Rockstar Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle New Adult BBW)

by Emme Rollins

  Carter gave me a sympathetic look. “Hard to rebel against that sort of thing,” he said.

  I nodded. “Very.” My eyes narrowed. “But also hard to rebel if people don't care, too, I bet.”

  His lips thinned, then spread into a smile with very little humor. “Well,” he said, “I wouldn't say no one cared.” And without him telling me, I knew he was talking about Kent. But he didn't offer any more information, so I plunged ahead.

  “So anyway, I was really into this bad boy who wasn't really a bad boy because what kind of bad boy goes to college? Real bad boys are all slinging drugs or doing illegal shit, not majoring in guitar at a nice little Midwestern college. But I was dumb and we got together and when he decided to move out here to Cali I came with him. I wasn't super employable and the economy is so bad it doesn't even matter any more. I got my bartending license and I supported him while he was trying to get his band off the ground.”

  “How were they?” Carter asked.

  My lips twisted. “Like a bag of cats getting dropped on a set of bagpipes,” I said. The words just came out, vicious and surprising, and I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth.

  Carter just laughed. “Are you sure your feelings about this Jason douche aren't coloring your perception.”

  I thought about it. The beer was starting to hit me. “Fine,” I said. “Not that bad. But nothing special. Nothing like you guys.”

  He snorted at that. “Right. We're special.”

  “You are,” I insisted. “I know that your dad was a manager in the industry and that you probably had some strings to pull getting up to the top, but you guys... I've listened to your rehearsals remember? There's something really amazing there.”

  Carter perked up. “You think so?”

  I nodded.

  “Hmm,” he said. “I guess. We have good chemistry, when we're not yelling at each other.”

  I smiled. “Like my mom says, you guys get along like a house on fire. Destructive, but the light is brilliant.”

  Carter's hand on the guitar stilled. “You really think so?”

  Jeez, didn't he read his own reviews. “Yes, I do.”

  “Hmm,” he said again, then quirked a smile. “Very well. Continue your tale of woe.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I spent the last four years supporting Jason's music career. At first it was fine. He worked hard and the band worked hard, and even though we didn't have a lot of money coming in we were okay. It was... nice.” The sex was good. Or at least, I had thought so at the time. Now that I knew what a real rocker could do, Jason paled in comparison. Perhaps that wasn't fair to Jason, but goddamn Kent was so good, it was like they were from different planets. “And then he started cheating on me.”

  Carter frowned, but didn't say anything. I stared down into my can of beer. “I know, I know,” I said. “It's fucked up that I stayed with him while he was cheating on me, but I was all alone in this new city and I didn't want to just throw it away because of an indiscretion. He was a bad boy, right? A rocker. So I put up with it, and every time he got caught he'd apologize and say he'd never do it again and I'd believe him like an idiot. But that wasn't the bad part.”

  Carter let out a bark of disbelief. “How was that not the bad part?” he said.

  I sighed. “While he was sleeping around, he'd tell the girls that I was always cheating on him. And when his friends asked him about it, he told them I was cheating on him, so it was just this mutual thing we did, supposedly. I didn't find this out until later. And that's not the worst of it, because he started telling people that I was a drug addict and I stole money and shit from people, and to watch their stuff whenever I was around.”

  Carter's eyes were huge. “And?”

  I laughed, but it was so bitter that I had to wash it down with more Pabst. “Well? I wasn't a drug addict. He was. He did crazy drugs, awful shit you could buy on the internet and the stuff you could buy on the street. He told everyone I stole things, and then stole those things himself... And I didn't know everyone thought I was a thief and an addict. And I think he told people he'd pay them back for the shit I supposedly stole, and we never had any money, no matter how hard I worked...and they all did drugs and drank like crazy and it was such a fucking mess and I always thought it would get better but it never did...”

  I bit my lip. “And finally he stole something someone really gave a shit about. Jewelry or something. And I was the one who got confronted about it, and that's when I found out that all my friends thought I was an addict and a liar and a thief and a cheater, except it was Jason who was all that shit, and they all believed him because he'd been selling them this bullshit for years. It just...none of them believed me.”

  Tears stung behind my eyes, and I angrily blinked them away as I took a shaky breath. “So yeah. That's the story. I had to sell my car because someone was going to press charges against me for theft and I used the money to pay them off, except I didn't even take it, and Jason just...he just dumped me. Like once everyone turned on me he realized I wasn't useful to him any more and that was just...it. So I got on a bus and came to LA and moved in with Rose...and a week afterward I was somehow a fake girlfriend to a real rocker.” I tried to laugh, because it was so absurd, but it came out sort of strangled and sad.

  I was so absorbed in my misery that I didn't even notice Carter had stood up and walked over to where I was sitting. When the futon dipped I jumped, but all he did was slip his arm around me and give me a tight hug. The gesture was so sweet it almost undid me and I had to dig my fingernails into the flesh of my palm to keep from crying.

  “Rebecca,” Carter said, “that sucks.”

  I laughed, and it was stronger this time, though a bit watery. “Yeah,” I said. “Tell me about it.”

  “But I'm glad you shared this with me. I hope you feel a little better.”

  I inhaled deeply and found that I did feel slightly better. Leaning into Carter's warmth helped. I let my head fall on his shoulder, and he put his cheek against my hair. It was sweet and comforting. I hadn't felt that in a long time.

  For a long few minutes we were both quiet, until Carter said suddenly, “Rebecca?”

  I lifted my head and looked him in the eyes. He was smiling. “Yeah?”

  “I'm going to write this next album for you.”

  I blinked. “What do you mean?”

  His grin grew. “The first album was loneliness. This one will be about vengeance.”

  I sucked air between my teeth. “Really?” Then second thoughts swooped in. “No. No, that would be a bad idea.”

  “Why? Get your revenge on him. I'll write it for you. It'll reach him and even if no one else knows about it, he'll know it's about him. It's my thanks for your help.”

  “Help?” I snorted. “I don't feel like I've been helping you at all.”

  “Well, I'm not good at accepting help, let's just put it that way. Let me do this. It's a perfect counterpoint to the first album. Vengeance. Something cruel and really wicked. Ooooh, I'm getting tingles. Hang on, I have to write something...”

  He leaped up and grabbed his guitar, pulling it into his lap. His fingers danced over the strings, fiddled on the frets, and something dark and strange poured out.

  “Yes,” he muttered. Leaning down, he grabbed his notebook and began to scribble in it before pausing and looking up. “Rebecca? Can you pass me a beer?” A casual question between friends and for a moment I tensed. Was he just doing this to get his hands on that alcohol?

  No, stop it, I told myself. Just try to trust him. You can't change him unless he wants to. And one beer isn't going to kill him. We only have four left anyway. Three after I get to the next one. I broke one off from the six pack and handed it to him.

  I felt as though my faith in him was validated when he took it and didn't even open it, just set it on the desk next to him, and returned to his scribbling. Then he picked up his guitar again and continued with the queer, haunting melody he'd begun.

  If I hadn'
t met Kent first, I could have definitely gone all wet in my panties for Carter. The boy was a genius...

  “What's going on in here?”

  Both Carter and I nearly jumped out of our skin and whirled around to see Kent standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, his dark hair messed up and his blue-green eyes stormy.

  Yeah, I thought as a sweet, slow pleasure oozed through me. If only I'd met a nice boy like Carter first. Which was saying something.

  Carter glanced at me. His lips were pressed together, the skin around them white, clearly looking to me to defuse the situation. At first I didn't know what he was so concerned about—he was doing what Kent wanted, right?—but then I realized as I followed Kent's gaze to the unopened beer next to Carter.

  I lifted my chin. “We're writing the new album,” I said. “Do you mind? Your negativity is screwing with our mojo.”

  Kent's eyebrows shot up into his hair. “Oh?” he said. “You are helping?”

  “I'm moral support,” I said. I met his gaze head on, and for a moment I thought about Jason. Jason pushed me around, bullied me, and told me I was crazy when I thought other people were starting to hold me distant. Kent threw his weight around, but I could never, in a million years, envision him telling me I was just nuts. He was straightforward. Honest. He came clean. He didn't let shit linger, and if shit was lingering you damn well knew it.

  It's hard to stand up to a liar, because you never know where they're coming from. But an honest man? You can meet him head on, as long as you're honest, too.

  The corners of his mouth twitched, as though he were hiding a smile.

  “Fine,” he said. “I'll sleep with earplugs tonight.”

  “It's not going to be that bad!” I said indignantly, but Carter chuckled, and Kent very nearly broke a grin.

  “He means we're going to be up all night,” Carter said.

  I hadn't signed on for that. I don't really believe in beauty sleep, but I sure do believe in anti-grumpy sleep. But if it helped, it helped. “Oh,” I said. “I'll just sit here and be the muse.”

  “You do that,” Kent said. “And don't get too drunk.”

  This parting shot was to both of us, but he turned and left before I could snap back at him.

  “Who'd get drunk on three beers anyway?” Carter asked, rhetorically.

  “Someone who doesn't drink ten beers a night?” I suggested.

  He made a face at me. “Touché, my dear. Now watch and learn.”

  So I did.

  *

  I woke up the next morning disoriented and confused, in a bed I didn't recognize. I panicked and sat bolt upright.

  Still in his chair, Carter barely looked at me. He was still writing in his notebook, still plucking out melodies on his guitar.

  Carter's room. Right. I'd just spent the night in Carter's bed. Wrong brother, idiot, my brain said. My brain is always surly in the mornings. I told it to shut up and let out a yawn. “How's it going?” I asked as I stretched my arms high above my head, feeling my whole spine crackle.

  “Almost finished,” Carter said absently.

  “With your song?” I asked.

  “With the album,” he replied.

  I stopped stretching. “What, the whole thing?”

  “Yup.”

  I couldn't think of anything to say to that except: “Wow.”

  “It's pretty easy once you get going,” he said, as though writing a whole album's worth of songs was no big deal. I hadn't written even one song. I had problems writing birthday cards.

  “Wow,” I said again. Then, because I wasn't sure he got it, I added: “Holy shit.”

  “I think it's a winner,” he said. “I have thirteen songs, and twelve of them are about revenge.” He stopped scrawling in the notebook long enough to yawn.

  “What's the last one about?”

  He turned and gave me a wicked little smile. “That's for me to know and you to find out,” he said.

  Argh. A surprise. I hated surprises.

  My stomach growled and I ran my hands through my hair. “Shit,” I said. “You want something to eat?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Some cereal maybe?”

  “Sure.” I stood up on shaky legs and began to totter towards the doorway.

  “Wait.”

  I stopped and turned to see him looking at me with a weird look on his face.

  I raised my eyebrows, and he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Did you know Kent has a thing for you?” he said at last.

  The question was so abrupt and out of left field that my jaw dropped. My brain was still fuzzy with sleep and I had no idea how to answer the question. No was dishonest, and yes would invite too many questions that I didn't want to answer. I bit my lips and he gave me a sideways glance from the corner of his eye.

  “You're blushing,” he said. Then his eyes flew wide and he sat bolt upright. “Holy shit,” he said. “You've fucked him.”

  “What? No!”

  “Then why are you blushing?”

  I couldn't think of anything off the top of my head and he made a face. “You have fucked him!”

  “No, I haven't!” I said. “We just...”

  He clapped his hands over his ears. “No! No, no, no, no, no. I don't want to know! I don't! And yuck. We can now no longer make out. Ever.”

  I tried not to show how relieved I was, but it didn't work.

  Carter's face fell. “Oh, come on. I'm not that bad at kissing.”

  I shook my head. “No, you're not. I swear. But there's no... you know.”

  “Yeah, I do know. No chemistry. That don't mean I'm not nursing a bruised ego over here.”

  I gave him a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry. But you're more like a little brother. It's hard to act like a girlfriend to you.”

  He blinked. “You think I'm like a little brother?”

  I had to think about this. “Yes,” I said after a moment. “I feel like I should be looking out for you. Like, beyond the job requirements. I should be helping you, because you're...you know, you're really nice. You're a good guy, I can tell. It sucks to watch you rip yourself up.”

  He blinked again. “You think I'm a nice guy?”

  I sniffed. “Don't fish for compliments, it's crass.”

  “I'm not fishing. I'm such a shit. If I weren't I wouldn't be making life so hard for everyone.”

  “You just have problems,” I said. “You're nice. If we'd just met, like if I was your bartender and you were my regular client, I'd still be trying to help you, even without getting paid.”

  His face was almost slack with shock. “Well,” he said at last. “Isn't that something?”

  I shrugged. “I guess? Your brother really cares, too. He really gives a shit about you.”

  Carter made a pained face. “I don't want to talk about it.”

  I held up my hands. “Fine. Fine. We won't talk about it, even though you wrung my romantic history out of me with a few beers.”

  He tapped his head with his pen. “Yes, but that was for inspiration. No good can come of talking about brotherly crap.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Maybe with a therapist.”

  “Not even then,” he said, and he seemed adamant, so I clammed up about it. “I'll go get your cereal, Mr. Tortured Genius.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Girlfriend,” he said, but when I came back with cereal in hand he was passed out in bed. His notebook lay open on the desk.

  Twelve songs about revenge, and one that's not, I thought. One's a surprise. A whole album just for me.

  I shook my head and backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind me. Kent's room was also closed, so I padded back to the kitchen and stuck the cereal in the refrigerator. It'd get soggy, but maybe he'd still want it later. Stifling another yawn, I shut the refrigerator door and turned.

  Kent stood right behind me. He had a habit of doing that, it seemed.

  “Oh, Jesus!” I jumped a foot in the air, but inside my body lit up at his proximity. He stared down at me
as though he were trying to read my thoughts emblazoned across my forehead.

  My breathing, already fast, picked up when he leaned forward and put both hands out, one on either side of my head, trapping me between his body and the refrigerator. I backed up until I couldn't move any further away. Then I locked my knees and tried to stare him down.

  Might as well try to stare down a rattle snake.

  “I hope you know what you're doing,” he said suddenly. “I don't like to see Carter drinking.”

  I took a deep breath, and I noticed how his face tightened at the gesture, as though he were forcing himself to look me in the eye instead of gazing down at my chest.

  “I don't,” I said. “But your way wasn't working. So I'm trying something new now.”

  He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and worried it with his teeth, which made me melt a little bit, remembering how those lips and teeth felt on the tender flesh of my core.

  I swallowed hard.

  Kent stared down at me for another long, pregnant moment, then seemed to finally push himself away with great effort. “I hope that album is good,” he said. “For his sake.”

  “What I heard was amazing,” I replied. “I don't know a lot about music, but it was beautiful.”

  “It needs to be a hit,” he said.

  “It will be.”

  He stared at me for another long moment. “I hope you're right.”

  He left the kitchen and it took me a long time to catch my breath.

  Chapter Ten

  The next week things changed significantly in the Casa de Hudson. Carter spent all his waking hours working on the next album, and Kent actually spent time at home. Sometimes they shut themselves up in Carter's bedroom, talking, plucking out notes on their instruments, jamming. I elected not to bother them, since I thought it was good that they were spending time together, even if it was just because they were both stressed to the eyeballs about churning out another hit album. I liked what I heard, anyway, and I was utterly dying to hear the lyrics to the haunting music filtering through the house. Carter, however, refused to even give me a hint. He just smiled enigmatically at me whenever I asked.