Rock Reclaimed (Rock Revenge Trilogy 2)

People tried. Men tried. Those two that day had, and probably others. I couldn’t shield her from the world. Hell, she didn’t even want to talk to me.

This woman wasn’t Zoe. It didn’t matter. I sang to her as if she was. As if the only woman in my head was actually staring back at me, her hands clasped to her lips, her heart open to mine.

This stranger trusted me. Zoe probably never would.

I offered myself to a woman I didn’t know, because at least she’d accept what I was giving. She wanted to be mine. Even with all my flaws and lies and secrets, she was looking at me as if I was her dream come true.

At the end of the song, I stepped forward with the band, kissing my fingers and holding them high in between each bow.

Disappearing behind the curtain backstage felt like falling into a black hole. No light. No oxygen. No way out.

Without thinking, I stumbled to the long table of booze and finger foods. Although I was starving, right now I didn’t care about food. I needed something else to kill the ache.

I grabbed the first bottle I saw and poured, tossing it back so fast it burned. Didn’t know what it was. Didn’t care. I just needed something to give me the boost I needed to get through the rest. Even knowing what waited for me after the curtain came down after the final bow.

Jerry would have called. That was a certainty. I’d been dodging his calls as much as I could, but he’d be watching to see what I had going on tonight. Saturday nights were a given for performances. He’d see these clips, decide I was having too much fun and not getting enough work done.

And he’d find a way to make me pay.

I’d sent him money. Not much. I didn’t have much, for God’s sake. But that didn’t mean a thing to him. I was supposed to be hooking Simon on the pole. My career was only meant to facilitate my getting closer to Simon. Brotherly bonding and all that. Whatever nonsense Jerry told himself.

How had I believed that? Believed any of what he’d spewed? As if it could be that easy to waltz into Simon’s life, no matter the manner I chose. Even if I’d sent him flowers and candy with a cheery note, he never would have welcomed me with open arms. I was the enemy. The guy competing with him just by daring to enter the same field.

And the crowd was chanting for me, their pounding feet seeming to shake the building. It was in my head. Had to be. But their need for me fueled me every bit as much as the alcohol I’d poured down my throat.

I had made more of myself than just being the gutter rat everyone had figured would end up dead or behind bars.

I’d arrived.

Finally.

Fourteen

This was the best night of my life.

And it wasn’t over yet.

I came back onstage with the studio

musicians following me. As the curtain lifted one more time, the roar grew, dazzling me until I couldn’t tell if it was the booze making my vision swim or the sheer number of people out there, arms raised for me.

All these years, I’d hoped and prayed I’d get to this place. Now there was a not so metaphorical knife at my throat, but I’d arrived. Even if this was the end of the line for me, I’d stood on the same stage as some of my idols.

I mean, Jim Morrison, for God’s sake.

“Thank you,” I said into the microphone, my voice raspy and thick. They barely quieted. “Hey, hey, that’s enough, yeah? Thank you so much, you loud, cheeky buggers.” That made laughter break out, just as I’d hoped. “Are you going to settle down and let me finish?”

“Oh, I’d let you finish.” The shout came from somewhere in the middle of the main area of the club, and I squinted, trying to make out from whom even as my ears and neck burned. Dirty girls were everywhere.

I thanked God for them. For every bit of this memory that I’d hold close, come what may.

Turning toward the new drummer, I signaled for one of my last two songs, “Last Call.” It was a pub song, made for a raucous singalong. I was drunk enough for it, though I hadn’t had that much considering my tolerance. But the adoration from the audience tipped me over the edge.

“Who’s ready to shake their bums?”

I was a bit embarrassed about not changing it to asses—I’d been Americanizing myself as much as possible, even to the point of listening to books on audio so that the cadence and word choices lived in my brain—but the crowd’s response made me glad I hadn’t. They seemed to enjoy my differences.

Time to own it.