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

by Daisy Allen

  No. That can’t be true. He has to listen to me. He has to listen to what I have to say.

  "Jez. I don't remember any of this, I swear to you. Are you sure I'm the one who hit you?"

  "Yes, it was you" Dennis says, speaking up. "Jez didn't know. He didn't want to know anything about the accident after it happened. But I've known all along. I tried to warn you, Jez."

  “How could you get into the car that night, Noémie? How could you, after drinking?”

  “I don’t know! I would never have done that. That’s what I mean, not only do I not remember, I can’t even imagine myself doing it.”

  “But you did. It’s all in the report. Your blood alcohol was over the limit.” Dennis says. To his credit he’s trying to be as kind as possible, I think. For Jez’s sake.

  "How could you get into the car that night?" he asks me again. And I still have no other answers for him. Oh my god, Jez. Why is this happening? "I guess you don't remember the Scotches that you drank that night.”

  “I… I don’t.” No, not Scotch, Not my drink. I shake my head. Something in my brain, help me, help me remember what happened. Please. "No... I can't have..."

  "You did. I watched you. Hell, I paid for them." He shakes his head, his eyes filling with disgust.

  "Jez, please! I don't remember! There has got to be a mistake!"

  "No, getting into that car was a mistake, Noémie. Not remembering it doesn’t mean it didn't happen. But it was a mistake. Getting into the car, turning the key and driving, when you had no right to, was the mistake. And I’m the one who paid.”

  I can’t stop the sobs heaving from my chest. "I’m so sorry." I can’t think of what else to say that I haven’t said.

  "Now you know what you did. But it could've been so much worse. I was just injured. You could've killed somebody. You could've killed a child, a grandmother, a couple with two young children waiting at home... who would never ever see them again..."

  And suddenly I want to be sick.

  His parents. His parents were killed by a drunk driver. He is never, ever going to forgive me.

  "Jez..."

  "I... I can't be here," he says, and before I can stop him, he runs out the door of the chapel.

  I chase after him. "Jez! JEZ! Come back! We need to talk about this."

  I push open the door and am instantly swarmed by a crowd of people and cameras and microphones. The flash of the lights momentarily blind me, and I have no idea where I am.

  "Miss, MISS! What's your name?! Did you and Jez just get married?! Where's he going, can you give us a newlywed kiss?!"

  The swarm closes on me, and the air is blocked out.

  "Please... god, no, please... I can't breathe. I get claustrophobic, please..." I beg them.

  But they can't hear me over the sound of their own voices and of the click clicks of the lenses as they capture me falling to the ground in a faint.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Noémie

  When I come to, I'm in his arms.

  He's carrying me and I can hear voices in the background. None I recognize, but they're yelling, loud and it's making my head ache.

  We stop moving, and I try to open my eyes, but it feels as though they're welded shut. Then I hear the sound of a car door open, and my body being laid against cool, soft leather. His arms slip out from under my body and I try to reach out to stop him. To beg him not to leave me alone.

  'Uhhh," is the only sound that comes out.

  "Shhh, you're okay. I’m going to get you out of here," he whispers, cool fingers on my burning forehead. He's gone but it's only seconds before I feel him slide in next to me, pulling me back into his arms.

  "Go," he says, and I feel the car move and I slip back into the dark.

  ***

  "Is she going to be okay?" I hear Jez saying to someone when I wake up again.

  I'm back in the bed at the Bellagio, but everything feels different. What once felt like a haven, soft, safe, now feels like I'm back in the hospital. Cold and sterile, a half-way house.

  "She should be fine, it doesn’t seem to be related to her head injury. You said she's prone to claustrophobia?"

  "Yes, it's happened before. Before her injury."

  "Then this is probably what it is. Has she been in under any undue stress?"

  "Hasn't everyone?" His voice is bitter, angry.

  "Well, call me if she doesn't wake up soon. Otherwise, just let her rest. No too much excitement."

  "Thank you, doctor."

  I hear footsteps on the marble floor and a door close.

  Well, at least I know it's nothing serious.

  Just my brain's usual dickiness.

  The door to the bedroom opens, and Jez walks in.

  But I barely recognize him. He looks like he's aged twenty years. His face is pale and gaunt, his eyes rimmed red.

  He doesn’t look at me.

  "Oh, you're awake. How do you feel?"

  "I'm okay. Just a little bit weak, but my head doesn't ache."

  He just nods and walks over to the window, staring out into the night.

  "Jez." I say, not sure what I want to say. I just want him to at least look at me.

  But he just stands there, like I no longer exist in his world.

  "Jez." I say, louder, firmer. He cannot ignore me.

  His shoulders rise and fall and he turns to face me.

  "I'm leaving," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I have a car and a plane waiting.”

  "That didn't take long."

  "It was organized. By the guys."

  "Ah, the wedding crashers," I say, desperate for anything to break the ice, so we can talk about the things we've learned.

  "They were... just looking out for me."

  "I know. I didn't mean... I know. They're trying to protect you."

  "Yes."

  "And, so have I. Since I met you."

  "No. No, Noémie, not since you met me." He says it like it’s a fact. Like there’s no arguing it now.

  "I don't remember what happened, Jez."

  He shakes his head and his eyes burn into me. "You know what? In some ways, that just makes it all worse. That... that I can't even blame you for not feeling any remorse. Because how can you if you don’t remember what you did."

  "But I do feel remorseful about it, Jez."

  "How can you? You don't remember doing it. That's been your excuse over and over!"

  "Fine. Yes, I don't remember! And if you want to know the truth, I can't even believe that I would do this. I would never get into a car drunk and drive. Come on, Jez! Do I really seem like the kind of person who would be so thoughtless? So selfish?" I’m desperate for him to give me the tiniest benefit of the doubt. To trust. To have faith. Despite everything indicating otherwise. Because that’s what faith is.

  "I don't know any more. Maybe I never knew."

  "Jez! No... please, you DO know me. You do. You DO know me." I run to him, holding his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "Look at me. Look into my eyes, you know me. You know me more than anyone's ever known me, than I know myself. Please give me a chance to make this all up to you."

  He stares at me like I'm just any other stranger, and pulls my hands from his face.

  "It's too late. All this happened too late. It was over before it even happened. We just didn’t know it yet. I can't... I can't ever forgive you for this, for being this person." He grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me out of his way.

  "Jez!"

  He stops before he steps out the door.

  "Go back to forgetting me, Noémie. I'll be spending the rest of my life trying to forget you."

  I fall to my knees, hoping that he'll turn back one last time before he walks through the door. But he doesn’t. Not even once.

  He’s already started to forget me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Jez

  Everyone is on the plane waiting for me when I get there.

  I can hear their chatter
as I cross the tarmac, but as soon as I appear at the door of the plane, they fall silent.

  The music from our one of our practice sessions playing in the background is the only sound as I walk to an empty seat, sinking into the soft, white leather of the recliner and buckle my seat belt.

  Dennis gets up from his seat and pushes apart the curtain that leads to the cockpit and I hear him tell the pilot that we're ready to go.

  Then he comes back and sits in the seat next to me, reaching over to squeeze my knee as the flight attendant prepares the plane for take-off.

  "Ready?"

  I nod, pulling down my sunglasses even though it's pitch-black out.

  And not another word is uttered until we land in L.A.

  ***

  The limo takes us to the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. I'm a little surprised; I wasn't sure if Dennis was going to make me go back to the hospital or not, considering I was never really checked out properly. But when I open my eyes after falling asleep in the car, we are parked outside the hotel.

  "Come on," Dennis says, and I follow him up to a hotel suite. It's filled with our equipment and instruments and pictures of loved ones on the piano and mantle. It only just occurs to me that this is where the band has been staying while I was in the hospital. I never really thought about where they were living. I just... I was too preoccupied with myself, I guess.

  While I was feeling sorry for myself, for not being able to play, they were here, choosing not to... in a show of solidarity for me. And I never gave them a second thought about it.

  I drop onto the couch in the middle of the huge suite and watch as they all join me, saying nothing.

  It's so quiet I can almost hear the sound of traffic on the roads all the way down on the ground level. After a while, the silence becomes deafening and I spring up to my feet and swing around, looking at them one by one.

  "What the fuck happened?"

  They all look at each other and then turn to Sebastian. He rolls his eyes, but accepts the job of spokesperson. "What do you mean?"

  "A few hours ago... I was about to get married."

  "And now... you're not," Seb says, like he’s trying to make sure I’m aware of the circumstances.

  "No, I’m bloody, fucking not married.”

  "And how does that make you feel?"

  I don't know what to say, so I just shrug. "Guess it just wasn't meant to happen."

  Marius sighs and says, "Jez, it's okay to f-..."

  "If you fucking dare say 'feel' or anything that alludes to emotions, I swear to God I'm going to shove your bow down your fucking throat and pull it out your ass." He squirms, as if imagining it and closes his mouth.

  "But..."

  "That goes for all of you, I'm fucking serious," I growl.

  I walk over to the drink's tray and pour a Scotch.

  I lift it to my mouth and the scent makes me instantly dry retch, thinking of her that night standing at the bar nursing her drink and now knowing that she willingly climbed behind the steering wheel almost killing us both in the process. Not to mention her best friend and, on an unluckier day, who knows how many other people.

  "Goddamn fuck it to hell!!!" I yell and fling the glass across the room and it smashing against the wall and into a thousand pieces, scattering across the floor. "Why?!!" I shout out against the cold glass of the window.

  There's no answer from anyone.

  "Jez. Come on, come get some rest, you've had a really long day," Dennis says softly, tapping me gently on the arm.

  "No." I say, pulling away. "I don't need rest. Fuck rest! I've done nothing BUT rest for three months, I'm sick of bloody resting."

  "Well, what DO you want to do then?" Brad asks, looking at the other guys, hopeless as to how to help me.

  I walk over to the row of instruments lined up against bar. I put my hand on my favorite cello, the one I bought with our very first check from the sales of our first album. I haven't seen her for three months.

  It's time I return to the one thing that's never let me down.

  The guys see me pulling on the latch of the case and get up from the couch, joining me, reaching for their own instruments.

  "You sure?” Sebastian questions me.

  "What have I got to lose?" I reply.

  And in his eyes, I can see he knows I'm thinking, “Nothing. There’s nothing left but this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Noémie

  Time is ruthless.

  It doesn't give a damn about anything, just the relentless pursuit of moving forward.

  Never slower, never speeding. Just forward. And it doesn't give a fuck what you want. What you need.

  I needed time.

  No, I needed time to stop. To give me a chance to process what had happened. One minute I was happier than I ever thought I could be. Next moment it was all ripped away from me. Over something I don't even remember doing. Something I can't even imagine myself doing.

  But it didn't stop. So I ask time to move backward.

  To a moment when it didn't hurt. When it didn't sting to breathe. To think, to feel. To remember.

  And it ignored me and kept ticking away, leaving me to mend my wounds with empty cold comfort and empty platitudes.

  I stayed at the Bellagio for a day after Jez left. I kept thinking, he would come back. That this was something we could work through together.

  It wasn't until Paige walked through the door that I realized he wasn't coming back. He'd gotten Dennis to get a message to her, to come and get me. To make sure I was alright because he wasn't going to do it himself.

  I wanted to hate him for leaving. But I couldn't.

  I didn't have room for any hate toward him. I was too busy hating myself.

  I've been back in L.A. for a month. And I've barely left our apartment.

  Paige has a nurse come visit every few days just to make sure my recovery is coming along as it should. She tries to fill my days with distraction, but there's no changing what has happened.

  I almost died. And Jez brought me back to life.

  And now he's gone.

  Because I was the one who almost killed him.

  Karma is one caustic bitch.

  "Hey, watcha wanna do today?" Paige asks, coming into my room, pulling the curtains open. "How 'bout we do some shopping? A new pair of shoes might cheer you right up. My treat! Well... Daddy's. He says hello, by the way."

  "Ugh," I pull the blanket over my head, trying to cut out the light. "Just... can you just leave me alone!"

  She doesn’t say anything, just sighs. I've heard that sigh a hundred times since I've been back. And I know the look that comes with it. I pull the blanket back over my head and she's sitting on the corner of my bed, picking at a loose thread. She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes filled with hurt.

  "I'm sorry. I'm not really ready to go out yet."

  "But you're not going to get any better just sitting here."

  "I won't, I'll have to get a job soon."

  "No. You're not ready for that yet. Absolutely not."

  "Paige, if I'm well enough to do Rodeo Drive, I'm well enough to find some mindless job. I've got to start paying you back, lord knows how though."

  "I've told you before, you don't have to pay me a dime. I'm only glad we could help."

  "Thank you. I know I owe you everything."

  "Like, owe me a lunch date to Grimaldi’s. Puhleeaasssse! I'm having such a craving for their Cobb salad. I'll eat super fast! I won't even chew, promise!"

  I sigh and slide my legs off the bed. "Fine. But then we're coming straight home."

  "Yay!"

  I smile at her excitement and reach for the dress on the floor. She can make me go, but she can't make me dress up.

  "Hey, Noémie? I'm sorry that you're in pain, but I think it's better this way. The way it turned out."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean... with the guy. He wasn't the guy for you. It wasn't ever going to work out, you weren’t right for e
ach other. I knew he'd hurt you in the end. I'm sorry I was right." She shrugs and leaves to get ready.

  I don't have the energy to tell her that she was wrong.

  That I was the one doing the hurting all along.

  And that in fact, we were perfect for each other.

  I pull the flowery dress over my head, and try not to remember the last time I wore it.

  "Paige?" I call out, and she appears in my doorway almost instantly. "I think... I think I'm going to go away for a few days."

  She nods and smiles "I think that might be a good idea. Just give me five minutes."

  She disappears and I can't even begin to guess what she's up to, always surprising me, never predictable.

  She comes back with two sheets of people in her hand, grinning as she waves them at me.

  "Forget lunch, we're going to the airport."

  I knew it. "What? Where?"

  "Duh, where do you think?”

  I look at the tickets in her hand and the tears well up in my eyes.

  "Home!" I gasp and she beams and nods.

  "Yup, home."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Jez

  The recovery is slow and painful.

  Some days my progress feels like an impossibly uphill battle. Struggling to take three, four steps up, only to stumble and roll back down the mountain.

  And then there are days I wake up, and I reach for a cup of coffee, and it's empty before I realize my fingers are gripping the handle without shaking, without pain.

  But there are no nights that I fall asleep without hearing the sound of her voice in my head, feel her fingers through my hair, imagining her warm body wriggling against mine as she murmurs in her sleep.

  But the nightmares tell a different story.

  I know the ending now, the aftermath of the flashing headlights and the screeching tires on the road before I'm flung into the air.

  It's her.

  Her own bloodied body against the steering wheel, her blood mixed in with Scotch.