About any of it.
It was the strangest thing.
My brother couldn’t talk to me about it. He was having a hard enough time himself, dealing with it, and I understood that. But everyone else… They all treated me like my thoughts and feelings on the matter weren’t… relevant?
I felt like some puppy who was patted on the head and brushed aside, every time Gabe’s death came up.
My parents were so consumed with trying to “fix” my brother or something—while trying to act like everything was fine—that they just didn’t seem to see that I was struggling, too.
Everyone just seemed to forget about me for a while. A long, long while.
Everyone except Xander.
Of all our friends and family, Xander was the only person who actually asked me how I was doing—and then listened to the answer.
He’d visit Cary, and then he’d come by my parents’ place to talk to them, tell them how he was doing. And then he’d come talk to me. And we’d talk—about whatever I wanted to talk about.
He’d listen.
He came by so regularly in those first few months that I started anticipating his visits. Then looking forward to them…
Then longing for them.
Then… getting excited about them.
I knew I’d developed a huge crush on him. How could I not?
He was like this handsome tattooed prince who brought the welcome glow of the moon into a very dark night.
Then, the very last time he came to see me, he told me what no one else had.
That he was leaving, on tour.
I knew he’d been urging Cary to keep working, to form another band with him, but Cary kept refusing. So Xander and Dean had formed a new band, Steel Trap; they were heading to New York to record an album, and then they were planning to go on tour.
Xander said goodbye to me, and he left.
And I cried.
Holy hell, did I cry.
After Xander was gone, I’d cried for weeks. In private. I’d never cried like that before, even after Gabe died and Cary fell apart. It was like everything was hitting me all at once. All the loss, compounded by Xander walking out of my life for the next God-only-knew how long.
It didn’t exactly sound like he had plans to come home anytime soon. Sounded more like he was dying to get away.
And who could blame him?
For the next almost-two years, while I never actually saw him, I clung to that impression I had of Xander Rush; the one that had been carved right into my heart and soul while I was so… raw.
He was kind.
He cared about me.
He was a tattooed prince.
My prince.
In those two years, I wanted to see him, of course. And he did come back home, sometimes. But my school breaks, when I was home in Vancouver, never lined up with his tour breaks.
I didn’t see him again until I was sixteen. At a party.
And it definitely wasn’t the reunion I’d hoped for.
I’d just gotten home from school for the summer, and I went over to my brother’s place as soon as I could. I wanted to see Cary, of course.
But I also wanted to see Xander.
According to Steel Trap’s website, their tour had finished five weeks ago, and I was hoping he’d be back in Vancouver.
As it turned out, Dirty was also finished their most recent tour, and their lead guitarist, Jesse Mayes, was about to release a solo album. He was leaving on his solo tour in a few days, and there was a big party to send him off, at the home of Dirty’s manager, Brody Mason.
How did I know this?
Because while I was visiting my brother, he left the room for a few minutes… and left his cell phone behind. And yes, I picked it up.
I’d never snooped on Cary like that before. But then again, I’d never really had the opportunity.
I was worried about him, but I knew that didn’t make it okay.
I still did it.
At that point in time, I was pretty much obsessed with Xander Rush. I’d spent a lot of time over the last two years, and a lot of hormones, thinking about him. Fantasizing about him. My memories of Xander were the kind of stuff that kept a girl warm on many a long, lonely night in a girls’ dorm.
When I checked my brother’s phone, it wasn’t locked. Why would it be? No one was ever around.
And that was how I found the text Xander had sent my brother. I opened it, because sometimes, we’re all terrible human beings, right? I mean, I felt bad about it.
But I still read it.
Xander had messaged my brother about the party happening at Brody’s house that night. He actually said, You should think about coming.
That was back when he still bothered to invite my brother out.
Cary wouldn’t go. I knew that.
But I was definitely going.
If it meant a chance to see Xander, hell yes, I was going.
I had no idea where Brody Mason lived, and when I dug through the contacts in my brother’s phone—terrible, yes—Brody was in there. But there was no home address listed.
I put Cary’s phone back on the table where he’d left it, and acted totally cool when he came back in the room—like I hadn’t just violated his privacy.
Later that day, as soon as I got home to my parents’ place, I called the one person I knew who might be able to help me out with this.
“Shayla, I’ve got a problem.”
“Lay it on me, babe.”
“There’s a big rock star party tonight and I need to get in. How do I do it?”
“That is a Shayla problem. Where’s the party?”
“At Brody Mason’s house.”
“Who?”
“Brody Mason. He manages Dirty.”
“Ohhh. And why do you need to go?” she purred, coy as shit. “Let me guess. Is Zane Traynor going?”
“Don’t be a ho-bag.” I had no idea if Zane Traynor, Dirty’s lead singer, would be there. As long as Xander was there, I really didn’t give a crap. “Can you get me in or not?”
“What’s all this ‘me’ crap? I’m coming, too.”
“I thought you had dance class tonight.”
“Who cares. Any bitch with half a brain knows you don’t miss a chance to party with Zane Traynor. I’ll find out if Johnny’s going.”
“Do you really think he’d take us with him?”
She made a psshht noise, like Ain’t no thing. “I’m on it.” Then she hung up on me.
And three hours later, she was texting me like a maniac.
Shayla: take off your panties
Shayla: we’re picking you up in an hour
Shayla: get ready to lose ur V-card to a lead singer with a BIG DICK
I could only assume she was talking about Zane Traynor again.
Me: How do you know his dick size?
Shayla: its LEGENDARY
I really didn’t know how she’d pulled it off, but leave it to Shayla. Somehow, she’d convinced her rock star brother, Johnny—who was going to the party, as it turned out—to take her along.
With me in tow.
I’d met Johnny a few times by then. He knew I’d gone to school with Shayla. I was pretty sure he knew I was underage.
But when I squeezed into the backseat of his roaring new Dodge Demon, trying my best to act like an adult, he didn’t say a word about it.
He drove us to Brody’s house, which was one of the giant, newer homes on a street of older homes, way up in one of the crazy expensive yet non-pretentious neighborhoods of North Vancouver. And there was definitely a party going on. With several big dudes standing around outside the front door, obviously to keep the undesirables out.
And I had to admit, when we glided on through the door with Johnny, I felt pretty ballin’.
My brother was a rock star, but he never took me to rock star parties.
Sure, he’d taken me to a few back before he turned into a hermit. But those were daytime parties. Family-friendly parti
es.
This was a grownup party. Complete with booze, drugs, chicks in very little clothing… and bikers. There were a whole bunch of big, scary dudes in the house, and I knew they were bikers because they wore the same leather vests as the guys on Sons of Anarchy. Except these ones said WEST COAST KINGS and VANCOUVER on the back.
As we made our way through the house, I held onto Shayla’s hand and steered clear of those dudes. I was sixteen. I wanted to be there. I wanted Xander Rush to notice me in my sexy jeans… but I wasn’t crazy.
We’d already lost Johnny somewhere. Actually, I was pretty sure Shay had ditched him the moment we got in the door.
She dragged me into a giant room in the walkout basement that seemed to be the nexus of the party, where a female DJ was spinning tunes from a platform in the corner. “Auggghh, DJ Summer!” Shay gasped. “She’s so dope… This party is amaze.”
It was pretty amazing. It was pretty wild, but… classy. I got the feeling if anyone actually started breaking shit or something, they’d be turfed out on their ass, fast.
We found the bar pretty easily and no one exactly stopped us from walking right up to it and ordering a drink. Some girl was behind the bar, and she handed us each a beer when Shay asked for one without even batting an eye. We clinked bottles and took a swig of beer, then looked at each other, like Now what?
Shayla laughed and pulled me through the crowd.
The room was filled with rock stars and other assorted sexy/glamorous/dangerous-looking people.
Shayla seemed thrilled about it.
I was nervous.
I could see Brody Mason across the room, with Jesse Mayes. Dirty’s lead guitarist was the kind of gorgeous that would make even the most confident girl trip on her own tongue. And damn, Brody was hotter than I remembered. Of course, I was only a kid when I met him.
My brother had introduced me to both Jesse and Brody, years ago, at a concert. I kind of doubted they’d recognize me; I’d been like ten years old when we met. Either way, I figured I should probably steer clear of them, just in case they figured out who I was—or in case Brody sniffed out that I was too young to be here and kicked me out of his house.
I was actually relieved Zane Traynor didn’t seem to be here. Maybe because Shayla was all weirdly disappointed about it—like she actually thought he was gonna deflower me the moment I walked in the door or something.
“I can’t believe Johnny’s such a dick,” she said as we jostled our way out the big, open doors to the equally crowded patio out back, where people were dancing. “I had to beg him to bring me. He should’ve invited me in the first place.”
“I can’t believe your brother even brings you to parties like this,” I told her, as we found a spot to people watch at one end of the patio. The Black Keys’ “Gold on the Ceiling” was pumping both inside the house and out, courtesy of DJ Summer, and the party had overflowed all the way to the back lawn. I couldn’t believe all the hot girls at this thing. And the guys… “Like, mine would be all freaked about me hanging around all these older guys. He still calls me his little cupcake all the time. He thinks I’m nine or something.”
“Whatever,” Shayla said. “Johnny knows better. I’m eighteen, so it’s not like he can tell me who to fuck. He knows I’m going to anyway. Like, hello.” She made a sweeping gesture to indicate her body, which was wrapped in a very short, very tight magenta dress. She was possibly the only strawberry-blonde in history who could pull off that color. “He just gives me condoms and we basically have one rule. I’m supposed to stay away from his band.” She rolled her eyes.
I noticed she said supposed to…
“He gives you condoms?”
“Yup. Shoved a strip of them in my purse on the way here. I have my own, duh. But it makes him feel better.”
“My brother would never do that.”
“You’re sixteen. He’ll figure it out.” She looked me over and made another one of her psshht noises. “Just look at you.”
Well, at least Shayla thought I was hot.
I felt hot. I mean, I knew I was attractive. Like, guys didn’t exactly find me hideous. Somewhere around fifteen, men had started honking their horns at me when they drove past. Construction workers started whistling and calling me “baby.” Once, on the island, I had an entire unit of military guys on a morning run, in full fatigues, rubberneck at me when I passed them on the sidewalk.
That was a good day, ego wise.
Not that I sought out random validation from total strangers. The whole strange-men-hooting-at-me-from-across-the-street thing was a weird mix of offensive-yet-secretly-flattering.
But it really didn’t mean a whole lot.
There was just one guy I really wanted to notice me.
I knew he was way older than me, but Xander just made it so easy for me to like him. If he liked me like that… I could just go ahead and die happy.
I wasn’t even sure I knew how to handle such a thing.
I just knew I wanted it.
I wanted it bad.
Even if it killed me. That kind of want. Like I had to see him this summer…
A warm hand landed on the small of my back, lightly. A man’s hand.
I inched out of the way as some guy edged past me in the crowd. Why did they feel the need to put their hands on you, like they couldn’t just tap your shoulder or something to get you to move?
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, in a low voice—and the whole world caught fire.
I looked up as the heat flashed through me.
Xander.
He was standing behind me, close… and staring down at me with hooded eyes.
No; actually… he was staring at my chest.
Granted, I’d gotten boobs since the last time he saw me. I mean, I had them before, they just weren’t all that impressive.
Now they made whole army platoons double-take. And rock stars fucking stare, apparently.
“Hey… Xander,” I said, kinda breathless. I almost melted, actually.
He didn’t look up right away.
Then his eyes kinda dragged up to my face. He stared at me for a solid five seconds, at least, his eyelids lowered, before I saw the change in his eyes.
His hand dropped from my back. “Hey…” he said, recovering awkwardly. “Courteney. Didn’t recognize you.”
Oh. Well, that was gross.
“Okay?” I couldn’t seem to get anything else out of my mouth.
“Who’s your friend?” He glanced at Shay, almost… guiltily?
Why was he acting so weird?
I found my voice. “This is Shayla.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, offering his hand. “Xander.”
Shayla shook hands. “You know my brother, I think. Johnny.”
“Johnny O? Right. Cool.” Then he frowned, glancing around. “Is Cary here?”
“No,” I said. “He’s not coming.” Cary never told me he wasn’t coming. He didn’t tell me about the party at all. And he definitely didn’t know I was here.
But I knew he wasn’t coming.
“Oh. Well… hey. Have a good time, kid.”
Kid.
The word froze me, like an icicle rammed down my spine.
“Don’t stay out too late, huh?” he added.
Then he tapped me on the side of my shoulder with his knuckle, in the most awkward gesture in history.
He nodded at Shayla, then disappeared through the crowd. He practically ran away.
He didn’t even stick around to talk to me.
At all.
He didn’t ask how I was. Didn’t even make small talk, like Hey, it’s been a long time. How’ve you been?
He didn’t care how I’d been, apparently.
He called me kid.
I watched him go, and when I finally turned back to Shayla, my horror and humiliation must’ve been written all over my face.
“Oh, snaaap,” she whispered. “That was… ridic.”
“Do I look twelve?” I asked her,
still stunned.
“You don’t look twelve.” She looked me over gratuitously. “You look eighteen, easy.”
“I mean… No one’s kicked me out yet…” I swallowed. There was a weird lump in my throat. “I’ve seen, like, many guys checking me out.”
“They’re all checking you out,” Shay said. “You’re hot as shit. Xander Rush is a dick. Don’t even worry about it. He’s probably just afraid your brother’s gonna hear he was here, and you were here, and he didn’t tell him or something. Some weird guy shit. Forget him.”
I said nothing. I was in shock.
“Or maybe he’s high?” she suggested. “You know how that can be.”
“How…?” I said.
“I dunno. Sometimes when you’re high as fuck, it’s weird talking to people who aren’t. Paranoia. Don’t take it personally.”
“Okay…”
Nice theory. He didn’t look high, though.
Or particularly drunk.
He’d talked to me for like two seconds, and then took off.
I’d been aching to see him for almost two years. That was twelve-point-five-percent of my life so far.
In other words… a long damn time.
“I’m seriously considering talking to some of those bikers…” Shay said, obviously trying to deflect. “Come with me?” She was eying the group of big dudes sitting on lawn chairs out in the yard, over by the trees.
“Huh? No.” I was trying to track Xander with my eyes without her noticing, as he made his way through the throng of people on the patio. Maroon 5’s “This Summer’s Gonna Hurt Like a Motherfucker” was playing now, way too fucking fittingly, and the crowd just seemed to be growing. Everyone kept bumping into me.
“Come on,” Shay said, nudging me. “It’ll be fun.”
“Huh?”
“The bikers. They look friendly.”
“Um. I don’t think so…”
“Maybe later? When you’ve had a few more…”
“Maybe.” Not likely.
“Let’s go say hi to Jesse Mayes, then.”
“Let’s not.”
“Fuck. Then let’s dance. You are not letting some dick ruin your mood.” She plucked the beer bottle from my hand and dragged me into the throng of bodies.
Filthy Beautiful: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #2) Page 18