The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance (Legendary Rock Star #5)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “I can’t be your life,” she said, hesitantly. I should have been getting angry. I was angry. I didn’t want her to tell me what to do, but I also knew I didn’t want to fight with her. I wasn’t about to make a scene in front of everyone. My hand came up to her shoulder and I slowly stroked downward. She shivered under my touch. It wasn’t repulsion. Something was familiar about this quake.

  “Give me tomorrow. You can leave today, if you promise to come back tomorrow and go on the boat with me. Just us.”

  Her eyes opened wide when she responded.

  “Oh, Arturo, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?” There was more of an edge in my tone than I intended, but my heart was starting to race. I wouldn’t let her go without a promise to return tomorrow.

  “I just…I think that it…”

  “Arturo, come on,” Morte whined from the pool.

  “Just a minute,” I barked. Guinie blinked.

  “You need to go to your son,” she said calmly. I saw her shoulders straighten. I’d seen that look before. She would stand up for Morte. They had some kind of secret relationship of protection for one another, and she would not let me ignore him, which is exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to put Guinie and me in a bubble and let the rest of them go.

  “Don’t leave,” I said again, clenching my teeth.

  “Fine,” she said with a huff. “I’m going inside for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  I gave her five minutes before I went in search of her. Determined that she might not have kept her word and snuck out the front door, I was rather intent to find her. My heart hammered in my chest and my left hand clenched. I was on a mission that took all of three seconds. I found her in a hall exiting a bathroom.

  “Arturo?” She blinked in my direction as she straightened her top. She wore the tank top over a bikini and nothing else. I was instantly in her space, pinning her against the wall. My breath was coming like I’d run a sprint, instead of taking a few paces through my home. Her thin neck glistened and I realized that she must have splashed water on herself in the bathroom. My lips instantly found a drop and kissed it tenderly, sucking it into my mouth.

  “Arturo?” Her voice quivered and her body shivered as it had outside. It was familiar. She wanted me. Moreover, I remembered that shiver meant she was ready for me. I continued my line of attack up her neck and along her jaw. I felt the breath of a whisper brush my ear as I drew near her mouth.

  “Arturo.”

  She wasn’t questioning. I was. Was she ready for me? Did she want me?

  My mouth found hers. It was tender one second and brutal the next. My body slammed against hers and in our minimal attire, my erection came between her thighs. My mouth ravished hers and she was taking back from me just as greedily. My hand dragged up her arm and wrapped around her neck, holding her against the wall. My stumped arm balanced next to her head, pinning her inside my trap. Our mouths continued to attack and counterattack. In a bold sweep, I let my hand drag down the middle of her body. She shivered again and bucked against me. My mission to find her was not complete in searching her out inside the home. I needed to be inside her somehow.

  My hands were rough as fingers slid under the band of material between her thighs. She moaned into my mouth, her breath hitching as I slid into slick wetness. She shimmied and my memories were confirmed. She was ready for me. My fingers made quick work of the torture as they rammed into her then dragged to the brink before a deep return. Her hips moved and her mouth tugged. I worked her, letting her warmth surround me. She raised a leg in an attempt to circle my hips. Within moments, I felt that familiar clench within her and she started to slide down the wall at her back. I wasn’t letting up. She would not escape me.

  My mouth followed hers, and my fingers continued until she bit my lip. Her hands were in my hair and she tugged it tight. I pulled back and her eyes lowered like a drug-induced haze. She breathed my name as her insides collapsed and she crashed around my fingers. Her head hung down. She leaned into my neck as her lower body continued in a slow dance over my hand. She groaned into my skin, kissed my neck, and straightened.

  I slid out of her and quirked up my lips. Her face fell.

  “What was that?” she demanded, all seriousness suddenly. Her body was rigid against the wall. Her hands splayed flat as if suctioned to the textured material behind her.

  “It’s been a long time, but I’m pretty sure that was an orgasm of monumental proportions.”

  I was ready for the slap. Anticipated it even, but she didn’t move. Her chest rose and fell as she continued to glare at me, wide-eyed, almost frightened.

  “I can’t believe…I didn’t mean…oh my God,” she said, closing those eyes and shutting me out.

  I traced the line of her cheek to her jaw then covered her lips with my thumb.

  “Guinie?” I questioned; concerned I didn’t please her. I had to use my left hand and that was a bit of a struggle.

  “That should never have happened,” she said, placing hands on my chest and forcing me gently back.

  “It should never have happened,” she repeated quietly before slipping out from under me and briskly exiting the hall.

  I went out the front door to come face to face with Mure Linn. White hair slicked back, cut short to his neck, with a trimmed white beard and an arm of Celtic tattoos, he looked like a biker Santa Claus. He had these strange two-tone eyes – one was dark and dull blue like a rolling thunderstorm, while the other was almost turquoise and swirled like a Caribbean ocean. It was hard to know which eye to look at when he spoke to you. As I grew older I tried to avoid him completely. He seemed to know things about me that I didn’t even know. I continually felt as if he judged me.

  “Leaving so soon?” he asked, as he stood in the gravel drive. I glared at him. He was another one that I wondered about. Where the hell had he been while Arturo was missing? I had no doubt he had been with Arturo or knew of Arturo’s whereabouts. An additional question remained: Why didn’t he tell any of us? Why didn’t he tell me? I had the distinct feeling that Mure Linn did not care for me and especially did not care for my relationship with Arturo. I almost laughed in hysteria to think of what just happened in the hall, and the fact that Arturo and I were no longer together. There would be nothing for Mure Linn to worry over.

  Surprising me further, Mure gently took the top of my arm and guided me around the back of the house. I just couldn’t seem to get away that day.

  “You aren’t going to want to miss this,” he chuckled with mischief twinkling brightly in his eyes. He didn’t appear to be surprised that the whole band was present. What did appear shocking was the unfathomably quick approach of Tristan Lyons, who was ready to punch this elder man, until I stepped in the line of fire to stop him.

  “Where the fucking hell…” he began but was interrupted at the appearance of me between him and Mure. Not to mention¸ the commanding voice of Arturo, warning Tristan to stop. Within seconds, hands were wiping down my face after I had been pulled to the side.

  “He didn’t touch you, did he?” Arturo spoke to me, but I was still visibly shaken. Tristan’s fist had come rather close. If Ireland hadn’t grabbed his arm, I’m not certain I would have been standing. Arturo whirled on Tristan.

  “What in the everloving fuck do you think you were doing?” Arturo’s arm had slid around me, and he pulled me tight against his side. I still hadn’t said a word. I was too stunned.

  “Sorry, Guinie,” Tristan mumbled. “But where the hell have you been?” He addressed Mure and yanked his arm out of Ireland’s grasp. Her mouth fell open at the rude release.

  “Tristan,” she warned. He blinked and turned to her. He stared at her hard for a moment, then his hands came to her face, and he kissed her equally hard. I’m certain he muttered his apologies, but did it briefly before rounding back to Mure.

  “I want answers,” he demanded.

  “And what makes you think you deserve them?” Mure responded.
His head held high, but his wandering eyes were not still. He was such a strange man, but Arturo worshipped him. He had been the protector of Arturo for all his life, at times unbeknownst to him. Mure wouldn’t have done anything to harm Arturo, I believed. But what he did do was questionable at times.

  Arturo’s arm slid around me until he held my hand. Refusing to let go of me, he stepped before his mentor, dressed in a white t-shirt and faded jeans, despite the heat. He tapped his wrist on Tristan’s chest.

  “I’ll tell you whatever you’d like to know,” he said calmly, glancing over at me. “Whatever you want to know, just ask me.”

  The question was simple: “What happened to you?”

  The story began with the chase. As we all knew, Arturo led Perkins out of The Round Table in attempts to remove Hollister SanGrael from the clutches of Mel Agent, a rival singer, and leader of the band, Dark Agents. I had my own history with Mel and it left everyone on edge with his presence at the concert that night. To top it off, we didn’t know yet that the girl Perkins wanted to remove was the woman he’d been searching for since he was a teenager. Hollister had been his quest, and with no additional searching, she’d walked into his life.

  We also knew that Arturo and Perkins had separated in what Arturo assumed was a paparazzi chase after him. Perkins confirmed he thought that true, as well, since the separation caused the two chasing motorcycles to follow Arturo. One motorcycle had been in pursuit for photographs, the other we weren’t so convinced about. When the photographer got the shots, the rumor was the person left the scene. I noticed Lila shifting and Lansing wrapped his arm tighter around her at mention of that, but I dismissed it. Arturo continued to explain the second bike pursued him until he was forced to crash into a viaduct.

  Arturo clarified that the best he could surmise was he fell off the bike with the impact. His hand was caught and he was dragged several feet. His hand was crushed, the limb practically severed at the wrist, and his body damaged from road burn. He pulled up the long length of swim shorts to expose a large rash of raw skin on his upper right leg. While his upper body had been protected by a leather jacket, his lower body was ripped clear of his denim jeans to expose his thigh to the rough city street.

  The mystery of how he disappeared was simple to Arturo. Someone had seen the accident and contacted Mure Linn. Mure was upon the scene within moments. Between the mysterious phone call and the police’s arrival, Arturo’s body was removed and taken to the Westminster Hospital, where a private wing catered to burn victims, as well as, severe injury to the rich and famous. It was a way to keep it all out of the press. Arturo was there until shortly before Christmas.

  Eventually, he moved to Portland for months of physical and emotional therapy. He had become too addicted to the pain medication. He mixed it one night with alcohol and blacked out. It scared him, not knowing what he’d done. That night had been Boxing Day – December 26th.

  At that point in the story, I saw Perkins look up and glare at Arturo. We’d been sitting haphazardly around the firepit, unlit in the middle of the day. Willowy curtains rustled in the breeze around the wrought iron gazebo structure, as we sat spread amongst the outdoor cushioned couch and two oversized chairs. We were crowded in the space and Mure Linn preferred to pace behind the couch listening intently as Arturo continued his tale. Arturo often looked over his shoulder at his mentor, as if in confirmation of what he told us. Perkins opened his mouth to speak and then shut it quickly, letting Arturo begin again.

  While in Portland, he let his presence be known to the public. He slowly let it leak that he was there. He hoped it would prepare us all for his return. He didn’t intend to appear suddenly at the concert, but the temptation to see the band was too great. He returned to New York before his full term at the treatment center was complete.

  Arturo ended his tale with his head bent. He explained that he missed the music, even though he couldn’t play. He missed his band, although he knew he’d been away too long. He looked over at me about to add something further then stopped. I looked away. I didn’t make his list of whom he missed. When Arturo finished, we remained silent, each lost in our own thoughts. It was Tristan again who asked what we all wanted to know.

  “Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you tell us you needed our help? We’re…we’re family,” Tristan emphasized, scanning Arturo’s face, asking him the question with complete puzzlement.

  Arturo continued, “At first I didn’t know who I was, let alone all of you. I remembered the band, but I was lost. My hand,” he looked down at the missing appendage, “and my heart,” he glanced over at me, “it was all additional loss. I was drowning in my own darkness.”

  Tristan still waited, as did I. That wasn’t enough of an explanation.

  “There were so many complications. My hand was beyond repair, but they tried to reset the limb to my wrist. Infection set in, and it was better to remove it. It just seemed like one thing after another.”

  “But...” Tristan began, but Arturo cut him off.

  “I was so heavily medicated, I travelled in a fog. There were days I was ready to return, attempting to get back. But something always happened.”

  At that point Arturo looked at me then let his eyes skim over to Lansing Lotte, who had remained strangely quiet through this whole explanation. Lila sat between his legs, as he was perched on the ground. She leaned back against him and his arm was still tightly wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. The honey-blonde noticed Arturo’s stare and twisted slightly to peer at Lansing behind her. Lansing kissed her exposed shoulder while continuing to return Arturo’s gaze. A thousand words crossed the line of their stare, and my heart sank to my stomach. I didn’t dare dream that Arturo was coming to see me the day he saw Lansing and I outside a coffee shop last winter. It would be too much to ask and too painful to remember.

  “What about the night by the river?” Perkins asked. He’d had a confrontation with a man in defense of Hollister outside his warehouse home. The result had been a huge knife wound, but they’d both been saved by a mystery man. I often wondered about that night, but this was the first that Perkins mentioned it again.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arturo smirked and winked at Perkins. It was obvious at the moment that wasn’t going to be discussed. Perkins was thoughtful for a moment.

  “What about Boxing Day night?” Perkins asked quietly. In strange unison, Lila and Perkins both said, “I saw you.” They looked at one another as Perkins sat in an oversized chair with Hollister half over his lap. The chair was large enough for two and her legs draped over his. Lansing didn’t seem as surprised by Lila seeing Arturo as Perkins was.

  “That night I hit rock bottom,” he said. The slightest shift in his eyes moved in the direction of Ana. She was perched on the edge of the couch’s armrest, balancing her body behind Arturo with her hand placed on the back of the seat. She sat rather close to him, and it occurred to me that she was also calm during this explanation. Then it hit me. Ana LeFaye had also known where Arturo was all along. I couldn’t let my thoughts wander, but I suddenly had a wealth of questions. Her thin lips were slow to smile in Arturo’s direction, obviously expressing some pleasurable memory. Her bright green eyes looked down at him, but the sour expression on Arturo’s face made her own face fall. Arturo twisted to look directly at me. Dark eyes implored me to concentrate on him.

  “I wanted to come back. But after so much time, and so many things happening, I just didn’t know how.” His eyes shifted over his shoulder to Ana before returning to me.

  “I didn’t know how,” he repeated slowly. The sadness in his voice, crumbled some walls around my heart.

  We sat silently for no more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Morte sat between Arturo and I, and I had the sudden impression again of Ana, Arturo and Morte being a family. From my position, they would have made a stunning, if unusual, family portrait. Once again, I noticed how little Morte resembled Arturo. His small voice broke us
all from our revelry.

  “Can I show you my trick now?” he asked innocently to Arturo. Arturo sighed, letting his eyes fall from mine.

  “What trick is that?” Arturo asked, rubbing a hand over the messy dark hair of his son.

  Morte looked over his shoulder to the older gentleman pacing back and forth behind the outdoor couch. Mure Linn had been the only movement amongst our group while Arturo spoke. He stopped his stride to face Morte and nodded once. Before I realized what Morte was doing, he reached into the dry firepit and pulled out a chunk of blackened wood. He closed his small fist. Holding his other hand, palm face down over the secured one, he rotated his hand in a small circle, said something I didn’t understand and tapped his tiny knuckles. He flipped the fisted hand face up and opened it quickly, revealing a small burst of flames. The flame looked like the tip of a large candle and it balanced in his small hand. He pushed the fire upward and released it. We watched in wonder as the flaming object floated in the breeze.

  I had the strangest sensation that Arturo’s story was trapped in that flame. It burned for a moment, fueled by the summer breeze, then disappeared as if blown out by a breath. The ash of the wood fell slowly back to earth and landed on my leg. In a gut reaction, I used my hand to swish the warm piece off my skin and watched as it fell to the cement patio below, extinguishing into nothing.

  Since I hadn’t made my escape like I planned, the next best thing was find it in liquid. I drank.

  After Morte’s little fire display, he regaled us with another magic trick or two, dissolving all further questions of Arturo’s disappearance and struggle to return. I could see that Tristan was not placated and wanted more information from Mure Linn. Arturo was clearly not allowing an inquisition of his mentor, though. I could tell Arturo wanted the atmosphere to return to the spirit of the carefree day. So he turned the evening into a barbeque. With a brief rain shower, we were forced inside and the dining room, while formal, held a group of water logged, sun drenched people.