Reckless Invitation (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  “And she told you not to do anything about it. So don’t. If you do, she’ll probably be pissed at you. She might even leave. Do you really want to ruin whatever you’ve got going with her?”

  I scrub my face. “Goddammit.”

  “Go home, Liam.”

  I nod.

  He takes my phone and summons an Uber. Five minutes later, I’m telling the driver to find a liquor store.

  ~ ~ ~

  “There you are,” Ella says. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You should respond to your texts once in a while so your friends don’t think you’re in jail for killing someone.”

  “I didn’t kill him. But I wanted to.” I’m sitting on the sand, gazing at the water.

  She sits next to me, eyeing the bottle. “Liam?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did you want to say, El? Believe me, I’ve heard it all.”

  “Did something happen to a woman you used to date? Is that why you got so mad?”

  “I told you, I don’t date.”

  “It’s just that your reaction was so intense.”

  I feel a headache coming on. My hair falls over my eyes as my head slumps. I try to rub the tension from my neck. When I look at her, she seems sad.

  “Did something happen to you, Liam? Did someone hurt you?”

  I look away. The beach is lit by the moon, and I can hear the waves on the sand. I can just make out the sea foam left in their wake.

  “It didn’t happen to me,” I say, grabbing the bottle and standing. I start to walk away and say the words I never thought I’d say. “It happened to the kid I used to be.”

  I hear the shock in her stifled cry.

  “Go back to the hotel, Ella.”

  She catches up with me. “How much have you had to drink?”

  “I wasn’t here long.”

  She takes the bottle from me and examines it to see it’s practically full. She wedges it into the sand next to the boardwalk, then takes off her shoes. “Take yours off, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re going on a run.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. You told me I have permission to stop you from drinking.”

  “But I’ve barely even started.”

  “All the more reason to run. It’s cathartic, Liam. It clears your head better than anything I’ve ever known. Now—when you’re feeling like this—is the best time to do it.”

  I’m wearing dress shorts and a polo shirt. She’s in a skirt and blouse. She knows what my next argument will be. She takes off the blouse, revealing a tank top. “I can run in anything. Besides, it’s dark and nobody will see us, so who cares what we look like?”

  “We don’t have our shoes.”

  “We won’t go far. Maybe a mile and back. If our feet start to hurt, we’ll walk. What do you have to lose except the possibility of a killer hangover?”

  I take off my shirt and drop it on top of her blouse.

  As usual, I have to concentrate on my breathing. She’s particularly quiet, which gives me time to think. Think about what she’s thinking. Think about the fact that I just revealed more to her than anyone other than Crew. Does she think I’m some kind of sicko now?

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asks when we make the turn.

  My lungs burn. My legs hurt. My feet are raw. But, yeah, it feels good. “Don’t get cocky.”

  She laughs and moves ahead.

  Returning to the hotel, a million thoughts go through my head, but there is one I just can’t shake. I realize what I hadn’t before. A man had his hands on her, and she was enjoying it. Then she opened her eyes, saw me three feet away, and her whole attitude changed. Is it possible she thought the man touching her was me?

  Chapter Twenty

  Ella

  He’s been avoiding me. For two weeks he’s made excuses, like he has to work on music. It has me wondering if my presence here is no longer required.

  Liam avoiding me has its benefits, however. I’ve been working so much that I’m almost finished with the illustrations for the first book. They’re laid out on the floor of my hotel room. I look at each one, making sure I haven’t repeated any of the main elements of the pictures.

  I sit and pick one up. I trace my finger across Liam’s eight-year-old face. My heart hurts for the boy he used to be. “What happened to you?” The question has plagued me for fourteen days. Something happened to him, but what? Someone hurt him. Who? I used to think it was a bad breakup, but I fear it’s something worse.

  He hates questions. He’s never shied away from telling me this. But then he went and answered the most prying question of all. He answered it and then avoided me.

  Is he mad at himself for saying too much? Ashamed at what he thinks I know?

  I put away my work and scroll through the recent pictures on my phone. I go to all of their performances and take a picture at every one. Last night they played a small outdoor venue. I was front and center, and got a picture of all five of them. Crew and Bria were singing into the same microphone. Liam and Brad flanked them, both playing their guitars. Garrett was in the background on his platform, one drumstick over his head, the other pounding his snare. I’ve never seen a better picture of the band. It gives me an idea.

  Two hours later there’s a familiar knock on my door. I know his knock. It’s strong, yet hesitant. Just like he is. I open up. “You ready?” he asks, wearing shorts and running shoes.

  I glance at the clock. It’s after six. It’s their day off, and I forgot we were supposed to meet in the lobby. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Give me a minute to change.”

  I grab what I need and duck into the bathroom. We’ve been running almost daily. And he’s gotten much better, faster. But sometimes I think he runs fast to keep from talking.

  When I emerge, he’s got one of my sketches in his hands. “Ella, this is fantastic.”

  “I’m not finished yet.” I try to swipe it from him, but he keeps it. “I still need to color it.”

  “I have to show this to everyone. This may be our next album cover.”

  “What? That’s crazy.”

  I scrutinize what I drew. It’s a rough sketch. And I took liberties, such as changing the background to something abstract.

  “It’s not. This is exactly what we need.”

  I take it back. “Let me finish it.”

  “No way. It’s great as it is.”

  “You don’t have to flatter me, Liam.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. Can I show this to the rest of the band?”

  “Suit yourself.” I motion to the door. “Ready?”

  At the beach we stretch, then start our run. He comments on the weather. I say something about the sunset. Small talk.

  Halfway into it, I do something I never do. I stop. “Liam, do I need to be here anymore?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You never talk to me anymore. You’ve been avoiding me since, you know. It’s awkward. And everyone has noticed. Bria keeps asking if we’re fighting.”

  “We’re not fighting.”

  “Then what are we?”

  He takes off. I catch up and tug on his arm until he halts.

  “I’m here because you thought I inspired you, but now I feel like I’m a burden.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Then talk to me. About your music, the album cover, your new living arrangements when you get back to New York. Anything but the stupid weather.”

  His gaze travels to my chest, and he cringes. Is he still upset about what that guy did to me?

  “It’s going to be dark soon,” he says. “We should head back.”

  He runs so fast, I can’t keep up with him. By the time I make it back to the hotel, he’s nowhere in sight.

  I go upstairs and pack my suitcase.

  ~ ~ ~

  There’s a knock on the door. It’s a different knock, but it’s him. And he’s got a half-full
bottle of whiskey in his hand. He stumbles into my room, sits on the couch, and takes a swig. He sees the packed suitcase and backpack on the bed. When he tries to stand, he trips over his own feet and ends up on all fours.

  He gets off the floor and goes to the suitcase. “I thought we weren’t going to Tampa until tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to Tampa tomorrow. I’m going to New York tonight.”

  His eyes are glazed. “What? Why?”

  “Why do you think? There’s no point in my being here, Liam.”

  “There is.”

  “I’m not doing anything for you. I’m not your muse anymore. I’ve become some groupie who tags along with the band.”

  “I like having you here.”

  “Do you? You could have fooled me. You don’t even talk to me. You can barely look at me. Are you mad at me for not calling the police on the guy in the bar?”

  His attention goes to my breasts, and every line on his face screams of tension. He twists off the cap to his bottle and drinks. “You should have turned him in.”

  “Maybe. But it was my call to make.”

  He slams the bottle down on the table and liquid splashes out the top. “He’s going to do it again, and you’re the one who allowed it.”

  “So now it’s my fault?”

  “You should have done more.”

  My blood boils. “I never knew you could be such an asshole, Liam. I think you should leave.”

  He stumbles to the door, then glances back like he wants to say something. But he doesn’t. He walks out. I sit on the couch, a vice gripping my heart. I’m not sure what I expected. I’ve always been clear that I don’t want anything more than friendship from him, so why does the thought of leaving him hurt so much?

  His bottle is still on the table. I pick it up and take a drink, feeling the burn all the way from my lips to my stomach. Then I cry.

  The doorknob turns. “El, let me in.”

  I shouldn’t open the door, but I do. He sees my red eyes, my smeared makeup, the tears hanging from my lashes. “Did you come back for your booze?”

  “It’s not your fault,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  I wipe my eyes. “Take your liquor and go. I have to get to the airport. My flight leaves soon.”

  He comes in and the door shuts behind him. “Don’t leave.”

  I laugh pathetically. “You’re not giving me any reason to stay.”

  He lunges at me and takes me in his arms. His lips collide with mine. I don’t even have time to think about it. I have craved this though I’ve fought my feelings.

  His lips are soft and strong and warm, his touch electric. I get lost in the moment and give in to him. He slips his tongue in my mouth and deepens the kiss.

  I taste alcohol and pull away. “You’re drunk. You don’t want this. I’m not sure I want this.”

  He steps back and leans against the door. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter. Because I can never have this. I just wanted to feel what it’s like to kiss you before you walked out of my life.” He snatches the bottle and turns to leave. “It was my dad. He ruined my fucking life. He ruined me. He took away any chance I ever had of being with someone like you. And it’s my fault he’s still out there.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Liam

  Thirteen years ago

  Sitting on the front stoop, I take the guitar back from Crew. “Careful, it’s Luke’s. I’d hate for you to drop it.” I play a tune Luke taught me.

  “You’re getting pretty good at that,” he says.

  “That’s what Luke says. Dad said he’ll buy me one when I turn twelve.”

  “Cool.”

  I stop playing. “Do you … miss having a dad at your house?”

  “I guess. I mean, doesn’t everyone want their dad to live with them?”

  “I don’t know. Do you feel you can do all the things men do without him there?”

  He laughs. “Men? So we’re men now?”

  I fiddle with the strings, not wanting to look at him. Does he know what I’m asking? Maybe he hasn’t done any of it yet. Maybe he never will since his dad doesn’t live with him. This is the closest to talking about it I’ve ever gotten. Crew is my best friend, but I’m not sure what I can and can’t say. Dad says men don’t talk about it.

  He’s crawled into my bed a lot over the past few months. Mostly I pretend I’m asleep, even when he does other stuff—like what’s in the magazine. He says I’m good at it, better than Luke even, and Luke is fifteen. But I’m not ever allowed to tell Luke that. Luke would get mad and not like me anymore, because big brothers are always supposed to be better. It will be our secret.

  He talks about secrets a lot, how they keep our family together. How Mom and Luke and I would have to go back to living in our rundown apartment if we ever told anyone. How Mom would hate me if I ever did anything to change how things are.

  “We’re almost twelve,” I say. “So yeah, we’re men.”

  Crew throws a stone at the mailbox. “I miss my dad taking me fishing. We used to go every Saturday. Now I’m lucky if we go once a month. You’re lucky you have your dad to do all that stuff with.”

  “I suppose.”

  Luke comes around the corner and spots us with his guitar. I hand it to him. “Nah,” he says. “You’re better at it than I am. Just put it back when you’re done.” He goes in the house.

  “Your brother is so cool,” Crew says. “Kellan’s older brother beats the shit out of him if he takes his stuff.”

  “Not Luke. He looks out for me.”

  A minute later, Luke is back. “Go home, Crew.”

  “Why does he have to leave?” I ask.

  “He just does. We have shit to do.”

  Crew whispers, “Guess he was mad after all,” and leaves.

  I follow Luke inside and set his guitar by the couch. He seems upset, because he grabs my elbow and pulls me all the way upstairs and into the bathroom. He picks up the magazine I accidentally left on the counter when Crew rang the doorbell. The magazine with naked girls. “What is this shit?”

  I’ve never seen him so angry. But I get it. I would have gotten in big trouble if Mom had found it before he did. Luckily she’s at the grocery store.

  I take it from him, embarrassed. “I … sorry. I’ll put it away.”

  He goes into my room, turning his nose up at my unmade bed. “Who gave it to you, Liam?”

  I’m afraid to break Dad’s confidence, and I remember what he said about Luke getting mad because I’m better at things than he is. So I lie. “Crew gave it to me.”

  He sits on the bed. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  He runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

  “What is it? Are you worried about Mom finding out?”

  “No. Nothing. It’s fine. It’s just …” —he lies back and looks blankly at the ceiling— “Sometimes I want to leave. Do you ever feel like that? Would you go with me if I did?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, leave. Just me and you. Find somewhere else to live.”

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “Why would we want to do that?”

  He seems relieved. “Forget I said anything. I was only joking.” He springs off the bed. “Want me to teach you a new song?”

  I smile. Because Luke teaching me songs on the guitar is my favorite thing to do.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ella

  Things are different. Liam and I don’t talk about what he said that night. What we did. I never got on that flight to New York. I cried for the boy who was ruined by his father. How that was done, I could only speculate. The next day, when I walked into the hotel dining room for breakfast, I swear I’ve never seen anyone so happy to see me.

  Things are different, but not in a sexual way. It’s like we’ve become best friends. I know his secret, part of it at least, and that makes him trust me in a way he hasn’t trusted many. Except ma
ybe Crew. He and Crew are closer than I’ve ever seen two men. Maybe Crew knows, too.

  We’re in the van on the way to Orlando. It’s their day off. We got up early because Bria wanted to go to Disney World. Not Universal Studios with all the roller coasters. Not Animal Kingdom with all the exotic attractions. She wanted to go where the little kids go—the Magic Kingdom.

  Garrett and Liam are in the middle of a discussion.

  “I’m just saying, put a sock on the door handle or something,” Liam says.

  “What, are we in college?”

  “How do I know what the hell people do in college? But walking in on your bare ass humping some chick is not my idea of good porn.”

  “Maybe you should get your own damn room, then,” Garrett says.

  I feel guilty. Garrett deserves his privacy.

  “We’re here!” Bria squeals.

  I look out the front window and see a huge arch over the road that reads: Walt Disney World. Where dreams come true.

  Bruce drops us at a place where we get on the monorail that takes us into the park. He, Jeremy, and Tom are going straight to the hotel. I’m stunned at the number of people making their way inside the park. There must be thousands. I ask Liam, “What would it take to play a concert here?”

  “We’re playing at Disney Springs tomorrow. It’s the next best thing.”

  We make our way through the gates. Bria runs ahead like a little girl, gaping when she sees Cinderella’s Castle.

  “Damn,” Crew says. “What kind of ride is that?”

  “It’s not a ride,” she says. “There’s a restaurant inside. There’s also a secret suite upstairs. You can’t book it. You have to win a contest or be invited. You can even get married in front of the castle. Can you imagine?”

  Crew looks amused. “You trying to tell me something?”

  She laughs and grabs his hand, pulling him along.

  “I guess we’ll see you later!” Garrett yells after them. “I’m not going to some pansy castle.”