Rock Me: A Rockstar Romance (Rock Chamber Boys Book 4)

by Daisy Allen

  "Do you play an instrument?”

  My hand snaps back, involuntarily. And something twitches in my wrist and it suddenly aches.

  "Um, I used to."

  "Used to? You don't anymore?" There's a frown on her forehead.

  "I don't know, to be honest."

  I know it’s a vague answer to a pretty straightforward question. But she seems to pick up that it’s not something I feel like talking about. And I’m not. Not yet. Not to her.

  "Why are you in here, Jez?"

  I close my eyes, and like it often does, the screeching sound of tires on the road echo in my brain. My eyes snap open, the light is usually enough to scare the sound away, but right now, it doesn't. I get lost in it for a second, before she asks the question again.

  "Jez? Did you hear me? Why are you in the hospital?"

  "Um, I don't really want to talk about it."

  "Sorry." She leans right back, as if my hesitation to answer her question is a personal rejection. But it isn’t about her.

  "No, it's okay! I mean, I'm okay. I just, I'm enjoying being here with you. Not having to talk about my blood pressure, or how I'm feeling, or when I'm going to be better. I'm just... I like talking to you." And I hold my hands out, to show they’re empty. Because it’s really as simple as that. I just like being here with her.

  "I like talking to you too."

  "And, I like hearing you play."

  "I haven't played for a while. I stopped. For a few years. But when you sent me that first note, I couldn't stop myself."

  The idea that she would ever stop baffles me. I know there must be a story behind it but I understand more than anyone, that sometimes… there are circumstances beyond your control. I hope I’ll learn the reason one day though.

  For now, though, I just say, “I’m glad. You should always play."

  She pulls the ukulele onto her lap, plucking a little melody on the strings. "Do you want me to play something now?"'

  I grin. "Pretty much more than anything else in the world."

  "What would you like to hear?"

  "Anything you want to play.”

  “Something old, something new?"

  "How about something borrowed and blue?"

  She thinks for a moment, and then nods her head, "I’ve got it. Perfect."

  She shuffles forward on the couch, bracing the ukulele on her right knee. Her throat clears and I get a thrill at the thought they she might be singing along.

  I sit back and take it all in.

  She plays Love is Blue, L'amour est bleu. Her voice, husky and high, painting my world with color. As she sings, her voice grows stronger and stronger with confidence, her foot tapping on the floor and her head tilts to the side and her eyes flutter closed.

  On the other hand, mine grow wider. Watching her. Falling for her.

  She ends the song with a drawn-out chord. Her eyes open as the last of the note fades away and her lips curve up high in a bright smile.

  "Like I said, beautiful.” I let her interpret what I’m referring to.

  "I liked playing for you... I don’t know why, I feel like, you get it. What my music is about."

  "I think I do too."

  "Did I play for you... before?"

  "No.” I shake my head. And now the past me finally gets to know what it’s like to be jealous of present me. “I didn't know until I heard you the other day."

  "That's good."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah, because there’s something you’re learning about me now, too. Instead of just the other way around. And well, this is me. The me as I am now. In all my fucking glory.”

  "Nice to meet you, now Noémie. Potty mouth and all."

  She grins, and I realize it's the first time tonight that she's grinned... really grinned. You don't grin like that unless you're feeling comfortable. And something in that thought makes me grin right back.

  The stupid grins eventually fade into a comfortable silence again, and I drag myself up onto my feet, stretching my legs out a bit, giving my arms a test lift and then drop them back down, ignoring the niggling stiffness in them. The moon is high in the sky and its light is uninterrupted by clouds tonight. The blinds on the windows aren't closed all the way, throwing the room into rows of light and dark, the furthest wall is the back drop of abstract shadows creeping up to the ceiling.

  "Tell me something no one knows about you," she says, out of nowhere.

  I feel my head turn sharply, looking at her. almost harshly, I guess, because she instantly backs up against the couch.

  "Sorry... I didn't mean..." she stutters.

  I sit back down on the couch, facing her. "No, no, it's fine. You, er, you just surprised me. I wasn't expecting the question." Not again, that is. This isn't a case of a sense of déjà vu, it really did happen.

  She relaxes a little. "You don't have to answer it... It's just something I always want to ask people. I'm pretty nosy."

  I ponder the question.

  Well, no, I ponder the answer.

  I know what I want to say. But in a way it feels like it’s unfair. A betrayal. To the two of us, three months ago in that alley. To try to relive the moment. The truth is, that secret I told her, isn't entirely true anymore.

  "Okay. No laughter, no judgment, right? And whatever is shared in this room, stays here?"

  "Deal. Although I doubt there's anyone out there wanting to pay me for secrets about Jez Petrescu."

  I bite back a smile, if only she knew.

  "Okay, well, I've never, ever been in love before."

  "Wow, like ever?"

  "Well."

  "You have?"

  "No."

  "You haven't."

  "No."

  "Which is it?" She laughs, confused at my own confusion.

  "You heard me!"

  "Yes, but I don't understand you. You're saying you've never ever been in love."

  "Yep. I guess."

  "Wow."

  "Have you?"

  "Abso-fucking-lutely."

  I can't help the smile that spreads from one end of my mouth to the other.

  "But... love sucks. Well, when you fall out of love that is."

  I nod, because that's what you're supposed to do. Not giggle and tell someone that they've told you all this before. No, you nod and you smile, because it's easy to lie when your memory is intact. It's hard to be truthful. And it appears, at least on this topic, she has been.

  "Why are you laughing?" she demands.

  "I'm not! I'm smiling, because, I guess you're right. Love sucks."

  "You wouldn’t know. You just told me you’ve never loved. Have you forgotten?'

  "You sure you should be asking me if I’ve forgotten something?" I nudge her foot with mine, playfully.

  She gasps, but there's laughter in her eyes.

  "Too soon, Cyrano, too soon!"

  "Cyrano?!"

  "Those notes! I know Robbie wrote them."

  "Yeah but he was supposed to say they were from me."

  "Oh, was he? Well, he didn't. I thought our night nurse was sending me love notes"

  "That rat! I'm going to buzz his button twelve times tomorrow during his precious baseball game!"

  She giggles and the room fills with music even more heavenly than her singing.

  "Just kidding. Of course, he said they were from you. That's why this one, "she pulls a piece of paper from her pocket. I can just make out the words "Autumn Leaves" scribbled on it, "is all scrunched up. You're lucky I read them at all."

  She's right. I am. So I tell her so.

  "I'm the luckiest man in the world right now."

  She stops giggling, and her hands fall into her lap, a smile still dancing on her lips.

  "Why did you have Robbie write them?" she asks.

  I don't say anything, and hold out my hand and slowly try to make a fist. Sweat springs out of every pore as I bite back a yelp. Every muscle, every joint in my hand screams, begging for release. I stop when I can't squeeze any
tighter and there is a still a gap between my gnarled fingers and my palm.

  I shrug and release and let my arm fall down to my side.

  "That's why."

  She reaches out and slides her hand into mine.

  It's an action completely unexpected. And familiar all at once. Tiny, microscopic tremors skate up my arms and through every atom of my body. One touch. That's all it takes.

  "Your fingers and my brain would be great friends," she says, softly.

  And my fingers twitch, aching to mold around the small fingers laying alongside them.

  My eyes travel from her eyes to her lips. She's biting the bottom one, gently. There's the slightest flash of white from her tooth digging into the plump, beet colored cushion of her mouth. It's the most alluring thing I've ever seen. I feel my body inch forward of its own volition. My head lowering to her, my eye fixated on her heart shaped lips.

  I'm going to kiss you, Noémie. My mind tells her. And my heart performs a tango in my chest at the anticipation.

  I'm going to kiss her.

  Right now.

  Finally.

  "What in the world? What in hell do you two think you're doing? It's almost 1 a.m.!" Robbie's loud and gruff voice cuts into the quiet and he flicks the light switch on, flooding everything in the harsh neon light.

  We both spring apart so fast, there's almost a sound of tearing.

  "WHOA, man! Cool it with the lights!" I say as we both raise our hands to shield our eyes.

  "To hell with that. Back to your rooms, you two! Damn, like a pair of teenage delinquents!"

  Noémie jumps to her feet, her hand wrapped around the neck of her ukulele, avoiding my eyes.

  "Nuh-uh! We were just talking," she argues, straighten her clothes.

  "That's not what it looked like to me!"

  "Yes, sir, we're sorry," I say, as we file out of the room and Robbie flicks the light off.

  "Yeah, that's the last time I deliver notes between you. Like I'm the goddamn funny friend at high school trying to get you two together.” He mutters under his breath as he watches me stop at my room, then leads Noémie down the hall to hers.

  She turns just as she reaches her doorway, and sees me still standing there, waiting. She lifts her hand in a small wave, and then steps into her room. Robbie comes back into the hallway and shakes his finger at me, and gestures for me to go to bed. I wander into my room, happier than I have been, for longer than I can remember.

  ***

  The nights are always the hardest.

  But not tonight.

  I press the button than bathes my room in complete darkness. I turn on my side and press the play button on the recording on my cell phone.

  The sound isn’t perfect, but it’s enough.

  I listen until the end. Then I replay the audio.

  And I fall asleep, to the sound of a ukulele and a girl. Singing about love.

  ***

  "And one more time."

  "You're serious?" I ask my PT. The complete lack of humor on his face tells me he is.

  I lift my arms straight up to the sky and then lower them slowly, inch by inch down against my body.

  "Now the bend."

  "I hate the fucking bend." I hiss.

  "I care, oh so not at all."

  One at a time, I bend my arm at the elbow and lift my forearm until it's perpendicular to my body. It's stiff and takes some force and effort to keep it at the angle.

  "And down," he says. Music to my ears as I lower my arm back down. "How does it feel?"

  "Like a barrel of laughs."

  “I'm not sure how many laughs that is,” he says, as he grabs the bands from his bag of terror.

  "It's none. No laughs. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Because the barrel has a leak in it."

  "That's actually one of your better ones."

  "Thanks, I have plenty of time to think them up, cooped up in my room."

  "Glad you’re spending your time wisely." He stands behind me and pulls my arm back, making my shoulder wish for amputation.

  "Uhhh. OW! Seriously, when can I go?"

  "That's not up to me. I'm just here to make sure you regain as much control of your body as I can. "

  "Well, I feel pretty good." And for once, I mean it.

  "Good, then the doc should see that when he sees you next.

  "Ugh, that blood hungry ghoul.”

  Brian laughs and lets go of me. "And what am I?"

  "You're the sadist."

  "You're right I am. Time for wrist rotations, your fav."

  "I knew it, you’re enjoying me pain."

  "Not only that, I get paid for it. Come on, ten times clockwise and then anticlockwise, start with the left."

  I do what he says, because I’ve learned there’s no point in trying to do otherwise. “Owwwww, son of a bitch in heat!” I curse as my wrist turns.

  "Yup. Just what I like to hear."

  ***

  I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, testing out the range of my wrist again an hour later, when it sounds like an entire bus of school children is emptied into my room.

  "What the-..." I say, before my words are drowned out by the noise.

  I watch as my three band mates, their three partners, Dennis, Hailey, Hank, our assistant, Mike the bodyguard, two of our sound technicians, and four of our roadies pile into the room. They're talking amongst themselves, each carrying baskets and bags and magazines and toys.

  "Excuse me," I say, trying to get their attention.

  No one bothers to even turn in my attention.

  "OI! Seb! Cadence! Brad!" I call out their names one by one. Nothing.

  "ANCA!" Surely my baby sister won't ignore me. But she doesn’t even flinch, just continues laughing at something Dennis is telling her.

  I push through the crowd into the middle of the room, and let out the longest dog whistle I can.

  Everyone finally shuts up.

  "What in the fuck is going on here, you bunch of DICKMUFFS!" I yell, throwing my arms as high as they will go.

  They just all stare back at me, before bursting into laughter and resuming their conversations.

  I must be crazy. This is some weird alternate wonderful life type fucked up universe where I don’t exist or everyone is playing a prank on me.

  I whistle again.

  And this time they shut up, and stay quiet.

  "Thank you! Now would some please explain what is going on here?"

  Anca clears her throat and steps into the middle of the room next to me.

  "We are here. For an intervention."

  I roll my eyes. "Good god. What'd I do?"

  "Oh no, it's not an intervention for you, it's an intervention for us." She gestures to everyone around the room and they all nod along.

  "What the fuck for?”

  "Oh, we are all here, to intervene each other from falling for your self-pity partying, whiny bull shit." There’s a cheer from somewhere in the back, and Dennis hushes them.

  I frown at Anca. "What the fuck?"

  "Yeah, YOU, big brother, have been wallowing in your own self-pity for three months now and we have all been here for you. Even when you wouldn’t let us. So we're here to tell each other, no more. We are not going to let us, let you feel sorry for yourself, for another day."

  "So, it's not an intervention for me."

  "No. You're just here to witness it."

  "But I don't want to."

  "Tough, that's part of the intervention - that we are not going to listen to what you say, until you shape up."

  "This feels curiously like an intervention for me." I narrow my eyes at her, but she just smiles her angelic smile back at me. But I know that smile. I’m in for some pain.

  "You're wrong, not everything is about you. Sheeeeesh.”

  "You're bloody nuts. All of you."

  "Quiet. You’re not allowed to speak out of turn. So! Who's up first?" She looks around the room of all the people who know and love me most.

  "Me!" Sebastian
yells, from somewhere at the back of the room. He sidles up next to Anca and pulls a sheet of crumpled paper out from his back pocket. He clears his throat and then gestures with his head for me to move.

  “For fuck’s sake. We're really doing this?"

  "Of course. We brought snacks, man. You know it's serious if we brought snacks. Now, get out of the way please."

  "It's MY room."

  "Well, it's being paid for by your health insurance which the band pays for, so, yeah, it's ours. Now shush. I've got the floor."

  "This is insane." I shake my head and take a step back.

  "Ahem. Dear group. I’m Sebastian and this is an intervention."

  "Hi, Sebastian,” everybody chants.

  "Oh, we're going that? Okay. I would like to say that since Jez has been in this hospital, he has been a meanie poohhead and has hurt my feelings on numerous occasions."

  "Oh, shut up, anus-cream-rub!" I holler.

  "Like, one time he called me anus-cream-rub. I think as a group it's important that we need to not let Jez be a mean poohhead to us anymore. It’s not a good example for, you know, the children."

  Anca nods and pats his shoulder. "Thank you, Sebastian. Next?"

  "ME!" Brad yells and does a somersault into the middle of the room.

  "I don't need to read from paper because I'm going to speak from my heart,"

  "Your heartworm maybe,” I mutter under my breath.

  "SHHH.”

  "Dear Group." He pauses. "Oh, so there’s a ‘Hi, Seb’ for Seb but no ‘Hi, Brad’ for Brad? That's okay. I'll cry about that later. I would like to say that as a group, I think we are sick and tired of Jeremy’s boo-hoo attitude. and we shouldn't take it anymore. Someone should remind him that he has the best friends in the world, millions of dollars and a six pack. What more does he want?"

  "Hear, hear!"

  "Thank you for your touching words, Brad.” Anca tells him and turns to the group. “Anyone else?"

  "Um, I have one." A voice from the doorway speaks up.

  "Oh! Toni... everyone, this is Jez's day nurse, Toni.” Anca introduces my traitor nurse to the crowd. “I bet she has a lot to add."

  "Yes. Um, Dear Group, I'm Toni."

  "Hi, Toni," everyone chants.

  "Sure," Brad grumbles.

  "I have been taking care of His Highness Petrescu for about two months now, since he came out of his beauty nap and moved up here from ICU and I have to say, he is very lucky to have you as a group. As a group you are kind, and loving, and rowdy as all hell, but I've seen you, and I could only wish that every single one of my patients had a group like you. So, I would like to be added to the intervention group ethos, that we shall no longer allow ourselves to be bullied by his Dimple Butted Highness."