Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1

by Charli B. Rose

  “So, that’s the infamous treehouse, huh?” Brooks broke the silence.

  My heart hammered in my chest, and I cut my eyes to Dawson as my cheeks heated. There was no way he’d told Brooks about losing our virginity up in my treehouse… Had he?

  “Infamous?” Beckett’s voice rumbled through my back and filled me with panic.

  Please, God, don’t let this conversation be about that.

  “Yeah, the place where Dawson fell in love with music. Where he learned to play guitar,” Brooks said.

  I sagged in relief.

  “Really? That’s where the magic started?” Beckett’s voice was filled with awe as his head turned in the direction of the treehouse.

  My cheeks heated again as my mind recalled all the magic those four walls had seen over the years.

  “Yeah. Izzy was kind enough to share her sanctuary with me over the years. It became mine as well,” Dawson answered reverently.

  “How’d you fall in love with music up there?” Beckett asked curiously.

  “Well… When I was a kid, before my parents divorced, they argued a lot. I started to sneak out at night and sleep in the treehouse. Izzy found me. She stayed with me so I wouldn’t be scared and alone. She sang me to sleep. It was back then that I started to recognize the power of music. And I knew that I wanted to create music, harness that power someday.” His fingers strummed absentmindedly on his thigh.

  Beckett nodded along with each word. “So, without Izzy here, LO might not even exist?” he mused.

  “That’s a definite. Without her, there’d be no music in my soul,” Dawson confessed quietly, his eyes staring deeply into mine, communicating with my soul.

  I couldn’t stay here doing this. I had to go. Leaning forward, I turned my head to Beckett. “I’m really tired. I’m going to head up to bed. Have fun hanging out with the guys.” I pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and stood up.

  “Goodnight, Brooks. Dawson.”

  “Night, Izzy,” they said in unison.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Sleep well,” Beckett said as he squeezed my body to his in a quick hug.

  I walked down the deck, listening to my boyfriend ask my ex-boyfriend about the perks of being a rock star.

  Was I the only one in the universe fate had to toy with? In what other reality but mine would the man who held my heart be in deep conversation with the one who held my trust?

  ♪ Time Machine by Theory of a Deadman

  An hour later, I was still awake. Laughter filtered in through my closed window. The guys were still outside. I couldn’t make out their words, but at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  Flopping to my back, I tried to will sleep to take me. In the darkness of the room, I started counting the glow-in-the-dark star stickers that littered my ceiling.

  Once I hit 250, I realized it was an exercise in futility. I threw back my covers and padded over to my purse. In the dark, I dug around until I unearthed my iPod and earbuds. Nimble fingers slipped the tiny speakers into my ears after I crawled back under the covers. With a few light clicks, I selected the playlist labeled “S”. “S” for safe, as in safe from memories. The songs on the list weren’t tied to any strong Dawson memories. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for a shove down memory lane.

  Chapter 2

  Dawson

  It was after midnight when Brooks and I finally said goodnight to Beckett and made our way through the fence to Dad’s house. I paused as we walked past the treehouse.

  Brooks bumped my shoulder with his. “Izzy’s different, huh?”

  Sighing, I said, “Yeah. At least parts of her are.” Quietly, I opened the back door to the house.

  “I guess a lot can change in a couple of years,” he mused.

  I grunted in response. I didn’t want to talk about all the little things I’d noticed that were different during the couple of hours I’d spent in her presence. Her hair, her smile, her laugh, her scent.

  “Beckett seems nice,” Brooks said, derailing my thought train.

  “Yeah, he does. Really nice.” Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. I didn’t want to like him.

  “Smart too. I mean, he’s a huge fan of ours and he landed Izzy. Those two things make him a genius,” Brooks joked.

  Reflexively, I punched him on the shoulder. I hated that Beckett was intelligent enough to recognize what a catch Izzy was.

  “Oww. What was that for?” Brooks rubbed his arm.

  I scowled at him. “You know what it’s for.”

  “You’re right. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He looked remorseful.

  “Thanks. And thanks for coming here with me. I’m heading to bed. See you tomorrow, dude,” I said, giving him a half hug.

  As I stepped across the threshold to my childhood bedroom, a wave of nostalgia hit me. Unable to resist the pull, I stepped in the dark over to the rectangle of glass allowing moonlight to filter into the room. I stared into the darkened window directly across from mine. In the dimness, I easily pictured Izzy nestled in her bed beneath her hot pink blanket. Movement and shadow from the other corner of the house caught my eye. A shadow that could only be Beckett’s moved around the guest room. I knew Izzy was in her room. I’d watched her window when she escaped earlier. Why weren’t they sleeping in the same room?

  No matter the reason, I couldn’t help but smile knowing that at least for tonight, some other guy wasn’t holding my girl.

  I stripped down to my boxers and slid into my bed. Inhaling deeply, I could almost smell her strawberry scent leftover on my sheets from years ago. Flat on my back, I gazed up at the starscape Izzy had created on my ceiling as a surprise when we were younger.

  ♪ I Won’t Forget You by Poison

  There wasn’t one aspect of my life that was free from her touch, her influence. Trying to extract her from my life with attempts at meaningless hookups, drugs and alcohol had been ineffective. Removing her from my head, my heart, my soul would be about as easy as withdrawing all the blood from my veins and trying to go on living. It was time to accept that reality and figure out what to do about it.

  My plan had been to win her back. But seeing her firsthand with Beckett, watching how he took care of her, how he anticipated her needs, had me second guessing if she wasn’t better off without me—even though I knew I wasn’t better off without her.

  Rolling over, I tried to get comfortable. My body was weary from traveling half the day, but slumber eluded me. After thirty minutes of fighting the magnetic tug, I surrendered and moved to lean against my window. With my forehead pressed against the cool glass, staring into her window like I’d done countless times over the years, I felt closer to her than I had in two years.

  A soft light filtered through the curtains of the treehouse. Someone was up there.

  Not someone. Izzy.

  Maybe it was a sign.

  Without stopping to examine the prudence of my actions, I threw on my clothes from earlier and crept down the stairs. I stepped into my shoes and made my way into the still backyard. Under the cover of moonlight, I strode purposefully through the damp grass with only her name on repeat in my mind. Muscle memory kicked in as I climbed the rungs of the ladder. Rough wood scraped the palms of my hands as I climbed hand over hand until I could push the trap door open.

  ♪ The Way We Were by Default

  I froze against the tree trunk, half in and half out of the treehouse. Izzy was hunched over her desk, the lamp creating a soft glow around her. I don’t know how long I stayed there transfixed by her before she called over her shoulder, “You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come inside?”

  She didn’t even look my way. The faint sound of music came from her earbuds. How did she even know I was here? I guess even a couple of years apart hadn’t erased our awareness of each other.

  I climbed the rest of the way inside and made my way to her side. Blindly, I reached for the beanbag chair and pulled it next to her.

  Just like
old times, I reached for the earbud closest to me and gently extracted it, planting it in my ear. The plastic was warm. Bonnie Tyler’s voice rasped in my ear, telling me to turn around and calling me bright eyes.

  ♪ Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler

  “What are you working on?” I asked, just like I used to whenever I’d find her bent over her sketchbook.

  Leaning back, she gave me a clear view of the piece she was working on. The large sheet of paper was divided into panels, each one featuring a heart shape. The first was made of a daisy. Part of the petals were in a pile beneath the heart like they’d been plucked off the flower. He loves me, he loves me not was scrawled on some of the scattered petals. A yellow haze shone like a spotlight behind the heart.

  The next panel was a heart formed by the union of a treble clef and a bass clef. Inside was a pile of notes in various colors. Some whole, some broken. This heart appeared to glow with a bluish hue.

  The third panel showed a stethoscope curved into the shape of a heart. The interior overflowed with pills and syringes. A black cloud shrouded the background.

  The fourth panel was empty. “What’s going there?” I touched the blank space.

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I know that in my life I’ll probably have another total eclipse of the heart. The empty space is for whatever that one is.”

  Nodding, I said, “That makes sense.” It explained why that song had been playing on repeat in my ear since I stole her music.

  Her hand moved effortlessly, applying more pencil strokes to the second panel. After a few moments, she laid the pencil down, satisfied for now.

  “Why are you up here in the middle of the night drawing?” I asked.

  “Why do you get up in the middle of the night to write songs?”

  “Touché. Though, I haven’t done much of that lately. But artist to artist, I get it. You create when inspiration strikes.” I studied her profile, classifying every feature as familiar or new.

  “Exactly.” She shut off the music and plucked the earbuds from both our ears.

  “May I?” I indicated her sketch book, which was shut tight next to the piece she was working on.

  I expected her to say no. In the past, we’d shared all our creations with each other. Never denying the other a glimpse inside. But she wasn’t the same girl as she was then. I didn’t have the right to expect a peek into her heart anymore.

  Wordlessly, she handed the book to me. I flipped through it. I hadn’t seen any of the pieces sketched, painted or doodled inside this book. All of them must have been done over the past couple of years. Staring down at her creations, I began to realize just how much she’d changed from the girl I loved. It wasn’t just her hair or her quiet demeanor. No, it was her art, her very essence.

  “Why are you here, Dawson?” she interrupted my musings before I could examine the shift in her.

  “Your parents invited me to their party,” I said, still looking at her creations.

  She drew her knee up into her chair and rested her chin on it. “No, I mean why are you up here? Now?”

  “Couldn’t sleep either. Too many memories flooding my mind. Too many questions. Too many what if’s,” I admitted.

  “Don’t,” she warned in a low whisper.

  “Why not? I want to know everything about the last two years. How you went from the carefree, boisterous girl with more personality than could be contained in one body to this quiet, reserved woman with the weight of the world pressing down on her.” I looked up at her.

  “You don’t get to come in here and act like you know me. You don’t know me anymore. You don’t know what I went through. What I overcame,” her voice trembled.

  “No, I don’t. But I want to. Tell me.” I moved my face into her line of sight. “Please.”

  Exhaling deeply, she asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. But I’ll take whatever you want to tell me.” Hope surged in my soul.

  She remained silent, chewing on her lower lip and twisting her thumb ring. So, some things hadn’t changed. A smile quirked my lips at the tiny bit of comfort I found in knowing she still had the same nervous tells.

  “How about I ask you a question? If you don’t want to answer, just say so. Deal?” I offered.

  “We’ll go truth for truth then. Complete honesty. I’ll ask you questions too. You can refuse if you want,” she acquiesced.

  Drawing a deep breath, I said, “I have a confession. I checked out your website after Dad had dinner with you last month. Why are you taking studio portraits and photographing events?”

  “Why does anyone do a job? To make money,” she retorted with a snort.

  “But that wasn’t ever what you wanted. You wanted to take the quirky shots, the fun shots, emotional shots. Capture life. You wanted to do something different with your art.” I struggled to understand.

  “Yeah, well, different wasn’t paying my hospital bills.” She shrugged and peered out the window into the night.

  “I understand. What was it like when you got your diagnosis?” I asked, choosing to skip over the questions about the demise of our relationship, though they burned in my gut the strongest.

  “The most terrifying thing you can imagine times a hundred,” she whispered into the night.

  I whistled. “Damn.”

  “Yeah. When they figured out something was really wrong, and not just a hidden pregnancy or the flu or mono or something, they started running lots of tests. And then more tests. Everything pointed to something being wrong, but they couldn’t figure out what.” She started plucking at a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “It got to the point where I was so weak, that just a walk to the bathroom wiped me out, so I’d catnap on the bathroom rug before I could go back to bed. There were days I thought I was going to die before they actually labeled what was wrong with me.”

  I needed to touch her, reassure myself that she’d fought and won. I couldn’t hold her like I wanted, so I settled for resting my hand on top of hers in her lap.

  “I’m so sorry. How long did it take for them to figure things out?” I asked.

  She turned her hand over, so our palms pressed together. Almost holding hands. “Honestly, I can’t remember. I mean it’s all logged in my medical record, but the days blurred together. I was a shell of myself. Some days I never even got out of bed. Just slept in between tests. It felt like forever before they narrowed things down.”

  “What about your parents? How were they dealing with it?” I couldn’t imagine what they must have felt.

  She glanced at me for a moment. “At that point, they didn’t even know. I dealt with it on my own for a while.”

  “Izzy, why? Why didn’t you tell them right away something was wrong, so you didn’t have to go through that alone?” My heart ached imagining what she must have endured all by herself.

  “Because I didn’t want them to watch me die,” she said fiercely. “Now, it’s my turn. You asked way more than one question.”

  I held out my free hand, encouraging her to go for it. I’d answer whatever she asked.

  “When did you start using?”

  She wasn’t going to pull any punches. She was going to go straight for the hard stuff. “About a year after… you know. I couldn’t get out of my head. Performing was my only escape. The river of music inside me slowly dried up over the course of a year, eroding pieces of me that I didn’t even realize were gone until it was too late to pick them up.”

  “But you never even dabbled in drugs and rarely even got drunk,” her voice was filled with shock.

  “That’s not quite true. When we first started out, before you and I became a we, I partied with the guys and crew at quite a few after-parties—only alcohol, never drugs. I knew the ability booze had to numb the mind.” An ability I still longed for on the really hard days.

  I paused, gathering my thoughts. I didn’t want to add new wounds and hurts to her aching heart. I traced circles against the back of her
hand with my thumb. “So, when I finally accepted my new reality, that the songwriter in me had died with—” I waved my free hand between us. “—I was so lost. I just wanted the time between shows to disappear. For a while, alcohol and weed helped.”

  “And when it stopped working?” she asked softly.

  “I moved to progressively harder things. Still maintained functionality. Didn’t miss any rehearsals or shows. Showed up for all our interviews and radio shows. I was late for a few sound checks here and there but nothing to raise too many alarms. I partied with the guys, which they’d missed, and self-medicated in my room. The guys thought I was just tired and moody.”

  “But you were spiraling?”

  “Yeah.” I ran my free hand through my hair, tugging on the strands.

  “I saw a few tabloid images here and there. I tried not to… Tried to focus only on getting better, not things that… you know. Anyway, the images didn’t look good. They made me worried for you. The couple of times I asked my parents if they’d heard anything from your dad, they told me to concentrate on getting well. And, honestly, that’s what I had to do. I’m sorry.” She looked at me again, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

  “Don’t be. You didn’t put poison in my body. I did.” I had to own my mistakes.

  “But still—"

  “Flutterby, don’t. All of that was on me. Only on me. One of the things I learned in rehab was to accept responsibility for my actions.”

  “There wasn’t a lot of information about where you were or what they were treating you for while you were in rehab. Just an official statement that you’d voluntarily checked into a rehab facility to recharge your batteries. So where were you?” Though she tried to appear indifferent, curiosity tinged her tone.