He snorted in disbelief, watching a tear slide down her cheek to the corner of her pink, trembling lower lip. “What, exactly, was the context of that conversation?”
“It was when I was at Mountainside. She was worried about you,” Shan said, her voice quivering. “She said you needed me. That…that I make you into the person you’re supposed to be. And that the person you are is a good one.”
Quinn was too surprised to respond immediately. The tear was still clinging to the corner of Shan’s mouth and he stared at it, experiencing a sudden, powerful urge to remove it with his lips. At the same time, there was a flicker of warmth in his chest. Goddamned Denise, he thought. Nosy, loudmouthed, meddling, sweet Denise.
Shan swiped a hand across her face. When she lowered it, the tear was gone. His gaze shot from her mouth to her eyes. “Do you suppose she might be right?” he said.
Shan stared back at him. “About what?”
“About us.” He cupped her face between his hands. “Getting back together. It could happen. It could even happen”—his index finger moved over her lip gently—“right now.”
She was unable to utter a sound.
“I think I’m still in love with you. I think I really am.” His tone was wondering. “What do you think? Are we going to make it happen?”
For a moment, a wild hope flared in her eyes.
And, just as quickly, faded away. “No,” she said, beginning to sob as she got to her feet.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t go back there, Q.”
“We don’t have to go back. We can go forward.”
“We will. Just not together.” He scowled and she held up her hands as if to ward off a blow. “It’s too late. Nothing’s changed.”
“I still love you,” he reminded her. “And, judging from the thermonuclear fit you just threw, I’d venture to say that you still love me, too. I think that changes things, don’t you?”
“No, because we’ve always loved each other, whether we admitted it or not. But some people don’t belong together no matter how much they love each other.”
“All you need is love,” he quoted, “according to the other great song-writing duo.”
“They were wrong, though.” She held up her hand again when he began to argue. “I can’t talk to you anymore. Not about this. I need you to leave, okay?”
He got to his feet and reluctantly moved to the door. She followed, but stayed well out of his reach, as if she was afraid to let him touch her.
When he paused to look back at her, she was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and the most poignant longing on her face. He reached into his pocket, producing a CD. “New song?” she asked.
“Yes. I was going to play it today, but I decided not to, after I heard your stuff.”
Her lip quivered anew. “The dog shit, you mean?”
“It’s not. I’m sorry I said that. It’s great stuff, Shan. It’s hot and it’s fresh and it rocks, and it’s all yours.” He smiled, a little sadly. “There’s not a trace of me in it.”
“That’s not true. You’ll always be part of my music, Q.”
He hesitated for moment, then reached back into his pocket. He took out a Sharpie and flipped open the CD case, then scribbled something on the inside of the sleeve. He handed it to her and turned away. “Good-bye, Shan.”
She closed the door on him, very gently.
She wiped her eyes and went back into the studio. She sat down in front of the console, opened the CD, and read the words he’d scribbled.
I wrote this for you, angel. I’ll miss you forever. Love, Q
She took out the CD and inserted it into the player. She hit play, then drew her knees against her chest as a throbbing, haunting melody filled the room.
There was an angel who slipped in my heart
Rocked my life, changed my destiny
I never wanted a counterpart
But she didn’t wait for an invite from me
Had Quinn actually written this? And yet, his dulcet tones were clearly recognizable, as familiar to her as the steady, measured rhythm of his composition.
She broke all my rules, took away my control
I fought against getting drawn in too deep
But when I had her, what I didn’t know
Was that she was a treasure I couldn’t keep
She squeezed her eyes shut and began to tremble.
Angel fallen from the sky
I’m reaching for you day and night
But the closer I get, the higher you fly
And I know that part of me will die
If I don’t keep you in my sight
My Rock Angel
She broke and slid to the ground, pressing her face against the carpet. She cried and cried, and couldn’t hear the closing chords of the song over her sobs.
chapter 49
Quinn gave up, switching off the Yamaha. He’d been tinkering with a new song ever since coming back from Mission Cove, but it wasn’t jelling.
His stomach rumbled and he was mildly surprised to realize he was hungry. A couple of hours earlier, he’d felt like he’d never eat again. He lifted the phone and dialed room service. “Room three-twenty. A pepperoni…”
No way. He couldn’t face a pepperoni and mushroom pizza. All it would do was make him think of the dozens that he and Shan had shared over the years. It was their standard song-writing fare, because they could never tear themselves away long enough to cook or even eat out when they were on a good run. She used to joke that people could tell they’d had a prolific spell by the number of take-out cartons stacked by the trash can.
“A burger. Medium. Thanks.”
A little while later, a knock heralded the arrival of his dinner. He opened the door.
It wasn’t the burger, though.
His soon to be ex-wife was standing on the threshold.
“I listened to your song,” she said, “and I have some feedback.”
It suddenly felt like he had a buzz saw lodged in his esophagus. He coughed. “What?”
“Do I have to deliver it from the hallway?”
“Oh, sorry.” He pushed the door open. “Come on in.”
She walked in, sat down on the couch, and looked around. “Nice suite.”
“It’s fine,” he said impatiently. “What’s your feedback?”
“That song is amazing, Q. It’s the best thing you’ve ever written.” Her face was inscrutable. “You can’t lie in your music, can you?”
“No,” he replied. “Of course not. Your music is your higher power, right?” She nodded, looking very serious. “How can that tell anything but the truth?”
“It can’t,” Shan admitted, then was quiet for a few moments. She seemed to be collecting her thoughts, formulating them into words, so he waited.
“In the song,” she began, after a bit, “you’re talking about how you need me, right? That’s what I was hearing, I think.”
“If that’s what you heard, then that’s what I meant. Like I said, the music doesn’t lie.”
“All this time,” she continued, “I thought I was the one who needed you. A lot of the work I had to do in therapy was about that, how needy I am. It’s what defines a junkie, you know. The need.”
“Everyone has needs,” he said. “It isn’t a bad thing, necessarily.”
“It is when you need something so much you can’t live without it, especially when it’s something toxic, like heroin.”
“Or me?” he asked quietly.
She knit her fingers, twisting and clenching them together. “I thought so. It seemed so one sided, the way we were. I always felt like I’d die without you, but that you’d get along perfectly well without me.”
“That was never true,” he told her. “Never.”
She nodded. “I’m beginning to understand that, because I heard it in your song. ‘Rock Angel’ is about how you’ve learned to need me and that’s why you didn’t like ‘Puppy,’ because that song is ab
out me learning not to need you. I do need you, though, Q. I always have.” She stopped wringing her hands, instead folding them in her lap.
When she did, Quinn noticed the green and gold ring circling her finger. It hadn’t been there three hours earlier.
His knees seemed to give out and he sank down until he was kneeling at her feet. He reached out, touching the ring with one finger. “What does this mean?”
“It means I’m ready,” she said softly. “Here I am, Q. I’m all yours. If you still want me.”
Ten minutes later, Quinn collapsed with a groan.
Shan waited until her own breathing slowed to normal, then tried to move. It was difficult, as they were crammed on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, plus they were tangled in their clothes. She tried to move again, then winced.
Quinn opened his eyes. “What’s wrong? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No,” she said, “but my ass…ow!”
He twisted around to examine it. “Looks like a rug burn,” he reported. “Sorry, babe.” She sighed happily as he nuzzled her throat.
Then his mouth began to travel south. “I love you,” he whispered and dropped a kiss against her breast. “I love you,” he repeated, kissing the curve of her stomach. His long hair trailed over her skin like a caress as his head moved down her body. “I love you,” he said again, this time kissing the inside of her thigh.
He kissed her all the way down to her toes, stopping every few inches to assure her that he loved her, then pressed his lips against the sole of her left foot.
“I love you,” he said, and moved to the right foot.
She giggled as he began to work his way back up her body, still dappling her with kisses. “I know—you love me!” she exclaimed when he opened his mouth to speak again. “You’ve said that more times in the last four minutes than you did in four years.”
“I know. I have a lot to make up for.” He rested his head against her thigh to gaze up at her and she noticed, for the first time, an ineffable sadness in his eyes.
Her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
He turned his head to stipple kisses over her scars, then spread his hand over her leg, covering most of them. “You’ve been hurt so much, angel.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” she added, because it would never be okay, really, what her father had done to her.
“Still. You’ve had to deal with more pain than anyone should ever have, inflicted by someone who was supposed to take care of you. Someone who was supposed to love you.”
“It’s okay,” she said, more insistently, because she could see, suddenly, where he was going with this.
“All I wanted was to make you happy, but I hurt you, too,” he continued, and the look in his eyes made her own chest hurt, “even though I was supposed to be the one loving you and taking care of you.”
She touched his hair. “You made a mistake, Q. You’re not perfect. Nobody is.”
“But I broke your heart, sent you into a relapse. I still can’t believe I did it. It wasn’t just once, either,” he said, the look on his face turning to disgust. “There were many, after we split up.”
She winced. “That’s over with, too. Let’s just move forward, like you said before.”
“Can we?” He pulled away and now he looked scared. “Will you ever trust me again?”
“I never did before, really. I always felt sure I’d lose you someday, that you couldn’t possibly love me the way I love you.”
“That was my fault, too, because I hardly ever told you,” he insisted. “And after what I did…how could you trust me?”
She thought about it, then shrugged. “Okay. It was both our faults, but I’m ready to trust you now. It’s not as scary as it used to be, because I know I won’t break if you let me down. I can take care of myself.” She felt a glow knowing, for the first time in her life, that those words were really true. “For real, now. I still need you, Q, but because I love you, not because I can’t survive without you.”
“You’ll never have to, because I won’t let you down, not ever again. I promise you that, angel.”
“You’re human, so you’re going to make mistakes, just like I will, but we’ll forgive each other and learn from them. No more frequent flyers, though,” she added. “That’s a deal breaker, Q.”
“Of course not. Never again. I’ll never hurt you and I’ll take care of you, keep you safe, and Angie, too. I’ll be everything you need me to be. I’ll be perfect,” he added, clearly missing the point.
She took a deep breath. He didn’t get it. “I don’t need you to be anything except what you are. It’s not your job to take care of me or save me, either. I’m not a homeless little girl anymore or an orphaned puppy, some fragile thing that would wither away and die if it wasn’t for you. And you don’t have be perfect for me, Q. All you have to do is love me.”
He regarded her soberly for long moment, then shook his head. “I do love you, but that isn’t enough. I know what a dick I can be, how opinionated and arrogant and controlling.” His eyes were taking on a glow, too, but it was a weird, fanatical one. “You’re always telling me, you and everybody else, and I can change. I’ll stop being such a dick. I promise I will.” He crept closer to lay his head in her lap.
Uh-huh. Her eyes narrowed. “All right,” she said. “I’ll hold you to that, especially when we’re writing. Speaking of which, there’s some work we need to do now.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, burrowing farther. “Did you bring your new songs?”
“My songs are perfect,” she said. “I’m talking about yours.” As she watched, his shoulders stiffened. “‘Rock Angel’ is the song that needs work, Q.”
“I thought you said it was amazing.” There was an edge in his voice. “The best thing I’ve ever written.”
“It could be. It has great potential, but the start of the second verse is a little dull,” she said, watching his hands curl into fists. “A guitar fill would liven it up. I never heard a hook, either,” she added. “I can fix that for you.”
When he spoke, his voice was steady. Steady and measured, just like the song. “You don’t need to fix anything. It’s my song.”
“Okay, but you should at least let Ty play with it,” she said, zeroing in for the kill while she watched his jaw tighten, “because the bass line sucks!”
He lifted his head off her lap. His face was very red, she noted with satisfaction.
“I don’t agree. I think the song is fine as it stands.” His voice was deadly quiet. “For the record, though, I do agree that it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.”
“It’s honest and it’s pretty,” Shan said, “but it could use some balls.”
His eyebrows snapped together. “Then the last thing I need is a twat rocker telling me what to do with it!”
She felt a fit of giggling bubble up inside her. She slapped her hands over her mouth, but she couldn’t hold it in and burst into peal after peal of laughter. He stared at her incredulously for a moment, then let forth a heavy sigh.
“Okay. You got me,” he admitted. “It might be harder to change than I thought.” She nodded, wiping the tears from the giggling fit from her eyes.
“You know I’m not an easy person to get along with,” he warned. She nodded again, snickering now.
“It’s not funny,” he snapped. “I’m difficult.”
She grinned. “Yup.”
He frowned. “Demanding.”
Her grin widened. “Yup.”
“I’m a dickhead, sometimes. I know that, but I don’t know if I can help it.” She covered her face as she began to giggle again and his frown morphed into a scowl. “Stop laughing, for Chrissake! I’m trying to be honest with you. Are you sure this is really what you want?”
“Yup!” She pulled her hands away from her face. “A difficult, demanding, arrogant dickhead. That’s what I want. Because,” she added as she felt the love welling up inside her, so much that it felt too big for
her chest, “that’s my Q!”
She flung her arms around him. He hugged her back, very tightly, and held her for a long time. Eventually she drew back to find him regarding her with a frown. “What now?”
“So what’s wrong with the song?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s beautiful. The most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”
“But you said it needed work.”
“I didn’t mean it! I was just messing with you. It worked, too,” she added, with an impish grin.
He continued to eye her dubiously. “I can’t believe you don’t have any critique at all. You always have something to say.”
“Well…” she began, then hesitated. There was something, actually.
“Well what?” he pressed. “Come on, I can take it.”
“I listened to it over and over. Then I started singing with it.” Again she hesitated.
“And?”
“Well, what would you think about adding a vocal interlude between the verses? I’m thinking a female harmony,” she explained. “Something that sounds like angels singing.”
He looked thoughtful. She waited, but he didn’t comment, and she sighed. “You think it would be schmaltzy, don’t you?”
“No, angel,” he replied. “I think it would be perfect.” She ran her hand over the golden hair on the backs of his forearms, feeling the goose bumps rise beneath her fingertips.
Questions and Topics for Discussion
Addiction is a major theme in Rock Angel, the most obvious example being Shan’s heroin dependency. What other addictions does she struggle with? What about Quinn and the other characters—what types of addictions do they exhibit? Can any of these dependencies be viewed in a positive light?
When Quinn finds out Shan’s age, he is shocked. Were you? Why, or why not?
Twice in the book, Shan sings lines from David Bowie’s “Putting Out Fire with Gasoline”: Feel my blood enraged / It’s just the fear of losing you. Could this be seen as her theme song? Why?
Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) Page 43
