True Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (The Body Rock Series Book 4)

by Nora Flite

  “Gorgeous.”

  “—Whatever enough. But I've never seen you so... off. What did she say to you?”

  Listening to the jets running around us, feeling them prodding my lower back, I shut my eyes. “You actually want to know?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Swirling my drink, I sipped it. The alcohol was like a blanket of cotton on my brain. “She wants to know about my past.”

  I heard her put the bottle back into the bucket. “And I take it you don't want her to know.”

  My champagne glass was empty. Drinking it made me think too much of Lola, of the way we'd celebrated her induction into the band—into my band. “I just want her to want me as I am. Nothing about who I was, what I dealt with, matters now.”

  Sinking deep into the water, Brenda considered me. Those thin eyebrows moved into her bangs, vanishing in the tangles and ringlets she'd piled up in a bun. “Not everyone gets what they want. If anything, you two are stupid lucky.”

  “What the hell does that mean, how am I lucky?”

  “Sometimes we fall for someone at the wrong time, or someone who just never meshes with us.” Her tone fell, fragile and bitter. “I don't know, some of us get saddled with being attracted to someone that we suddenly see all the time but can't ever touch.”

  Oh, shit. My back went tense against the wall. Had Brenda literally just admitted to being interested in someone she saw all the time but couldn't, for some reason, have? Fuck! Is it me? The very concept was awkward as hell. My skin prickled, suddenly I couldn't look her straight in the eye. If my manager has had a crush on me this whole time, then...

  “You fucking moron,” she snorted, covering her mouth and laughing into the bubbles.

  “What? What is it?” Setting my elbows on the edges of the huge jacuzzi, I tried not to look too curious.

  Brenda tucked a curl of crimson hair behind an ear, dark eyes watching me with sly amusement. “I can tell what you're thinking. It's not you that I'm interested in, asshole.”

  “Good job confirming you were talking about yourself, though.”

  Her whole face turned redder than her hair. “That—I—just forget it, jeez. We're supposed to be talking about you and Lola, not me and whoever.”

  My interest was piqued, but ultimately, Lola was my focus. “You really think I can't have what I want?”

  Reaching over, she refilled her glass, took a deep swig. “If you mean, have a relationship beyond the surface level with the girl you love.”

  Alcohol makes her too bold. I was listening with held breath.

  Brenda narrowed her stare pointedly. “Without telling her about everything you went through, without facing it yourself? Then no.” The champagne vanished in one gulp. “Drezden, Lola isn't that kind of person.”

  Facing it myself. “What kind of person is she?”

  Hesitating, my manager wiped her mouth. “Did she ever tell you what she answered, the day she auditioned?”

  “I—answered?”

  “That stupid question you made me ask everyone.”

  My heart slammed into my ribs. What does it take to be a good guitarist? “She never told me, no.” I forgot—no, I guess I didn't even care. I got caught up in how good she was, in all of her. That question didn't even matter.

  “You told me, turn away anyone who answered 'talent' and to let in anyone who said 'patience, hard work, or determination.' Right?”

  Of course I remembered. Those were the answers I had long concluded came closest to defining the difference between those who would make it big, and those who would not. In a daze fueled by too much alcohol, too much steam, I nodded.

  Pushing her empty glass away, Brenda tilted her head. “Lola didn't say any of those things. That day, the first thing that came to mind for her, was... honesty.”

  “Honesty?” Honesty. Honesty. How the hell does honesty make—oh. Oh, fuck. All too quickly, so that it left me reeling, I actually understood. Lola, who she was and how she was.

  Her music... hell, music in general.

  Honesty.

  It was why she was so fucking good.

  And it was why I was constantly drawn to her open nature; her body's honest responses to what I made her feel.

  Honesty. I wanted to laugh; the answer was so simple, so obvious. That's why she's so upset with me. Someone who values honesty so much... who spilled her guts about her past to me, sat by while I refused to do the same... someone who believes that honesty is what lets people create the best music they can...

  And I've been telling her to accept my lack of honesty from the start. “I'm a real dumb ass, aren't I?”

  “Yeah.” Brenda cocked a tiny smile. “I'd say you can be.”

  Water ran down my muscles as I stood up. Blinking, Brenda looked me up and down, startled. “Hey! Where are you going?”

  Rubbing a thick towel around my body, I shook droplets from my hair. I knew when I turned around that she would see my scar, but I no longer gave a shit. Honesty. “I need you to book me a private flight.”

  “I—what? To where?”

  I caught my reflection in the side of the tall, aluminum heater. In the light of the evening, my eyes were darker than pitch. “I have someone I need to visit.”

  “But now? Drezden, what the hell are you—”

  “I need to do this.” On the edge of the jacuzzi, I fixed my intensity onto Brenda. I felt like my blood was electric; everything in me was buzzing with realization. I finally knew what I had to do to make everything right. “You can book me this flight so I can make it back in time for the final show, or you can accept that I won't be here for it.”

  It was a standoff, but one that didn't last long. Lifting the bottle of champagne, Brenda finished off the contents and gasped for air. The glass 'clanked' when she slammed it down. “I really shouldn't have signed your band, Drezden. I'm never going to stop regretting it. Pass me my purse and I'll order your fucking flight. Dammit, I was supposed to be relaxing!”

  Without missing a beat, I handed Brenda her bag.

  Chapter Two.

  Lola

  I wandered the parking lot for a long time.

  Telling Brenda I was going to find food hadn't really been the truth. I needed food, yes, but after sitting with Drezden, being forced to avoid the topic of his past, I had lost my appetite.

  I want to know why he won't tell me. Kicking aside a small rock, I looked back at the giant, glossy tour bus. Okay, no. I want to find out what he's hiding, too. But how could I not?

  The breeze was light on my face. Winding my thick hair into a tail, I tied it up while watching the bus. It was the biggest vehicle in the lot, a number of other buses and vans speckling the wide area. The whole slice of land had been blocked off with chains and cones, as well as security, to keep eager fans from slipping inside.

  With very little direction, I dropped down onto the pavement between two cars and just... watched. I didn't know what I was waiting for. Being away from everyone made me feel lonely, set my mind on a cascade of fragmented thoughts.

  Ultimately, it all kept boiling back to one thing: Drezden refused to tell me the truth. It's just like Sean said, I realized grimly. He won't tell me anything. I couldn't even find a way to work up to asking him if Drezden was his real name or not. Thinking that I'd been kissing the lips of a man who'd been hiding his identity...

  What do I do with this?

  Movement, voices, drew my eye. From my far away hidden spot, I watched Brenda and the rest of the band climb from the bus. They were laughing; all of them but Drezden, that is. His profile was like slate, no emotion.

  Even from here, he makes my pulse jump. Hugging my knees, I watched them all climb into a solid black car. The windows were tinted, hiding the crew from prying eyes. Guess that'll take them to the hotel. With nothing going on between now and the final show, it was nice that Brenda had arranged a hotel for us.

  It makes me think about that night.

  About the first time I'd seen Drez
den's scar.

  Shaking my head, not succeeding in driving away the paranoia, I stared after the car until it was allowed out of the lot by uniformed security. Seconds later, my phone vibrated, making me squeak. Fumbling it free, I read the message from Drezden:

  'Call me if you need anything. I'll be at the Hilton until then.'

  The words, so crisp on my screen, took time to sink into my head. I should have felt excited about the message, Drez was so good at making my knees weak. Now, I just wanted to call him, to scream at him to explain his scar, his name, his past, everything.

  I just wanted the truth.

  The truth. Craning my neck, I gazed at the swirling clouds. Their tranquility didn't fit my mood. There's someone who said they could tell me the truth. In my palm, my phone felt like a weapon. How could Sean even know something like that?

  But if he did—and why lie to me?—then wasn't I being a fool by not taking him up on the offer?

  Looking at my fingers, I studied the hard calluses I'd formed over the years of playing. Drezden was better than he thought. Or better than he wanted to claim, anyway. The man I knew had only ever sung for his band. This whole time, as talented on guitar as he was, why had it never come up?

  I don't know anything about him before his life as the singer for Four and a Half Headstones. I felt naive, thinking it hadn't really existed. After all, my life had been far different before becoming the guitarist for the band.

  Much different. Could Drez's past be even more contrasted?

  Lifting my phone, I started to dial.

  If Drez won't tell me himself...

  There was only one way for me to find out.

  ****

  I was still sitting on the pavement when Sean arrived.

  Leaning over, he blocked out most of the late-day sun. “Got your call,” he said softly.

  “Yeah.” I rested my chin on my hands over bent knees.

  As if I might run, Sean settled across from me in slow motion. There was none of the smugness, or strange righteousness, in his eyes like I'd seen on that rainy morning so recently. Now he just looked sad, maybe even empathetic. “How you doing?”

  I pulled my ponytail across my cheek, held it tight. “Pretty shitty.”

  Sean went quiet, the two of us sitting with nothing but the occasional breeze. It wasn't an uncomfortable moment. When we were younger, there were times when I would be sitting, hidden away from my parents or after a rough day at school. Sean would always find me, and without speaking, offer comfort in just his presence.

  Reaching out, I grasped his hand and linked my fingers. “You said you could give me answers.”

  His palm was oddly clammy. “Only if you really want them.”

  My mouth opened; closed, then opened again. “Drezden... wouldn't. I feel like I need to know, even if he won't be the one telling me.”

  “Yeah.” Sean guided me to stand, my muscles aching from sitting so long. “I figured that would happen. Come on, then.”

  He had his phone out, thumb crushing buttons rapidly. “Wait, where are we going?” I asked, following my brother across the lot.

  Sean looked at me briefly, then closed his phone. “We're going to where the answers are.”

  “But—aren't you going to tell me them?”

  “I think,” he said, opening the door of the equipment van for his band, “that it would be better if you heard everything from the source.”

  Standing outside the familiar, beaten up vehicle, I sensed my own nerves boiling. Something about this didn't feel right. “What's the source, Sean?”

  “Lola.” Sighing, he clipped his seat belt down and turned the ignition. The van beeped incessantly, demanding I get in and close the door. “Trust me. Do you, or do you not, want answers?”

  Lifting my chin, my gaze shifted from Sean's serious eyes, to the tour bus in the distance. It was a behemoth, a reminder of what waited for me if I didn't go down this path. Answers now, or more shows, more questions, for as long as Drezden decides to wall me off.

  Without giving my anxiety any more credit, I slid into the van and shut the door.

  ****

  The drive was brief, Sean steering us from the highway and into a small plaza full of tiny shops. At his suggestion, we slid on sunglasses, and I pulled my sleeves down to hide my tattoo. I'd had enough drama with the public. I wasn't keen to repeat it.

  As far as areas went, it was a very run down section of Seattle. The overhangs were grimy, faded paint and missing letters. Massage parlors, tattoo shops, holistic pharmacies... and among them all, Sean led me towards a corner coffee shop.

  “Are you going to tell me who we're meeting here?” I whispered. The whole ride, I'd run through the possibilities. Would it be Drez's parents, a relative of any kind? Maybe an old teacher?

  Pushing through the door, the cafe appeared empty. The tiny, circular tables had a sticky sheen to them. The floor, clawing at the soles of my shoes, was no better. I didn't see him at first, hidden as he was in the corner.

  By the time Sean nudged me, leading me in further, I'd found him. Those eyes, hard and cold as green ice, wary with the trauma of life's unfairness. Eyes I had seen from afar on stage, but more recently, in a grainy news-feed on television.

  Johnny Muse.

  Reaching out, I crushed Sean's wrist and dug in my heels. My brother made a small noise, trying to pull away. “Sean.” To my own ears, my voice was a mere shadow. “Why is he here? What's going on?”

  “Relax, Lola.” Untangling my grip, Sean motioned with his chin at Johnny. The former guitarist was eyeing us, not moving from his chair or the paper cup he was nursing. “You don't have to worry. He knows Drezden better than anyone else we could get in touch with.”

  There was no way that was true. Porter. Colt. They both know Drezden, too. Why would I bother with Johnny? Gazing on the broken, faded form of the man I never wanted to meet, the answer weighed heavy in my guts. Because neither of them is going to tell me anything. Just like Drezden.

  It was an awful, cold truth... but one that gave me strength. If Johnny had my answers, then fine. Plus, why was I so scared? He's just sitting there, waiting for us. I darted a look around the shop. This is a public place. Between Sean and the guy behind the counter, what could Johnny even do?

  Balling my fists at my hips, I walked around my brother. Johnny didn't stand when I reached him. His only movement was a tiny, crooked smile. “So,” he said, voice rigid and sandy, “you're her. Lola Cooper, in the flesh.”

  I stood as tall as I could. Without looking, I could feel Sean move beside me. “That's right. And you're Johnny Muse.”

  “Guilty,” he said.

  Guilty hits a little close, I thought, recalling the video of him getting arrested. “My brother says you can tell me some things I want to know.”

  Furrowing his eyebrows, Johnny looked around me, taking in Sean. “Yeah. I called him a few days ago. I wanted to get in touch with you, but finding your number was much harder.”

  Nervously, I touched my phone in my pocket. He called Sean? Peering at my brother, I found him avoiding my eyes. So he told Sean something... but something big enough that he felt I needed to hear it from Johnny himself.

  “Let's sit.” Grabbing two more chairs, Sean dragged them over. He took the one closest to Johnny, situating himself between us.

  Under the table, I was acutely aware of how near my knees were to the former guitarist for Headstones. “Alright. Can we just get down to business?” I asked.

  “Business, she says,” Johnny chuckled. A dirty fingernail scratched the rim of his coffee cup. It was strange, seeing him looking so... messy. “Sure thing, we can get right down to it.” Leaning forward, he linked his fingers on the table. Under hooded brows, his eyes stuck on me firmly; I didn't like how he kept smiling. “What would you like to know about our dear friend, Drezden Halifax?”

  This was it. This was what I had been waiting for.

  So why did I feel so uneasy?

  G
lancing at Sean, I tried to gauge what he was thinking. His expression was neutral, lips bloodless as if he were trying not to make a sound. He wants me to hear this.

  These two were sharing a secret...

  It was time for me to be in on it.

  “Everything.” My answer was brisk. In my lap, I clenched my hands in a knot. There was no tremble as I looked Johnny in the eye. “Tell me everything I need to know.”

  Chapter Three.

  Drezden

  The flight went fast, something I should have expected.

  I found my confidence slipping with the combination of the rising sun, as well as my fading alcohol buzz. By the time I was on the tarmac, sliding into the rental car Brenda had arranged, I was back to questioning myself.

  It had been years since I'd been back to upstate New York.

  Home again, home again, I thought with little fondness. Sliding my sunglasses down, I pulled the shiny, pearl colored Corvette out onto the open road. I knew where I was going, even if I'd never been there in person.

  The wind fluttered against my scalp, tugging at my memories in painful nostalgia. I was tempted to take the back roads, to roll down past my old school, my old home.

  It wasn't the time for that now.

  There'll be time for pleasant memories later.

  If I didn't finish what I'd spontaneously set out to do, I was certain there could never be true contentment in my future. This is what I need to do to be with Lola.

  Inhaling the crisp air, I filled myself with that realization.

  For Lola.

  The building that loomed up when I pulled down the gritty road was basic as basic could be. Pale grey, the parking lot dotted by police vehicles... it was entirely unwelcoming.

  Slamming my car door shut, I hid my chin in the thick top of my navy hoodie. The structure in front of me was too much like a squat dragon, ready to swallow me whole.

  Go. Don't think.

  With one foot in front of the other, I entered the prison. My steps sounded loud on the concrete, announcing me to the thick, glass-covered front desk. The process of signing my name, of explaining who I was and why I was there, was hampered only by the understanding that the warden on patrol was a huge fan of my band.