cinder block wall as my view instead of this.

  “Miss Winters?” someone says from behind me, soft and gentle. I turn to see one of the nurses. “You have a visitor,” she says.

  “I do?” Maybe Serge is back. I don’t know why he would be — unless he just missed me so much he couldn’t stand it, I think, snorting to myself — but I jump out of the chair and follow her back to the visiting area.

  Serge isn’t there. I’d spot his tall, broad frame and arrogant stance anywhere. I look to the nurse with a question, and she points far into the corner.

  And the whole world narrows in on that one spot, on the woman sitting by herself in a shady alcove surrounded by potted palms.

  What is she doing here?

  She looks pretty much exactly how I remember her — short honey-blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail, pieces of her bangs falling in her face — but older. Even from my distance I can see the new lines in her face, the wrinkles on her forehead. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t see someone in nearly a decade. I take a deep breath, put my shoulders back, and walk right over to her.

  “Hi, Mom,” I say, sitting down slowly.

  “Hi, baby,” she says, leaning over the couch to hug me. I just go stiff, not really knowing how to respond. She pulls back, frowning.

  “What’s wrong? I flew a long way to come see you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my baby and I thought you might wanna see your mother?”

  “You’re not here to tell me how much I’ve screwed up my life and how disappointed you are in me?”

  She frowns, looking confused. “Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time?”

  “What was I supposed to think? The last time we talked, you told me I was throwing my life away.”

  “Honey, I was worried about you,” she says. “Look at where you ended up. Was I wrong?”

  I sigh. “I guess not.”

  “I love you, baby, and it just breaks my heart to watch you go through all this struggle and know it’s my fault.”

  “Mom, it’s not—”

  “Yes it is. I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve been a better mother.”

  I never really thought of my mom as a bad parent, more of an absent one. But it wasn’t her fault really. She got pregnant in high school and decided to keep me. She had to drop out of school and then my dad — I’ve never met him, but from what I’ve gotten her to tell me, he was an older guy in town that took advantage of her — left and never sent her a dime of child support. Then she was left raising a baby by herself, without a high school diploma. She had to work three jobs just to keep the shitty roof we did have over our heads.

  She’d come home from a double shift, make a bowl of cereal for dinner, and pass out on the couch before it was half-finished, but bone tired and impossible to wake. I learned to clean up, to make my own food, to get myself to school, all of that shit. And when I was old enough to, I easily found my way in with a bad crowd that made me finally feel less alone.

  Like I said, it’s not something I blame her for exactly, but it wasn’t the kind of upbringing I’d wish on anyone. She did the best she could with what she had, but it was just never going to be enough and that wasn’t really her fault.

  “You can’t blame yourself, Mom. I’m a big girl, I can fuck up all on my own.”

  “Language, Victoria.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “But enough about me,” she says brightly, swiping at tears in the corners of her eyes. “How are you? How are things here?”

  “Everything’s fine here,” I say. “It’s the out there that I’m worried about. What happens when I’m not unde
r lock and key anymore?”

  My mom frowns and leans forward to pat my knee. “Tori, you have always been the strongest little girl I’ve ever known and I know you can beat this thing. And if I can, I’d like to help you. I want to be there for you.”

  “Wait… You’re really not disappointed in me?” I ask, incredulous. I always thought that she was. She tried so hard to raise me right. She never drank or did drugs even though they were in ample supply in our shitty little hometown. I think a part of my self-loathing has always been tied to the expectation that she’s disappointed in me.

  “No, sweetheart. I might be disappointed by some of your choices or the things you’ve done, but never you. I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished in your life. So very proud. And I’m still certain you’re going to be the woman I always knew you could be.”

  Her words bring me back to Serge and his offer. The chance to do something for good, for someone else instead of myself for once. I smile.

  “I might be taking on a new project when I get out of here.”

  “Oh?” she asks, her voice careful and measured.

  “Yeah. A friend of mine is going to be organizing benefit concerts for his community center… They do such great work. The kids are so great, Mom. I told him I’d help him, with performing or organizing. Might as well since the record dropped me, right?”

  Mom looks impressed, but narrows her eyes at me anyway.

  “Who is this ‘friend’?”

  “His name’s Serge—”

  “That heroin addict you’ve been spending time with? Do you really think that’s the best idea?”

  I’m taken aback by her forthrightness, but I don’t let it catch me totally off-guard.

  “He’s not an addict, Mom. He got me into this place. He’s been clean for seven years.”

  “Really?” That seems to surprise her.

  “Yeah. He’s a really great guy. You should see him with the kids. It’s amazing.”

  “So he’s not a drug user? You’re not going on wild benders with him?”

  “No, Mom. Have you been reading TMZ?”

  “Where else am I supposed to get my news about you?”