Love is a Drum Beat (Rockstars Anonymous)

by Michelle MacQueen

  Contents

  1. Jo

  2. Dax

  3. Jo

  4. Dax

  5. Jo

  6. Dax

  7. Jo

  8. Dax

  9. Jo

  10. Dax

  11. Jo

  12. Dax

  13. Jo

  14. Dax

  15. Jo

  16. Dax

  17. Jo

  18. Dax

  19. Jo

  20. Dax

  21. Jo

  22. Dax

  23. Jo

  24. Dax

  25. Jo

  26. Dax

  27. Jo

  Bonus Chapter 1

  Bonus Chapter 2

  About Michelle

  2021 Michelle MacQueen

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons is entirely coincidental.

  This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America

  Cover by Sweetheart Books

  Editing by Cindy Ray Hale

  Proofreading by Caitlin Haines

  This one goes to the people raising little squirts. You’re saints, and if you haven’t heard this today, you’re appreciated.

  Specifically my older sister and brother in-law. I don’t think the fear Jo feels about becoming a parent would ever go away, but you’re darn good at it anyway.

  1

  Jo

  Noah Clarke had a death wish.

  “What do you mean you’re not coming back right away?” Jo Jackson paced the length of the room in her one-bedroom apartment. Okay, it was more of a waddle with the seven-month-old bowling ball sitting on her bladder.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  “We need to figure all this family stuff out, Joey.” Noah at least had the decency to sound guilty about leaving his best friend, his drummer, in L.A.

  Alone.

  “Noah.” She tried to keep the bite out of her words. No matter how much of a bonehead he’d always been, he’d never deserved the scorn she reserved for the rest of the world. “I am going to have this little alien baby in two months. Why did you have to go fall in love with our publicist now? Couldn’t it have waited until this thing was out of me?” She was being petulant, she knew that. She was happy for Noah and Melanie, she really was.

  But this was the third phone call today telling her the only support system she had wouldn’t be in town for a while. First, it was Ben. As the responsible member of their rockstar support group, Rockstars Anonymous, he’d been truly remorseful. But his baby brother was getting engaged after dating his boyfriend for only three months. Ben said he needed to be there, but he’d be back in a couple weeks.

  Then came Drew’s call. Jo loved Drew like a brother, which was why she understood his need to return to his tour a couple days early. Because with his tour came the girl he was in love with. And Jo liked Lola.

  Plus, when they’d called, she’d thought she’d have Noah and Melanie with her for the remainder of her nine-month sentence.

  Noah sighed into the phone, but it was an indulgent sigh rather than an irritated one. They’d been partners since Jo was an eighteen-year-old kid running from her dad, and Noah was a twenty-year-old Englishman who’d been way out of his depth in New York City.

  “Joey,” he said.

  Jo flopped onto the couch as pain seared up toward her ribs. “Just ignore me, Noah. I’m in a mood. I know you, Mel, and Stella need this time.”

  “I could never ignore you. I love you, Jo. I just…” He blew out a breath. “I want Stella to get to know my nan. Melanie and I aren’t staying at the estate, we’re renting a place in London. But I can’t leave yet.”

  “I know.” Through all their years together, Noah never mentioned his family or the fact that they were exceedingly wealthy. And now, she knew why. From what Drew told her on his call, they were awful.

  But his nan… Jo rubbed a hand over her stomach. She shouldn’t be mad at him for wanting to spend time with his family or for doing what’s best for the orphaned niece in his care.

  Jo always dreamed of having a family she missed, people who’d welcome her and her baby home.

  In a way, she sort of did. Rockstars Anonymous had become a family.

  A family who abandoned her with two months left to go in her pregnancy.

  “I promise we’ll be back in time for your little alien to make an appearance.”

  She smiled at that, fully believing he’d try. When the world thought of Noah Clarke, they saw a bad boy, someone who didn’t care about much.

  But Jo had always known different.

  “What if something happens?” It was a ridiculous fear she’d had. Jo Jackson didn’t get scared or nervous. But the next two months… they terrified her. “Who will I call if I need someone?”

  Noah was quiet for a long moment. “Dax is still in town, isn’t he?”

  Dax Nelson, the mysterious recording artist who never let fans see his face. He was more famous than the rest of their group combined, yet he could walk through a grocery store without signing a single autograph.

  A growl started in the back of her throat. “I am not calling Dax. The guy hates me.”

  Noah laughed at that. “Not true. You know Dax… he’s just not good at the social stuff. He’s awkward.”

  “Understatement.”

  “But he does care. If you called him, he’d come. I know it.”

  She leaned back against the cushions. “I was kind of hoping you’d just say nothing bad will happen.”

  “That too.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Well, this has been fun and all, but not really. I’m going to try to get up from this couch—try being the operative word—to get a seltzer water and pretend it’s a beer.”

  “Everything is going to be fine, Joey. I know it.”

  “Sure.”

  “Call Dax.”

  She hung up, giving him no response. Call Dax? She huffed out a breath. In Noah’s dreams.

  Jo hadn’t seen Dax since their awkward Christmas weeks ago. He wasn’t a bad guy. Just… she always got the impression he didn’t like her. That there was something wrong with her pink-tipped hair and out-of-wedlock pregnancy.

  “Okay, baby alien, help me out a little.” She pushed herself from the pillows and rocked forward before flopping back with a grunt. “Whoever invented the whole having babies thing was obviously a man. That means you, God.” With another grunt, she rocked forward again, this time managing to push up onto her feet. “Victory.” Her arms shot in the air, the movement throwing her off balance.

  She pitched forward with a yelp and landed on her knees. If only her fans could see her now.

  She gave the kitchen across the room an accusatory look. “I will conquer you.” Placing her hands on the floor, she started to crawl. “See, baby? I’m teaching you early.” Her knees ached as she made her way over the hardwood floors. “Crawling is not meant for adults.”

  If Noah were there, she’d have just made him get her whatever she needed. He was the only person she’d ever let herself rely on. He saved her all those years ago when her world felt so dark.

  She reached the kitchen and reached up to grip the counter to pull herself up before opening the fridge. There wasn’t much inside. She’d been relying on takeout since she’d started showing.

  Leaving the house to do thi
ngs like shop were a no go. No one could see her like this. If they did, the picture of her baby bump would show up across the internet. She wasn’t ready for the world to know, for the questions to begin.

  Who was the father? They’d assume it was Noah.

  Why did she hide it? Because they were vultures.

  What will the enigmatic drummer do with a tiny little baby? She had no freaking clue.

  Reaching into the fridge, she grabbed two cans of seltzer and a takeout container from her favorite Chinese restaurant. Sniffing it to make sure it was still good, she shrugged and lugged her haul back to the couch.

  Opening a can, she took a long drink, imagining it was the kind of drink that could make her forget.

  It wasn’t.

  And when she unlocked her phone, she realized nothing could make her forget the mess that was Jo Jackson’s life.

  There was a single text message. Not many people had her number, and she wasn’t quite sure how her dad got it, but he’d called and texted periodically over the years. She’d named him Douche Nozzle in her phone because she knew he’d hate it. Well, he used to hate her, everything about her. Until she signed her first recording contract.

  Douche Nozzle: Hi, Joey. It’s your dear old dad. Give me a ring some time. I need a favor.

  Favors in his world usually meant money to bail him out of whatever gambling debt he’d racked up or false lead he’d found in his search for her mother who’d disappeared from their lives when Jo was a kid. And Jo had fallen for it time and again. Each time, she thought it would be different. That she’d give him money, and he’d try to have a real relationship with her.

  Each time, she was disappointed.

  Maybe it was the act of growing a baby, or maybe she was going soft, but she’d vowed to be a better parent than she’d ever had. She wouldn’t abandon her kid like her own mom did, nor treat them to so much misery they’d run away and join the circus.

  Okay, the music scene wasn’t the circus. It just felt like it sometimes.

  She powered down her phone. She’d had too many let downs today, and the only thing that could make her feel better was a cheesy romcom.

  Another secret.

  No one would ever guess the surly drummer watched Hallmark movies. If they found out, it would crack the reputation she’d built.

  And she wasn’t about to let everyone know it was all an act.

  That she wasn’t quite sure who the real Jo Jackson was.

  2

  Dax

  “No, that isn’t right.” Dax Nelson removed his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was never going to get this song done.

  “Dax.” Marco crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat beside Dax. “I don’t hear anything wrong with it.”

  Of course he didn’t. No one ever did. But Dax could pick out the tiniest imperfection in his songs. He knew when a single note needed to be altered, how a misplaced breath could change the entire song.

  Marco was the best producer in L.A., and when Dax told the label it was who he wanted for his new album, they didn’t argue. What Dax Nelson wanted, Dax Nelson got.

  But it also meant butting heads with the producer constantly because they both thought they knew best for the song.

  “I want to sing it again.” Dax stood, preparing to walk into the recording booth.

  Marco stopped him. “The song is good, Dax.”

  Dax shook his head. “Good isn’t great.”

  Marco sighed but didn’t argue further. He’d probably been told the artist was always right, at least when that artist was Dax.

  Dax had been a child musical prodigy who turned into one of the most successful artists in the world, but he didn’t let that slow him down. Hard work was all he knew, all he had.

  Outside the recording studio he was an awkward man who never knew the right thing to say or the right way to act. But here, surrounded by the music, every move was so clear. Here, he could be confident, be in charge of his own destiny.

  He stepped up to the microphone. “You ready, Marco?”

  Marco gave him a thumbs up through the glass, and the music started to play.

  Dax let the song wrap around him as he started to sing. This was his least favorite part of any song, the singing. He played every instrument for his songs, recording them at different times to layer in. Piano. Guitar. Violin.

  Everything was in his control.

  When the song finished, he took a seat beside Marco once more. “Let’s hear it.”

  Marco played the song, and Dax smiled as soon as he noticed the changes. “It’s good, maybe even great.”

  “It’s the same as it was before.” Marco raised a brow.

  “Only if you’re listening to the words. You have to pay attention to the spaces between them, the extra breaths, the build.”

  “Dax, your fans will listen to the words.”

  Dax shrugged. “I didn’t make those changes for them. They’ll like the song regardless, but I can’t put my name to something I don’t believe in.”

  Marco grumbled something about artists that Dax didn’t catch.

  Dax only shook his head and stood. “I need to get over to the label for a meeting with my new publicist.”

  “What happened to Melanie?” Marco glanced up at him.

  That was a good question. The Melanie he knew never would have run off with Noah of all people. He was happy for them, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t weird. He would never understand love. Unless it was a love for music.

  He realized he’d waited too long to answer. “She quit the label and is currently in London.”

  Marco’s brow arched in surprise. “We are talking about Melanie Snyder here, right?”

  Dax shrugged and reached into his messenger back for his ball cap. He put it on his head and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up.

  He hadn’t seen many paparazzi around the recording studio, and even if they did see him, they wouldn’t know it was Dax Nelson. But he still wouldn’t risk it.

  Marco laughed. “You look ridiculous.”

  “I’d rather look ridiculous than like a star people want to mob.”

  “Isn’t that part of the fun of being famous? All the screaming fans.”

  Dax pulled on the collar of his sweatshirt. He’d been asked this question so many times. Few people understood his need for privacy, for secrecy. He wanted to continue making music, but flashing cameras and crowds terrified him. “This job isn’t about the fame, Marco. It’s about the music.”

  Marco smiled at that. It wasn’t the first time Dax had worked with the man, and there was a mutual respect. They both recognized the talent in the other.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dax gave a final wave and ducked out into the hall. A few other artists were here today, recording what they hoped would be hits.

  The difference between them and Dax? Dax knew his songs would be hits. He didn’t have a big ego or think he was the king of music, but he’d gotten to the point in his career where fans would buy and listen to anything he put out.

  It didn’t make him work any less though.

  He glanced behind himself to make sure the hall was clear before pushing out into the bright L.A. sun. The studio sat in an arts district near galleries and fancy restaurants. At night, the area came alive with street performers. But during the day, Dax could slip from the studio unnoticed.

  The hiding was a routine by now. He kept his eyes on his feet as he walked down the street and ordered a car. The few people who knew who he was didn’t understand why he didn’t drive one of his nice cars through L.A. The truth? Driving in traffic made him nervous. Leaving his car in parking lots made him nervous.

  Basically, life made him nervous.

  By the time he reached the small artisan bakery he went to every time he was at the studio, his car was only a few minutes away. He walked inside, and the dark-skinned, older woman behind the counter smiled.

  “Dillon.” She greeted him with the name he’d given h
er two years ago when he first discovered the place. Though, the way she said it hinted at her knowing it was a lie.

  “Good morning, Nevaeh. How are you today?”

  She laughed at his formality. It was a dance between them. He wasn’t quite sure how to relate to normal people, and she indulged him.

  “I’m just wonderful, Dillon. Your usual?”

  He nodded. “Can you put an extra shot in it?”

  One eyebrow lifted. “Living dangerously today, are we?”

  “Just living busy.” He’d need the extra caffeine from the espresso shot to get through the meeting.

  Nevaeh hummed as she worked, and Dax surveyed the rest of the bakery. It was empty, save a few young adults huddled around tables. They must have been Dax’s age, but he felt so much older than them as he watched them laugh and joke. He’d started working at the age of eleven and never looked back. There was no normal school experience. Once word got out that he had the ability to play most instruments he picked up, that was the end.

  His parents tried to save him from the music world, but even at that young age, he’d insisted on pursuing it.

  Nevaeh slid the cup across the counter as Dax’s phone beeped with an alert that his car was outside. He handed Nevaeh a twenty.

  “That’s too much, dear.”

  Dax shrugged. “It’s all I have on me. Keep it. Please.”

  She smiled. “You try to have a good day, Dillon. Don’t be so serious all the time.”

  He lifted his to-go cup in a salute and headed out the door to his waiting minivan.