Driving Me Crazy: A Rock Star Rom Com

by Lisa Suzanne

  We roll into town and head right for the hotel. “I made reservations for dinner,” he tells me once we’ve checked in and we’re on our way up to our room.

  “Reservations?” I repeat. He doesn’t strike me as the guy who books five-star hotels and makes reservations at restaurants, especially not after he described to me what he wants this trip to be.

  I can’t tell if it’s because he’s such a good faker or if it’s because he’s trying to win me back.

  But that’s just it. We want different things, and getting back together will only end with me getting hurt just like the last time I was in a relationship.

  My chest vibrates with anxiety as the elevator takes us up to the top floor. We exit and find the sign that directs us to our suite, and I follow a few steps behind, like my legs don’t want to carry me toward this magical suite where we were supposed to spend the night in bed with each other.

  He flashes his keycard in front of the door before he opens it. The room is spacious, a one-bedroom suite with a main living area and a rather ostentatious bedroom swathed in romance with its four-poster bedframe and sheer organza canopy.

  We both look at the bed and then glance at each other, our eyes catching.

  I blow out a breath, the tension between us a palpable thing that presses down on me. “I can’t do this,” I mutter, and then I turn away from him and the bed and walk over to the window, pulling off my mic pack and tossing it on the little table I pass by on my way.

  “Can’t do what?” he asks.

  “This,” I say, waving my hands out to indicate the suite and him and just everything. I’m frustrated after spending the day pretending like everything’s normal for us when it just isn’t. “This trip, this hotel, faking for the cameras. All of it.”

  “You think I want to be on this trip?” he asks snidely. “I can’t even look at you.”

  “You sure acted like you were just fine in the car,” I point out.

  “And that’s exactly what it was,” he spits out. “Acting. I signed papers that said I’d do it. I wish I hadn’t, but we’re stuck now.”

  “I wish I hadn’t, either. I don’t want to be here, and especially not with you. I don’t even want to spend another minute in that awful truck of yours.”

  “If you don’t want to be here, then just leave,” he yells at me. “Because I sure as fuck don’t want you here.” When he leaves, he slams the door behind him like a child.

  I feel hollow inside as I stare at the closed door.

  I guess he really was just acting all day.

  CHAPTER 16: AMBER

  Our hotel room faces the pool, and I’ve been staring down at the bright blue water for the last hour. Nobody’s swimming, but the lights in the pool are on and the entire patio glows with warmth and elegance.

  Instead of hanging onto the good stuff, I blew it up for both of us.

  Fuck this misery. Fuck this fear of the unknown—including whether Will’s coming back. I’m sure he is, but I don’t know when. His duffel bag sits in the entry untouched where he dropped it when we walked into the room. Just seeing it there gives me hope that he didn’t ditch me, though he’s mad and I’m mad and maybe he did just leave me here. It’s not like he can’t replace whatever’s in that bag.

  I’m getting drunk.

  I raid the minibar. There’s a full bottle of vodka in there, and that’s where I begin.

  I unscrew the cap and chug down a few gulps, the burn a welcome respite to the ache in my chest.

  What have I done?

  I don’t know if I drink myself to sleep or cry myself to sleep, but the first ray of morning sun peeks through the picture window and falls onto my swollen eyelids.

  My neck’s stiff from falling asleep with my head on a couch’s armrest and my eyes are bleary from drinking too much right before bed.

  I get up and check the bedroom, which is empty, the bed still made like it was when we got here last night.

  He never came back.

  His bag is exactly where he left it, right there in the middle of the entryway. My heart aches when my eyes fall on it.

  I check my phone, but I don’t have any missed calls or messages. I’m hit with the realization that makes more than just my heart ache.

  He never came back, and he isn’t coming back.

  I’m stuck in a five-star hotel in Sedona at seven in the morning, hours away from home by car and very little money to get myself home. Thank goodness for credit cards, I guess. I know it’s not the smart answer, but it’s currently my only answer.

  I try texting him in case I’m wrong.

  Me: Are you coming back?

  After I send it, I realize I should’ve said more. Maybe I should have started it with an emoji or something to start a conversation. But I didn’t, and the message is sent, and sending something now would just make it look like I didn’t think of it until after the fact.

  I hop in the shower and don’t have an answer when I get out.

  I braid my wet hair and apply a little make-up, biding my time as I wait to see if I get a response or if I should figure out how to get home.

  He wouldn’t just leave me here...would he?

  He wouldn’t.

  He might be mad at me, but I’m still the sibling of one of his best friends. He’d make sure I got home even if he was pissed.

  Except...maybe he’s more than mad or pissed.

  I’m about to start searching for ways to get home when I hear the click of the hotel room door. When I stand from the couch as the door opens, Will appears.

  All I see when he appears is the guy who, despite everything, I’ve somehow come to rely on over the last couple months. He’s been there for me, allowed me to vent about work, forced me to talk even when I didn’t want to.

  He hasn’t just been my boyfriend.

  He’s also become my best friend as my actual best friend got married and started a new life.

  Except he’s neither of those things anymore.

  He’s handsome, especially now that I can see the exact turquoise shade of his eyes that are no longer hidden behind a mop of hair, and his killer body is one for the ages—and not just to look at, but the way he uses it in bed...well, it’s something I became addicted to.

  A small sense of joy washes over me that he’s here. At first, it’s at the fact that he didn’t leave me. He didn’t ditch me. But then, that joy is because he came back. Maybe there’s a chance for us yet...even though I’m the one who ended it.

  Did I make a mistake?

  And then he opens his mouth, tossing all my hopes right out the window into the pool below.

  “What the fuck are you still doing here?”

  He sways a little on his feet, and as I gaze across the room at him, I can see his eyes are red and glassy.

  He hasn’t slept, but it does look like he’s been drinking. And from his question, clearly he didn’t receive my text message.

  My chest aches at the realization that I did this to him.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Sorry that you’re still here?”

  I blow out a breath. “Can we just...” I shrug. I don’t even know what I’m asking. “Let’s just finish our trip.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” he asks. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “We have to, Will. We signed a contract.” I take a step toward him, but the look in his face stops me in my tracks.

  “You want a ride to Maine,” he says flatly. Clearly he’s been thinking while he’s been drinking. “I’ll buy you a fucking plane ticket to get you out of my hair and I’ll pay Kylie whatever fines we incur for breaking the contract.”

  “Please don’t make me go to Maine alone,” I whisper. It’s scary enough that I decided to learn the truth about that letter. I can’t do it alone. I need him with me, and I didn’t realize that until I really thought through what it might be like to walk up to a stranger’s door all by myself.

  “Fuck off.” He stalks toward
the bathroom and slams the door.

  I get that he’s mad. I get that he’s drunk. Once he cools off and sobers up, maybe we can have a rational conversation.

  But this is Rascal. He uses his childish behavior as a defense mechanism and hurls insults at people for sport. I haven’t been the target of that behavior—at least not in the short timeframe we’ve been together—but I’ve seen it, and I can take it.

  I hear the shower turn on and I wish I had someone I could talk to about all this. Emily’s on her honeymoon, and she’s the one I’d normally turn to...except I can’t this time. She’s married to my brother now, and where I’m going affects him, too. I’m not ready to reveal those truths to him, not until I have the whole picture.

  I have a few other friends I could talk to—Janine from work, Mandy and Jen from college—but the more I think about it, the more I just want Will to be the one I can talk to about it.

  He’s the only person I’ve trusted with that letter, and not even because I wanted to share it with him but because he found it on my counter. I never would’ve told anyone, but I also never would’ve made the decision to check it out if not for him.

  I need to see this through, and I need him to do it with me. He’s the only one who knows.

  When he finally emerges from the shower, he wears just a towel that barely fits around his waist. It’s tucked in low on his hips, and my eyes fall on the washboard abdomen he hides under his vintage band tees and the carved V of his hips that makes me drool.

  He ignores me and walks to his duffel bag, picking it up and setting it on the table. He rummages through it until he pulls out a fresh pair of boxers and an INXS shirt. He pulls the shirt over his head, sadly hiding the body underneath it, and shimmies into his boxers under his towel, blocking my view of the goods.

  “Find a flight home.” His words are short and direct, and it seems like the shower helped to sober him a little.

  “I’m not letting you pay for a flight home for me,” I protest.

  “Then walk home.” He tosses his towel toward the bathroom. “I don’t care.”

  “Will, come on,” I plead. “I know you care about me, and even if you’re mad at me, at least think of my brother.”

  He blows out a breath before he turns and finally looks at me. “Don’t you dare use your brother as a pawn in whatever games you’re playing. Keep it between the two of us.” His face is red with anger and I have this strange urge to walk over to him and take him in my arms and cry into his chest.

  God dammit.

  I went and fell for this idiot, and then I broke up with him, hurt him, and managed to make him hate me.

  I don’t move from my spot, though, despite the way my feet and my heart are working together to propel me forward.

  “It is between the two of us.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But you can’t deny other people are involved. How will it look if you send me home in the middle of our trip?”

  He raises a brow at me pointedly. “Adam won’t care.” He rummages through his duffel and pulls out a toiletry bag.

  I shoot the final piece of ammunition I have, stopping him in his tracks on his way back to the bathroom. “But what about America? What about Rock on the Road?”

  He slowly turns around and looks at me, his brows drawn in. “What about it?”

  “Do you really want the gossip and rumors that come with a break-up in the middle of the season? Isn’t this one supposed to be all about love and everyone finding their happy endings?”

  “For Adam and Dax, yeah. For me?” He flattens his lips. “I guess it was never in the cards.”

  I don’t know what else to say, and so I simply fall back on to the couch, my knees buckling beneath me as I suddenly realize I might’ve messed up the most important thing that’s come along in a long time.

  “I’m gonna get some sleep before I check out,” he says. “Do what you want, but don’t plan on coming with me on the rest of this road trip. Figure out your route home and I’ll foot the bill just to get you out of here.” He mutters the last part, but I still hear it.

  He slams the door to the bedroom with the king bed we should be enjoying together, effectively ending our conversation.

  CHAPTER 17: WILL

  I can’t sleep—just like I couldn’t last night. I stare up at the ceiling as I quietly pretend to, though. I had to get away from her, away from those brown eyes with gold flecks in them that suddenly looked at me in a different way. Away from that body that calls my name but that soul that deeply cut my own.

  I wasn’t looking for a relationship when Amber walked into our hotel suite in Vegas a couple months ago. She made me want things I never wanted before.

  I was willing to change who I am for her. I was willing to adjust my beliefs and make compromises. I’m staying in a fucking five-star hotel in Sedona, for Christ’s sake. This was never my plan. I wanted to hit the open road, see whatever the fuck I wanted to see, stay in whatever shitty motel I found along the way, and bask in the freedom. It was supposed to be liberating. It was supposed to be fun.

  Instead, I’m hungover from drinking too much before the bartender cut me off and I’m exhausted from staying awake all night.

  Now that all the other MFB guys are in serious relationships, I’m the lone wolf left for groupies to have their way with.

  I’ve let some have their way. Others, not so much. It depends on my mood, I guess. Not one of them ever even asked for anything beyond one night. They didn’t want more—they just wanted to brag to their friends that they hooked up with a member of MFB, even if it was the keyboard player.

  I guess I got tired of that life and wanted to believe that what Amber and I had was real, that we were falling for each other, that we would have some epic love story where we knew each other for years and we were always in each other’s periphery but nothing ever happened until it did. Until the time was right.

  I thought our timing was right, but I was just a dumbass.

  I’d never label myself as responsible, but I guess I should text Kylie to let her know I’m not continuing this trip with her and it’ll just be me on the camera in my car going forward.

  Me: The road trip is off.

  My phone rings less than ten seconds later.

  “What?” Kylie says the moment I answer.

  “You read that right.”

  “What happened?” she asks, her tone less sympathetic and more accusatory.

  “I can’t spend another hour in the car with her, let alone a month.”

  “Dammit Rascal,” she mutters. “I can’t believe you.”

  “Believe it.” My voice is flat.

  “Okay, damage control,” she says. “First, there’s a hefty fine for breaking contract for both of you. So why are you ending the road trip? This thing between you two will make for great television, but we have to figure out how to spin it.”

  “Damage control? Spin it? Fuck off, Kylie. This is my life we’re talking about, not some stupid TV show.”

  “First, let me remind you that this stupid TV show made MFB a household name.”

  “Our music did that,” I mutter petulantly.

  “Because we found a wide audience that got to hear it by getting you five idiots on television.” She sighs. “This is going on the show whether you want it to or not. You signed a contract that stated you’d allow cameras into your personal life.”

  She has to be fucking kidding me. “I didn’t know this was the shit my personal life was going to become.”

  “None of us could know what our lives were about to become when we signed on. Come on, Rascal. Think about it this way: if your happy ending doesn’t come this season, maybe we’ll be renewed for a third.”

  “Fuck off with that shit,” I mutter, but I know she’s basically right, and further, once she gets an idea in her head, none of us have a choice. Dax always sides with her. They’re about to get married and she’s pregnant with his child, so of course he’s going to side with her. And I don’
t know who died and made Dax king, but that’s the crux of our band.

  Dax is king, the rest of us are his minions, and I’m stuck on the fucking keyboards. My life is owned by MFB and Ashmark Records, and that’s why I don’t think about the future, why I don’t make plans and why the idea of a road trip of freedom has been so goddamn important to me.

  “Just take your trip. Be yourself in the car. Say what you need to say, or keep pretending, and the editors and producers will take care of the rest. Okay?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Stop being a child, William.” It’s rare anyone except Amber and my mother call me anything but Rascal. “Take one for the team.”

  Take one for the team.

  It’s what I’ve been doing my entire career. It’s what I’ve been doing since I was nineteen.

  She wants me to take one for the team?

  “All right,” I finally say, blowing out a heavy breath as I think through my options. “I’ll do it. But I’ll do it my way.”

  The production team is gonna have a fuck ton of editing to do on this shit.

  I end the call with Kylie and stare up at the ceiling some more as a plan forms in my mind.

  I’ll continue this trip, but it’ll be my way. Fuck these five-star hotels. We’re staying in roach motels. Fuck museums and historical monuments. We’re seeing the only McDonald’s with green arches in Sedona and the big legs attraction in Amarillo and the world’s largest rubber stamp in Cleveland.

  I stare up at the ceiling a little while longer, and eventually my eyes drift closed.

  I jolt awake and the room is still bright, so I definitely didn’t sleep as long as I wanted to. The bedroom door is still closed, and I wonder what woke me. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I pick it up with one hand and rub the sleep from my eyes with the other. My phone is blowing up with texts from Dax.

  Dax: Thanks for agreeing to continue this road trip. We all owe you one.

  Dax: Sorry about you and Amber. I saw how different you were around her.