Rock Mayhem: 8 Complete Rock Star Romance Novels

by Candy J. Starr

  "A few scars? A few scars?" I couldn't keep my voice from rising. "My face is a mess, a vile mess. I'll never be myself again. Even if I have plastic surgery and the other things they've suggested, I'll never be the same."

  The nurse huffed. I did not like this hospital. The nurses were way too mouthy.

  "That's life," she said. "Even if you hadn't had this crash, you're not going to look the way you did in your twenties forever. You can't cling to that, and a pretty face is no good if you spend all your time treating people like shit. Not just your boyfriend, but all the staff in this hospital, too."

  "You should leave," I said. "I need to rest."

  I turned my face away from her and closed my eyes. I didn't want her talking to me like that. I was paying a lot of money to be in this hospital, and I was going to put in a complaint about her. She'd be a lot less mouthy if she didn't have a job.

  After she left, I stared at that paper, but I wouldn't read it. I didn't want Matty getting to me. I didn't want him staying with me because he felt sorry for me. If he looked at me with pity, I couldn't stand it. What sort of life would he have with me looking like this? The rock star and his damaged girlfriend? That would be hell. Photos of me all over the media. Disgusting before-and-after shots. The whole world turning against me. I'd rather go into hiding than have people see me looking like this.

  In my entire life, I'd only had one thing going for me: my looks. I'd had nothing else. A trashy mother who never gave me a second thought, no brains, no sense. I'd learned a lot about pity back then, going to school in ratty clothes and not having enough to eat. The other students had pitied me, but that pity was only a small step away from contempt. I'd never even felt like second best, because that would've been too high up the ladder.

  I'd stayed on the bottom rung. Sometimes, a teacher would buy me lunch, and I'd wolf it down even though I hated taking charity.

  Then Madeline had made me a worldwide sensation. I'd gotten everything I'd ever wanted and more, because of my face. I had no illusions that it had been anything else. Okay, not just my face, but my body too. I had the looks every girl wanted. Instead of pitying me, the world envied me. Those girls from school who'd looked down on me now wanted to be my friends, but I quickly left that place far behind me.

  Even after I stopped modeling, when I got together with Matty, that feeling never left me. I had to be more beautiful than any other woman in the room. That was the only way I could justify my existence. Being on the tour had been difficult.

  First Polly, then Fay; the two of them not just gorgeous but talented as well. I envied them so much. I couldn't even imagine what that would be like, to have a talent that was more than just looking good.

  I peeped at the letter out of the corner of my eye. It hadn't gone anywhere. It still sat on the table, mocking me.

  Instead, I focused at the machines beside my bed. This room must cost a small fortune. Even though it was bare bones, it had that expensive, private hospital feel to it. The curtains were high quality, and the room didn't have that peculiar hospital smell. I'd been in enough hospitals in my life to know.

  I couldn't stay awake with my thoughts for too long, and that damn doctor wouldn't give me any more painkillers. If ever I had needed drugs, it was now. I needed to take away the bleak reality that stretched before me.

  Eventually, I dozed off. I wasn't sure how long I had slept when the nurse woke me to examine me. She could've let me sleep.

  The letter still sat on the table, and the nurse glared at it. She could keep her glares to herself, as well as her words. This was none of her business.

  I knew she thought I was an evil hag, making Matty sit out there on his own. If ever it came to people judging Matty and me, I'd be the evil one. Matty was too good, and I was always the fuck-up.

  "Do you want to sit up for a while?" the nurse asked.

  "No."

  "Do you--"

  "I don't want anything. Just leave me alone."

  She walked out. Good thing, too. I didn't like her. I didn't want anyone in here. Who knew what they'd say to people? One time, a nurse had sold some photos of me in hospital after an overdose. This one looked like she'd do the same thing as soon as she got the chance. I'd ask if I could have another nurse. I really didn't like her.

  I tried to sleep again but couldn't. That's what happens when you get woken up at random times.

  That letter.

  I'd just screw it up and throw it in the bin. Then it'd be gone, and it wouldn't look at me so accusingly any longer. I reached for it and scrunched it in my hand, then dropped it. I'd need to unfold it to scrunch it properly. It was difficult to do one-handed, but my left hand still didn't work that well.

  I opened the page up, ready to screw it up again, but a few of the words caught my eye.

  I was more beautiful to him now than ever? Really? What a sap.

  Did he mean that, or was he just saying words I wanted to hear? How could he see me as beautiful when I looked like this? I'd never think of myself as beautiful again. Even on my worst day, I'd never looked this bad. His words mocked me.

  A tear came to my eye. I wiped it away. I would not cry. Not ever.

  I knocked the letter to the floor.

  Stupid letter. Stupid Matt. He made me so angry with his goodness.

  Then I looked down. The letter had gone under the bed, and I could only see the edge. What else had he said? I couldn't reach it; just leaning over hurt too much. Something ripped inside me.

  I sure as hell wouldn't call for that nurse to get it for me. She'd have a look of smug satisfaction on her face if I did.

  Why had I done that? Now, I'd never be able to read that letter.

  I curled my pillow over, wanting to hide my face.

  My life had been destroyed, and the only thing I wanted was that man sitting outside my door, but my pride wouldn't let me call for him.

  Matty

  I GOT SENT BACK TO the hotel after a while.

  "You can't stay here all night," the nurse said. A different one. The shifts had changed. "Get some sleep."

  That was all they ever seemed to say. "Get some sleep. Get some rest." There were more important things in life than rest, but I didn't want to argue. I got a cab back to the hotel. Even though I'd done nothing all day, my body ached and all the strength had drained out of me.

  When I got back to my room, I called Mom. I needed to tell my parents about the crash, but I'd put it off, knowing Mom would fuss and fret. But there was the possibility the media would find out--the Freaks had played a few shows, and people would've noticed I wasn't onstage with them. If Mom read that somewhere, without me saying anything, I'd feel like a real bastard.

  "Mom, before I say any more, I want you to know I'm fine."

  "What's wrong?" she said. Panic rose in her voice, but there was no good way of leading into this.

  "I said I'm fine. We were in an accident, and I've--"

  "I'm coming to you. I'll get on the next plane." Of course she assumed the worst.

  "I'm fine. Really. I've been released from hospital with a clean bill of health. I'm a bit sore, but there's no damage."

  She finally breathed. "You aren't lying to me?"

  "No. I thought you should know, because I've had to drop out of the tour for a while." Then I had to tell her the hard part. "Fiona's not so fine."

  "Oh?"

  Every time I had to tell someone this, it was like living it all over again. "She was hurt much more badly than I was, but she's improving rapidly."

  "Oh dear," Mom said. "That's not good. She's lucky she has you there with her."

  Maybe not so lucky. I didn't want to go into the whole situation with Mom. That was more than I could bear talking about. "She'll take a long time to recover, but she'll bounce back from it. She might need a few more operations."

  "If you need anything, just call us," Mom said. "I wish I could be there with you. Fiona's like family, and we'd do anything for her."

  After
I hung up, I turned on the TV just to remind myself that there was a whole other world out there. The noise kept me distracted a little, even if I paid no attention to the screen.

  I had a shower, then came back to find a message on my phone.

  Maybe we should be there with you. Mom xxx.

  I was about to message back to tell her she didn't need to do that when a second message came through.

  Flights booked for tomorrow. See you soon. Your father and I have always wanted to see Paris.

  I sighed. Beneath everything, beneath the part of me that said a grown man shouldn't need his mother, I felt a sense of relief. I could do this on my own, but maybe it'd be much easier with someone to lean on. And maybe Mom could help Fiona in ways that I couldn't.

  And after all, if they wanted to come to Paris, who was I to stop them?

  I messaged back to get the flight details, then asked if they wanted me to book a room at the hotel for them or if they preferred somewhere more central. This wasn't a great location for sightseeing.

  She got back to say that of course she wanted to be near the hospital. Then she sent through a thousand questions. While I answered them, I ordered room service. This could take a while, but I was happy to answer every question she had. Looking up train schedules from the airport and the best restaurants to recommend--the normality of it relaxed me.

  Finally, I had to tell her I needed to go to bed.

  Sorry. You need your rest.

  Just talking to her had put things into perspective. Fiona would feel bad for a while--the nurses had warned me that she could act in irrational ways--but that didn't mean she was pushing me out forever. She needed time to adjust. I shouldn't expect anything more than that. I couldn't let her moods get to me.

  The next morning, I didn't even try to go into Fiona's room. I waited outside, asking the doctor for news.

  "She's making good progress," he said. "We're thinking of moving her to her own room today. If she's well enough to swear at the nurses, we figure it's time."

  He chuckled. That seemed much better than the threat of restraints yesterday. From what I'd seen of the nurses around here, they could hold their own when it came to swearing.

  While I waited, I got in touch with Damo to ask how the tour was going, and then sent Ash an update.

  If anyone can sort her out, it's your mother :)

  Ash wasn't wrong there. Mom had a way with people. The more I thought about it, the more Mom coming here seemed like the right thing. Fiona would definitely take nurturing better from Mom than from me.

  My butt started getting numb from all the sitting, so I walked around the ward. I needed to stretch my legs, but I took care not to look into the other rooms. People needed their privacy even if the doors were open.

  Hospitals were such miserable places. It was all too easy to get too wrapped up in your own tragedy to realize you were just one of many.

  I kept walking, down to the cafe to grab a coffee. I wanted the chance to move around more than the coffee itself.

  A teenage girl wheeled up to me in a wheelchair, her leg in plaster. "You're one of the Freaks," she said.

  "Shhh." I put my finger to my lips. "We don't want everyone to know that."

  "Can you sign my cast? I wanted to go to your concert so bad, then this happened." She smiled in a beguiling way.

  "Sure thing. Anything for a fan."

  I looked around for a pen, something that would work on the plaster. The girl behind the counter handed me a Sharpie they used for writing on the take-out cups.

  "What's your name?" I asked the girl.

  "Angelique," she said. "You can sign it to Angie if you like."

  "Is that what your friends call you?"

  "Yep. Angelique, what a lame name."

  I signed her name with a big smiley face. At least, I hoped it looked like a smiley face. It was a bit distorted. Signing plaster isn't as easy as you might think.

  "What are you doing in the hospital?" Angie asked.

  "I'm..." Shit, this kid looked innocent enough, but she was a fan. You couldn't just say things to fans. They might mean well, but if they started posting on social media, that stuff could go viral real fast. "I'm visiting a friend," I told her. That seemed vague enough.

  "Shouldn't you be in Barcelona?" she asked.

  Damn. I stared at the containers of cookies on the counter. Maybe if I bought her a cookie, she'd stop with the questions. Unlikely, though.

  "I had a break, so I came back to Paris," I said.

  She'd find out soon enough that I wasn't playing in Barcelona if she went online, but that was the first thing that had come into my head.

  I took my coffee back upstairs, cursing myself for being careless. I needed to work out a story so I could get out of situations like that. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of reporters swarming the hospital and Fiona getting involved in that. My only hope was that I wasn't newsworthy enough for most people to care.

  Fiona

  I KNEW MATTY HAD COME back to the hospital, but he hadn't even come into my room. I could hear him joking around with the nurses. Why didn't he come in? Surely, he hadn't taken me seriously when I told him to go away and not come back.

  I wanted to be strong, but I regretted the things I'd said to him. I needed him, and maybe that was selfish. Still, for a little while, I could cling to him. Later, when I was stronger, I could convince him that he should let go. That seemed like a plan. In a week or two, I'd make him see sense and free him from any obligation he felt. No one would expect me to do that yet, though.

  I strained to hear what he said to that nurse. I couldn't hear his words, just that chuckle.

  If he was going to bother coming here at all, he should come into my room. He could brush my hair again. That had been nice.

  I picked at my blanket. At least the nurse had changed me into some decent clothes this morning. She'd put aside most of my sleepwear, saying that I couldn't wear anything lacy until my skin healed.

  "But it's expensive lace, not that cheap, scratchy stuff," I'd told her.

  In the end, she held up a satin camisole and matching shorts in a pale pink.

  "I'm not sure the skimpy shorts are appropriate, but it's not like you're well enough to be climbing in and out of bed," she'd said. "And that satin will feel lovely on your skin."

  "That color suits me, too," I'd said. "Well, it used to."

  My heart sank. No color would suit me from now on. What color matched bruises and scarring?

  "If you get cold, let me know. I'll get a jacket for you. It's not a very warm outfit."

  I shook my head. "This hospital is way overheated, if you ask me."

  Before she left, I wanted to ask her to pick up the letter from under my bed, but the words stuck in my throat. What sort of hospital was this, anyway, that they didn't clean under the beds? There could be all sorts of dust and grime building up under there.

  The rest of the morning, I'd slept on and off until I heard Matt's voice.

  I yearned to call out to him, to ask him to come in here.

  Why didn't I have anything entertaining in my room? My phone would be good, and a TV set would help too. Surely, I was well enough to go to a regular room. The doctor kept promising, but I hadn't been moved yet.

  Another nurse came in later to take my temperature and all that other messing around.

  "You might be out of here soon," she said.

  "Everyone says soon, but no one says when," I said. "It's all too vague."

  "We can't make any promises," she said.

  I bit my lip. I didn't want to ask, but I had to. "A letter fell under my bed," I said. "Can you get it for me?"

  She looked at me without moving.

  "Please," I added.

  She picked up the letter and handed it to me.

  "Thank you," I said.

  As I read through the letter, a few tears spilled onto the page. I loved Matty. I loved him so much. He knew just the perfect things to say. I didn't want
to inflict myself on him, and I didn't want his pity, but I had to accept that, right now, I needed him. I needed him to be with me, and I needed the love he gave me because, without it, I would have no reason for going on.

  I just had to hope that one day he'd forgive my selfishness for wanting him to stay with me.

  When I got to the last part of the letter, I trembled. He blamed himself for the accident? Why would he do that? If anyone was to blame, it was that stupid cab driver.

  "Matty," I called out, not sure if my voice was strong enough to for him to hear. But he heard me and came into my room.

  He smiled at me as though nothing had changed between us.

  "How are you feeling?" he asked.

  I shrugged--well, half-shrugged; my left shoulder wasn't of much use. "I've been better," I said.

  "You've been a lot worse, too," he said.

  He wasn't wrong about that. I had a lot of half-memories of nights when either he or Ash had dragged me home from nightclubs. And those were just the nights I could remember. I was sure there'd been others I'd completely blacked out. How could he love someone like me?

  He came and sat beside me. Just the nearness of him made my heart settle. All the anger inside me flowed away. Even if it was for a short time, I'd let myself be happy with him.

  "I don't blame you," I said, trusting he'd understand I meant the accident. "How would you know the cab driver was an idiot? I didn't even see what happened, just that he suddenly slammed on the brakes, then a truck came barreling into us."

  He nodded. "Same. But I shouldn't have told him to speed."

  I gave him another half-shrug. You could talk forever about whose fault it was, but it meant nothing. That's what happens in life. You can't foresee every tragic event that might happen.

  "Will you brush my hair again?" I asked him.

  "Sure."

  "And sing that song I like."

  "Of course."

  I shuffled over a little so he could sit on the bed beside me.

  "Don't tax yourself," he said.

  "I'm fine. I'm just shuffling." I tried not to let the pain the movement caused show on my face.