Hard Rock Crush

by Athena Wright

  “A fucking asshole, that's what,” Seth bit out.

  Seth had always been sensitive about being the youngest. For a while he hadn’t even been able to legally drink at the clubs we’d played at. Maybe it was time we stopped treating Seth like our kid brother. I didn’t want him to develop some sort of complex about it.

  My band had more than enough emotional baggage between us already.

  I exhaled deeply. My palms were stinging; I’d dug my nails into the flesh again. I forced my clenched fists to relax.

  “He was probably from one of those trash magazines,” Nathan said. “Just forget about him.”

  “What if he prints some of that garbage?” Gael asked.

  “He can print whatever he likes,” Nathan replied. “Our fans won’t care and they’re the only ones who matter.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Gael said. “He didn’t call you out on anything.”

  “What could he possibly call me out on?” Nathan said easily. “That I’m a slut? Guilty as charged. Can’t bash someone who’s an open book. Our new guy on the other hand…” Nathan quirked an eyebrow at Liam. “You okay over there?”

  I glanced over. Liam’s expression was pained.

  “Are you going to go on some kind of rampage against the guy?” Nathan asked. “Cause I can find out who he is for you, if you want.”

  “No. It’s fine.” Liam shot me a quick look before flicking his gaze back to Nathan. “He’s just stirring shit.”

  “Did he want to shake us before our performance?” Seth wondered out loud. “Maybe he wanted to get into our heads before we went on stage.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said tightly. “We’re going to go out there and fucking rock. All right?”

  I looked at each of my guys in turn. My brother, Nate, Seth and Julian all nodded. I looked at Liam last. His face was set with determination. I knew he was recalling the has-been comment.

  “We’re going to show them,” Liam said. “We’re going to show them what Cherry Lips can do.”

  I nodded.

  Forget my fight with Liam. Forget my grief for Harper. I had to put those feelings away for now.

  This concert, this performance, was all that mattered.

  32

  I stepped out onto the stage in front of a cheering crowd, exuding a fierce confidence, even as a war raged within me.

  Sorrow. Today was the anniversary of Harper’s death.

  Anger. That blogger had pissed me right the fuck off.

  Heartbreak. Every time I looked to Liam, I expected to see that familiar cocky smirk he wore. Instead, I saw flat eyes and a grim face.

  I grabbed the microphone and looked out at the audience.

  They didn’t know about Liam.

  They didn’t know about that blogger.

  They didn’t know about Harper.

  They had no idea anything was wrong behind the scenes.

  I wasn’t about to let them down.

  I suppressed every emotion welling up within me as I sang. I put on my best smirk, my most teasing smile. I strutted around on stage, leaning against Gael’s back as he played, draping myself over Nathan as he did a solo, crouching down near the edge to reach out and touch flailing hands.

  Even as I took shuddering breaths during the breaks between songs, even as I shook with the effort it took to keep my voice from cracking, I had to hope our fans didn’t have a clue anything was different about me.

  I had to hope they had no idea how close I was to breaking.

  We hadn’t changed a single thing in our set list, but up there on that stage, on that night, it seemed like every song was about Harper. About Liam. About losing them both.

  We finished the last song of our encore. I stayed out on stage a few minutes longer than I normally did, soaking in the energy of the audience. I was afraid as soon as I walked through that backstage curtain I was going to fall apart.

  Finally, I thanked the crowd one last time and left the stage. The band was waiting in the wings for me.

  “Fucking showed them, didn’t we?” Nathan grinned.

  “I think that’s some of the best we’ve ever played,” Seth agreed.

  I nodded, not speaking.

  What if our fans didn't agree? What if they had sense something different about our performance? If that blogger started writing trash about it, if our fans started to turn on us, if the label lost faith in us…

  A wave of nausea swept through me before I ruthlessly forced it down.

  We all hustled back to the artist lounge to gather our stuff. The guys continued chatting and joking with each other. I grabbed my bag and checked my phone. There was one missed notification.

  People were already posting about our concert.

  That lump in my gut grew to the size of a mountain.

  I couldn't bring myself to read what they were saying.

  “There’s a cool club not far from here,” Nathan said. “Want to go get trashed?”

  “Yes,” I said, surprising him with my firm response. “I could stand to let off some steam with a drink or two.”

  Or dozen. Whatever it took to rid me of this feeling, this wretched lump of darkness tormenting me with every breath.

  I'd lost Harper.

  I'd lost Liam.

  I didn't think I'd be able to survive if I lost Cherry Lips.

  Seth acted as DD again, complaining under his breath the entire time. We managed to score one of those private VIP booths even without having arranged for one ahead of time. It was sort of a rush, the kind of strings the name Cherry Lips could now pull.

  “No drinking games for me tonight,” Nathan said. “I’ve got other plans.”

  “Scoring with groupies in dark corners counts as a plan?” Gael asked.

  “You could try being little less crass about it,” Nathan drawled.

  “I’m coming with you,” Seth said.

  Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You wanna be my wingman?”

  “No,” Seth said. “You’re going to be mine.”

  Nathan gave him a startled look, then chuckled. Seth was rarely up for the kind of pick up games Nate liked to play.

  “Let’s go score you some chicks, then,” Nathan said, throwing his arm around Seth’s shoulders and leading him to the bar.

  The rest of us took seats in leather armchairs near the glass wall overlooking the dance floor. I made sure to sit as far away from Gael and Liam as I could, which placed me next to Julian. He looked oddly lost without his best friend and constant partner by his side. Seth rarely abandoned him like that.

  A server came to take our orders. I got my usual whiskey sour. Liam ordered a plain beer instead of one of his fancy rich twelve-year-whatever drinks.

  Not that I was paying attention to what he ordered. He could drink himself to death for all I cared, as long as he dragged his corpse up on stage for our next concert.

  “I looked up some info on that dickface blogger,” Gael said once we had our drinks. “He does write for one of those trash sites. Apparently his thing is to rile up his interviewees so he can catch them blowing up on camera. We were lucky none of us snapped.” Gael eyed Liam. “Although you looked about ten seconds away from pounding his face in.”

  “I’ve dealt with worse,” he said, “I just hated all that shit he brought up.”

  Gael clapped him forcefully on the back with a consoling pat. “You’re not a has-been. Don’t worry about it.”

  “It wasn’t just that,” Liam murmured into his beer. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

  I knew exactly what had gotten him so pissed off. The blogger had brought up me and Morris. That was the absolute last thing Liam would want to hear about. He was probably thinking about the two of us right now. Wondering what I was doing behind his back after our fight.

  “I can’t believe that fucker brought up Morris and the old band,” Gael said, as if echoing my thoughts. “Especially tonight.”

  Julian inhaled a sharp breath and looked to me, surprised. I
nodded in response to his unasked question. He gave me a sympathetic look.

  “You gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah,” I managed to say with a strangled breath.

  I found myself rubbing at my nails. The red lacquer was almost completely peeled off at this point. I must have been scratching at the polish all night.

  Liam’s frown deepened.

  Gael continued talking, still angry about the blogger. “It's especially shitty bringing it up, with the engagement and everything—”

  My brother cut himself off as I stood quickly, nearly splashing my drink as my fight or flight instinct kicked in. I put a hand on the back of the sofa, fingers digging into the cushions. Gael’s eyes went wide.

  “Cerise, if you want to just go home, we can do that,” he said.

  “Running away again?” Liam said. His eyes were dark and flat.

  “If my sister is feeling like shit there’s no reason she needs to stay here and drink with the rest of us,” Gael said.

  Liam ignored him and stood to face me with a scowl.

  Julian took a quiet sip of his drink and sat back, watching all three of us with rapt attention, although there was concern in his eyes when they fell on me.

  “You should just get over it,” Liam said, almost spitting the words. His fist shook as he gripped his beer tight. “Morris is marrying Natalie, not you.”

  A sharp stab spiked through me. I reeled back.

  “What the fuck are you going on about?” Gael asked Liam.

  “You can’t tell me you don’t know?” Liam scoffed and gestured to me with the hand holding his beer. “Your sister is still in love with Morris even though he’s engaged to another woman.”

  Gael’s squinted at him, then looked down at his drink, as if wondering whether he’d already had too many to hear correctly. He looked back up at Liam.

  “My sister isn’t in love with Morris,” he said with a sort of snorted laugh.

  “Could have fooled me,” Liam snarked.

  “Cerise isn’t upset because Morris is marrying Natalie,” Julian finally spoke up. His dark eyes were soft as they met mine, but once he flicked them to Liam, they narrowed. “She’s upset because her fiancé was murdered five years ago today.”

  33

  Liam froze, his eyes locked on Julian. I inched backwards, trying to not get their attention.

  “Look, it’s fine, you didn't know until just now, but today’s been really tough on Cerise,” my brother said. “My sister and Harper had been together forever and she lost him in a really shitty way—”

  “Gael,” I snapped. He stopped talking and shot me an apologetic look. He knew I hated when people talked about it.

  “I—” Liam’s gaze drifted to mine. “Harper…?” He said the words in a hushed voice, dawning horror crossing his face.

  “Yeah. Harper.”

  Liam opened his mouth but nothing came out. I could see his mind whirling, reconsidering everything he’d been thinking up until now.

  I didn’t want to wait around for him to put it all together. I didn’t need to hear his apologies, didn’t need to hear his regrets.

  I turned to Gael and Julian, ignoring Liam. “I’m taking off now.”

  “Want me to come with you?” my brother asked.

  The offer was thoughtful, but I didn’t want to be around anyone right then.

  “No. It’s fine. I’ll grab a taxi.”

  Gael studied me before nodding. “Get home safe.”

  I turned and left before Liam could finish processing what he’d just learned.

  I pushed my way through the writhing crowd of dancers to reach the exit. I saw Nathan and Seth in the corner chatting up two pretty girls. At least someone was having a fun night.

  The bouncer opened the door for me. I stepped out into the cool evening air. I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself. Trying to stem the tears from falling. Trying to swallow the hurt, the anger, the grief.

  I forced myself to shove down the memories that threatened to surface.

  I’d spent so long trying to forget how Harper had died. Losing him had been bad enough. Losing him the way I had, knowing exactly how he had been…

  It was almost more than I could handle.

  I looked down at my trembling hands, at the scratched up polish. I began to shake. I wrapped my arms around my waist, huddling into myself. Oozing black tendrils whirled inside me like a cyclone, and in the very middle was the eye of the storm threatening to suck me in.

  I heard someone bursting through the club doors, heard someone call my name.

  I couldn’t make myself move. My feet were glued to the pavement.

  I knew it was Liam approaching from behind me. I heard his heavy breathing, as if he’d run the whole way.

  “Cerise,” he repeated my name. He went silent, still taking in labored breaths.

  I didn’t turn to look at him, instead focusing my eyes on the bright headlights of cars as they passed by. They were almost blinding, reminding me of spotlights. My body buzzed like it always did on stage, but there was no high, no rush from performing to go along with it.

  “I am so sorry,” Liam began. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Should we start at the beginning?” I said. “Should we start with you throwing awful accusations at me?”

  “That’s not the beginning, though,” he replied softly. “Is it?”

  No. It wasn’t.

  The beginning wasn’t even five years ago.

  The beginning was so long ago I could barely remember how it started.

  “Morris was never…” I started to say. I tried again. “It’s never been Morris. It was always—” A stab went through my gut. “It was always Harper.”

  “He’s the one you were in love with,” Liam said, his voice low, pained.

  “Childhood sweethearts, everyone always said,” I murmured. “We knew each other since we were kids. We grew up, developed feelings for each other. Neither of us wanted to say anything. We were afraid of losing our friendship.”

  Now that I’d gotten started I couldn’t seem to stop. I rarely told anyone this story. The important people in my life already knew and I’d been trying to forget for years.

  “Everyone could see we were in love,” I continued. “Morris was the one who pushed us together. Literally.” I let out a weak snort. “He shoved us into a closet during a game of truth or dare.”

  I skipped over the rest. The happy memories were almost as painful as the bad ones.

  “Harper proposed to me on my eighteenth birthday. No one was shocked. They thought we were too young, of course, and tried to talk us out of it, but they all knew it was going to happen sooner or later. And then…”

  My voice faltered, knowing what was next. The storm inside me continued raging.

  “Can I ask what happened?” Liam was barely audible over the passing cars. “How he died?”

  I shook my head fiercely. “Not died.”

  I turned to face Liam. I wanted to see his face when I told him.

  “Harper was murdered.”

  A flash of pain shot through his eyes. “Why would someone—?”

  “You want me to give you all the gory details?”

  “No,” he winced. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  “You know my neighborhood was rough. Drugs, violence, all of it.” I kept it short, to the point. “A gang wanted Morris to join. He was big, strong, the perfect guy to act as muscle. He refused. Over and over he refused. He’d always protected the neighborhood kids, kept them away from gangs trying to recruit. So they retaliated.” I spoke as quickly as I could, words tumbling out of my mouth, knowing that if I stopped I’d never be able to continue. "Harper was late coming home one night. I was so worried. Then a pair of cops showed up at the door. They didn't even need to tell me what had happened. Something inside me already knew."

  The tears finally fell. I couldn’t contain them any longer.

  “Morris
was out drinking, partying," I continued. "He ignored Harper’s panicked phones calls."

  I inhaled deeply and looked up. The evening was clear. Millions of tiny specks twinkled above me. It was more beautiful than the last time I’d watched the night sky. This wasn’t a planetarium. This was real. Those were real stars up there, burning bright and hot in the darkness of space. The burning of my eyes, the hot ache in my chest, the darkness at the very core of me, was almost fitting.

  I looked down at my feet, unable to take such beauty when speaking of something so ugly.

  “They cornered Harper in an alley. Jumped him, knifed him. Left him to bleed out. We didn’t know whether it was meant to be a warning, or if they planned on—” I exhaled a shuddering breath. “The coroner said it took more than an hour. Ever since, I've had to live with the fact that my fiancé died slowly, alone and in pain."

  “Shit.” Liam took a step toward me and reached out, as if wanting to pull me against him.

  I held up a shaky hand. “Don’t.”

  He lowered his arms.

  “I’m so sorry.” His voice was distressed, almost anxious. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like, to have to live with that.”

  “It was hell,” I said flatly.

  Liam made a movement to step forward, then halted, seeming to struggle with himself. He wanted to hold me, to comfort me.

  But I wouldn’t have found comfort in his arms. Not anymore.

  “I fell apart,” I continued. “Morris tried to put me back together, but seeing him only made it hurt more. So he left. And I've been trying to forget about it for years."

  Liam couldn’t fight it anymore. He lurched forward and took me in his arms, burying his face in my hair.

  “I am so fucking sorry,” he choked out.

  I let him hold me, but didn’t return the embrace. Tears still fell down my cheeks, but I was numb inside. Now that the black sludge had completely taken over my chest, my heart, my lungs, my gut, it seemed to have settled. It was no longer a writhing mass. It was now simply a sticky tar coating every inch of me.

  Liam pulled back to look into my eyes. I don’t know what he saw, but it made him flinch.