I should have turned my fucking phone on silent before I crashed, but I was so deliriously drunk on both booze and lust that it slipped my mind before I fell into bed. I hazily remembered ignoring its beeping hours earlier, rolling over and going back to sleep. But there was no ignoring it this time. The ring was incessant.
I rolled until the bedside table was within reach, and pulled my phone to my face. A picture lit up of my guitarist, Quinn, standing with a beer bong next to angry tourists at the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio. My thumb slid across the screen. “What?”
“Dude,” said Quinn, “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
Quinn grew up with me in Thornwood, and there wasn’t a single band I had ever been in without him. He was as close to a brother as I was ever going to get, and currently the only fucking member of my band who gave a single shit about me.
Even being a hardcore kid, Quinn had never been particularly alpha. He’d fight if he had to, but he was a worrier before he was anything else. Something in his voice today sounded very worried, even by his standards.
“I had a long night. What’s going on?” I said, checking the clock on my bedside table. Man, when was the last time I slept past noon?
“So you haven’t been online yet today?”
I rubbed my face and ran my hand through my hair. “You literally pulled me out of a wet dream, bro, so in consideration of that, maybe we could get to the point…”
Quinn sighed and muttered under his breath. “It’s Duke. He says he’s going solo, starting his own thing. It’s all over the fucking Internet.”
My blood stopped pumping for a split second. Skin cold, I said, “He fucking said what?”
“That’s why I’ve been trying to call you, man! He did an interview with Roc, said he’s gotta look out for himself and find a lifeboat off the Titanic before whatever happens to you goes down. What the fuck are we gonna do, Noah?”
I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to pull in all my focus from the remnants of sleep, the memories of Laurel, and the hangover threatening the horizon of my mind. “He’s not supposed to be talking about any of this shit—how did he get away with it? Where’s Gavin?”
“That’s the thing, dude—technically, he didn’t talk about it. He talked about everything he could without breaking the agreement like the fucking little troll he is.”
Rage bubbled up in my gut, under my skin. I never should have ignored my instinct the day we met Duke Rogers at that studio in New Orleans. Life to him was a Shakespearean drama and he was just trying to stab his way to the top of the mountain. He didn’t give a single fuck about anyone who was in his way. I never should have trusted him with my life’s work.
I rubbed my hand over my face. “He’s doing this to undermine me. He can’t talk about the festival, but he can do something that says what he would’ve said, anyway. This is him finally throwing me under the fucking bus.”
“He’s a cowardly prick,” growled Quinn. “And he’s gonna get what’s coming to him.”
“We’re too famous to be beating the shit out of dudes anymore, Quinn,” I said, but it was with a bitter laugh. Quinn’s loyalty and fire for his friends went a long way on a dark night.
“We can’t do nothing,” said Quinn.
I didn’t reply. I wanted nothing more than to agree with Quinn and dive head-first into a black revenge fantasy, but it wasn’t there. My mind felt like a raging storm, formless.
Quinn was quiet a moment. Then he said, “I don’t fucking get why they don’t believe you, Noah.”
I sighed. Of all the thorns splitting open my proverbial flesh through this whole nightmare, that particular thorn was buried deepest, threatening arteries and organs. At first it had felt like only blind anger, but now… now it was starting to feel like numbness. Like death.
And I knew that numbness would be death if I didn’t find a way to stop it. A cornered animal only has two options, when it comes right down to it. They can either lie down, hoping for the mercy of a quick death, or they can charge and fight with every last breath. The former option was despair, and the latter required anger.
Anger has always kept me alive. And it was going to keep me fighting now. Even if I had to start imagining Duke’s smug, stupid face every night before I went to bed, I was going to find a way to stay angry and save myself.
It was getting tiring, carrying all this weight alone. In all the chaos… in all the confusion and horror of what had happened at the festival and since, not a single person—not even Quinn—had even bothered to ask me how I’m handling the fact that I’ve taken a fucking life.
People think I’m just a cold-blooded killer because that’s what they want me to be. They’re all wrong, but they don’t care. Truth doesn’t matter to them. They’ll take what makes them feel good to think about. And somehow, I’m the fucked-up one in this equation.
“Noah?” Quinn’s voice broke through the cloud of thoughts swirling in my brain.
“I don’t know,” I finally said. “I don’t know why they don’t believe me, Quinn.”
We both fell silent. I guess Quinn wasn’t eager to talk about the answer to that, either. He knew me better than anyone on this planet knew me, and I know it killed him to see what was happening. We were both equally powerless—and we were not men who were used to being powerless.
“Look, I’m going to hit up Gavin and find out what he’s doing about all this,” I said. “I’ll call you a bit later and check in.”
“All right, man.”
I hung up with Quinn and dialed our manager, Gavin. After a few rings he picked up, sounding somehow both relieved and stressed. I could hear his assistant in the background, angrily talking on the phone with someone else. “Good goddamn, Noah, where in the hell have you been?”
“Jesus, you guys act like the planet’s exploding because I can’t be reached twenty-four-seven.”
“The planet is exploding.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m calling.”
“I’m trying to call an emergency meeting together in the office in Seattle right now, but Mister Hot Shit can’t be bothered to answer his phone since his interview went live,” said Gavin, venom in his voice like I’d never heard before. “And it’s the same story with Ash and Jeff.”
Even though I knew it was bullshit in my gut, I tried to stick up for the other guys. Nothing in our past suggested Ash and Jeff had it out for me like Duke did. We didn’t always get along, but no bands did. You were lucky to keep your shit together long enough for a few good albums and enough industry recognition to get you into another band or a respectable job behind the scenes when it all inevitably fell apart. The only way bands like Sabbath and Metallica and Motörhead made it through half-centuries of success was by being filthy rich, and completely fucked up all the goddamn time. And depending on the musician, that level was either their ultimate Valhalla, or a shitty purgatory of walking death. For me, it was certainly the latter. I’d rather have something short and meaningful than vapid and endless.
“We are technically on break,” I said to Gavin. “They could be legitimately relaxing somewhere away from all this bullshit.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” said Gavin. The question wasn’t accusatory, but he was trying to make a point regardless. “Do you feel relaxed, Noah? Like you’re on vacation?”
“Fuck no.”
“Neither do the rest of us. If those guys aren’t answering my calls, it’s strategic. They don’t want to answer,” said Gavin.
“Why wouldn’t they want to answer you?” I asked.
Gavin spoke quietly to his assistant in the background for a moment, a mumbled gibberish I couldn’t hear. He came back to the phone. “Probably because they’re planning a coup.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “What? Like you’re a fucking dictator, or some shit?”
“Duke’s pulling the rug out from under you by doing this, Noah. You see that, don�
�t you? He’s declaring he has no faith in your innocence.”
“Of course.”
“And now, two of your other bandmates aren’t getting back to their manager—even in this time of crisis when their very jobs and futures are at stake. It means they’re making their own plans, and they don’t want me, or you, in on those plans.”
Gavin had a flair for drama, and we had all gotten used to it. But this felt different. The truth of his words descended down on me like a heavy gray cloud. “You think maybe they’re… working with Duke against me?” The thought was frankly almost too much to bear.
“Maybe,” said Gavin. “Or maybe they saw the video this morning like the rest of us and are starting to think he’s at least got the right idea. Whatever it is, they’re not confident enough to face me over it. Something’s wrong, and we need to figure out what it is before the rest of the fucking world does. We cannot afford another sneak attack like Rogers pulled today.”
My stomach felt empty and hollow. The soft pitter of the rain outside made it feel like the room was closing in on me.
Anger. Find your anger.
In my mind, I replayed the day of the festival. Traumatic as it was, it also galvanized me. The truth had to be the fire that kept me raging on.
“Let them run,” I said. “I don’t fucking need them. Quinn has my back, and you have my back. The truth will come out.”
Gavin sighed. “I want to believe that, Noah.”
A sour hollow opened up in my gut. “Gavin, if you’re telling me you don’t believe me…”
“Hey, whoa, that’s not what I’m saying at fucking all,” said Gavin, and I believed him. I trusted him completely. He had never done me wrong, not for a single second since he found me in the Graveyard Club almost fifteen years ago. “What I want to believe is that everyone else will get on board. I don’t know that they will. Every day that passes is going to make it harder and harder to convince people of your side of the story. People are eating this story up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, of course they are. Every single bar fight and bullshit tussle with the cops I’ve ever been in has just been a step toward this moment to them. It’s high fucking drama.”
“I’d agree, and even be a little thrilled at the exposure, if I wasn’t sincerely concerned about you spending time in a federal prison,” said Gavin. Hearing the words said out loud made me drop my head in my hands, sick to my stomach.
Gavin continued. “There are things that even I can’t untangle. But we’re going to fight tooth and nail to keep that from happening, Noah, all right? I have your back. I’m not just going to let you fall down for this without drawing blood.”
A wave of sincere relief melted down my skin. “Thank you. I would be fucked without you.”
“We’ll get you through this. I hate to run but I have a meeting. Call me if you hear from any of the guys.”
“Will do,” I said, and hung up.
Quiet descended on the room like slow death. For what felt like days, I sat at the edge of the bed and watched the rain roll down the windows. Food would help my mood, I knew, but I couldn’t make my feet move for the kitchen.
Instead I looked at my clock and saw, thanks to my sleeping in, that I only had a few short hours before Laurel would be expecting me at the Graveyard Club. And through all the gray numbness trying to swallow me whole, the thought of her red-lipped smile shone like the sun.
It was the best—hell, the only reason I had not to crawl right back into bed and sleep the storm away.
I carried far dirtier thoughts of her with me to the shower.
~ SEVEN ~
Laurel
Noah and I hadn’t exchanged numbers, so I had no idea what time he might expect me at the Graveyard Club. To play it safe, I went with the fashionably late option, showing up just as the first band was ending their set. Tonight clearly wasn’t a hardcore showcase. Instead I watched a beautiful young woman and her long-haired male partner arrange a modest acoustic setup with guitars, a bucket drum, and a cello. The music was mellow and lovely, her voice a deep, jazzy timbre, but it concerned me that maybe Noah wouldn’t be showing up for a show like this. Maybe he had just been paying lip service in automatic reflex to what he figured was a groupie.
Panic hit my chest. For the first time, I considered that eventuality: what if he doesn’t come back? I’d been so caught up in last night’s success—and its dirtier memories—that it didn’t even hit me for a moment that Noah might just flat out disappear on me. After all, if he was the womanizing bad boy he had the reputation for, what would keep him from finding an easier, better piece of ass for the night?
The thoughts started to drag me down a bit. I mumbled a curse to myself under my breath as I took the shot of Jameson that Kevin put down in front of me.
“What’s that, darlin’?” he said.
“Oh.” I coughed a little. “Sorry, I was just talking to myself.” Wait, what was I thinking? This was perfect. I wasn’t going to let Noah not showing up stop me from getting my shit done, and Kevin was probably a gold mine of a source. “Actually, I wanted to say this is a nice setup you’ve got out here.”
Kevin beamed. “You’re a pretty little flatterer! I know she’s a shithole. But she’s my shithole.” He laughed.
I laughed with him. “I just mean it’s nice to see an independent place with some roots still fighting the good fight around here. I can’t believe how much the city has changed.”
Kevin put down the glass he was drying and leaned on the counter toward me. “Oh, that it has.” He shook his head ruefully. “It’s tough out there. But whatever voodoo’s out in these woods, it keeps us going, and I’m gonna be here until it stops.”
I smiled. “I like the way you think.”
“So, you waiting for Noah?” He didn’t even try to hide the sly smile on his face.
My cheeks flushed red for reasons I didn’t quite understand. “Yeah. I mean, I guess. I can’t get a hold of him if he decides to flake out on me, so it might just be you and me tonight, Kev.”
Kevin laughed at that. “Oh, that ain’t gonna happen. Him, flake out on a girl like you? Nah. He wouldn’t have invited you back here if he was gonna flake out.”
“What makes you say that?”
Kevin waved his hands around, like he was showing off the bar at an open house. “This place is practically his second home, so he’s not gonna ask the D-squad to keep showing up, if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink.
The thought of Noah trying to keep me hanging around his second home warmed me up inside. “He’s been coming here for a long time, huh?”
“A long time!” said Kevin. “He was just a skinny, pissed-off fifteen-year-old sneaking into shows when I first met him.”
I laughed. “Now that is hard to picture.”
“Couldn’t keep the little fucker out of here. But he wasn’t like some of the little punks sneaking in, trying to get wasted. He didn’t care less about the booze. He just wanted to see the shows. So I stopped trying to keep him out after a while, and wouldn’t you know it, he just… never really left.”
The memory was overwhelmingly adorable, and it began doing heavy battle with the idea of Noah I already had planted in my head—mean, selfish, murderous Noah Hardy, always looking for a fight until the day he finally went too far. Could that really be the same scrawny Noah sneaking into hardcore shows? Had his love for the music turned into something so twisted and upsetting that he would lash out at an innocent person? I couldn’t reconcile the ideas. Especially not after last night.
Or was I just making the same mistake I made before, and getting too close?
“It’s clear he really loves this place, and you,” I said. “It’s nice to see that kind of loyalty nowadays.”
Kevin’s expression turned serious. “There’s not a goddamn person out there as loyal as Noah Hardy. That kid would run into a burning building to get someone out of it and then pay their medical bills. The only reason this place isn’
t more of a shithole is all because of him.”
“What do you mean?”
“All I ever have to do is call Noah if something around here needs fixing, and bam—he’s got it taken care of the next day. Two years ago, he gave our sound system a complete overhaul. He was on leave from tour once when I threw my back out, and he spent his vacation runnin’ the place himself until I was back on my feet. That couch you guys…” Kevin suddenly stopped, and gave an embarrassed, but sly, cough. “That couch in the green room? Noah bought it for us.”
I was legitimately blown away by what Kevin was saying. Plenty of huge rock stars took care of their families and things, and some made big spectacles of giving to charity. But even as one of the industry’s more high-tier journalists, I had never heard a single peep about Noah Hardy ever taking care of anyone. He never talked about Kevin or the Graveyard Club in any interview I ever read, and that was after three solid days of archive-digging and research until my eyes were so dry they hurt. But clearly, this place was Noah’s soul.
It hit me in that moment that Noah was protecting it. He didn’t talk about the Graveyard Club because he knew what happened when fame hit a little place like this. It didn’t always go the way of iconic clubs like the Viper Room. Sometimes fame destroyed things, and it was clear Noah never wanted to take that risk with this second home of his.
All of a sudden, the image of Noah Hardy in my mind seemed a lot blurrier.
“He really does sound like a special guy,” I said to Kevin. The words from my own mouth surprised me, but there was no lie in them.
“He is,” said Kevin. “And I’m lucky to have him around.”
I smiled at Kevin. “I’m glad you do.”
“So, what brings you out this way? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”
Kevin’s question froze me up for just a minute, but I was practiced at this. I took a sip of beer before I answered. “I just moved here about a month ago, trying to get in on the local scene. One of the dudes at Silver Spoons Records told me to check you out.”
Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Page 5
