Rock King

by Tara Leigh

  They didn’t, though, shouting out more questions as Mr. Branford opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. The cameraman must have edged in closer, because I could see inside the car as the Branfords turned to each other, resignation etched into their weathered skin.

  I choked on a breath. They shouldn’t have to defend me. Not that I wasn’t grateful. Knowing the Branfords no longer blamed me for the accident…it was like a huge weight that had been digging into my shoulders for years suddenly eased.

  The screen cut to a news desk, a talking head dissecting my case with a cheerful smile on her face. “Come on.” I tugged at Delaney’s hand, my stomach churning. “I can’t watch this.”

  Travis was rooted to the floor next to me, the light from the chandelier reflecting off his scalp. Completely oblivious. “Jesus Christ, you are fucking brilliant!” He slapped my back, eyes still trained on the TV. “My guess, we’ll be out of here by the end of the week.”

  With my fingers rolled into fists at my sides to keep from throttling him, I trudged up the stairs, Travis’s excitement making my stomach turn. Talking to the Branfords hadn’t been about getting off.

  It had been about getting real.

  Delaney’s hand was comfortingly warm in mine as I opened the door to our temporary bedroom, although I was anything but comforted.

  She closed the door softly behind us, a hopeful smile fluttering onto her face. “I’m proud of you.”

  Pain shot through me. There was nothing about me to be proud of. She lifted her hand to slide around my neck, and I winced. “Don’t.”

  Delaney stilled, her eyes searching mine. Thinking. And then she lifted onto her toes and planted a feather-soft kiss on my lips.

  I was rooted in place by the rush of guilt filling me like a broken faucet. There was no turning it off and no wrench in sight. “Delaney,” I groaned, sucking in a breath as her sweetness rocketed through my lungs.

  Delaney pulled back, looking at me as if she saw someone who actually mattered, someone worthy of her love. “I’m here, Shane. I’m right here.”

  She was wearing a casual pink and white dress, and a pair of wedges with straps that wound halfway up her toned calves. She should have had a backpack slung over her shoulder with nothing more to worry about than whether or not the others in her study group were pulling their weight.

  I threaded my fingers possessively through the crown of raven strands framing Delaney’s softly rounded face, blue overtaking green until her eyes were the same color as the sapphire at her throat. The stone I’d put there.

  Encircling Delaney’s neck, I felt for the beat of her pulse beneath my fingers. It was racing.

  Our bodies fit together like a preschool puzzle, shapes sliding into each other with ease, not needing to interlock. Not yet. The top of Delaney’s head fit perfectly beneath my chin, and I kissed the fine line where her pale scalp shone through, reaching for the metal tab of her zipper. Its low whine split the air as I traced her spine, the pads of my fingers skimming the surface of her skin.

  I shuddered as a wave of desire coursed through me. My hunger for Delaney was more than lust. It was need—in its purest form.

  And I was scared to need her.

  I groaned her name. “The first time I saw you, it took everything I had not to kiss you. And when I heard you singing my song, it took everything I had not to run away from you.”

  “And now,” she prompted, her voice breathless and enticing. “What do you want to do with me now?”

  “Baby, I’ve already given you every piece of me.” I dropped my forehead to hers, cupping her gorgeous face within my palms, feeling as if I’d been stripped bare. “You have it all.”

  Delaney wound her legs around my hips, pulling me in tight, tighter. “I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

  I let myself sink into her sweetness, drown in the comfort and compassion she gave so freely. Silently swearing that I’d never let her go.

  Delaney

  A storm was brewing. The night sky hung low, weighted down by bloated purple clouds that had blocked the sun for most of the afternoon, stubbornly refusing to release their liquid burden. In the distance I could hear a low rumble of thunder, energy crackling through the air and sending the hair on the back of my neck shooting straight up.

  Shane and I had spent hours talking after coming upstairs. Someone must have ordered pizza, because the smell of grease and garlic came wafting beneath the closed door. Neither of us was hungry though. He told me about his conversation with the Branfords. Or rather, what he’d told them. What it had been like, seeing their faces after so many years, and how the energy in the room changed once he began talking about Caleb.

  With a monitoring device on his ankle and the threat of a prison sentence hanging over his head, Shane held me tightly as we listened to the drone of multiple, overlapping conversations from downstairs. Waiting. Wondering if the Branfords’ statement to the press meant anything at all.

  I had questions of my own, too. Ones I didn’t dare voice.

  Who was I to tell Shane to come clean to anyone when I was still keeping secrets from everyone? How could I absolve him of his guilt while I was still carrying my own?

  Would Shane wind up in jail when the person who really deserved to be behind bars—me—wasn’t even allowed to visit?

  Part of me wished I’d never met Shane. That I could go back being to the girl who had bundled up a riot of volatile emotions into a fat, misshapen lump and then pushed it so far, so deep, it sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach.

  I couldn’t though. That girl was gone.

  I was someone different now.

  Shane had turned my life upside down, and the bundle had come loose. Unfurled completely. And now I couldn’t figure out how to wrap them all up again. Fear. Guilt. Grief. Shame. Emotions that were too big, too unruly. Trampling all over my conscience with wild abandon, not caring about the mess they left in their wake.

  Shane’s breath fanned my ear, becoming deep and regular even as his hand remained wrapped around my waist with possessive pressure. He didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet, anyway. My hands fisted the edge of the sheet, drawing it into my chest as I breathed deep. The scent of pinecones and ivory soap and something uniquely Shane—as bracing and clean as the sea—tickled my nose.

  Too bad I couldn’t stay wrapped in Shane’s arms forever.

  Because the truth wasn’t going away. It was out there, as restless and angry as the lightning I felt in my bones but couldn’t yet see.

  They say energy never dies; it just changes form, becomes something else. Believing that had given me some comfort over the past few years. My mom was gone, yes. But I could feel her all around me. She was in the first sip of a glass of good wine, the first bite of chocolate cake. I saw her in sunrises and sunsets, felt her in the warm caress of a breeze across my face on a clear, sunny day. I battled my grief on a daily basis by looking for her in everything good that came my way.

  But it was getting harder and harder. I couldn’t just take in good. I needed to do good, too.

  Taking care of Shane, loving him from the sidelines, wasn’t enough. My soul sagged with the weight of the promise I’d made my father.

  Stay silent.

  Let me do the talking.

  Follow my lead.

  Staying silent wasn’t easy when the truth was eating me up inside.

  Staying silent was too big a burden. And yet if I let it go, if I told the truth, if I accepted responsibility for what I’d done…I was scared my father would never forgive me. Scared those little glimpses of my mother would disappear.

  And Shane…What would he think of me if he knew I committed the same sin he had? Would he hate me as much as he hated himself? Would he think of me the same way he did Sean Sutter, the misfit he’d spent more than a decade trying to erase?

  If our situations were reversed, would I really want Shane to visit me in prison? Posing for selfies with guards, signing aut
ographs for inmates.

  Could I burden him with the weight of my sins?

  I’d had my chance. So many chances, actually, to tell him the truth. And I had run away from every single one of them.

  My mind was tripping over itself, trying to come up with a one-size-fits-all solution. And getting nowhere.

  Meanwhile, the storm outside moved closer, rumbles of thunder growling ominously as the wind whipped leaves and small pebbles against the glass windows. My heart picked up its pace, and I pressed Shane’s palm to my chest, hoping his steady pressure would calm its skittish beat. Lightning flashed, turning everything in the room bright, a white light the sun could never replicate. I shivered.

  BOOM.

  The storm arrived, rain pelting the roof directly above our heads. I listened to the howl of the wind, the swell of the rain, feeling something inside me ease. I didn’t have to make any decisions tonight. What was done was done, and it would take a lifetime to chip away at my regret. I needn’t lift the blade tonight, though my time was coming. Even if Shane was absolved of wrongdoing, I couldn’t stay sheltered in his arms forever.

  For tonight I would live through this storm. And tomorrow, or the next day, or a day not too long after that, I would face another, one of my own making.

  And I would survive that one, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Shane

  Two days after my meeting with the Branfords, and their ensuing statement to the press, the prosecutor announced he was dropping all charges against me for lack of evidence. It also helped that Gavin had sent the crime scene photographs to an expert. Blown up to ten times their original size, it was possible to see that one of the four cans scattered on the floor mats was unopened. A fact the accompanying report had made no mention of.

  I would never forget about Caleb, or go a day without missing him. He was up there somewhere, watching over me. And I wanted to make him proud.

  Caleb wouldn’t want me to live without really living.

  Nothing but Trouble was going back on the road. With all the press coverage surrounding the TMZ story, the NBC interview, my arrest and then release, our tour was extended by two months to accommodate the dates we’d had to cancel. More dates were added, too.

  But those were just details. What was really different…and strange, very strange, was not having secrets anymore. The press knew everything. Everything.

  They had dug up every last detail of my childhood. Things I thought I’d kept hidden were being recounted by people I barely remembered. My father’s drunken fits. The abuse my mother had suffered at his hands. The accident. My given name. That I didn’t get behind a microphone until after Caleb’s death. My battles with addiction.

  It seemed all those secrets I’d been ashamed of had never been secrets at all.

  Some of the press coverage wasn’t true, though. Dozens of women I’d never even met were popping up in the press, claiming I had paid them for “a girlfriend experience.”

  My fans didn’t seem to care about any of it. If anything, the added attention spawned a new level of interest. I had to disable notifications on my iPhone because it wouldn’t stop lighting up with tweets, messages, and Google Alerts, finally throwing the damn thing out because some hacker figured out how to track my moves and was posting my location online.

  Nothing but Trouble’s sales had gone through the roof. I was deluged with offers to write a book, star in a movie about my life, film a reality series or docudrama while on tour. I couldn’t turn on a radio without hearing my songs, browse the Internet without seeing my face, or open a magazine without seeing my name. The more of me there was, the more my fans wanted.

  Landon and the guys teased me about it, but they made no complaints about the increased royalties.

  Travis was completely in his element and loving every minute. Fielding offers left and right and, mostly, staying out of my hair.

  Gavin came to as many shows as he could, and we spoke or texted often.

  I was grateful for my freedom. And for Delaney.

  Everything else was just background noise.

  Except for one thing. Delaney’s father was still in jail. She was putting on a brave face, but I knew it was killing her. And even though my legal squabbles had nothing to with her father, whenever I put myself in her shoes, guilt curved around my rib cage and squeezed tight.

  I reached for my new phone and called my brother, our rekindled relationship another good thing to come out of my relationship with Delaney. “Hey.”

  “Let me guess. You’re calling to remind me to take my vitamins?”

  When we were kids, Gavin would steal bottles of Flintstones chewables and made sure I took one every morning. “Did you?”

  “Of course. You?”

  “I will, right after you give me an update on Fraser’s case.”

  He grunted, obviously preferring a more concrete answer. “I wish I could say that the wheels of justice are moving slowly, but that’s not all.”

  I braced myself for a long, boring explanation I would only understand about half of. “Tell me.”

  “It’s almost like he wanted to go to jail.”

  “What do you mean? No one wants to go to jail.”

  “Exactly. But I can’t explain it any more clearly. I’ve met with him. Twice. He doesn’t want this appeal. Is adamantly against it. Doesn’t want me talking to Delaney, reviewing the evidence against him, or petitioning the court. I’m at loose ends.”

  A frown pinched at my forehead. “I don’t get it.”

  “Me neither. But I have to tell you, I don’t think it’s because he’s guilty.”

  “Then why?”

  “I think he’s hiding something. Or protecting someone. I just don’t know what, or who. But I’m going to find out.”

  My mind flashed to Delaney and the way she’d looked beneath me just this morning. Sweet and beautiful. Trusting. “Thanks, Gavin. Delaney’s been by my side through everything lately, and I know it’s been hard for her to think about her own father behind bars.”

  “That girl of yours is a keeper, Shane.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Delaney

  All Nothing but Trouble concerts were exciting, but tonight, the first show since Shane’s arrest, was completely insane. Pulling up to the venue, walking through the crowded underground tunnels, navigating the riotous scene backstage—we might as well have been climbing a mountain as a storm rolled in, darkening the sky above our heads. All around us, barely harnessed energy crackled through the air, just waiting to explode. Shane and the guys breathed it in, letting it fill their lugs, quicken their steps, shine through their bright eyes and potent smiles.

  Shane stayed quiet though, saving his voice even as he squeezed my hand, keeping me close. Landon tapped out a frenzied drumbeat on his thigh, his bare chest exposed by yet another unbuttoned shirt. Jett’s and Dax’s fingers were restless, running up and down the fret board of instruments they weren’t holding yet.

  For the past few weeks, I’d been terrified that my greatest fear would be realized. That Shane would wind up behind bars. Just like my father. Seeing Shane now, completely in his element, without the prosecutor’s noose hanging over his head, felt like a gift.

  Even so, my heart squeezed. I had promised my father I’d stay quiet, but I just didn’t know if I could do it anymore.

  I couldn’t forget about my father and leave him to rot. I had pushed Shane to face his problems head-on—why couldn’t I do the same?

  Roadies hefted equipment, deftly navigating a sea of twisting cords littering the ground without incident, setting them down according to a map they seemed to hold in their minds. Yelling to be heard above the opening act, they cursed at one another with an easy camaraderie that belied their coarse language.

  Shane led me to a back corner, somewhat removed from the chaos. “You okay?” Worry radiated from his eyes as he hunched over me, his shoulders shielding me from view.

  As much as his fa
ns had rallied around him, they hated me with equal vigor. They called me a gold digger, a whore, a slut. #DumpHerPickMe was trending, and T-shirts with my face and that hashtag were worn by every other girl in the venue. I wasn’t sure I disagreed with them. Shane had conquered all his demons. He didn’t have any more secrets, and even Caleb’s parents had absolved him of blame.

  Meanwhile, I hadn’t been honest with Shane about my role in the accident that had ripped my life to shreds. Hadn’t let him see the darkness that was slowly eclipsing all the light I’d been so determined to shine his way. And my father was still sitting in jail. So, what the hell was I doing here? Was this my future, standing in the wings, watching Shane onstage, owning his talent, owning his truth? I didn’t need a stage, didn’t want the glare of the lights on me. But I needed something of my own. Needed to be someone besides Shane Hawthorne’s girlfriend or Colin Fraser’s daughter.

  But I shoved all that as deep as I could, hopefully deep enough that Shane couldn’t see it. I would deal with it…later. “I’m great. Happy to see you back where you belong.”

  His eyes softened, tenderness shining from each amber iris. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

  I shook my head, palms pressing on his chest. I’d never get tired of touching this man. “That’s not true.”

  “It is. You told me to talk to the Branfords, to stop hiding behind mouthpieces I pay to do my talking for me. Because of you I reached out to Gavin. I have my brother back.” Shane’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “I owe you everything, Delaney.”

  Owe? I didn’t want him to owe me a damn thing. I wanted him to love me. I ran my hands up Shane’s shirt, entwining them around his strong neck. “You don’t, really.”

  “I do, baby.” He breathed into my hair, kissing the top of my head and tracing the curve of my spine with his thumbs. My skin thrilled at his touch, every nerve ending feverish with desire. “And I want you by my side, always.”

  My brain was lagging behind, not quite as willing to go along with the lust burning through me. Questions piled on top of questions. Why? Is that all you want from me? Another set of adoring eyes? What about love? If I love you enough, will you ever love me back?