The Rocker That Needs Me (The Rocker...)

by Terri Anne Browning

  The sisters left us alone in the living room, and Jesse dropped down on the sofa beside of me. “Dude, you look pale.”

  I wasn’t surprised. I think I had actually felt the color drain from my face when Layla had said the word seventeen. I felt sick to my stomach for an entirely different reason than the ones that I had woken up to.

  “Are you really demons?”

  I turned my head to find a little girl with long, curly, dark hair standing a few feet from the sofa. She had big dark eyes and a cute little button nose, and just like Emmie had all those years ago, this little girl sucked me in. I couldn’t help smiling at her. “No, sweetheart. I’m not really a demon.” All though some people had likened me to one a few times. The public eye thought I was some hard-ass with no heart or soul. Mostly, they were right. Unless you counted Emmie and my band brothers, I had no love and no compassion for anyone.

  “What’s your name?” The little girl asked.

  “I’m Drake,” I told her. “He’s Jesse.”

  Her dark eyes took us both in as if she were assessing us both. Then, with a trust that only the young and innocent had, she climbed onto my lap. “I’m Lucy. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Drake.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Lucy.”

  For the next five minutes, she asked a hundred questions about the house she was going to be living in. Before Jesse or I could attempt to answer, she threw another one at us. Within the first minute, I knew that her favorite word was awesome. She wanted to build a sandcastle but had never been to the beach. Before I could really think about it, I offered to teach her.

  Layla came out of the bedroom with a smile on her face. “Not today, Lucy,” she told the girl. “We have a lot to do today, baby.”

  “Tomorrow?” she asked.

  I was already nodding my head. It sounded like fun the more I thought about it. Fuck, I don’t think I had ever made a sandcastle either, but I wanted to make one with Lucy. “Tomorrow. It’s a date, okay?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Promise?”

  I smiled. “Promise. Now, let’s get you ladies moved.”

  Lana

  I knew who Demon’s Wings were. Layla was a big fan of their music, but I would have known about them even if she wasn’t. They were an incredible rock band, and even I liked some of their songs, which was saying a lot because my tastes leaned toward musicians like Michael Bublé.

  Lately, the band had been in the tabloids, which wasn’t typical of them. They mostly kept a low profile, but the front man, Nikolas Armstrong, was going to be a father, and that was a big deal in the music world. He had knocked up the band’s surrogate sister and caused heads to turn all around the world. The tabloids had made a killing off the story for months now, but it had died down for the most part. I figured that when that baby was born the band would be hounded yet again.

  The baby story was the first real news about the band in a few years or so. The last time they had made tabloid news it was because of Drake Stevenson. The man was reported to be some psycho who had thrown a doctor through a window. The picture of the bad-ass rocker glaring at the photographer, who had dared to take his picture, had shown a man that looked beyond wild and dangerous. I guess you could understand my shock at finding that same guy standing in what had been my living room for the past two years. I was nervous at first, especially when he looked at me and I felt as if he was looking straight to my soul. But even though he scared the crap out of me, I was sure that my heart was racing for reasons other than fear.

  Damn, that man was sexy! You could even go as far as saying that he was beautiful. His face was all hard lines and angles, but each angle looked as if the Gods themselves had sculpted each line. Adonis, the God of beauty and desire, had nothing on Drake Stevenson, and with just one look, my breath felt like it was trapped in my lungs.

  What shocked me more was that over the next few hours I found myself no longer afraid of him. He went out of his way to make Lucy laugh. Every time I picked up something heavy, he quickly took it away from me and carried it to the truck himself. Drake the rock star might be a total prick, but apparently Drake the man was a gentleman.

  I felt as if there was an invisible force pushing me toward him. Normally, I would have put on the E-brake fast. Rock stars were bad news. I had grown up with one after another warming my mother’s bed. I had seen firsthand how they treated people, and it wasn’t pretty. But for some reason I felt like Drake and Jesse were different.

  Just as I felt that Shane and Nik were different when I met them later that day as they helped us unload the moving truck. They were all really nice, and I felt comfortable around them all. And Emmie? She reminded me of Layla a little. Someone who didn’t let anyone walk all over her, who didn’t let the world pull her down.

  By the end of the day, I found myself crushing on Drake. It was crazy. He was thirty one, and I was seventeen. Sure, rockers dated younger women all the time, but I wasn’t going to be some rocker’s Priscilla to his Elvis. Nope, not going to happen!

  Sunday was my homework day. I normally didn’t mind doing homework. Layla was a hard-ass about getting good grades, and it came easy for me. I studied hard and took extra classes. Since I had been living with Layla and I no longer had to spend so much time taking care of Lucy—something I had done from the day she was born up until our loser mother had died—I started taking the extra credit classes my high school offered. The classes were basic general studies classes for college, and at the end of this term I would have enough college credits to qualify as a sophomore when I actually started college.

  Monday, I drove to school by myself for the first time. Layla was awesome. She was letting me drive her old Corolla so I didn’t have to transfer schools. It wasn’t that I would miss my friends; I spent so much time at school either studying or participating in the mandatory sports program—I had chosen track because I sucked at team sports—I didn’t have any friends. Not one.

  Of course not having friends made it hard at school sometimes. None of the girls liked me because they either: A- thought I was a stuck up bitch because I refused to let them suck me into the everyday drama that tended to be a teenage girls life; or B- they thought I wanted their man. My answer was always C. I didn’t have time for anyone’s drama but my own, and I wouldn’t touch their boyfriends if they paid me. Not having friends had given me time to observe the goings-on of others around me, and I had discovered that most of the boyfriends that I was accused of wanting were total tools and were getting more side action than their girlfriends realized.

  The day before, Layla had bought two new phones. She had given Lucy her old one in case of emergencies, but I got my own, along with an unlimited text plan to go with the internet and call plan. Of course I had given my number to Drake. I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but we had ended up texting back and forward until after midnight last night. And today, even though I knew he was supposed to be in the studio working on new material with the other guys of Demon’s Wings, we had been texting regularly.

  During English he sent me a funny picture of his brother goofing off at lunch. Because I hadn’t been expecting it, I didn’t think to control my snort of laughter while my teacher was giving a boring lecture on the importance of a strong introduction to an essay. I hadn’t been paying attention because I had already taken college English 101 and passed it with an A. The only reason I was even in the guy’s class was because I had to have it to graduate.

  “Miss Daniels, is there something you would like to share with the class?” The jerk asked in a nasally voice that always grates down my spine. Mr. Mills was in his late twenties with a Justin Bieber haircut, and most of the girls in the school squealed like the little girls they were when they found out they would have him for English. I wasn’t one of his fans and hadn’t made a secret of it—ever. Of course I felt like he didn’t like me and was always trying to single me out in embarrassing ways.

  I slipped my phone between my book and notebook to hide it
from the teacher. “No, Mr. Mills,” I assured him.

  “Then perhaps you would like to tell us the best way to start a Compare/Contrast introduction.” His smirk told me he thought I couldn’t give him a good enough answer to satisfy him.

  He was a little more pissy toward me than usual by the end of the class, after my five minute explanation for his question. When the bell rang, I was more than happy to grab my things and get out of the way. I ducked into the girls’ room before heading to my last class of the day and texted Drake back.

  You made me LOL in English! Prick teacher hates me.

  Within seconds Drake texted me back. Fuck! Sorry, Angel!

  Don’t worry about it. See you later.

  That evening when I got home, Layla was more quiet than usual. Last night she had asked me about Drake, and I had shrugged it all off. He was my friend—my only friend! I wasn’t about to let her step in and ruin it because she felt like I couldn’t handle myself; even if my feelings for the rocker were stronger than mere friendship. I brushed it off as just a silly infatuation.

  After dinner, I texted Drake to ask if he wanted to come enjoy the night air with me. It was still warm out at night, and I was feeling suffocated inside the guest house. When he texted me back saying that he would be right out, I gathered up a sheet and all the little candles we had.

  By the time he met me in the yard, which separated the guesthouse from the main house, I had it all set up. It looked romantic and I had to keep reminding myself that nothing about Drake and my relationship was romantic. He would run for the hills if he knew I was crushing on him, and really I couldn’t blame him. He must have had plenty of that drama in his life being a rocker.

  Drake surprised me when he produced a sketch book and a set of charcoal sketching pencils. “Can I draw you?” he asked, sounding a little unsure.

  “Sure. If you want to…I didn’t know you could draw.” I arranged myself on the sheet so I could watch him over the sketch pad while he worked.

  His fingers moved fast and with obvious skill. I ached to see what he was drawing. The concentration on his face as he watched me made me ache for a different reason altogether.

  “It’s something I do as a stress reliever,” he said after a few minutes. “Art was my favorite class in school. For my eighth birthday my dad got me a professional art kit. It had paint and charcoal and a million other things that an eight year old doesn’t understand how to use.” He smiled and I could see the little boy that he had been shining in those blue-gray eyes. “My mom argued that it was too expensive, that it would be destroyed by the end of the day, but I took care of it and found that I really liked using the charcoal to draw. When I was thirteen, I entered an art festival in town and actually won a hundred dollars by coming in second place in the art show.”

  “Wow. I can maybe draw a convincing stick figure if I had to,” He laughed. It was a gut-deep laugh that made me so happy it had come from something I said. He didn’t seem like the type of guy that laughed often.

  “So if art isn’t your talent what is?” he asked as he continued to draw.

  My attention kept going to his hands—those long, slender fingers as they moved with sure strokes across the sketch pad. “I like to dance,” I told him. “And I’m a decent long distance runner.”

  He cocked a brow at my answer. “Dance?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I love to dance. When I was little, before my mom kicked Layla out, Layla would take me to this little dance academy when she got home from school. I got to learn tap dancing, ballet, and jazz. I’m a big jazz and swing fan.”

  Drake grinned. “So you like Michael Bublé and Sarah Brickel. Maybe Robbie Williams?” I shrugged and he leaned forward, tapping me on the end of the nose with a finger. “There’s nothing wrong with liking them. I’ve met Michael Bublé a few times at the Grammys. Nice enough guy.”

  “I might have every song of his on my iPod.” I shrugged again. “Who is your rock hero?” I asked, determined to know every little thing about this man. Just being with him like this, talking about nothing more important than our tastes in music, was perfect. I wanted to freeze time and hold onto this moment for the rest of my life.

  “Keith Richards was always my hero.” He was back to concentrating on his sketchpad. “The man has talent. When I was twelve I mowed grass for an entire summer and saved up to buy my first guitar. I taught myself how to play it by watching and listening to Keith Richards. That’s how we got started. I was Keith and Nik was Mick Jagger. We were just playing around. But then Jesse and Shane joined us, and we actually sounded pretty good. We started playing at parties for the kids at school. From there it was bars close to home. When I was twenty-one some talent scout heard us and told Rich, our manager, about us. A week later, we were on a tour bus, officially rock stars.”

  “That’s wild!” I pulled my knees up against my chest and rested my chin on them. My hair fell in my face, and I pushed it back. “Is it all you hoped for? All you ever wanted?” Pain crossed his face. Drake grew quiet and I wondered if he was going to answer me when he finally shook his head. “No. It isn’t all I ever wanted. After the first year or so, I was already burned out. I want more from life than rock-and-roll. We all do now. Don’t get me wrong, Lana, I love making music. I love the thrill of playing for a crowd. But I hate the life that comes with it.”

  Chapter 2

  Drake

  I wasn’t sure why I was so drawn to Lana. I tried to stay away. For about a minute, I succeeded, but I found that it physically hurt to stay away. I refused to give my feelings any name other than friendship. Being friends was safe. I could work with that. So what if just looking at her made me ache deep inside in a way I couldn’t ever remember aching before.

  She drew me in and I went willingly. Lana, my sweet, beautiful angel, was easy to talk to. I found myself confiding in her about things no one else knew. I hadn’t even admitted hating the fast pace of the rock-and-roll world that I had gotten caught up in all those years ago to Emmie. With Lana it just came naturally.

  I spent every evening with her. Talking about the stupidest things, getting to know a girl—fuck anyone—just for the hell of it. Some nights we would just sit and I would sketch the angel. Others we would lie on the beach and listen as the waves crashed against the beach. With each wave that hit the beach, I felt as if I was being washed in the sweetest peace. It was soothing to be with her. I was able to go without a whole bottle of Jack Daniels to help me fall asleep for an entire week. When I woke each morning I wasn’t drenched in sweat like I normally was. Of course I still had the nightmares. I doubted I would ever be free of them, but that week they didn’t haunt me like they normally did.

  Friday, I took Lana to dinner. There was a great little Greek restaurant that I loved. I picked her up, refusing to think of it as a date. I had never taken a girl on a date in my life, and I wasn’t about to think of this time out with Lana as one. That just screamed wrong to me.

  It was fun. I enjoyed every second of it and dreaded the time that I would have to take her home. After dinner I found a park, and we sat on the swings just talking like we always did. I had only known this girl a week, and yet she probably knew as much about me as Emmie did. Well, except for the parts that I refused to tell Lana. I didn’t want to put those images in her innocent mind.

  And maybe I was scared that if my angel knew about my past she would be too disgusted to want to continue with our friendship.

  I drove us back to Malibu in the Escalade. When I pulled into the driveway it was just after ten. Instead of getting out right away, Lana turned toward me and smiled that smile of hers, which I still hadn’t been able to get perfect on paper. There was something about that smile, the way it filled me with so much peace. There was a hint of mischief that sparkled in those whiskey eyes of hers that calmed my need for the bottle, at least for the most part.

  “Thanks for tonight, Drake,” she said. “It was fun.”

  “Would you like to go shopping wi
th me tomorrow?” I didn’t know where the idea had come from. What the fuck did I know about shopping? I had a shit load of money and had barely touched a cent of it. Emmie took care of my bills and bought everything I needed. I guess I was a little helpless when it came to certain things, but I wanted to spoil Lana. Friends could do that, right?

  “Shopping?” She raised a brow and grinned. “You want to take me shopping?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. Bring Lucy. We can make a day of it.” I wanted to spend every minute possible with her. Maybe she was a new addiction―one that brought me more peace than the bottle did.

  Somehow we ended up talking for nearly an hour, just sitting in the SUV, talking about something I doubted I would remember in the morning. I made her laugh and it was like bells ringing in my ears―the best music I had ever heard.

  When I next looked at the clock on the dashboard it was a little after eleven. She was just as reluctant, if not more so, to end the night. I reached out and pushed her long, midnight black hair away from her beautiful face. My fingers burned where they touched her flawless skin. After only a small hesitation, I leaned in and brushed a soft kiss over her cheek. “Good night, Lana,” I murmured.

  Pink filled her cheeks and she bit her lip. “G-goodnight Drake,” she whispered and slipped out of the Escalade. I waited until she was out of sight before getting out. I needed the time to calm my racing heart and aching body.

  When I entered the house, Shane had gone out—not that it was a big surprise. I shuddered a little at the possible places my little brother could have been tonight. The bottle might have been my crutch, but Shane’s addiction was worse in my book. His constant need to have sex—the orgies, the sex clubs—was going to kill him long before the bottle pickled my liver. Emmie insisted that we all get tested regularly, mostly because of Shane.

  Jesse and Nik were sprawled out on the sectional with beers in their hands, and Emmie snuggled up to Nik. It had taken me a little while to get used to the sight of Emmie with Nik. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea of them together. It was just hard to see her as anything other than our sweet little Emmie. Now, I was forced to see her for what she was. A sexy woman who was serious with one of my scumbag band brothers.