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

by Emme Rollins

  I wanted to be able to do that. I didn't want to hide behind Kent and the rest of the band any more. If I was going to cleanse my life of Jason's poisonous presence, it was going to be me who did it.

  “Stop!” The word was out of my mouth before I could catch it. My hands were trembling. “Stop! Jason! I want to talk to you!”

  That got their attention, and the scuffle subsided slightly. Jason's face was red and I wondered just how tight Kent was holding him. Was he going to pass out?

  “Let him go, Kent,” I said.

  Kent's eyes narrowed briefly. Then he let Jason go, holding up his hands.

  Jason straightened up, and now that I was looking at him, so short, so untalented, so dull and mean and cruel next to Kent, I couldn't believe I'd ever let him drag me under.

  “You bitch,” Jason spat. “I'm going to every magazine in the country and telling them all about you.” He stalked forward, his finger raised, preparing to shake it in my face. “It doesn't matter what you say, everyone will know you're a strung out junkie, playing everyone, acting so high and mighty when you're just a slut—”

  I punched him in the nose.

  Now I don't know the first thing about punching a guy in the nose, and it hurt like a motherfucker, but it sure wasn't my bones breaking with a crunch.

  Man. I know they say it's good to take the high road. But it's also good to punch assholes in the face, too.

  Jason reeled back and doubled over. “Holy shit!” he screamed, but since his nose was, you know, broken, it came out like Hody shid!

  The crewman finally reached us. He took one look at the situation, grabbed Jason by the collar, and steered him away. “You dumbshit,” he said as he walked away, Jason in hand, writhing in agony. “I almost broke my hand on your ugly face...”

  They rounded the corner, and just like that he was gone.

  I stood there blinking in the bright lights, my senses overloaded, my body shaking with adrenaline aftershocks and my hand throbbing. “Holy shit,” I said.

  Kent leaned down and kissed me.

  My whole being listed into him, rising on my tiptoes. I felt as though he were sucking my soul out through my mouth, a sweet, agonizing ecstasy. When he finally broke away I was breathless, unable to even think. The heat of his body wrapped around me, warming me.

  “Welcome to your new life,” Kent said. “You're free to do what you like now.”

  I stared up at him, blinking stupidly. “I just punched him...” I said. “He's going to press charges...”

  “Who saw it?” Kent asked me. “Just me and a guy from the pit crew doing the thankless double duty of security. I think I'll give him a bonus. How did it feel to stand up to him?”

  I shook my head. “I don't know. Isn't he going to come back? Won't he hate me more now?”

  Kent smiled. “The contract he signed to perform as our opener had several clauses, not the least of which was that he was forbidden to contact any of us in perpetuity. You don't have to worry about him any more. And if he violates that contract, harasses you, anything, I'll take care of it. If I can't do it legally...” He touched my injured hand lightly and shrugged with a little smile. “Come on, we're going to have to appear on stage earlier than we thought.”

  In a daze, I followed him as he took me back to the band lounge and told the rest of the band to get ready. Carter smiled and Manny demanded to know what happened. Kent filled them in, and the results of their meddling made even Sonya smile.

  Together, we all moved to the wings of the stage and waited, though the rest of them left a respectful distance between themselves and Kent and me.

  On the stage, pit crew were cleaning up, rushing to change out instruments, rushing to mop up the vomit. Sweet Lobotomy was nowhere to be seen, and the crowd was riotous.

  I was still trying to process it all. I looked up at Kent.

  “How did you know that was going to happen?” I asked. I was numb with shock. I suspected that any moment now a tidal wave of relief was going to wash over me and carry me away, but right now I was standing on the beach, staring dumbly at the suddenly receding tide.

  “I didn't really,” Kent said. “But it's not hard to undermine people who don't deserve success. Plenty of people work their asses off and don't have an ex-girlfriend to blackmail into getting that leg up. They know that, deep down, and it comes out.” He shrugged at me. “The crowd decided their fate, not me.”

  That, and the vodka and low morale. “And if it had gone well?” I said.

  His mouth quirked. “I'd have punched him in the dick until he passed out.” His little smile broke into a full blown grin at the expression on my face. “Come on, Rebecca, you know I would have all the bases covered.”

  I just shook my head. Of course he would.

  “Showtime!” someone shouted, and then Kent was leaning down, his warm lips on my forehead as he gave me a sweet parting kiss.

  “Watch us from the wings,” he said as Carter, Manny and Sonya pushed past us. Then he let go of me and wandered out onto the stage.

  The roar of the crowd crashed into me as I watched the band settle themselves with their instruments. They didn't even say hello, just launched into one of their more upbeat, violent songs off the first album, and I watched them, dazed.

  They were magnificent. Carter's fingers danced over his guitar, Sonya's voice soared, and Manny's rhythms drove through me. But it was Kent's bass that sang in tune with my heart. I felt my whole body vibrate in harmony with his music.

  When the song trailed away, Carter stepped up to the mic as Sonya went and rearranged herself at the piano.

  "Hello San Diego!" Carter called. "Thanks for having us!"

  The roar of the crowd drowned him out, and as I watched him from backstage I suddenly saw what I had been missing all this time. The hints of his childhood—a father who didn't care about him except for how much money he could make for him, an absent mother—suddenly came crashing in and I realized why he craved the crowd, why he loved it so much. There was a place inside him, open and empty, and he needed the love of the crowd to pour into him.

  But Kent... Kent stood, his bass hanging from his neck, loose in his hands. Looking lazy and almost bored, as if all of this were merely formality.

  Kent didn't need the crowd like Carter did. Kent was the one who labored, whose strength came from the inside, and I realized, standing there as the crowd roared so loudly I thought I'd go deaf, that I was the one who helped Kent. I propped him up, and he wanted to do the same for me. He wasn't going to let me fall, not out of pity or charity, not because he felt sorry for me, but because he needed me. He would do it for me because he saw in me something I didn't even see myself: someone who was strong, who could be his partner. There was so much ahead of us, so much still to come, but for now, it was enough to know that we could be two halves of a whole, that we could be the one the other needed. It was enough to know that I could be one person in the world that Kent trusted besides himself.

  He wasn't going to let me go.

  Warmth spread through me, and as the crowd died down as Carter raised his hands, I finally felt at ease. A calm, sweet feeling. I hadn't felt that way in years. I listened, curious, but no longer nervous.

  "It has come to my attention," Carter said when the crowd had quieted, "that some of you think my heart is broken." He grinned. "That would make for some good songs, wouldn't it?"

  The crowd cheered, and Carter waved them down. "I'm sorry to say, my heart has not been cruelly shattered, so you guys won't get any sad ballads out of me for a while yet. But while I have your attention, I wanted to set the record straight. The woman that everyone thought was my girlfriend is just a friend.”

  A small chorus of boos.

  “Hey, shut up!” Carter said. “I'm being real here. Let me explain. Rebecca Alton is very dear to me, but we never dated. You all know I've had problems with substance abuse for a while.” He laughed a little bit. “It was pretty obvious. Well, Rebecca showed up in my life,
and she helped me turn that around.”

  He blinked and ducked his head. The crowd was still, and many cell phones began to light up as people started lifting them up to film.

  Carter took a deep breath and continued. “Without Rebecca, I don't know what would happen to me. She's like the big sister I never had. I love her, very much, but it was never romantic. You guys also know how much I love a joke, so you're not going to be surprised when I tell you that it was all my idea to make out for the paparazzi. I thought it would be funny to string them along, and it was for a while... until I realized Rebecca would be perfect for someone I knew. You all know who that is."

  The crowd muttered. I felt them breathing, out there in the dark, their faces aglow with the light from the stage. Receiving the words of their gods, or something.

  "Rebecca has not, and has never, cheated on me,” Carter continued. “It was me who set her up with Kent, and I'm thrilled to say that I was right and they are perfect for each other, and I couldn't be happier for them. So tonight, we'd like to debut a song that no one's ever heard before. A special song. This is a song that Kent wrote, and I think you all know who it's for."

  Then he backed away from the microphone and, to my unending shock, Kent stepped up to it, and the crowd cheered.

  He cleared his throat. "I'm not, uh... I'm not used to singing, so forgive me if I fuck it up," he said, and the darkness filled with laughter. "This is a song for a special person to me and the rest of the band. It's called “A Long Hello.” You can record it if you want. Enjoy."

  And back stage I stood, rooted to the spot, paralyzed.

  No one had ever written a song for me before. Not even Jason when we were first dating.

  Swallowing hard, I reached down and pinched myself, willing my brain to snap into the present, to appreciate all of this as it was happening. It was so unreal to me, a precious moment whipping past like the line of a flyaway kite that I had to catch.

  The sweet, low sounds of Kent's bass started. Then Sonya joined in with the piano, and finally Carter, and I realized I'd heard this song before. It was the song that Kent was playing in his room the night we first fucked. I'd listened to him writing it.

  My eyelids fluttered and I suddenly felt dizzy, swaying on my feet. I couldn't get enough air.

  Then Kent started to sing, his rich, velvet voice untrained, unpolished, and so, so beautiful to me. I listed to it booming out into the night, and closed my eyes against the sting of tears.

  "This is for the one who falls,

  this is for the one who tries,

  this is for the one who lives and dies,

  this is for the one who never let me down,

  this is for the one who loves,

  this is for the one who makes me sing,

  the one who didn't leave,

  the one who still believes,

  this is for you

  for you

  for you.

  And I will follow you no matter where you go,

  And there will be no tears inside your heart,

  I will dry them, we will dry them for you,

  we will be by your side,

  and hold you in our arms

  hold you,

  hold you up..."

  My heart broke and died in my chest, then was reborn, over and over again as he sang. The crowd was almost silent, and out in the dark I saw a hundred thousand cellphones lifted, their screens flashing in the dark, recording this moment. Tonight it would beam out across the world, and everyone would know this new song by The Lonely Kings.

  Everyone would know it was for me.

  The lights blurred. The music lifted, soaring into the dark. I couldn't even catch the rest of the lyrics over the thunder of blood in my ears, but I heard the melody and the harmony and the cadence of Kent's powerful, velvet voice.

  I reveled in it. I lived it. And when it was over, I died in it.

  I didn't want it to end. I wanted it to keep going. A perfect moment for me to revisit for the rest of my life.

  Out in the darkened club the crowd was going nuts, and it was then that Kent glanced off to the wings of the stage, held out his hand, and gestured for me to come to him.

  In a daze, I drifted out, my hands reaching for his.

  Our fingers touched. Then he pulled me to him and kissed me, and the crowd went wild.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Even when we finally got back to the hotel, none of it seemed real. My whole life had passed before my eyes multiple times that evening, and I was not quite in the proper state of mind to process any of it. All I knew was that I'd punched my abusive ex-boyfriend, that Carter had given an explanation that was semi-plausible, and that Kent had declared his intentions towards me in front of a thousand screaming fans. “It makes a good fairy tale,” Kent explained it as we drove back. I had to admit it was sort of true... even though the real story was an even better fairy tale. I knew the news was already making its way around the world.

  A fairy tale. A really really weird fairy tale, but a fairy tale all the same.

  “That shit was ba-nay-nay,” Carter was saying as we piled out of the van. “One of the pit crew told me the cops were called because Jason couldn't stop beating on his bassist, and his nose got broken. That is so fucking crazy.”

  “I knew he was a piece of shit,” Sonya said. “That's the sort of guy who blames everyone else for his failures.” She hopped into the parking lot and stretched. She'd changed back into her regular clothes, but her face was still caked with make up. “Shit,” she said. “I seriously need a shower.” She turned and looked at Kent as he circled the van and came to stand beside me. “So are we done here? I want to go home.”

  He put his arm around me and I felt him nod. “We are,” he said. “We'll be going home tomorrow.”

  “Awesome,” she said. “Let's go get drunk.”

  “Yes!” Manny agreed.

  “Eh...” Carter said, and Sonya punched him in the arm.

  “You can have a Shirley Temple if you don't want to drink, but come with us. Don't be boring.”

  “I'm not boring!”

  “You bore me.”

  “Everything bores you. You're bored because you're boring.”

  Sonya punched him again. “Stop being a jerk and drink with us.”

  For a brief moment Carter looked over his shoulder at Kent and me, as though asking for our permission. I half expected Kent to forbid him from the post-show celebration, but all he did was take my hand and say, “Don't overdo it.”

  The three of them started out across the parking lot, arguing about what sort of shots they were going to do and who was going to drink who under the table.

  Then Kent and I were alone together in the parking lot.

  He reached for me, then hesitated. “How's your hand feeling?” he asked.

  “Smarts,” I said. “But it's not broken.”

  “That's good,” he said. “I'm glad you punched him and not me. I wouldn't have been able to play if I'd punched him.”

  I laughed at that. “God forbid the show be canceled.”

  “Well it was a rather large part of my scheme.”

  I sobered a bit. “Do you think people are going to buy that story that Carter told? I mean... really?”

  Kent shrugged. “Honestly?” he said. “Who gives a shit?”

  And I had to admit that I didn't. I had my family. I had the band. And I had Kent.

  I had people who cared about me, and that was plenty.

  Reaching out, I took his hand, and he gingerly closed his fingers around mine, clearly afraid he was going to injure my hand further.

  Together we walked through the hotel lobby, rode the elevator, and went to his room in a comfortable silence, but the moment the door closed behind us, I felt tension run through Kent's body.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  Kent let go of my hand and turned looking down at me. His face was troubled, and I had a weird feeling in my stomach.

  He t
ook a deep breath. “Rebecca...” He looked pained, then forced the words out. “Rebecca, I just wanted to say I'm sorry.”

  Sorry? I thought. Sorry for what? It didn't make any sense to me that he would be sorry. I opened my mouth to say so, but he held up a hand.

  “I've been an asshole since the moment we met, and I'm sorry,” he said. “I treated you like a groupie on the plane, and then I kept coming on to you after I hired you. Then I distanced myself, like an ass, and then when I realized I trusted you and relied on you I took advantage of you again. And it wasn't until you said you were going to leave for the good of the band that I realized that all this time I had been obsessing over you, watching you, dreaming about you... I'd been taking you for granted. Just like Jason did.”

  I stared at him, disbelieving. I wondered if I was dreaming. I wanted to ask him if he was serious, but he kept going. His eyes had dropped from mine and he stared at my hands, holding onto the strap of my messenger bag.

  “And you know...I said that your shitty ex-boyfriend could have gone to the moon if he'd known what he had in you, and I meant it. You are the sort of woman any man would be glad to have. I know you don't think of yourself that way, but I see a hard worker and a loyal friend, and you take shit you don't need to and that pisses me the fuck off. Especially when it's me shoveling that shit at you. So I'm sorry. I'm a piece of shit. I treated you terribly. I'm an asshole. I don't really know how to stop being an asshole, but if you're willing to give me a second chance, I swear I'll learn.”

  A second chance? You had me at the sexual harassment. The words were rising in my mouth before I had a chance to push them back down. “I like you as an asshole,” I said.

  Kent raised his eyebrows, at last able to meet my gaze again. “Oh?” he said.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “You're a total asshole. I love it. Now go on. Tell me how great I am some more.”

  His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Well, fine. You saved my baby brother, and you've made my band more cohesive and my life more peaceful. I didn't even know that was possible. I expected to die at thirty-five of a heart attack. But you make me think there might be something more to life than all this stupid shit I'm obsessed with—charts and money and tour dates and all that bullshit. So there it is. I don't deserve you, but I still want you. I'm sorry.”