“Are you kidding? Was he in an accident or something?” Callie asked, her expression heavy with concern.
“I have no idea what happened. I’ve left him six voicemails, but I can’t get a hold of him.”
“Well, speak of the devil,” Jake said and pointed toward the crowd. Lita turned, her eyes scanning until she saw Eddie and his big camera perched on his shoulder. He was flushed with heat, his burly body shoving through the throng like a powerful wave washing swimmers up on shore. The cops stopped him at the barricade, only parting when Jake waved him over.
“Eddie, where have you been? Are you okay?” she asked when he got close. Normally a man who showed no emotion except hunger or fatigue, his expression was altered with his frustration. A year of working together and this was the first time Lita had seen him pissed off. Whatever the story was, this was going to be good.
“I’m fine. I just spent the last hour trying to backtrack around the street closures.”
“The streets were only blocked on the south side of town,” Lita said, confused. “We talked about it this morning.”
“Yeah, I know. But I was running late, and Rocky told me that coming that way was shorter.” He glared at Jake. “You’re bandmate is an asshole.”
“He did what?” Lita cut off whatever Jake was going to say, her simmering anger over this entire fuck-up of a morning coming to a microwave-fast boil.
“I’ll talk to him,” Jake said, not even trying to hide his confusion. “I don’t know what’s going on with him lately.”
“I do, and it’s coming to an end today.”
“Lita, let Jake…” Callie stepped forward, her hand reaching out to grasp her fingers in a soothing squeeze.
“Hey Callie! You worried that Jake is going to dump you before the wedding like he did before?”
Lita spun and scanned the crowd, trying to find out what reporter had asked the question. It sounded like Joe Banks from that grocery store rag, and his nasty smile confirmed her suspicion.
His inquiry egged on the others and—just like that—the crowd got ugly, and her morning went from bad to shitty.
“Is it hard to be happy when you know you broke someone’s heart?”
“What does your pre-nup say?”
“How you gonna handle him out on tour with all those women?”
It resembled a scene in one of those spoof movies as all the remaining press, and quite a few of the bystanders, started taking video of the scene. But what they caught wasn’t funny at all: Jake turning red with anger, Eddie lifting his own camera and shooting footage, and Callie shrinking into herself with every crazy question. The smiling, happy, carefree bride of just a few seconds earlier was gone.
It went against every journalistic bone in her body, but Lita couldn’t take it. She knew this was the good stuff, the money shot, but Callie was her friend, and she was being hurt by this three-ring circus. She leaned forward, wrapped an arm around Jake and Callie, and shoved them toward the waiting SUV.
“Get in the truck, now.” She gave them another shove when they hesitated. With every second, the crowd was getting louder, rowdier, and the shouted questions they asked were calculated to get a rise out of them. Neither of them could afford to give them a show today. “Eddie, turn off the damn camera. Meet us back at the mansion.”
The waiting bodyguard had the door open, and the three of them slid into the backseat. The slamming door cut off the wall of sound. Jake immediately tried to console his fiancé. Callie became angry and then emotional as she rejected his attempts to hold her. For Lita, the heavy silence was ripe with awkwardness as she attempted to become alternately invisible or one with the black leather seat.
How could Rocky have done this to her? Yes, he was angry with her for what she’d done, but this was over the top, even for him. But no matter what their past included, this was going too far, and she had to let him know that he could not fuck with her career.
When the truck came to a stop in front of the mansion on the Holmes Estate, she had the door open and her stiletto on the pavement before the band’s bodyguard even thought about trying to stop her. He’d been giving her concerned looks the entire ride, and the last one he flashed in her direction definitely begged, “please don’t hurt the drummer.”
Fat chance. She was going to hurt him all right.
Not everyone got out of a war alive.
…
“One more, asshole. Don’t be a pussy.” Dash urged him on, his shitty grin making Rocky want to punch him in the junk. He lifted that last rep, relieved when Dash helped him slide the weight bar into the notch on the stand.
He sat up, wiping off the sweat and grabbing his water bottle all while flipping Dash the bird.
“What’s that for?”
“For calling me a pussy.” He took another drink of the cool liquid then poured a little bit in his hand and flicked it at him. “I could bench press your ass all day long if I had to.”
“You try it, and I’ll kick your ass.”
“You want to take me on, big talker?” He rose to his full height, looking down on Dash from the vantage point of his extra few inches. The door to the gym opening and slamming up against the wall made them both turn.
Lita stood in the opening, her usually perfect cascade of black hair in a halo of tangles around her face. She was breathing hard, her high heels dangling from her right hand.
Holy shit. She’d been running. Lita never ran outside of her one-on-one time with her trainer. She’d told him once that her supermodel mother had one rule: never run unless there’s a clown chasing you with a rusty knife. She’d rather buy drugstore lip gloss than break that rule.
But this Lita. Damn, he hated the way he reacted to her when she was like this. This Lita, not the one who never had a hair out of place and didn’t own anything off-the-rack,this one reminded him of his Lita. The one he’d picked up in that shitty bar in Mexico and taken to his bed. Hell, the first time, they’d never even made it to the bed, fucking on the sand like a couple of convicts just let out of jail in full view of any passerby. No control. No condom. No names, at least not real ones.
But something in her expression told him that she wasn’t walking down orgasm memory lane. The crazy in her eyes explained it all. She was here to kill him.
“Uh oh. Incoming,” Dash murmured, stepping back from the fray.
“What the fuck kind of stunt were you pulling this morning?
“I take it Eddie didn’t make it?”
“You aren’t even going to deny it?”
“Nope.” He wiped the towel across his chest. “I told you how I feel about you filming this wedding stuff.”
“O que um fucking gostosão!” She grabbed the door and forced it closed with a vicious push, her mother’s native Portuguese spilling from her mouth like someone possessed. Lita did this when she was aroused, or very pissed. “Que o inferno você acha que são?”
“I have the feeling you’re cussing me out, but it loses its impact when I can’t understand you.”
“When are you going to let this go? I’ve apologized a million times.” Lita advanced on him, and he resisted the urge to back up. She was beyond pissed now, this latest jab spooling her up even tighter.
“And a million times I’ve told you that I’m not interested in your apologies and excuses.”
“I was stupid and young and hurt. I was wrong.” She looked him in the eye, and he gave her props for her backbone. It was something he hated about her and admired the most. That woman could fight about anything.
He moved a step closer, leaning down to make sure she heard every fucking word. “Damn straight you were wrong. You lied to get to know me, and then you disclosed my location and unleashed the press on my ass.”
“I didn’t lie. I didn’t know who you were!” She threw her shoes down on the ground, moving farther into his personal space with a shove to his chest. He stood firm, resisting the force of her blow but failing to curb the grin that turned up his lips
. It was kind of cute when she tried to manhandle him.
“Fine. You really didn’t know who I was at the beginning, but it didn’t stop you from selling me out to the press in the end.”
“But didn’t I tell everything you told me. We had some pretty intense conversations, and I never uttered a word.” She poked him in the chest. Once. Twice. The third time her hand remained where it was, warm flesh against his own, kicking his heart into a stutter that had nothing to do with his workout. Her voice was low, pleading, and apology coated every word. “I never did.”
She hadn’t. Yes, she’d posted that spiteful blog post that alerted every paparazzo in the world where they could find the reclusive Rocky Cardano nursing his wounds after the spectacular implosion of The Rift and his friendship with Dash. It was one of the lowest points of his life, and she’d thrown him to the wolves and gotten a big career boost out of it.
He’d been falling in love, and she was chasing a story.
No. Maybe that was too harsh. She’d been right there with him. That’s what made this so hard.
He remembered those secrets and desires whispered in the seclusion of the beach house in between bouts of making love. They’d talked like he’d never talked to anyone before. He’d felt so close to her that he’d almost spilled everything and told her about his past, about his father. Almost. And when he’d found her journal and press credentials, the fight that had followed had been epic and solidified in his mind that they could not be together. She pushed him to give an interview and ride the wave of interest, but the thought of doing it made him want to gouge his eyes out. She thought he was passing up prime publicity real estate, and he thought she couldn’t see the man sitting behind the drum kit.
That had hurt the most.
He’d broken it off, refusing to even try. Rocky still thought it was the best idea. There was no reason to get even more involved and implode later. It had been hard enough with only three days of history. Lita had been hurt and then furious. She’d shown her anger in the small story that sent a typhoon of reporters raining down on him.
She continued. “I was hurt and young and stupid, and I told my boss where you were. I am so sorry for that.” She swallowed hard. “But I learned from it, and I know better now. I would never compromise my professional integrity like that again. You have to trust me.”
“No, I don’t. After this week, we go back to the way it’s been for four years.”
She paused, blinking in acceptance that this was his final answer. She took a deep breath, straightening her back and looking him in the eye. Everything about her said she was done apologizing. “No, you don’t. Look, we’re both professionals, and I’ve got a lot riding on this gig.”
“I’m sure you do.” He laughed, the effort burning his throat. “What’s the payoff for delivering the Callie and Jake show?”
She hesitated, and he knew he was right. This wasn’t about just helping out a friend. She was playing an angle.
“So?” he prompted. “What is it?
“I’m being considered for my own show.” Her look told him that he’d better watch his step. This was important to her, and she wouldn’t take his shit much longer. He admired her strength even if it made him crazy.
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot to deliver then. Big sellout equals a big payout.”
“Don’t be an ass. You have lots riding on every show you play and every record you record. Every song you write. Don’t act like I’m Satan because my career means something to me, too.”
“But what you’ll do for your career is above and beyond what most people will do.” That last jab was below the belt, digging into an area where he knew she was tender. He knew that part of her reason for being here was because of her friendship with Lori, and to ignore that was unfair. The shadow of pain that clouded her expression got him in the gut with a pang of regret. He wasn’t proud of inflicting that wound.
“I do what I have to do to be at the top of my profession,” she said, her utter belief in her methods crystal clear and etched on her face for him to see. “And so do you. We just do it in very different ways.”
And that chasm stretched between them so wide and so deep that nothing was ever going to close it.
They stared each other down, the air electric with the voltage of all the emotion arcing between them. He didn’t even attempt to name all of them, desire, anger, frustration, and under it all was the one thing he refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t such a Neanderthal that he didn’t understand why he was still so angry after four years. That kind of hurt only developed when you cared, and at one time four years ago, he’d cared a whole hell of a lot.
Hell. He still did.
“Fine. You’re happier with me being painted as the asshole here, and you don’t give a shit about me. I get it.” She leaned down, slipping her shoes onto her feet then straightening to her full height to deliver her last message. “But think about this, as long as I’m here, every time you fuck me over you’re really hurting Callie and Jake. And no matter how much you dislike me, I know how much you love them. I won’t tell them what you did. The ugly press at the event ruined enough of today for them.”
Lita turned on her high heels, walked out of the gym and slammed the door behind her, the last little zinger echoing in his head with all the accusation she’d intended. Fuck.
“That wasn’t cool man,” Dash said.
“Oh shit. I forgot you were still here.”
“I wish I wasn’t because then I wouldn’t have witnessed you being a jackass first hand.”
“Save it.” He turned to grab his water bottle, cut a look over his shoulder at Dash, and what he saw there made his stomach roil with emotion, disappointment. “Say what you want to say.”
“You gonna explain what just happened here?”
“That was exactly what it looked like.” Dash stood his ground and gave every indication of staying until he told all. Stubborn ass. He sighed, counting off the points on his fingers. “Lita and I met. She said she didn’t know who I was—”
“Wait. How does that happen? How did she not know who you were?”
“I had shaved off my beard, buzzed my hair, and she focused on fashion reporting—that’s what she said.”
“And she wasn’t tipped off by your name?”
“We didn’t exchange names.” That part had been hot. Lita had insisted on no names, and it had been a fun game to think of new combinations of names: Madonna and Guy, Lucy and Ricky, Superman and Lois Lane. She’d been cool—a blast—and he’d never laughed so much with anyone other than the guys in the band in forever. The sex had been phenomenal, but it was her easy smile, her take-no-shit attitude that had made him fall. Rocky closed his eyes, pushing back the emotion that filled his chest and threatened to choke him.
“We fucked for three days, and I thought it might be something more. I wanted it to be more until I found out that she was a reporter. We tried to find some common ground, but it was no good. She grew up swimming in the fishbowl, and she loves it. You know I don’t. I ended it, and she went straight home and posted a blog, telling the whole fucking world where I was.”
“You must not have ended it well.”
Rocky recalled his harsh words, the way he cut her off when she wanted to talk more about them, wanted to find a way to make them work. He’d been unkind, ensuring that she would not pursue him, and his only excuse was that he needed to burn that bridge for his own sanity. He’d even own that his behavior had played a huge role in her writing the story, but he couldn’t just forget and make the same mistake again.
“I didn’t. But I ended it.”
“Where was I? How did I not know this?”
“Gone. You’d left a week before, and I had no idea where you were.”
“Ah. This was after my great disappearing act.”
“Yeah. So you can understand that after you, and after Lita, I have a zero tolerance policy for people who let me down.”
He regretted saying it
like that the nanosecond it left his mouth. The look of hurt on Dash’s face doused his angry fire with a shower of ice-cold water. He hadn’t meant it, hadn’t meant to hurt him.
“Look, man, ”
Dash cut him off, giving him his back as he leaned down to grab his towel and T-shirt off the bench. His shoulders and back were tense, irritation keeping his spine rigid. When he turned around, the hurt was gone, replaced by a blank, closed expression that made Rocky feel even worse.
“This is not how you protect your friends. I know you’ve got your reasons, I get it, but you have to respect Callie and Jake, and that includes letting them make their own bad decisions.” He walked past him and stopped at the door to level one long last look in his direction. “If Lita is what you say she is, then she’ll show her hand sooner or later. But for me, she’s Lori’s best friend, and that tells me all I need to know. She apologized for what she did, and a lot can happen in four years. She says she’s learned from her mistake and is moving on. If you aren’t moving forward, then you’ll get left behind, because life doesn’t allow you to stand still.”
Rocky watched him go, the click of the door really loud in the silence. That was some grade-A, Oprah-worthy advice there, and he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with it. Trusting Lita wasn’t a risk he was willing to take, but Dash was right about Callie and Jake. They were grown-ups, and while it was his instinct to protect those he considered to be family, he’d have to stand down from undermining Lita if he was going to respect them. Besides, being with her like they asked would put him in an ideal position to keep an eye on her.
The familiar drum riff from Chad Smith of the The Red Hot Chili Peppers blared from his phone, and he retrieved it from his pile of stuff. He glanced at the screen, noting the L.A. area code, but the number was unknown. He slid his finger across to accept the call.
“Yeah.”
“Rocky Cardano?” The caller’s thick New York accent wasn’t just any of the guys from home, and his curiosity stepped up a notch.
“Who’s this?”
“I’m Jerry Prentiss. I knew your father.”
Playing With the Drummer Page 3
