Rock King

by Tara Leigh

  “They said you were fine. And I came home the very next weekend.”

  I exploded. “Yeah, I was fine. Lucky fucking me! But did they tell you I killed someone that night? Did they tell you my best friend wasn’t as lucky as I was?” I felt sick. “Caleb died, Gav. He fucking died—and you didn’t even come home. Where the hell were you?”

  Gavin swallowed. “I was in law school, working three jobs to pay my tuition. I could barely afford my rent, let alone a plane ticket home and a weekend off. And no, they didn’t tell me. They said you had been in an accident but you were fine. You weren’t actually admitted to a room, so I couldn’t call. I didn’t find out what had happened until I came back a few days later, but by then you had already taken off.”

  I turned wary eyes on Gavin. “You went to Caleb’s house?”

  He nodded. “His parents weren’t helpful.”

  “Can you blame them? It’s my fault we were out that night, my fault we got in an accident. But I’m here and their son is buried six feet under.” My voice cracked. I was still struggling to accept Caleb’s death, and to live with the guilt. It wasn’t easy.

  He dipped his head, pulling out old memories. “I drove around to every one of your friends that weekend. Your bandmates, your teachers, the music store you practically lived at. I even scraped up enough money to hire a private investigator after I got back to New York, not that it did any good.”

  A rueful echo of a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. “Hitchhiking across the country doesn’t leave much of a paper trail.”

  “I had the guy looking for you for years. Of course, he wasn’t looking for Shane Hawthorne.” Gavin waited a beat, glancing at me expectantly, but I remained silent. “Five years ago, I was in San Francisco for a bachelor party. We all went out to a club one night and there you were, headlining. Not that I recognized you at first. Gone was the scrawny kid with a buzz cut. You’d grown nearly half a foot, gained at least fifty pounds. I couldn’t believe it. My little brother was up onstage, belting out songs like you’d been doing it all your life, chicks screaming your name. I was so damn proud of you.”

  My gut twisted. There was a time when I would have given anything to hear those words come from Gavin’s mouth. But that time was long gone. “Proud, huh? So proud you didn’t even try to see me after the show?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Gavin howled, an outraged boar insulted by a glancing hunter’s arrow. “I gave the bouncer five hundred bucks to let me backstage, and I walked in on some chick blowing you in your dressing room. You took one look at me and said, ‘This ain’t part of the show, brother. Get the fuck out and don’t come back.’”

  Shaking my head, I tried to dredge up some semblance of memory. I’d been drinking so much in those days it was a wonder I could stand up, let alone remember any of my lyrics. “You thought I recognized you because I called you ‘brother’?”

  “Of course! Didn’t you?”

  A harsh laugh erupted from my throat. “I don’t remember much from those days, but believe me, I wouldn’t have recognized jolly old St. Nick if he’d gotten on his knees and taken the girl’s place.”

  Gavin looked on, confused. “Why not?”

  “Gav, back then I was so hopped up on drugs, booze, girls…It sounds like you walked in on me when I was high on all three. I can’t say for sure, but I doubt I recognized you then and I sure as hell don’t remember it now.”

  Slumping into his chair, Gavin completely deflated. “You left home, never made any effort to let me know where you ended up, or even if you were still alive. When I finally found you, heard straight from your mouth you didn’t want me around…” Gavin’s words faded as the truth pressed in on him. “I’m sorry. I should have known. I’m so sorry.”

  I lurched forward, clutching at my brother’s shoulders. “No, I’m sorry. You were always my hero, dude. I was sixteen at the time of the accident and you were what, twenty-three? We were kids. I shouldn’t have expected you to know what was going on, to just appear out of thin air and rescue me from a disaster I’d created all my own.”

  Gavin’s face twisted, long fingers wrapping around his knees. “Yeah, well. I’m no hero. Not then and not now. But if I could do it all over again, I would have been there for you. Been there for everything.”

  I swallowed a lump that had been building for more than a decade. “Thanks, Gav.”

  * * *

  I spent most of the flight home fighting the urge to drink the entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s I knew was on board. Seeing my brother had stirred up a hornet’s nest of emotions, and it felt like my brain was on fire. But I needed to feel them, work through each one. Otherwise, I was primed to spend the next ten years much like I’d spent the last—surrounded by people and yet entirely alone. Lonely.

  I didn’t want to be lonely anymore. Maybe I didn’t have to be.

  I arrived back in Malibu sober, shucking off my clothes as I trudged upstairs. It was late, and Delaney was asleep in my bed. Naked, I slipped between the sheets and pulled her to my chest, her flimsy teddy offering scant barrier between us. She moaned softly, and I kissed her ear. I thought about doing more, but my mind was too restless to focus on anything, even sex with Delaney.

  Seeing my brother had brought back a tidal wave of memories, not all of them good. Seven years older than me, Gavin had always been the golden child. Smart, athletic, good-natured. If there was anyone who could prevent our father’s apoplectic rages, it was Gavin. I’d always felt like an afterthought. An “oops” baby, delivered too late to two people who never should have had children in the first place. Our mother was timid, beaten down by years of abuse from her husband and relieved to pass the burden of caring for her younger son onto her firstborn. Growing up, I followed Gavin everywhere, and Gavin knew better than to complain. If he left me alone, even as a toddler, I would either be neglected by our mother or kicked around by our father.

  Unconsciously, I made a sound low in my throat. Part growl, part moan. Delaney rolled over, blinking sleepily. “You’re back.”

  “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

  The lights were off, but various electronic devices throughout the room glowed softly enough that Delaney could see my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately. “What happened?”

  I considered brushing her off, or lying. Did I really want to talk about my family?

  I didn’t, but I didn’t want to lie either. I was so tired of lying. “I went to see my brother. In New York.”

  Delaney drew her hand up, propping it beneath her temple. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

  “I haven’t seen him in more than ten years.”

  She sucked in a quick breath. “Oh.”

  I brushed the hair back from her forehead, but it slipped through my fingers like strands of silk. “You asked about my family the other day. You sure you want to hear it? It’s not exactly Stepford.”

  Her face was open, receptive. “If you’re ready to talk about them, I’m ready to listen.”

  A soft grunt left me. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  She gave me the push I needed. “Was it good to see your brother again, after all these years?”

  “Yeah. Great, actually. Except for realizing that those years were just wasted. It didn’t need to be that way, and I’m mad at myself for assuming the worst of him. Of all the people in the world I should have known I could count on, it was Gavin.” I sighed, shaking my head against the pillow. “I was stupid.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Delaney prodded cautiously.

  “He managed to get back for my sixteenth birthday. Our mom had died two years earlier. Cancer. Gavin was in law school then. He was only on partial scholarship and there wasn’t ever enough money, so it was a big deal that he came back.”

  “Were you close to them? Your parents, I mean,” she qualified.

  A pained cackle rattled up from my chest. “No. Close would not be how I’d describe my relationship with my p
arents. Hell, I spent most of my youth trying to hide from my father’s fists.” I looked down at Delaney’s sweet face, now cradled between my shoulder and arm. “You really sure you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”

  She nodded. “I’m not the delicate flower you’ve made me out to be, Shane.”

  Smiling, I leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, then gave in to the tempting pull of her full, pink lips. Lingered there for a minute. “Okay, here you go, the full saga. Shane Hawthorne isn’t my real name. The Shane part was a fluke. I was nervous about people finding out about the accident, so at an open-mic night, when I said my name was Sean and the guy with the clipboard wrote down Shane, I didn’t correct him. By the time I got to a level where I needed a last name too, I spit out the name of my high school guidance counselor.”

  She barely blinked at my deception. “So your real name is Sean…?”

  “Sutter,” I filled in.

  Delaney tried it out on her tongue, “Sean Sutter.” She smiled. “Cute.”

  I grunted. “It makes me sound like a weatherman.”

  “Don’t knock it. Al Roker’s made quite a career out of telling people what’s going on right outside their own door.”

  Another kiss. Delaney was nearly irresistible. I would have been content to forget the family history, but she nudged me in the ribs. “Come on, story time.”

  More like a nightmare. “My father was a long-distance trucker, so he was gone a lot, and when he was around, Gav and I knew better than to come home much. But we tried, mostly so that he would have someone else to beat on besides our mom. And every time he left, we begged her to pack a bag and take us somewhere, anywhere he couldn’t find us. But she wouldn’t. Except once.”

  In the darkness, I squinted at the flashbacks of memory. “Gavin was older, and I guess he was nervous about going off to college and leaving us alone, so he borrowed a car from one of his friends and drove us across state lines to some shelter. None of us had been to a doctor in years—no insurance—and the shelter offered free medical care. When it was my mom’s turn to get checked out, they found it. I don’t even know what kind of cancer it was, except that it was already in a few places by then. There wasn’t anything to be done, or at least that’s what they told us. And anyway, my mom wasn’t a fighter. So we drove home. We were back before my dad returned from his road trip.” I cleared my throat. “The bastard didn’t even know we’d finally convinced her to leave him.”

  After a few moments, Delaney gently nudged me. “So you took care of her while she was sick?”

  “Of course, but she didn’t last long. Just a few months. And believe it or not, my dad got what was coming to him, too. He got into a fight at a truck stop about a year after her passing. It must have been pretty bad, because he wound up in the hospital. And wouldn’t you know, he came down with some kind of bacterial infection. They started cutting him off bit by bit. Ironic that the first to go was his right hand, the one he used to punch us with. For a while they thought they could save him. He was there for months. I would get these hopeful calls from his nurses at the hospital, saying my father missed me and that it would mean the world to him if I could visit.” Every syllable dripped with disgust. “I never did. Figured the only reason I would want to see him would be to shut off his life support. But he died anyway, all on his own. Karma, I guess.”

  Through the open windows, the tide was a steady drumbeat. “What happened then? Who took care of you? You were only fifteen.”

  “My parents’ medical bills couldn’t be passed on to us, but they took every cent that was left, which was next to nothing anyway. Caleb was the lead singer of our band. We practiced in his garage, and I practically lived at his house. His parents were kind people. I think they’d always wanted to have a house full of kids, but they only were able to have the one. They took me in, gave me a bedroom and an allowance for chores, even paid for me to take guitar lessons.” My voice cracked. “The Branfords were great, just really great people.” A wave of guilt crashed over me, so powerful I had to fight to take a breath. “And I paid them back by killing their only child.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Delaney

  My gasp was loud in the quiet room. Is that how Shane thought of himself—as a murderer? No wonder there was such a strong connection between us. Needing to know more, I prodded. “Tell me about the accident.”

  Shane sighed, his breathing labored. “One afternoon, we got a call to play in a bar that was pretty well known for discovering new talent, or at least we thought so. It was an hour away and we’d only been asked because another band had canceled due to a storm moving in. I begged Caleb’s parents to let us borrow their car so we could drive up for the gig.”

  Shane’s voice turned hard. “Of course, it didn’t occur to me that no one would actually show up to hear us play in the middle of a blizzard. It wasn’t snowing when we left, but by the time we got there it was coming down hard. There were only two people in the audience that night, and one of them was the owner of the bar. But we played well, and he booked us for another gig the next month.”

  “Feeling like studs, we’d asked the bartender for beer. Knowing we were underage, he laughed us off. But whether he slipped us a few under the table, or one of the guys took them while he wasn’t looking, we had four cans by the time we pulled out of the parking lot.” Regrets rolled from Shane’s big shoulders, making the air in the room feel heavy and cloying. “The other guys drank theirs while I was driving. I didn’t touch mine. I swear. Was planning to save it, kind of like how businesses frame their first dollar, you know.”

  I reached out a hand and set it flat on Shane’s chest, so I could feel the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. He covered my hand with his own for a moment, then pulled it up to his mouth to press a kiss against my palm.

  “It feels almost like a bad dream now. I was driving pretty slow, and visibility was shit. We were just a few miles from home, my beer untouched in my cup holder. The guys were razzing me, wanting it.” As the story unfurled, Shane’s voice changed, growing increasingly quiet and thin with strain. “I went to smack whoever’s hand was reaching from the backseat—I only took my eyes off the road for a second. But it was enough. I skidded on black ice, and we plowed into a tree. It wasn’t even a big tree, but the impact was smack in the middle of the passenger door, where Caleb was sitting.”

  “So fucking stupid.” Shane wiped at his eyes, fingers coming away wet. “His parents had given him a red hat for Christmas. His blood was the same color as the hat, so at first I didn’t understand how badly he was hurt. Caleb just looked like he was sleeping.” He shuddered, recalling the scene. “But he wouldn’t wake up.”

  Shifting closer to thread my legs through his, I slid my hand from Shane’s chest to his back, wrapping him up in a tangle of limbs and heat, waiting patiently for him to start talking again, even if it was in a faraway tone that was so filled with pain it hurt to listen. Seconds went by, then minutes. Shane gathered me even closer, the swoosh of his heartbeat beneath my ear merging with the pulse of the ocean. A shaky breath rattled from his lungs. “I got off without a scratch, if you can believe it. The guys in the back had a few minor injuries—a broken ankle, stitches.” Shane coughed, his voice still thick with sorrow. “But Caleb was gone before the ambulance arrived.”

  My stomach churned at the similarities to my life. Sorrow and sadness radiated from him, throbbing between us. Shane’s grief felt so familiar to me. I knew it as intimately as he did. It was like the tide. It might recede, but it always came back. Constant. Relentless.

  “I passed the Breathalyzer, but there were whispers in town, and a bad energy that went beyond mourning. They blamed me for his death, kept pointing out the beer cans found in the car, saying the Breathalyzer was broken or incorrectly administered. Building a case to send me to jail. The cops, the Branfords, the whole town. Or at least that’s how it felt to me. I didn’t even stick around for the funeral—was told I wouldn’t be welcome. I did
n’t blame them. I was the driver. The accident was my fault. Caleb’s death was my fault. So I grabbed my guitar and took off.”

  His words, all of them, piled on top of my chest. I couldn’t get a deep breath. “That’s just too much for one person, let alone a sixteen-year-old kid, to deal with.” I rose on my elbow, my breasts pushing against Shane’s chest as I stared down into his eyes. “How did you survive it, Shane?” Tell me. Teach me. Because I’m still struggling.

  His hand lifted to fit against my cheek, thumb sweeping across my lower lip. “Surviving is the easy part. All it takes is not dying, and that was just dumb luck.”

  I shivered. “What’s the hard part?”

  “Letting go of the anger. Not spending every waking moment anesthetizing myself against everything. Living, really living.”

  The air between us was electric. Somehow we’d moved beyond the accident. That’s the way grief worked. You could only wallow in it for so long before needing to laugh or dance or scream. “What else?” I asked, needing Shane to acknowledge this connection between us, too.

  He did, his face pinched with tension. “This, what’s happening between us. Caring about you. Letting you in. I don’t want to, Delaney. When you go, I’m going to be lost. Again.”

  I blinked against the turbulence raging in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Shane.” At least, not tonight.

  Shane’s brow twisted with doubt. “You sure? Now you know the truth, my truth. I’m not the guy you thought I was.”

  I sucked in a quick breath, needing oxygen. Shane was trusting me with his secrets and I still couldn’t give him mine. “No. You’re not. You’re so much better.” He’d stopped a drunk driver before I’d gathered the nerve to call 911. He’d gone to see his brother, but I was still hiding from my father. Shane was brave and I wasn’t.