Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  I’ve done a really good job of ignoring any of the tabloids or articles about me, too. I did one quick Google search when I first got out of rehab, but the headlines were enough to convince me that reading that trash wasn’t going to help me at all.

  So I’ve just been spending a ton of time with Serge, with the kids, with the center, and mostly trying to forget music exists except when we talk about our plans for the center or the upcoming State competition.

  I’m cleaning up Serge’s place — he’s gone to get Chinese and we’re expecting Ian and Chelsea over — trying to make it presentable for guests, when my phone rings with a call from Huey. Huey, my old manager. The one that dropped me as soon as the label made my suspension permanent.

  I’m tempted to ignore the call, to let him go to voicemail and forget all about it, but curiosity’s always been my downfall, and it’s no different this time.

  “Hello?” I answer, trying to sound annoyed the moment I answer the phone. Huey doesn’t deserve pleasant Tori after the way he dumped me.

  “Tori! It’s so good to hear from you!” I don’t point out that he called me.

  “What do you want, Huey?” I snap, not in the mood for pleasantries.

  He chuckles and I grip the countertop, my knuckles going white. “You always were right to business,” he says, still laughing.

  “What do you want?” I ask again, patience waning.

  “Listen, we heard about that unpleasant business with Garret, and you’re not the only person to lodge a complaint against him, so we’ve moved him to another department.”

  I snort. Some punishment. Fucker doesn’t even lose his job for trying to force me into his bed.

  “I wasn’t planning on pressing charges if legal’s up your ass about it,” I grumble, wanting desperately to get off the phone.

  “That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “Okay, so spill it,” I say, clenching my jaw.

  “I want to represent you again. You heading to rehab and getting through that program showed some mettle. And the record wants to give you another chance too.”

  My heart jumps, my pulse spiking. Ever since I got dropped, all I’ve wanted was to get picked up again. Or so I’ve been telling myself.

  Well, I’ve been telling myself a lot of things. When I’m sad about not having a rep anymore, not having a label, I remind myself how fulfilling it is to work at the center. But it doesn’t last long, because I know I belong on stage. I know I should be performing and touring. It’s all I’ve ever done, and while I’m managing this other stuff okay, I think it’s only because I have Serge to guide me every step of the way. Without him, I’d be hopeless. Without him, I’d fail at everything.

  Everything but being in a band.

  “Okay…” I say, waiting for the fine print. There’s always strings attached with this shit. Maybe they’re looking to renegotiate my royalty rates and screw me over. It’s a shame Huey’s actually good at his job, because he’s the one that taught me to be suspicious of things like that.

  “They want you to fly out to New York this weekend to start recording on Monday.”

  Monday. That’s the day of the State competition. I have to be there.

  “Can we push it back a week? I’ve got other obligations.”

  “No, they’re pretty adamant that this happen now, on their schedule. I think a recording slot’s opened up so they’re trying to get you in right away.”

  “I can’t do it,” I say, the words crushing me with their weight. Knowing it’s the right thing to do doesn’t exactly make it feel any better.

  “Why the hell not?” Huey roars, dropping the fake pleasantness act.

  “The kids have their big competition Monday. I have to be there.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re going to throw away your shot on a bunch of kids from the ghetto? Did rehab make you stupid?”

  I hang up, still shaking as I slam the phone down on the counter and go back to scrubbing the kitchen down, this time taking my frustration out on the tile grout.

  I know what I have to do. I know I need to keep my promises. I’m not letting those kids down.

  But this might be my only shot. My one chance to get back in the game before I’m irrelevant and no label wants me. I may never have this opportunity again, and do I really want to throw it away just to be a chaperone?

  That voice gets quickly silenced when I think about Kamala and Amanda and Eddie and Juan and all the other kids that will be so disappointed I’m not there again.

  I hear someone coming down the hallway, the rustling of bags, and I open the door, holding it open for Serge, Ian, and Chelsea. Serge leans down to plant a quick kiss on my lips before walking by with bags and bags of Chinese food.

  “I invited Onyx too,” he says shrugging. “Figured why not make a whole thing of it.”

  “You didn’t invite Luke, did you?” I ask, scrunching up my nose.

  “You’re hanging out with Luke again?” Ian asks.

  Serge shrugs. “We’ve been running.”

  “Running from what?” asks Ian.

  “Honey, I think he means they’ve been exercising together,” Chelsea says gently, sitting next to her husband on the couch.

  “With Luke, though?” Ian asks, incredulous.

  Serge nods, laughing. “I know. He’s a lot different than I remember. But no, I didn’t invite him.”

  I let out a relieved sigh. Luke’s nice enough, but he’s kind of crazy. And once the sun goes down, he’s never sober, so there’s that.

  We’re halfway through the mountain of food when Onyx shows up and we all greet him warmly. He’s met and hung out with Ian and Chelsea a couple of times in the past few weeks, so they’re not strangers. It feels really nice to have all my favorite people in one room.

  Of course, with this many musicians in a room, it’s not long before instruments come out and conversations and songs weave together. Serge and Ian are teaching Chelsea one of their older songs when Onyx catches my eye and jerks his head toward the bedroom. I frown, but follow him and he pushes the door mostly closed as I walk in, folding his arms over his chest.

  “Did Huey get ahold of you?” he asks. I don’t answer right away. I don’t know the right answer here. I don’t know what Huey said to him, I don’t know what he said to Huey. I just know this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions and I’ll be much happier if I never hear from Huey Gleason ever again.

  “Yeah,” I finally say.

  “And?” Onyx looks jittery, on edge, clearly searching for a specific response. And I think I know what it is. Because I know how excited I was for a minute when I thought I was going to be back in the game. And then it was all ripped away. But from the look in Onyx’s eyes, he’s still holding out hope. Which means Huey didn’t tell him I’m not taking the deal.

  “I told him I’m not doing it.”

  Onyx’s arms drop to his side and I brace myself for him to try to convince me to change my mind, but instead he wraps his arms around me and hugs me.

  “What’s that for?” I ask as he pulls away.

  He shrugs. “I think you’re doing the right thing. I didn’t know if he even talked to you, because he called all of us and offered to put the group back together with a new lead singer.”

  My heart stops. I can’t imagine Onyx up on stage with someone else. “What’d you say?” I ask, my voice a hesitant whisper.

  “I told him to fuck himself, obviously. Sam and Rock fucking took it, the traitors.”

  That doesn’t actually surprise me. As much as our little band is a family, the family’s been on the rocks for a few years now, and after the recent stunts I’ve pulled, I’m not surprised at all that they want to move in another direction.

  “Well, I hope it works out for them,” I say.

  “Fuck them,” Onyx replies.

  The door pushes open an inch and Serge peeks in. “Everything okay in here?”

  “Yeah,” I answer quickly, before Onyx can say anyt
hing. I still haven’t told Serge about the offer and I don’t want him to hear about it from someone else. “We were just talking about how Onyx has found himself without a band and I was thinking he could be a big asset to our plans.”

  He opens the door all the way, and it feels silly to still be standing in the bedroom when our conversation’s not private anymore, so we just go back into the living room.

  “That’s a great idea,” Serge says.

  We tell Onyx about the plans; I haven’t really told him much up to this point because telling people about it only means they know that I was supposed to be doing something else if I screw up and don’t do it. Ian and Chelsea are into the idea too, but they’re obviously way too busy to participate regularly.

  “This seems like the kind of thing Merrill would be all over,” Chelsea says, her eyes bright as she looks to Ian. He considers it and nods.

  “You’re probably right. And he knows Serge, he’d be down to help.”

  “Who’s Merrill?” I ask.

  “Former manager,” Serge answers.

  “My current manager,” Ian interjects. “He loves doing things for charity, he could spread the word, help generate some buzz.”

  “That would be great,” Serge says, getting excited.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We still don’t even know what kind of music we’re going to be playing. We should figure that out before we start trying to work in the media or guests or anything else.”

  Serge nods, kissing my temple. “You’re right of course. You can’t blame me for being excited, can you?”

  “Not when it’s so damn cute,” I say, grinning.

  Ian clears his throat. “Well, I think that’s our cue to get the hell out of here.”

  Serge rolls his eyes. “Like you weren’t all over Chelsea when you first got together.”

  Chelsea’s face goes bright red and she coughs, turning her head.

  “We’ll get together and talk about this thing when you’ve got solider plans, yeah?” Ian asks, standing, holding a hand out to his wife, heading to the door.

  “For sure,” says Serge. Then turning to Onyx, he adds, “And we’ll get together and play some shit, try to figure out what direction we want to go in.”

  “Sounds good, man,” Onyx says, taking Serge’s hand and going in for a bro hug with a hearty slap on the back.

  “Thanks for coming!” I call to the door, everyone filtering out at once. “Man… If I knew calling you cute in front of them would get them to go, I might’ve done that a couple of hours ago,” I joke after I close the door.

  Serge frowns, but it’s not serious. “I thought you liked hanging with Ian and Chelsea.”

  “I do, but I can only be around you so long before I need to get you naked again.” I grin, closing the distance between us.

  Serge’s eyes darken and he growls, lifting me up against him, kissing me until I can’t breathe, and then tossing me over his shoulder, ignoring my protesting squeals as he carries me to the bedroom and throws me on the bed. The wild, feral hunger in his eyes makes me wet in an instant.

  “You’re insatiable, you know that?” he says, peeling my jeans down my legs, kissing the insides of my thighs as he does.

  “You complaining?”

  He yanks the jeans off my ankles and tosses them to the far side of the room. “Not even a little.”

  Chapter 17

  Serge

  It’s the day of the state competition and we’re loading all the kids onto the bus — complete with actual driver this time — when my phone rings and I excuse myself to answer the unknown number.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m calling for Serge Davenport,” a pleasant female voice says.

  “Speaking?” This is weird.

  “Hold please.”

  What the—

  “Serge! Glad I could get a hold of you. Huey Gleason.”

  I narrow my eyes, trying to remember where I know that name from. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.

  “Who?”

  “You don’t—? Ah, nevermind, you’ve been out of the biz for a while haven’t you.”

  “What is this about?”

  “Tori,” he says, and my heart stops. I look around the corner of the bus and spot her helping kids on. She’s here, so it’s not another call telling me she’s in jail.

  “What about her?”

  “You care about her, don’t you?”

  “Who are you again?”

  He sighs. “Kinda slow aren’t you, kid?”

  My hands ball up into fists. “Look, explain who you are and why the hell you’re calling me in the next two minutes, or I’m hanging up.”

  “I’m Tori’s old manager,” he says. “So, I’m gonna ask you again. You care about her, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know why it’s any business of yours.”

  “It’s my business because Tori is throwing her future away for you, and if you care about her the way I’m gonna assume you do, then you’re not going to let her do that, now are you?”

  “What are you talking about?” My patience is wearing thin with this guy, but he’s piqued my curiosity. I don’t know what he’s talking about with Tori throwing away her future for me, but he sounds convinced enough of it that I’m willing to hear him out.

  “Did Tori tell you the record label offered her a new contract?”

  My fists tighten and I look around the corner of the bus again. “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. And did she tell you she was going to head to New York to start recording this week?”

  My stomach drops. I don’t say anything, but I know it’s true. I know what he’s saying is true.

  “She didn’t tell you that either. Wanna know why? Because she couldn’t abandon your kiddies. They wanted her in New York today and now she’s gonna lose her shot.”

  I still don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. Tori’s different after rehab, maybe this is what she really wants, but I get a sick feeling in my stomach. Because Huey said that she was going to do it until she discovered the scheduling conflict. So she really is giving up her shot for me. For the kids. And I don’t think any of us would want her to do that.

  When I look around the corner of the bus again, all the kids are on board and it’s just Tori standing outside, presumably looking for me.

  “There you are,” she says, smiling when she sees me. “Where’d you disappear to?”

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask, stepping back around the corner of the bus. It’s hotter back here, and the exhaust makes it hard to breathe, but there’s no way for the kids to spy on us because there’s no window in the bathroom.

  “What’s up?” she asks, a frown scrunching her eyebrows together.

  “I just got a call.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know… Is it?”

  Her frown deepens. “Don’t talk to me in riddles, what’s going on?”

  I sigh, scrubbing my hand through my hair. “It was your old manager—”

  “Shit. Why the fuck did he call you?”

  “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?”

  “Is it true they wanted you to come out to New York to record and you didn’t do it because of the competition?”

  She hesitates, like she’s trying to think of the right answer, but then she just scowls at me. “I thought you’d be happy about that. I’m not being selfish for once.”

  She’s right of course. I don’t think the old Tori would’ve made the choice to give up her shot. But I’m not convinced it’s what she really wants. I think it might just be what she thinks she’s supposed to do.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “What kind of question is that? I’m here, aren’t I?”

  I frown, scratching at the stubble on my cheek. “Yeah, but… why? Because if it’s for me, don’t. I don’t want to hold you back, Tori.”

  She rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath,
taking a step closer to me. “God you’re stupid sometimes.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not holding me back. Kind of the opposite. You helped me find a new path… And I’m excited to take it with you. It’s not like I’m settling or something. Besides, you know how dangerous it would be for me to jump right in so soon after rehab.”

  I almost don’t want to believe her, but I see the truth shimmering in her green eyes and I can’t doubt her.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, you dummy,” she says, grabbing my shirt and pulling me down to kiss her.

  And I kiss her. I kiss her good, my hands going up under her ass, lifting her into me as my tongue delves into her mouth. I slip a finger under the hem of her cut-off shorts, sliding it under her panties and through her slippery lips all while I’m kissing her.

  “Serge!” she gasps as my finger finds her entrance. “Someone’s going to see.”

  I press her against the back of the bus, shielding her with my body. “Sounds like you better come fast then.” I don’t know what comes over me. Something about this change in Tori, about her willingly giving all that up for me, without ever even saying anything about it. She was going to quietly fall on that sword and I’d have never known about it.

  I slip another finger into her clenching depths and she groans biting the back of her hand to stifle the sound.

  “You can’t just—”

  “I think I can,” I say, my thumb finding her clit with ease, working the rhythm I know is going to send her careening off the edge. I curl my fingers and she arches into my hand. “And I think you’re going to come for me. Right now,” I growl, snatching her hand away and swallowing her cries with a fierce kiss.

  And then, like nothing happened at all, I pull my hand out of her shorts and grin, bringing my fingers up to my lips, licking them clean.

  “What the hell was that?” she asks, flushed, panting, her knees bent, leaning on the bus for support.