Revival: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 3)

by L. V. Lewis

  “Brody’s got me covered,” he reminds me. “I wasn’t waking you to ask you for a favor. I wanted to let you know before I left, so you didn’t think…”

  “So I didn’t think you were ghosting me again?” Regrettably, I have to admit that the thought would have occurred to me if he just hadn’t been here when I got up, and had been a no-show for our brunch. I wouldn’t call it a date. It was just a couple of friends getting together while in the same zip code.

  “Yeah.” He sounds sheepish at my honest reply.

  While we were keeping things as chill as possible, if he ran off on me again with no word, the way he had before, I wouldn’t just be pissed. I would be downright ragey, not to mention the emotional bruising my psyche would undergo again.

  I am thankful that he’s so thoughtful despite his departure being precipitated by a family emergency. I hope that should our friendship end this time, it would happen with open communication and mutual respect, but I couldn’t quite trust that would happen in my current frame of mind.

  He clears his throat. “I was going to ask you if I could have a raincheck when we’re in the Maldives. I know we’re both bringing dates, but we could have a meal together there a time or two, as friends. Right?”

  “We’ll see. Text me when you get things with your mother sorted, okay?” I reach up and hug his neck, my height deficit making me have to raise up onto my tip-toes.

  “I will. Thanks.” The sharp edge of emotion in those three words makes my heart ache for him. He lost a great uncle less than a year ago, and to have a scare with his Mom so soon after is really untenable. I hope the emotional headway he’s gained isn’t lost by this mishap.

  I step into his arms and we embrace again without thinking about it. When he walks away and down the stairs, I feel rather grieved that I won’t be able to spend any more time with him as we’d planned. Then I feel crappy and selfish that I was thinking of myself in the midst of his family crisis.

  I am unable to go back to sleep, and when I finally get up and scrounge up some breakfast, I ask Malik to give me a ride home. There’s no reason now for me to hang around with the lovebirds on a Sunday. My condo feels empty and lonely, but I’m still stoked by the reaction the fans had to my set last night, so I do my best not to wallow in self-pity. In fact, I spend most of the morning checking social media for what’s being said about my performance.

  Music industry influencers are very complimentary, spouting superlatives I’ve never seen connected with my name before, like “A perfect R&B/Rock Fusion,” “A new Rock Star in the making,” and even Grunge Nation calls it, “A Stellar performance!” I should be in the clouds, but I still feel a bit of melancholy dragging me down.

  Then it dawns on me. I wanted Dylan to be here to share this moment with me. Success is underwhelming without someone significant to share it with. Humbled by that realization, I half-doze on my sofa attempting to re-watch Game of Thrones, Season 8, the one that fans are so disappointed in they want it re-done. It might be how fans feel about the last eight years of my career now that I’m on the cusp of a successful new album.

  Dylan texts me as I requested. His mom has a hairline fracture in her left leg, so she has at least six to eight weeks of recuperation, and then some rehabilitation to get her back up to speed. I wish he’d called me even though I specifically asked him to text, so I could hear his voice again. What’s up with me missing someone already that I’ve just seen?

  Distracted by my disappointment for various and sundry reasons, I almost forget to confirm my reservation with I’m Your Man, Inc., the company that Brody worked with for a time before he and Sky became exclusive. They will provide my wedding date, who will also provide me with other “perks” if I am willing, but I’m not so sure I will be. Dylan Castle, the hard act that he is to follow, is going to be a major distraction. Starved libido or not, there is something unsavory about kicking it with a stranger when the person you really care about is within touching distance.

  I call Jacob at Naveah to see how he’s doing shortly after I hang up with IYM. Dylan’s mom having an accident has me hankering to speak to my father, as if parental accidents are poised to become a rampant phenomenon or something. I have no other Sunday plans anyway, and I kind of miss Jacob, but if anyone were to ask me I wouldn’t admit it.

  “Sweetie, I’m so glad you called,” Jacob says. His insistence upon calling me sweetie although I’m a grown-ass woman weirds me out, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that. I’ve been calling him Jacob since I was emancipated from him at sixteen, and while it was awkward for him in the beginning, he eventually got used to it.

  “You’re part of my ever-dwindling tribe, Jacob. What can I say?”

  “I think all our tribes are much bigger than we realize.”

  “Is that something they teach you at Naveah?”

  “As a matter of fact, it’s something they help us to discover.”

  “New discoveries can be cathartic. Just like music and any other emotional or artistic form.”

  “You’re smarter and more well-adjusted than your old man has ever been.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. You and Mom gave me a pretty nifty cocktail of genes if I do say so myself.”

  “I wish she could have seen the masterpiece you’ve become.”

  I do believe that’s the sweetest thing Jacob’s said to me in a long time. This place may be giving me my dad back. “Is Naveah also teaching you to wax nostalgic?”

  “No, I think I developed that skill on my own.”

  “Well, let me give you something else to be excited about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know that new album I’ve been working on?”

  “Yes, that may be all you talked about when you were here,” he says in a deadpan that eclipses mine.

  “Sarcasm is not a good look on you, Jacob.”

  He chuckles. “I’m kidding. You know I’m always proud of everything you do.”

  “Good, then you’ll probably be even more proud of me in a few months. Early critiques of my new sound have been very encouraging. In fact, all the news about last night’s concert is overwhelmingly positive.”

  “That’s great, Lyssa! You’ll be headlining your own events sooner than anticipated. Congratulations.”

  “Yeah, it was in my five-year plan, but I think I’m going to nail that in the first year,” I say without much enthusiasm.

  “Hey,” Jacob says softly. “I can’t see you, but sounds like you’ve got a long face. You should be over the moon about this news.”

  I don’t know if Jacob has just caught me at a bad time, or what, but I find myself spilling my guts to him. I usually avoid his inquiries about my love life or lack thereof. “You remember The Savages’ drummer, Dylan Castle, that I dated about a year ago?”

  “Yeah, the one you talked about non-stop for about three months? I remember him because he has the first name of my favorite singer’s last name.”

  I chicken out after that statement and go on a different tangent. “Bob Dylan was a bit before your time, wasn’t he?”

  “But your grandpa Lawrence played him so much he became my favorite, too. I might have been named Jacob after Dylan’s son, Jakob. My folks spelled it the Biblical way, though. You know pops.”

  “Really?” I say this as if I haven’t heard this story when Jacob was on one of his benders, like a bajillion times. “That’s so cool. I should probably mention that in my next interview. Fans can’t get enough of that kind of stuff.”

  “Call me when you get that interview, and I’ll tell you the whole story so it’s fresh on your mind.” Jacob sighs, “But right now, I want you to talk to me about Dylan.” Busted.

  “There’s not much to say. We dated hot and heavy for a couple of months and he just… disappeared.”

  “But he played drums at your concert last night, didn’t he? So, he’s no longer AWOL, right?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Th
ey have this marvelous thing called the internet that even us addicts here at Naveah get access to sometimes.”

  “Why’d you let me ramble on about the news media stuff if you’d already seen it?”

  “Because I love hearing what’s going on with you from your perspective not the opinions of others. There was a time when all I had was the opinions of others, so it’s good to hear your news first hand nowadays.”

  Jacob has always been proud of my accomplishments, but I never knew he followed my career like that. I’m flummoxed yet happy to know he cares enough to read up on me. It makes my throat close with emotion.

  “You’re the cornerstone of my tribe, Jacob. Even when your foundation was cracked and I had Sky, the guys in the band, and our dancers to lift me up when you were crumbling.”

  His voice cracks. “I’ve spent more time at Naveah than any rehab facility I’ve had the dubious pleasure of frequenting. I’ve missed too many milestones in your life. I don’t plan to miss any more.”

  “Jacob—” I want to stop him from making promises he can’t keep, because I don’t think I can handle another disappointment. Not from him, too. It would be too much.

  “Sweetie, I know. I can show you better than I can tell you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Okay.” Despite clinging to the desperate optimism that this time he will kick his habit, I remain low-key pessimistic that he’ll be good for a while and then descend into addiction again.

  “Now tell me what happened with this Dylan of yours.”

  I recount the story about Dylan and me, leaving out the sexy times of course, because, no matter how I try to deny it sometimes, Jacob is my father, and we’ll never be close enough for me to be that forthcoming with him. Eww!

  “So, he’s back in your life, and may be a permanent fixture if The Savages take you up on your offer?” He summarizes.

  “Yes, and I could kick myself for making it. I must be some kind of masochist to have a guy who broke my heart up in my grill every day.”

  “Sounds like you were in love with him.”

  I scoff. “Why would you say that? We were just kicking it and I liked him a lot. Still do, but that doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”

  “Listen, I may be old by millennial standards, but I know a thing or two about love.”

  “I know. I don’t remember everything, but I do recall how you and Mom were together.”

  “Listen, Camille and I got things right before the end, but there was a whole lot of time wasted being angry over one thing and another while we were together.”

  “Like what?” I hope I’m not prying, but Jacob’s lifestyle while I was growing up didn’t support us having this type of bonding moment.

  “When we were in high school we dated up until her senior year. I’d gone off to college and thought I needed to sow my wild oats, as it were. So I almost fu—messed things up so bad you almost didn’t happen.” Jacob rarely curses in my presence drunk or sober. I find that rather endearing.

  “What did you do?”

  “Camille caught me with this college girl in my dorm room one weekend when she surprised me and just showed up.”

  “Were you a player, Jacob?” I say incredulous.

  “I thought I was, but Camille quickly disabused me of that notion. She had a wicked tongue—probably where you got yours—and she tore into me and that chick so bad we never even thought about hooking up again. In fact, whenever that girl and I saw one another on campus afterwards, we would go in the opposite direction. Of course, your mother quit me on the spot, and I was so sick behind that I didn’t even have the energy to chase any more girls. When she joined me at UCLA a year later she made it so hard for me; we broke up and got back together at least five times before I graduated. I proposed to her three times before she finally said yes when she got her degree.”

  I laugh. “Go, mom!”

  “She didn’t suffer fools gladly, that’s for sure, particularly this one.”

  “So, you got married and then had me. What other times did you guys struggle in your relationship?”

  “I worked hard to bring home the bacon. Your mother used to say I worked too hard. I always had some scheme going on outside my regular job, and she hated that. She said she’d rather have me at home ‘than out trying to make all the money in Pasadena.’ We fought over money a lot, in fact that was our recurring argument for years before she got sick. I think she’d been angry with me for over a year prior to her diagnosis. When that happened, it was like a lightbulb came on for both of us, and we committed ourselves to never fighting over inconsequential things again.”

  “Wow,” was all I could muster. I had no idea that my parents had gone through some tumultuous years before I saw what they had in the last few years of her life. I can’t imagine the guilt, regret and bitterness Jacob harbored after her death.

  “I wish I could take back all the times we’d been estranged over petty things that kept us apart. That’s not to say that you don’t have a valid reason for not trusting Dylan given his track record. Every relationship is unique, and you two have to decide whether what you had is worth going down that road again.”

  We chat about his progress at Naveah, and finally about the upcoming wedding, but I deftly avoid talking about who I’m taking. These conversations are never comfortable with parental units, and I certainly can’t tell him that I am hiring my date for the wedding.

  Damn, even Dylan is bringing a real date, and I feel some type of way about that, because Jacob’s words have given me pause. I can’t fault Dylan bringing a date to the wedding now. I have made myself unavailable in no uncertain terms, so he has the right to move on with his life.

  I really should have made an effort to give Dylan the benefit of the doubt. I had plenty of time last week, but didn’t do so out of fear. My flesh was willing but my spirit was weak. Instead I’ve spent the past two months corresponding with Dylan in a “friends-only” dynamic when I could’ve used that time to get back together with him, or at the very least cultivated a “friends to lovers” scenario with someone else who isn’t emotionally and physically unavailable when the going gets tough.

  I pull up the profile of my wedding date which features a prominent photo. Eric Trexler. He is handsome in a taller, Joe Jonas sort of way, I’ll give him that, but his career as a budding actor makes me leery of him. Keeping my distance emotionally from him will be easy because I can’t afford attachment to another man whose career makes it difficult for us to connect physically unless one or both of us has to travel, and often in different directions.

  I want what my parents had, and I want it without the melodrama and unnecessary estrangement. I have two weeks in the Maldives to figure out if it’s going to be with Dylan Castle, or some other nameless, faceless man I haven’t yet met. Or one I might be meeting in a few days.

  Nineteen

  Velaa, The Maldives

  ALYSSA

  The approach by seaplane to the private Island of Velaa looks like something off a postcard. The lush tropical island is a perfect circle surrounded by a white sandy beach, perched above a wide circular barrier reef. The water is pristine and varying shades of blue, and the island is tiny compared to some of the others we’ve seen from the air in the 45 minute flight from Malé. Villas and bungalows boasting enormous private pools are built on the island and a cluster of bungalows extend from a long pier into the water. The wedding planner, Ellie Guice, Malik and the security detail greet us as we deplane.

  Malik draws the short straw, so he gets to direct Eric and me to our lodging for the duration of our trip. When Malik gives me the side-eye as we head toward the bungalows, I realize I’m not being very polite.

  “Oh, Malik, this is Eric Trexler, my date. Eric this is Malik Thompson, bodyguard extraordinaire and chief of Skylar’s and my security team.”

  They shake hands, and Malik wouldn’t be Malik if he didn’t play protective uncle. “If you’re not nice to her, I’m going to feed your
pretty ass to the sharks.”

  Eric looks horrified.

  “Don’t mind him,” I say. “His welcome is always a blatant threat. If you don’t get that it’s then you should worry whether he likes you.”

  Eric smiles, but still gives Malik a wide berth. Dude has probably never been in a fight in his life his face is so pretty. I get that he makes his livelihood with his face, but come on, at least pretend you’d stand up for me, even if this is a fake date.

  Malik leaves us at our bungalow, which is designated as the maid of honor suite for our stay, and is in close proximity to the bride/groom suite at the end and dead center of the pier. Our suite is exactly opposite of the best man suite. Shit! I’m definitely going to see Dylan more than I’d care to on this vacation, and by association his date. But then, he’ll be seeing Eric and me, more than he’d probably like, as well. Who knows, maybe this vacation will wean us both from those pesky feelings that cropped up while he was in LA for his fitting.

  The sitting room is pretty, but we both opt to go straight into the bedroom, which has towels formed into the shape of a sea turtle, and the words “Welcome to Velaa, Love Sky and Brody” crafted in small white sea shells.” Velaa means turtle in Dhivehi, the Maldivian native language, I remember Ellie saying. Each villa has a gorgeous infinity pool, and seeing it from the window reminds me of what a beautiful gift Sky and Brody are giving to their friends. We proceed to put our clothing away.

  Eric chooses all the choice drawers and closet space for his clothes, but I manage to get my toiletries unpacked and hog as much of the vanity as I can. Dude needs almost as much space as I do for his clothing and daily regimen.

  When we’re done unpacking, I grab the itinerary that was left in our room by Sky’s wedding planner, Ellie, who is chipper in the extreme, even more than Nicole and Marnie. I read the itinerary off so Eric and I can be familiar with what’s happening and when.