Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  Carlos shrugs. “It must be the smell of the color that got to him. Some people can’t handle it.”

  “Yeah, must be,” I say, not believing it for a second.

  I get out my wallet, but Carlos pushes my hand away. “Your visit has been covered, including tip. You’re good to go, girl. Promise me you’ll come back every month for a touchup.”

  “I promise.”

  I exit the salon. Crew is sitting on a bench. I sit next to him. “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it? You’re acting really strange.”

  He runs a hand across the cover of his notebook. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Okay.”

  He flips through it, stops on a page, and bends the cover back. He hesitates for the longest time before placing it on my lap.

  I’m almost afraid to look at it, but when I see the first few words, I can do nothing but smile. I run my finger under the lyrics as I read them.

  When your eyes locked with mine, I went out of my mind

  I fell head over heels for you

  Though we never had words and we came from different worlds

  Somehow I felt I always knew

  (chorus)

  New girl, you slay me

  The way you disobey me

  New girl, you own me

  As if you’ve always known me

  I’m grinning so big, my face splits. “This is beautiful.”

  Crew still looks sick. “Keep reading.”

  I look back at the page for the second verse.

  That California Sky, reflected in your eyes

  You put me under your spell

  We were only seventeen, going after our own dreams

  We told the world to go to hell

  With a kind of shock, I realize the song is not about me. It’s about her.

  I read the rest of it. He was in love with her, that’s for sure.

  “This is about Abby.”

  He nods.

  “Was she your high school girlfriend?”

  He looks down the street in the other direction. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Then why show me the song?”

  “Because you need to know how fucked up I am.”

  “What happened, Chris?”

  He takes his notebook from me and stands. “I’ll walk you home.”

  We are silent, though I want to ask many questions. He moves farther and farther away from me with each step we take.

  When we’re almost to my place, a familiar man comes out of the alley, asking for money. He touches my arm.

  “I don’t have any cash,” I say, recognizing the homeless man as Jonah, one of the regulars who begs on this street.

  Before I realize what’s happening, Crew punches him in the face. Blood instantly appears on Jonah’s lip. “Crew! Stop it,” I yell, yanking him off. Jonah runs away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “He was robbing you.”

  “No he wasn’t. He was asking for money. There’s a big difference.”

  “He put his hand on you,” he says, staring at the place where Jonah touched my arm.

  “Jonah didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Jonah? You know him?”

  “He’s a nice man. A little slow but harmless.”

  “Are you kidding me? Nobody’s harmless.”

  “He’s hungry, Crew. Sometimes I give him my leftovers.”

  “You encourage him?”

  I’m confused by his behavior. “What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I overreacted.”

  “You think?”

  I unlock the outer door, and we go upstairs. Crew doesn’t follow me into my apartment. He’s staring at my hair again.

  Finally, he averts his eyes. “I promised Gary I’d help him do some painting. I have to go.”

  “You’re not staying for dinner? I was going to make spaghetti.”

  “I really have to go.” He backs away, putting more distance between us. “Another night. Lock the door.”

  “Crew?”

  “Sorry,” he says and runs down the stairs.

  I sit on my couch, remembering the song he shared with me. Is that his way of letting me into his past—or telling me I can’t be his future?

  Rather than drive myself crazy, I fetch peroxide and bandages, and make a quick turkey sandwich, wrapping it in tin foil. Then I go in search of Jonah.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Crew

  Garrett gives me the stink-eye during our break and corners me in the hallway. “What’s up with you tonight? Are you sick or something?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you sound like my goddamn grandma?”

  I don’t argue with him. I know I don’t sound great tonight, but I can’t look at her, and that prevents me from singing the way I need to sing.

  “You have to get it together,” he says. “We’re playing at the hottest club in Manhattan on Friday. Whatever the problem is, find a way to fix it.”

  He walks away. I force myself to look at Bria. Why did Ronni make her do that to her hair? Worse, Bria seems to like it.

  I go to the bar and order a shot of whiskey, but I stop after one. No matter how much I want to drink, I won’t be any good onstage if I do. I can’t perform drunk.

  Every song I sing, I do it with my eyes closed, trying to give the crowd the performance they deserve. When I play backup guitar, I look at the strings even though I don’t need to. But it’s better than looking at her.

  When our set is over, the proprietor escorts us to a table and offers us free drinks. I make sure to sit next to Bria so I don’t have to look at her across the table. She puts her hand on my thigh. I squeeze it to let her know all is well.

  “You really found your stride after the break,” she says.

  “Is that your way of telling me I sucked during the first set?”

  She leans close. “You never suck.”

  I try not to look at her. I reach for another drink.

  A few women approach us. One of them leans down, flashing her cleavage. “Mind if we join you?”

  Garrett hops up, offering Big Boobs his chair as he pulls over a few others.

  “Hi, ladies,” Liam says, making room for them.

  I move my chair closer to Bria’s.

  “You guys were really good up there,” the brunette says. “I’m Lisa, and this is Alyssa and Tara.”

  Lisa seems enamored with Garrett and his tattoos.

  Alyssa and Tara are focused on me. “Can I buy you a drink?” Tara says, looking directly at me.

  I raise my glass. “I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asks, running a finger from her chin down to the top of her low-cut shirt.

  Her friend elbows her. “I think they’re together.”

  Tara looks between me and Bria. I drape my arm around Bria’s shoulders.

  “Just my luck,” Tara says. She turns her attention to Liam. “What about you? Are you single?”

  He gives me a withering look. “Why do I always end up with your sloppy seconds?”

  Alyssa and Tara lean into him. “There’s nothing sloppy about us,” Alyssa says. “Take us in back, and we’ll show you.”

  Liam downs a shot. “Lead the way.”

  Bria looks shocked. “Is he really going to have sex with them? Both of them? Here?”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Brad says.

  Brad and I have a long conversation about Liam’s sexual antics. I realize I’m ignoring Bria. I hope she doesn’t notice. I sneak a look at her, wondering if the more I drink, the less her hair will bother me.

  She eyes the many shot glasses in front of me. “If you’re just going to sit here and get drunk, I’m leaving.”

  “It’s dark outside. You’re not leaving.”

  “I am leaving, Crew. There’s really no point in my being here anyway.
” She wiggles out from under my arm and stands.

  “I’ll walk you home then.”

  “No thank you.”

  “Bria, it’s late.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of finding my way home. I’m not the one who’s been drinking.”

  Brad stands. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”

  “I do not need an escort,” she insists.

  Two girls cross to our table. I roll my eyes, not wanting to deal with more fans, but instead of talking to me or the guys, one of them hugs Bria. I go on full alert, and I’m about to pull them apart when Bria squeals, “You came! I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

  “We saw your last four or five songs. Brutus at the door wouldn’t let us in until some people left.”

  Bria turns to us. “Did you hear that? We had the place packed!”

  “Sweet!” Garrett says, taking a break from sucking face with Lisa.

  “These are my friends, Katherine and Lola.”

  I hold out my hand. “I’m Crew, and that’s Brad and Garrett. Liam should be back soon.”

  “Crew,” Lola says. “Right. We know all about you.”

  They do? Bria’s expression gives nothing away, except she’s still mad at me.

  “I was getting ready to leave,” Bria tells them.

  “You’re not going home, are you?” Katherine says. “We haven’t hung out in ages. Come clubbing with us.”

  “Yes, Bria, go clubbing,” I say with a tight jaw. “Oh, wait, we’re already in a club.”

  She hooks elbows with them. “We’re leaving. See you at rehearsal.”

  “Guess you don’t need to walk her home,” I say spitefully, pulling out Brad’s chair for him.

  Brad looks at me sideways. “You don’t want her going out with her friends? Or you don’t want her going with them when she’s pissed at you?”

  I down another shot.

  “What’s wrong with your girlfriend?” Lisa asks.

  “She’s not my …” —I run a hand through my hair— “Forget it.”

  I take another shot and get up to use the bathroom. Alyssa and Tara storm past me, going the other way.

  “Your friend is a pervert,” Tara says. “What kind of creep doesn’t want a girl to touch his dick?”

  Alyssa brushes against me. “I’ll bet you’re not a pervert, and your girlfriend will never know.”

  I push her away. “I’d know.”

  She huffs her displeasure and they leave, presumably to find their next conquest.

  Liam comes through a door in back, sees me, and tries to act all cool. “Got a cigarette?”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  He gestures vaguely. “Yeah, but after that. Wow.”

  “You’re such a liar, dude. I just ran into them. They said you were a perv.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, that about sums it up. Some girls just don’t want to go down on each other while you jack off watching.”

  My jaw drops. “You asked them to … here?”

  “I saw an opportunity.”

  “Dude.”

  “Right. Like I’m any more fucked up than the famous Chris Rewey. Don’t act like you aren’t, man. You can’t even look at her, can you? It’s the hair. I noticed it too. You should tell her.”

  I lean against the wall. “Tell her what? That every time I look at her it hurts like hell because all I can see is my dead girlfriend?”

  “She needs to know. You’re acting like a douche. It’s not fair to her.”

  “She’ll dump me.”

  “Maybe that’s not the worst thing. If you can’t get over this, you shouldn’t be together.”

  I continue to the bathroom door. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  He clamps down on my arm. “I may be a dozen shades of fucked up, but I know you can’t keep doing this. It’s eating away at you. I can see how much you like her, and I’m pretty sure she’s in love with you.”

  My eyes snap to his. “She’s not.”

  “You wouldn’t know, would you, since you can’t look at her and all. But I see how she looks at you. We all do.”

  I sink against the wall. “Fuck.”

  “Either tell her and let the chips fall where they may, or end it and let her get on with her life.”

  “Says the guy who can’t get on with his life.”

  “Hey now, we’re talking about you, not me. I’m all too aware that I’m a therapist’s wet fucking dream.” He points to the bathroom. “Go take a whiz. I’ll order us a few more shots. Looks like we both need it.”

  “Better make it more than a few.”

  When I return to the table, it’s covered in shot glasses. “Think it’s enough?” I ask Liam.

  “It’s a start.”

  A half-hour later, Brad shakes his head at all the empties in front of Liam and me. “You guys better not puke on the way home.”

  “It’s a good thing Jeremy hired us a driver,” Garrett says, downing another.

  “I could have driven,” Brad says. “I promised Katie I’d stay sober tonight and stop by her place after.”

  I shove a glass at him. “Not when we’re done with you. Come on. Misery loves company.”

  “I’m not miserable. In fact, I’ve never been happier.”

  “Well, aren’t you the golden child. Perfect fucking Brad, with his perfect fucking girlfriend and his perfect fucking life.”

  He clinks his glass against mine. “I’ll toast to that.”

  “How come Katie never comes to our gigs?” Liam asks.

  “She’s not into rock music. Or drinking.”

  Liam looks at Brad like he’s crazy. “And that makes her the perfect girl for you? At least pick someone who’s going to support your chosen profession.”

  “She supports me. She just doesn’t like the scene, that’s all.”

  Liam snorts. “It’ll never last.”

  “You’re wrong,” Brad says defensively. “This is the real deal.”

  Liam turns to us. “You guys want to take bets on this?”

  “On whether Brad’s relationship crumbles or not?” I ask. “Count me out.”

  “Hey, want to get high on the way home?” Garrett asks when Lisa leaves to find her friends.

  “Hell yeah,” Liam says. “Wait—no. Is this another one of your practical jokes?”

  Garrett pulls a joint out of his pocket. “This is some real shit. A buddy of mine who came to the show gave it to me.”

  I may be drunk, but I know that isn’t something Liam should get into again. He smoked pot all the time in high school. It took me years to convince him to stop. I lived every day in fear that it would lead to something else. “Put that shit away.”

  Liam thinks I can’t hear him when he whispers to Garrett, “Count me in.”

  “Don’t do it, man,” I say.

  “Don’t you have enough of your own problems?” he says, handing me another shot. “Quit worrying about mine.”

  An hour later, we stumble out to the van. Bruce, our driver, already packed up our gear. He grins when he sees us. “You can sleep it off on the way back.”

  I tap on his shoulder from the seat behind him. “I’m not going back. Can you drop me at Bria’s?”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Liam slurs. He thinks about it. “Actually, yeah, drop him at Bria’s.” He leans close. “Drunk people are more honest. Just lay it all out there.”

  “That’s not why I’m going.”

  “Midnight bootie call,” Garrett shouts.

  I high-five him.

  “She seemed pretty upset with you, Crew,” Brad says. “Maybe we should stick around until you’re sure she’ll let you in.”

  “She’ll let him in,” Liam says. “She luuuuuuvs him.”

  “Shut up,” I say, punching him in the arm.

  “You all see that shit? If I can’t play tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

  “If you can’t play tomorrow, it’s because you got shit-faced.”
<
br />   “All’s good,” he says and passes out.

  I’m glad. It means he won’t get high with Garrett.

  Bruce drops me at Bria’s. I walk around to the alley and look up at her dark windows. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I tug on the door in case it’s not locked, but it is. I get out my phone and call her.

  “Crew?” she answers sleepily. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m downstairs.”

  “You’re here?”

  “Yeah. Can you let me in?”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Very. You?”

  “No.” She sighs. “I’ll be right there.”

  She comes to the door wearing a short robe. I look around, making sure nobody else is watching.

  “You shouldn’t walk around your building like that,” I say, pushing her up the stairs.

  “You shouldn’t come to my place at two in the morning.”

  She turns on the light when we go inside. I immediately turn it off. “I feel a headache coming on,” I lie.

  “Did you come here to have sex?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  I lead her to the couch and drop my notebook on the table. “No, really. We can just sit here.”

  “You want to sit?”

  “Sure, why not? So what did you do with your friends?”

  “We had a drink at another bar, then came back here to talk. It was fun. I haven’t seen them since last fall. I was so consumed with White Poison and then RA that I’ve let a lot of my friendships slide.”

  I can see her gazing at me in the moonlight. It’s not bright enough to see the color of her hair, for which I’m grateful. I touch it, rubbing a lock between my fingers. “You really like the new hair?”

  “I do. Kat and Lola said they loved it. Don’t you?”

  Her phone vibrates, saving me from having to answer.

  “Who’s texting you at two in the morning?”

  “It’s probably Brett. He’s always checking up on me. He texted me earlier, wondering why I left the bar right after our gig when we usually stay after. I was catching up with Kat and Lola and forgot to get back to him. He’s on shift tonight.”

  “You told him you left early?”

  “No. He saw on that app that tracks my phone.”

  “Your brother tracks your phone?”