Heartstrings (A Rock Star Romance Novel)

by Hadley Danes

  The people around me have no idea what to do. Audience members reach up to catch their rock idol, mistaking his leap for crowd surfing, or something, He brushes their eager hands aside as he barrels forward. The crowd parts for him like the Red Sea before Moses, and a new tinge of panic ripples through the arena. No one has any idea what’s going on. Onstage, the remaining members are playing through their set, desperately trying to carry on despite what Slade is doing. I watch people dive out of the way for him, and those who don’t are promptly pulled or shoved into submission. He’s coming ever closer, flying to me, his jaw set.

  “Is he coming this way?” asks one of the skinheads.

  “Looks like,” grins another, “The golden god wants to throw down, huh?”

  I’m handed off to one of the men while the other three await Slade’s careening force. I push against the arms that hold me contained. I need to go to him, to find solace in his arms. But the skinheads have other ideas.

  Slade doesn’t even slow his pace as he approaches. A scream erupts from my throat as my rock star flies through the empty space around us, bringing a crashing fist down hard against the biggest skinhead’s jaw. The man’s head nearly twists off, and he stumbles backward, disoriented. Slade leaps on him again, kicking him ferociously in the gut. The man who first grabbed me curls into a ball on the floor, but the other two are still standing. They circle around Slade like vultures.

  One of the skinheads rushes toward Slade, leveling a roundhouse kick at his face. Slade catches the man’s leg and swings him aside, sending his opponent crashing into the wall of people at the edge of the pit. The final man approaches, trying to get his arms around Slade’s neck. But Slade is too quick—he ducks under the man’s grasp and catches him around the middle. Just as the biggest man is pulling himself back onto his feet, Slade pushes the guy in his arms forward. The two skinheads collide and go down in a big heap.

  The fighter tossed into the crowd is staggering back now, fists raised. He and Slade circle around the two fallen skinheads, growling at each other. I watch, horrified, as the skinhead licks his lips in Slade’s direction, taunting him. Slade loses it, swings around the circle with his fist cocked back. Something glistens in the skinhead’s hand, and the world goes quiet as I see what it is—he’s pulled a knife on Slade.

  “Slade, no!” I scream, but it’s too late. The men collide, and Slade cries out. They tumble to the floor together, and for a moment I can’t tell whose limbs belong to who. There’s blood on the floor, and I nearly lose consciousness with worry. I feel my captor’s limbs loosen as he watches, and I take advantage of the moment. I drive and elbow deep into his gut, and he releases me with a grunt. I run across the circle to Slade, not caring whether or not it’s dangerous. I scuttle to a halt in front of the brawl just as Slade places the knife against the skinhead’s throat. I gasp, stopping just short of the fray. Slade’s teeth are bared, his eyes furious.

  “Just know,” Slade pants, “That I could have killed you, if I wanted to.”

  He tosses the man into the pile of skinheads and closes the switchblade, slipping it into his pocket. The crowd around the skin heads goes wild and swallows them up, fists fly and the four shit heads receive the beat down of a lifetime.

  Slade looks up at me, and his face collapses in simultaneous relief and regret. I run to him, throwing myself against his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and something wet is spreading through his tee-shirt. Something too thick to be sweat...

  “Slade,” I breathe, looking down at his tee shirt in horror. There’s blood spreading across his abdomen. He smiles weakly as a team of security guards comes into the pit, apprehending the four skin heads. I wrench up the hem of Slade’s tee shirt, ready to perform whatever ER miracle I need to right there in the mosh pit. The cut is long, but blessedly shallow. I can feel fat tears pouring down my face—tears of relief, of fear unleashed, of gratitude.

  “Why are you crying?” he asks, with a kind smile, “I’m the one with the knife wound.”

  “You saved me,” I say, my voice thick with tears.

  “Of course I did,” he says, throwing his arm around my shoulder.

  “I was...I was going to surprise you,” I say, laughing at how ridiculous it sounds now.

  “Well...I’m surprised, that’s for sure,” he says, “Next time, throw me a party or something.”

  “Are you OK?” a security guard asks Slade, surveying his wound. The skinheads are getting carted away in handcuffs, and good riddance. Slade smiles bravely and waves the guard away.

  “We should get you to a hospital,” I tell him.

  “Hospital?” he says, “It’s a paper cut! And besides, I’ve got a show to do.”

  “You’re still going to do they show?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” he says, “And you’re coming with me.”

  Slade grabs me by the hand and leads me back through the crowd. I only now realize that the place is going mad. People are cheering and shouting to Slade, showering us both with encouragement and support. Two security guards move heavy barricades out of our way, and Slade pulls himself up onto the stage. I shake my head in amazement at his blood red tee shirt below his wide grin. It’s like he truly is invincible. He offers his hand down to me, and I take it. I pull myself up after him with his help and straighten up on the stage. I turn to see the massive sea of people looking at us.

  We’re staring out over the seething crowd, at more people than I could even put a number to. I’m utterly dumbfounded. I look to Slade, who’s beaming down at me.

  “What am I supposed to do?” I ask over the roar of the crowd.

  “Kiss me,” he says. He doesn’t wait for me to understand. His mouth finds mine, and I melt at the taste of him. Our bodies are pressed together under the bright lights of stage. His arms close tightly around me, and I throw mine over his broad shoulders. We kiss for the entire world to see.

  “Stand right over there,” he says, gesturing to a spot just offstage, “I want to know exactly where you are. The rest of the show is for you, Julia. Thank you for coming here.”

  “Of course,” I tell him, holding onto his hands, “Thank you, Slade.”

  “It’s all for you, you crazy, crazy woman. What were you thinking, getting into the mosh pit?”

  “That’s a story for another time,” I tell him, not wanting to throw him off any more.

  “Go on,” he says, giving me a little nudge. I rush to the wings and turn back to see him spread his arms to the audience and dive into another song. He’s unflappable, unstoppable, and he’s all mine.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * * * *

  As the final chords ring out through the arena, the crowd erupts into ecstatic, cacophonous bliss. The audience surges forward, clamoring to be as close to the stage as possible. The band members, sweat soaked and grinning, make their way to the front of the stage, arms outstretched. I’m jumping up and down, screaming despite my fried vocal chords. The incident in the mosh pit, Slade’s heroic rescue, his searing kiss before the whole wide world—everything about tonight has been strange, and scary, and ultimately beautiful. I suppose this is what it’s like in Slade’s world. Everything is amplified, everything is meaningful.

  I look out into the gaping stadium, and for a moment the terror wins out against my other swirling emotions. Somewhere out there are the women who threw me into terrible danger. Somewhere beyond the walls of the arena, in a dark room in the underbelly of this place, the men who attacked me still lurk. I have to wonder whether there are others out there who would do me harm, just because Slade happens to be fond of me? Between what’s happened today, and the paparazzi earlier this morning, I can’t believe how much scrutiny and how much danger I’m opening myself to, just by being here. Is all of this really worth it?

  Slade turns my way, his eyes light up with satisfaction and desire all at once. He stands, backlit by the blaring stage lights, his every muscle poised and perfect. That one glance is all I need to remind me that of co
urse it’s worth it. Because even though there are terrible aspects of this whirlwind life, there are dark, scary things to be faced in the world whether you’re a rock star or a waitress or a nurse. How many upsetting, worrisome things have I seen as an ER nurse? I’ve seen gunshot victims, car accident fatalities, newborn children passing away moments after they are born. Ultimately, we’re all susceptible to the worst things life has to offer. There’s no escaping that, no matter who you are.

  Tragedy can strike at any time, sorrow can knock on any door it pleases. But in the meantime, what’s the use of playing it safe? Why not live every moment like it’s your last? If anything, that’s what Slade’s taught me. We have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow, next week or next year, so why hold back?

  The band members take their final bow and rush off into the back stage toward me. Dodge and Joe capture me in a gigantic bear hug, and for a second I’m taken aback. Neither of them has exactly been a fan of mine before.

  “I’m so glad you’re OK,” Dodge says.

  “Fuck those guys,” Joe puts in, “Way to fight back, Julia.”

  Annabelle shoos them away so she can give me a hug, too. She’s surprisingly strong for a waif-like songstress. “You’re really something,” she says simply, “I’m glad you’re sticking around. You are sticking around, right?”

  Before I can answer, Slade steps between us and picks me up into his arms. The others trade loaded glances and hurry away, giving us a second of much-needed privacy. For the longest time, we stay locked in each others’ embrace, cherishing the simple contact of our bodies pressed against one another. Today has been terrifying for both of us, but we’ve come through it together. Despite everything, there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be than right here, suspended for a moment in time with the sexy, famous, amazing man that I’ve come to care for so much.

  “Thank god you’re OK,” he says, his breath hot against my neck.

  “You were amazing,” I tell him, tightening my arms around his muscular shoulders. His shirt is totally soaked through—blood, sweat, tears, the works. “But no more Mr. Tough Guy. We need to take care of that cut.”

  “Whatever you say,” he smiles, running his hand through my hair. His brings his lips to mine with a fierce, protective force. I greet him eagerly. Our mouths move together, speaking volumes all on their own without another word. I tug on his hand and all but drag him toward the exit.

  “Call Anders,” I tell him, “Make sure he has a first aid kit on hand.”

  Slade rolls his eyes but makes the call all the same. We step through the backstage door and are immediately flooded with cries and flashbulbs. Slade’s fingers tighten around mine, and I smile at him gamely. I’m prepared for this now. After what happened in the pit, this is nothing. As we make our way toward the car, I hear someone call my name from the crowd.

  “Julia! Julia! Can I have your autograph?”

  I turn to see a cute young girl holding out a pad and pen. She’s staring at me reverently. “You want...my autograph?” I ask.

  “Of course!” she cries, “I’m starting nursing school in the fall, and I just love you!”

  “Wow...” I say, flabbergasted, “Um...OK. Sure.”

  Slade grins as I quickly sign my name for the girl. She lets out a wordless scream of enthusiasm, and we continue on our way. Anders opens the door for us, and we wave once more to the screaming, uncontrollable crowd. Slade slams the car door and we take off into the night, where to, I have no earthly idea...

  There’s a first aid kit waiting on the seat next to me, and I go straight into nurse mode. “Take off that shirt,” I say sternly.

  “Just like old times,” Slade laughs. He obeys my order, peeling the stained garment from his body. My concentration wavers as his defined, rippling abs come into view. But the cut that rakes across them is of more immediate concern.

  “Old times?” I laugh, “You mean a week ago? You sure do have lots of occupational hazards to deal with, don’t you?”

  “I do,” he says.

  I'm surprised by the serious tone in his voice.

  My hands work quickly, readying all the disinfecting solutions that I’ll need. I turn to face him, and he offers his torso to me. I swab at the cut, relieved that it’s so shallow. During his run-in with that skinhead, I had feared the worst for a moment. What if Slade had died trying to protect me? I have no idea what I would do if something happened to him, especially if it was my fault. We fall into heavy silence. I understand the serious look he’s wearing, now. Bravado is all well and good, but what happened tonight isn’t to be taken lightly.

  “What were you doing in that pit, Julia?” he asks, as I attend his wound. “You should have just come backstage. The crowd can be dangerous, when the wrong people show up.”

  I bit my lip nervously. As furious as I am with those women for what they did, I don’t want to burden Slade with this. But he’s looking at me intently, and I know that I won’t be able to evade his probing questions. “I tried to get backstage,” I tell him, focusing my gaze on his wound, rather than his intense dark eyes. “The bouncer didn’t know me, and he wouldn’t let me in. But then...Helena and the girls showed up. They took me inside with them. I wanted to watch from backstage, but they insisted that we watch from the crowd.

  I was...overwhelmed. Really overwhelmed by what it’s like out there. I’ve never been in an audience like that. Everyone was at full throttle, as if there was this unwritten agreement that I feel like I never got to consider. And when the pit opened up...I tried to steer clear of it. I was already just barely managing to keep afloat in the audience, and...Helena. She and Ruby and Jackie...they threw me. They just grabbed me and tossed me straight into the fray. I thought I was a goner. And when those men got to me...I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t put a stop to it. I’m just so glad that you were there for me. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you.”

  “Thank me?” Slade spits. I look up, startled. His eyes are roiling pits of utter rage and contempt. “You should be furious with me.”

  “What?” I say, forgetting first aid for the moment, “Slade, I’m pretty sure you saved my life tonight. What—?”

  “I’m the reason that your life was in danger in the first place,” he growls. Every muscle in his body is hard with tension, his throat is taut with trying to keep from screaming. “You shouldn’t have been there. You should have been safe at home. And Helena...she’s jealous of you. Because of me. This never would have happened if it wasn’t for me. It’s my fault. If something had happened to you...I would just fucking lose it. That would be it.”

  “How do you think I feel?” I ask incredulously, “You got a knife pulled in you for my sake. You could have been gutted right there in the pit. How do you think I would have felt if you got hurt because I’d gotten myself into a stupid situation?”

  “Stop it,” he says harshly, “You didn’t get yourself into anything. You’re not a fucking idiot. You were there for me. You got thrown into that pit because of me. Those assholes got their hands on you because of me. What were you even doing here? You’re supposed to be at the hospital.”

  Oh, god. The last thing I want to do is tell him what happened this morning at work. But we might as well get everything out in the open. “I couldn’t get to work this morning,” I say.

  “Why not?” he presses.

  I take a deep breath and dive in. “When I got to the hospital,” I begin, “There were a lot of reporters and a ton of photographers. They’d sort of set up shop in front of the ER. My supervisor wouldn’t let me stay. The crowd of press was obstructing our work. So, I decided to come to the show to tell you everything that was on my mind. How happy I was about all of this. About us. About...” I trail off as Slade’s eyes turn to iron.

  “The paparazzi is following you,” he says in a terrifying monotone. I can tell it’s taking every ounce of self control in his body to keep from flying into a furious rage. “That is unaccep
table.”

  “Slade,” I say quietly.

  “No,” he says, averting his gaze, “I won’t have this. I won’t have your life ruined for my sake.”

  “It’ll pass,” I tell him, “I’m just a novelty for the moment. They’ll get sick of me.”

  “You’re wrong,” he says, “Once they get their hooks in you, there’s no end. Trust me. I know a thing or two about it.”

  “You’re upset,” I tell him, “We should talk about this when we’ve both cooled down.”

  “This isn’t a dispute over dirty dishes!” he roars. I shrink back against the seat, surprised by the intensity of his anger.

  “Why are you yelling at me?” I ask, my own temper beginning to flare up inside of me.

  “I’m not—I’m just—” he splutters. “It’s all fucked up,” he says, letting his head fall into his hands. We sit in silence for a long moment, staring at each other across the cabin. I swallow hard and edge toward him. Wordlessly, I ease him back onto the seat. I’m not done with my first aid yet. We don’t speak a word as I finish dressing his wound. We’re at an impasse. There’s nothing either of us can say that won’t force the question of whether I stay or go. I’m terrified of what comes next in this fight we’ve started. I blink back tears as I finish fixing Slade up, holding back my fear and anger as best I can. Time stretches out before us, ceaselessly.