by Emme Rollins
My eyes grew heavy and my body sank back further into Kent. For a while—I don't know how long—we floated together. I fought sleep, wanting to feel all of this, to revel in the feeling of safety in his arms. When a noise out on the street jerked me out of that twilight state I roused myself slightly and turned in his arms. He moved to accommodate me, and I hooked my leg over one of his, my arm twining over his chest and around his neck.
Kent tensed very slightly, and I looked up at him, frowning. “Whasrong?” I muttered.
He was wide awake, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something, but then he just shook his head.
“I was just thinking about how much... how much Jason took advantage of you,” he said. “Making my blood boil.”
“Stop thinking 'bout it, then,” I said.
“I will,” he said. But he didn't relax.
Troubled, but too tired to think about it, I burrowed back down until my head pillowed on his shoulder and I finally let myself sink towards sleep.
When I woke, it was mid-afternoon, and I was alone. A clacking noise came from outside the bedroom door.
Kent was sitting in the living room of the suite, typing on his laptop. I stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing my eyes.
“Hey,” I said. “Whatcha doing?”
He barely registered my presence. “Working,” he said.
He kept typing.
“Uh,” I said. “Can I help?”
He shook his head. “This is all for the concert. This is going to take a miracle to pull off. I need to concentrate. Why don't you go downstairs and get something to eat?” His fingers flew across the keyboard, clicking and clacking away.
I watched him for a moment, but he didn't even look at me.
Hot and cold motherfucker, I thought, but whatever. We'd talk later, after he was done. I left him to his work.
*
Unfortunately, it turns out that organizing a secret show takes a crap ton of effort and energy, and I barely saw Kent for the next few days. He locked himself in the bathroom of his suite and worked around the clock, only stopping for mealtimes, which were always at some trendy place with both myself and Carter at least, and including Manny and Sonya as the mood struck them. I'd relocated to his bed, and when he came out of the bathroom late at night and collapsed next to me he went to sleep almost immediately.
Then he'd wake up the next day and do it all over again. We barely spoke.
It didn't take long for me to realize that he was actively avoiding me for some reason. The thought made me sick to my stomach, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him about it, just in case it was all in my head.
During the day I would tidy up until Carter or Manny dragged me out of the hotel and forced me to do something to take my mind off of things. They fed me drinks in the evening and sent me to bed, where I dozed until Kent fell down next to me.
In the late night hours, I would reach out and touch him, wondering if any of this was real. That Kent Hudson could be working so hard for a person like me... it went way beyond the weird animal attraction between us.
I kept telling myself I wasn't in love. I mean, obviously I wasn't. It was too soon to call any of this love.
But I couldn't deny that I wanted to be in love with Kent, and in the dark of the hotel room, after he ran himself ragged pulling together some sort of plan to destroy my ex before my ex destroyed me, I would reach out and run my fingers through his hair—like silk—and imagine that we were in love. I pretended that I was in love with his strength, and his determination. I pretended I was in love with his mouth, his arms, his eyes. I pretended that when he woke up in the morning, he would lean over me and kiss me awake, and then he would be in love with me, too.
Chapter Fifteen
Friday. The day of the concert.
I hadn't known it was the day of the concert until about ten in the morning when Kent called me up on my cell and told me to go shopping.
"What?" I'd said. "Why?"
"For the concert tonight," he'd said as though it were obvious.
"I didn't know the concert was tonight."
"Did I not tell you?"
I rolled my eyes. "No."
"Well, go find something to wear. Something new."
"I thought this was all about... you know. The Lonely Kings and destroying Jason and whatnot." I'd had to lower my voice at the last part. I was sitting in a little bakery with Carter and Manny, drinking lattes and reading a book while Carter read scripts and Manny scribbled sketches of the patrons around us. I knew there were people probably watching us, and who knew if the person one table over was listening in or not. The whole infamy thing is enough to make you paranoid.
"It is, but I want you to have a good rock getup. Take Carter with you. He'll help you find something good."
A rock get-up. What the fuck was that? "Uh," I said, "why not Sonya?"
"Because she doesn't pick her own outfits. Her entourage does that. Now go buy something. Use the card. No limit." He hung up without saying goodbye. I sighed and disconnected, turning to Carter.
"Hey," I said. I was reluctant to tear him away from his scripts, but this seemed important. When he looked up at me, I continued. "Kent says I need a new outfit for tonight."
"Tonight?" Carter said. "What's tonight?"
I stared at him. "The concert?"
He blinked. "Oh," he said. "That's tonight? Okay. Well, let's go then."
He hadn't known? I wondered just how tired Kent was that he'd neglected to tell the members of the band that was supposed to be performing that they were meant to be performing tonight. Together we stood up, dragging Manny's attention from his sketchbook. "What's going on?" he asked.
"Concert's tonight," Carter said.
"Oh," Manny said. "Cool." He went back to drawing.
"Uh," I said. "Aren't you guys nervous or something?"
"What, us?" Carter said, steering me out of the cafe. "No way. This is old hat. We've been performing live for years. We'll be fine. Kent gave us the setlist ages ago, so we know what we're doing. All we need to do is show up, you know?"
I'd never performed live in front of hundreds of rabid fans. The very thought had me jumping out of my skin. Which brought me around to another thought. "Wait," I said, "I'm not part of the band. Why do I need a new outfit?"
At that, Carter looked down at me and grinned. For a moment, he looked very much like Kent and my heart did a weird little twist. "Don't worry about that," he said. "It's just for when you go onstage."
Me? Onstage? Suddenly I felt distinctly less relaxed and chipper. "Excuse me?" I said. "Excuse me?" The sweet little assortment of Danishes and muffins I'd consumed at the cafe began to murmur with civil unrest. I was going to have myself a riot on my hands pretty soon.
Carter laughed, which I felt was not very kind under the circumstances. "Don't worry, Rebecca. It'll be fine."
"What will be fine?" I demanded as he took my arm and began to steer me down the street. "Going onstage is not fine. Not at all!"
"Yeah, but it will be fine. I promise."
"All those people hate me, Carter!" I hadn't been able to keep myself from peeking at some of the comments on the gossip blogs. Even the pictures of Kent and Carter and I together, laughing and having a good time here together in San Diego—well staged by Kent, I had to say—had about a thousand vicious comments on them, calling me a whore and a slut and worse. There were people who defended me, but they were few and far between. I'd probably lost five pounds over the past few days by obsessing over this shit, and it was not fun at all. Now I had to get up in front of all of these people who loved Kent and loved Carter and hated me? I was going to get eviscerated. My eyes unfocused as Carter propelled me across the street, imagining the boos that would come raining down on my head.
The civil unrest in my stomach began to burgeon into a pretty angry mob. I looked around for a trash can.
"Relax," Carter said. "I have a pretty decent story. Everyone will believe it. And Kent.
.. I think he has something planned. So don't sweat it."
"What's your story?" I demanded as we stepped up onto the curb. "I need to know."
He grinned at me. "Really?" he said. "You don't want to be surprised?"
"I hate surprises," I said. "Please, Carter, give me some hint about what you're going to say."
To my shock, he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close. "Don't you worry about it, Rebecca," he said. "We've got it handled. You don't trust me?"
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that no, I didn't trust him at all... but that wasn't true, and it would be a bad idea to say it out loud anyway. I looked up into Carter's eyes and saw nothing but glee and good nature there. It was my trust and my support that had helped him break out of his self-destructive spirals. If I really trusted him, I should demonstrate it. I took a deep breath.
"I do trust you," I told him. "I don't trust other people to believe what you tell them. We did a pretty good job making out last month."
"We did," he conceded, "but trust me, please. I know exactly what to say. It'll be fine."
"But why won't you tell me?" I asked as he opened the door to a shop. "I want to know!"
He laughed. "Oh come on, Rebecca, where's your sense of adventure?"
I wasn't sure I'd ever had a sense of adventure, to be honest, and I was about to say this when a familiar smell hit my nose. I finally stopped and took in my surroundings.
We were in a thrift shop.
"Here?" I said. "We're going to shop for a new rock get-up here?"
Carter grinned at me. "You'll be surprised at what you can find in a thrift shop," he said.
I shook my head. "I know exactly what I'll find in a thrift shop. Tons of stuff that looks hideous but that is mercifully not my size."
"Oh, come on," Carter said. "This will be fun."
I took a deep breath and turned to him. I didn't like this at all. I didn't like the idea of appearing on stage. I didn't like the thought of what would happen if whatever story Carter had concocted didn't go over well. In fact, my feet almost itched with the desire to run run run far away. There was no way I was going to be able to do this.
"Carter..." I started. I bit my lip, unsure how to tell him about my fears.
Then he put his hands on my shoulders and smiled down at me. My heart did a little flip. He was so sweet, so boyishly handsome. He was going to make some woman so happy someday, if he kept pulling himself together. He wasn't the guy for me, but I was so glad I'd met him. Even if I had to leave some day, if tonight didn't work, I was so glad to have met him. So glad to have met all of them. They were all so special to me, in different ways, a family away from my family...
"Rebecca," Carter said, pulling me back to the present, "stop worrying about it. Kent will take care of everything. I know you've been relying on yourself for a long time, getting screwed over and still standing up and soldiering on, but you don't have to do this shit alone. Let us help you. Trust us."
I glared at him to hide the fact that I thought I might cry if anyone else were kind to me.
Then his warm hands on my shoulders pulled me in and he gave me the biggest bear hug I'd ever received. Warmth enveloped me, and I inhaled the sweet scent of his skin, soap and boy. Comforting. Tentatively, aware that someone else was probably watching us, I put my arms around him, too. We stood there for a long moment in the thrift shop, embracing, and when Carter finally let me go I had to take a few deep breaths to keep myself from breaking down.
"You're going to be fine, Rebecca," he said. "Not everyone is out to hurt you or use you. I promise."
Unable to speak, I just nodded, and Carter gave my shoulders a final squeeze before letting go. "Excellent," he said. "Now lets go find something for you to wear."
"What do you know about dressing girls up?" I asked him, struggling to put some emotional distance between us.
"You'd be surprised," he said. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the aisles, and I resigned myself to a morning of shopping.
*
Friday. The night of. I hadn't seen Kent all day. My stomach was in knots, twisting and turning and filled with acid.
Despite my churning stomach, I looked pretty good. To my shock, Carter was something of a whiz at finding good thrift store clothes, and he'd thrown together an outfit for me out of a huge old silk blouse, a fat belt, a pair of my own skinny jeans, and high-heeled boots. Then he'd sent me into a salon and told me to get my hair cut and dyed, and an hour and a half later I emerged with a punky, fire-red haircut. Carter took me back to the hotel, told me to get dressed, and then artfully slashed my silk blouse with a pair of scissors he'd stolen from the front desk downstairs. Then he'd left me alone to go prepare for the concert tonight.
Being alone was not good for me. I did my make up at least three times, then I'd forced myself to eat a piece of toast for dinner, but that was it as far as food and I were going. If I hadn't gone for the toast I would have puked up the sugary treats I'd stupidly eaten that morning. When Carter knocked on the door to get me downstairs to the van, he'd frowned at my green face and asked me if I needed a drink.
Emphatically no.
Now I stood backstage at a place called the Snake Pit Lounge. It held about a thousand people and the notice had apparently gone out over the internet and airwaves yesterday that The Lonely Kings would be playing a concert there. The place had sold out in seconds.
It was weird being backstage. I'd been to the Snake Pit Lounge several times when Jason wanted to see a bigger name band. It was like a nice bar with a big ballroom floor and a stage. It sold alcohol and had a cocktail lounge and it was a pretty decent venue, if a bit overcrowded during sold out shows.
Now I peeked out from behind the curtain and saw that tonight it was packed. People were already sloshed and ready to get grooving, impatient for the opening band to come out.
Ah. Yeah. Right. The opening band. Jason's band. Sweet Lobotomy.
Yes. There. That was his band name. I tried to not think about it because I was embarrassed that I'd ever thought that it was a decent name. I mean, The Lonely Kings of Lifeless Things is a mouthful, but at least it can be shortened to The Lonely Kings and evokes something. Sweet Lobotomy sounded like a high school band that never made it out of the drummer's mom's garage. Which was kind of the case. Oh well.
So. Sweet Lobotomy opening for The Lonely Kings.
I hadn't seen them yet. My whole body vibrated with nervous energy.
Backing away from the curtain, I hurried around the guys setting up and glaring at me and half-walked, half-ran to the room where the band waited. The back stage area was plain and white and dull except for the signed posters of the bands that had gone before, and it made me think of a high school. The backstage area had obviously been thrown together when the Snake Pit had opened up, converting whatever had been here first into a concert venue.
Now, when I entered the cramped little 'green room,' it was weird to me to see the band in such dingy circumstances. I mean, I'd seen them in dingy circumstances before—the rehearsal room came to mind—but they'd all been dressed like regular people then. Now they were dressed up like rock stars. The contrast between Sonya's colorful peacock clothing and the white walls of the musician's lounge was startling. She wore a black leather bustier and a frilly neon pink skirt with black netting and neon pink PVC platform boots. She looked like a psychotic Barbie doll who'd just discovered the S and M scene, and even I had to admit she was smoking hot. Manny was the least dressed, in a white t-shirt with black capped sleeves, a backwards baseball cap over his wild curls, and ripped jeans and Chucks. Carter was in the bog-standard white t-shirt, jeans, and black leather jacket. And Kent...
Well. Like always, he was cool as a cucumber in his normal clothes. Black v-neck t-shirt that showed off his full sleeve tattoos, dark blue jeans, boots. Silver and diamond earrings glinting in his ears, and dark kohl liner around his eyes.
My whole body lit up with desire just looking at him,
cutting through the fear and anxiety that had been building up all day, and with a start I realized I hadn't seen him since last night.
They all looked up when I came in, but only Kent held my eyes. The rest went back to talking about whatever it was they'd been talking about—best ways to get groupies in bed, I think. Well, Carter and Manny were talking about that. Sonya was telling them they were gross.
Kent was silent, and I could see in his eyes that he was tired, but the little smile on his lips when he saw me eased my heart more than I could have thought.
"Hey, Rebecca," he said. "Come over here." He was sitting on an old beat up couch that had probably seen more than its share of groupie sex. I ran my tongue over my teeth and tried to get over my internal squeamishness. Then Kent held out his arm and I was flitting to his side like a trained dog. When he touched me, my cares melted away and I sank down next to him. He pulled me close and I laid my head on his shoulder, reveling the feeling of being next to him, of the warmth of his body seeping through his clothes and into me. I just wanted to close my eyes and stay there with him. I wanted time to stop, just for us.
"How are you holding up?" he asked me.
I shrugged. His arm around my shoulders was a sweet weight. "Fine," I said.
"Have you eaten anything?" he asked.
I nodded my head. It wasn't a total lie.
"Are you looking forward to the pre-show?”
Hooboy. That was it. Even the thought of it made me stiffen, and when I did Kent's arm tightened around me slightly. "No," I said at last. "I'm really, really not."
“What? You don't trust me? I said it would be fine.”
“No, I trust you. But I don't trust Jason to not somehow pull it out and get what he wants. He did it last time.” I shuddered thinking about it. It was just as well that Kent had been working himself like a dog for the past few days, because every time I thought about ripping his clothes off and riding him until sunrise, Jason's leering face flashed across my brain.