Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  Dead silence. She hadn’t spoken to him on the phone him in months. “Wow. I didn’t expect it to be you.” He sounded jarred, off balance. She concentrated on that, instead of the liquid warmth that suffused her when she heard his familiar voice.

  “Well, it is me. Will you come?”

  “Of course I will,” he said. “I’d have come sooner, if you wanted me.”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I don’t now, either. This isn’t my idea. It’s part of the treatment plan. My counselor will call you to set up a time. Her name is Elizabeth.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said. “I promise.”

  “Thanks,” Shan replied. “Good-bye.”

  “Wait! Are you all right?”

  “More or less. I’m clean. Mostly, anyway,” she added. “No methadone.”

  “I’m glad.” His voice was hesitant, uncertain. She hated the way it was making her feel, all aglow and quivery inside. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

  “I can’t help it,” he said. “I hate having you there, even though it’s what you need right now. I know what it’s like, how alone it feels.” He paused. She didn’t say anything. “I think about you all the time, angel. And I miss you,” he added quietly.

  “Screw you, Quinn,” Shan said, her voice shaking. She hung up the phone.

  When the day came for the session, Shan had worked herself into a state of self-protective anger. At the appointed time she stalked to the counselor’s office and threw open the door. “Let’s get this over with,” she snarled at Elizabeth, who was seated at her desk.

  She rose, a buxom, pretty woman with dark, curly hair and intelligent eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses. “Good morning, Shan. Your husband is here.” She nodded at Quinn, who was standing by the window, looking out.

  There he was, her cheating prick of a husband whom she still, inexplicably, loved. His face looked drawn, gaunt, and his hair was longer than he usually wore it, past his shoulders. He looked pale, too, but she could see the flush of a new sunburn across his cheeks. “Hi,” he said.

  Shan nodded and sat down on the couch. She couldn’t answer him, because her heart had leapt out of her chest and into her throat. “Nice place,” he remarked.

  Shan coughed. “Is it like the place you went?” she asked, after a minute. It seemed like a safe topic, their mutual detoxes.

  “No.” He shook his head. “That was in Malibu.”

  “On the water. That figures.” She sat a little straighter. “I prefer the mountains.”

  “I know.” He moved toward her, as if to sit beside her, but the look she shot him clearly transmitted her displeasure. He sat down across from her, instead, and looked down at his hands. She saw that he was still wearing his wedding band. She’d taken hers off, months before, although she still wore the pretty garnet and diamond ring he’d given her.

  Elizabeth joined them, choosing the flowered loveseat between the couch where Shan sat and the chair that Quinn occupied. “Thank you for coming, Quinn.”

  He shifted, keeping his eyes down. “Absolutely. Whatever she needs.”

  “The only thing I need from you,” Shan said, “is my daughter.”

  He looked up then, surprised. “I’m not keeping her from you. I never would.”

  “But I want her here,” Shan emphasized, “with me. Living with me.”

  “Here?” He looked nonplussed. “At the rehab?”

  Shan glared at Elizabeth. “I told you he wouldn’t let me do it.”

  Quinn still looked confused, so Elizabeth filled him in. “We have accommodations for parents who wish to keep their children with them while they’re in treatment, Quinn. It’s helpful, sometimes, because it takes a long time to recover from an addiction. It can’t be rushed, either.”

  “I know that,” he said. “Firsthand, in fact.”

  She nodded. “For mothers especially, separating them from their children can make them anxious to get through the program as quickly as possible. When the kids are here, they’re likely to stay longer, which helps make the treatment more successful.”

  Quinn frowned. “Do you feel like you’re ready for something like that?” he asked Shan.

  “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t ask. I’d never put her in danger.” Except when I almost burned the house down over her head. Another surge of self-loathing filled her and she ducked her face.

  Quinn was still frowning. “I’d like to hear some of the details.”

  Shan snorted, but Elizabeth was already launching into a description of the program. Private quarters for families. Certified child care staff for times that Shan would need to be away from Angie, for counseling sessions or meetings. Play groups. Story hours. Field trips.

  “Sounds like summer camp,” Quinn said, but his frown had cleared.

  “We try to make it as positive an experience as possible,” Elizabeth agreed. “The kids need to be safe and happy, so that their mothers can focus on getting well.”

  “What if she stays with you during the week,” Quinn said to Shan, “and I take her on weekends? That way she’d still be in her home, at least part of the time.”

  “Your hotel isn’t her home,” Shan corrected him sharply.

  “I’m not there anymore. I’ve been staying in Mission Cove since you’ve been here,” he said, frowning anew as her eyes widened. “Didn’t Oda tell you?”

  Shan shook her head. The thought of Quinn back in their house filled her with alarm. It scared her because it sounded so right, like that was the way it was supposed to be.

  “I thought it would be better for Angie. More normal. It’s hard on her, being away from you. Don’t worry,” he said, correctly interpreting the look on her face. “It’s temporary. I’ll leave when you’re ready to come home.”

  That was scary, too, how well he knew her even now.

  By the end of the session, they had Angie’s schedule worked out. Shan still didn’t want Quinn visiting her, but they’d see each other when they passed Angie back and forth. Elizabeth wanted to meet with them weekly to work on healing their family dynamic, although Shan stated flatly that she had no interest in resuming their marriage. Quinn didn’t comment, just looked sad, and at the end of the hour he asked Shan if she’d walk him to his car. “Please,” he added, when she hesitated. “I have something for you.”

  She squared her shoulders and followed him out to the parking lot. “You’re doing the twelve-step thing again?” he asked, along the way. “That never much worked for you before.”

  “It still doesn’t,” she confessed without looking at him. She kept her arms tightly crossed over her chest, as if to block his access to her heart. “But I’m trying everything. Group therapy. Acupuncture. Macrobiotics. Even a sweat lodge,” she added. “It smells like a dirty hippie.”

  He laughed out loud. It sounded like a rusty gate opening. She herself hadn’t laughed, really laughed, since before that morning in Seattle. From the sound of it, neither had he. “Good plan,” he said. “Even the NA thing. There’s really something to it, that higher-power stuff.”

  “Oh, please. You’re an atheist.”

  “I said higher power,” he emphasized. “Not God. It’s not the same thing. Your higher power is the thing that guides you, keeps you on course. It will save you, too, if you let it.”

  “It can also destroy you,” she shot back, experiencing a potent, virulent spurt of rage. She didn’t want any guidance from him, not now or ever again. “And if you’re not careful, it can take your heart and soul and shred them into a million pieces. It can destroy every single thing that matters to you, until there’s nothing left. You’ll never be my higher power again.”

  He stopped dead and, when she looked up at him, she saw he was paralyzed. The pain in his brilliant eyes was so deep and raw and stark that they looked colorless.

  She looked away. They’d reached the parking lot. She saw his Testarossa, parked in the shade with the windows rolled down. “I have to
get back. What did you want to show me?”

  He didn’t say anything, just went to his car and pulled open the door. When he did a black shape streaked out, heading straight for Shan. She gasped.

  “Sugaree!” She dropped to her knees and was immediately knocked flat by the dog, who flung herself upon her person with insane, irrepressible joy. Shan wrapped her arms around Sugaree’s neck and let her face be bathed in sweet, sloppy kisses. For the very first time since she’d been at Mountainside, she felt a lightness in her heart.

  Shan took her out on one of the trails, which felt healing and restorative with Sugaree at her side. They had a short hike, including a stop at the pond where Suge went for a dip. After a bit, they returned to the parking lot. Quinn was sitting in the car, head down.

  Shan was smiling when she opened the door. “She’s all wet,” she warned, laughing as Sugaree leapt inside, spattering drops like a summer rain. But the laughter died on her lips when Quinn looked up and she saw his tears.

  She’d never seen him cry, ever, didn’t think he was even capable of it, but his eyes were wet, red, and there was something in them that made her heart twist into a knot. “All I ever meant to do was take care of you and make you happy,” he said. His voice shook. “The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you. I’m sorry, angel. So fucking sorry.”

  She backed away from the car. Seeing him was hard enough, hearing him, but this? It was enough to annihilate her. “I’ve got to get away from you,” she said, her voice quivering like a fiddle string.

  “Wait.” He jumped out of the car, swiping his fist across his eyes, and unlocked the trunk. “I’m not your higher power, Shan, but you do have one. It’s been inside you, all along. What’s killing you now is that you’ve turned away from it.”

  “Don’t tell me how I feel!” she cried, her voice scaling up. “I’m sick of you always telling me what to do, how to be! How the hell do you know what’s inside of me?”

  “Because I’ve been right where you are,” he shot back, shouting too, now. “Only I wasn’t stupid enough to throw away the one fucking thing that held me together!”

  He yanked open the trunk and pulled out a guitar case. “Take it. Take it,” he ordered, shoving it into her arms even as she was shaking her head. “Do something to help yourself, instead of bitching about what a fucking villain I am or whining about what a fucking victim you are.”

  “Fuck you, Quinn!” she shrieked, clutching the guitar case.

  “Fuck you too, Shan.” He got back in the car and drove away, and then she was alone, except for the angel in her arms.

  chapter 47

  Shan took a deep, bracing breath of the sea air, lifting her face to the sun. Her hair shone, her skin was clear, and the marks on her chin had faded to light-pink specks she knew would eventually fade. It was a gorgeous day in Mission Cove, sunny and warm, the sky as blue as her daughter’s eyes. Or her husband’s.

  Ex-husband soon, she supposed. Now that she was back at home, it was time to finalize the divorce. It would be good to get it over with, she reflected, because that day, with its confirmation that she and Quinn were finished once and for all, would unquestionably be one of the very worst days of her life. But it would be good, too, in a way. She needed the closure, the incontrovertible proof that her marriage was dead so she could scatter the ashes and move on.

  And she was doing that. After nearly five months at Mountainside, she was clean and healthy, back in her home with her daughter and her dog.

  And her guitars.

  Shan was making music again, producing a stream of fresh, new material, all on her own this time. She didn’t have Quinn to bounce her ideas off of, correct her mistakes, or provide her with inspiration. She had all the inspiration she needed, deep in her heart.

  It had been there all along, really. He’d been right again. Once she let it out, the music saved her, giving her the strength she needed to take her first steps alone into a new life, the same strength that was giving her the courage to confront the last of her demons, the one she’d been avoiding for some time.

  Oda joined her on the deck. “I’m taking Angie down to the studio,” she said. “Quinn just called, from his car. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t,” Shan told her. “Just keep her here for a bit, okay?” Then she marched to the door that led to the studio, unlocked it, and vanished down the stairs.

  Quinn had vacated their home as soon as she told him she was ready to come home and hadn’t set foot in the house since. He was back living in the hotel and they’d reverted to their old system regarding the time he spent with their daughter. Oda took her down to the studio when he picked her up, following the same routine when he brought her home. Like before, he and Shan avoided any face-to-face contact. The difference was that it was him, not her, who was insisting upon that restriction now.

  He’d kept his promise to attend the weekly counseling sessions at Mountainside. For weeks he sat stone faced and silent while she pummeled him with acrimony and castigation and abuse. He maintained his stoicism even when she railed and shouted and threw things, told him he was cold and selfish and cruel. It wasn’t until she insisted that he’d never loved her, that he’d married her only because she was pregnant, that he finally exploded, lashing back with so much rage and vitriol that she was stunned. Then he walked out, refusing to attend any more of the sessions. The violence of his response made her acknowledge, finally, that she hadn’t been the only one hurt by their ordeal.

  Although she’d found her higher power, she still had very little use for twelve-step programs. She did recognize the value of some of the steps, though. Especially step nine.

  Making amends.

  Shan generally stayed out of the studio. She’d gone down there only long enough to retrieve the rest of her guitars, her amp, and the old four-track they’d used in the canyon house. She installed it upstairs and recorded in the living room, respecting Quinn’s request to keep out of his space.

  When she came down the stairs, the first thing she saw was the Kur. She switched it on, sat at the piano bench, and hit an A note, appreciating the resonant sound the instrument possessed. She touched the keys, thinking how many times she’d watched Quinn’s hands manipulate them, so skillful and capable, so rarely making a mistake.

  When she heard his car in the driveway, she pulled her hands away from the keyboard and laced her fingers together. She took a deep breath as the doorknob turned and Quinn came into the darkened studio.

  He didn’t see her right away, going to his desk and switching on the light, then flipping open a file. He selected a page of notated sheet music, held it up, and frowned at it. Then he began humming lightly, tapping out a beat on the desktop with his knuckles.

  Shan was motionless, watching him scowl at the music. His face had lost its hollow cast and it looked like he’d had his hair cut recently, the silky strands just brushing his shoulders.

  She hesitated, then lifted her hand to the Kur. She ran her fingers across it, producing a smooth slur of notes.

  Quinn raised his eyes. When he saw her, he stopped tapping.

  “Hello,” he said. It was impressive, how much hostility he could express with that word.

  “Hi,” she replied.

  He frowned. “Are you working on something? I told Oda I was coming, but she didn’t say you’d be—”

  “No, it’s okay,” she told him. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

  He kept a wary eye on her. “Then why are you down here?”

  “Because I want to talk to you.”

  “Is something wrong with Angie?”

  “No. It’s about us.” He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I won’t keep you long.”

  His eyes shot to the clock over the mixing board. “You can have five minutes. Not one second more.” He sat down at his desk and folded his arms on top of it. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  His eyebrows went
up even higher. “Sorry?” His tone was dubious.

  “Yes. Sorry for—” she stopped. She’d had a whole speech prepared, but in his presence it vaporized like mist in the sunlight. “Sorry for everything.” That summed it up, she supposed.

  He didn’t reply, just continued to eye her suspiciously. She rose from the piano bench and crossed the room. The desk was between them, but she was close enough to reach out and touch him if she chose.

  She didn’t, since he looked utterly forbidding. “All those things I said—how I hated you, how you ruined my life—I didn’t mean them.” Her voice trembled. “I was so angry at you, and I wanted to hurt you. I know now that I did. I’m not very proud of myself for it.”

  She waited. He didn’t make a sound; just watched her.

  She hung her head. “I’m so sorry, Q. That’s really all I wanted to say.” And she moved toward the door.

  As she reached for the knob, she heard his voice, very low. “I’m sorry, too.”

  She turned. The suspicion was still in his eyes, but now with a trace of sorrow as well.

  “That means a lot to me.” She paused, but when she spoke, her voice was still shaking. “I never in a million years would have thought that I could be capable of…of…”

  “I never thought I could, either,” he said, “and I never wanted to hurt you. I just…lost my way for a little while. I hope you can believe that.”

  “I can,” she said, “because I know how it can happen. You can get carried away with the anger. And the pain. And the drama, too, I suppose.”

  “There’s been a lot of mutual hurting, I guess. I’d like to find a way to put it behind us.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” she said, “to try and repair some of the damage I’ve done.”

  “You didn’t do all of it. I started it, remember? And I regret that, Shan. I will until the day I die.” His eyes met hers. She hoped he wasn’t going to apologize again for the Seattle thing. They’d beaten it to death, over and over, in therapy. She didn’t want to think about it anymore.