Cocky Rockstar: Gabriel Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 10)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Suddenly angry I take a step forward. “Don’t talk about my brother like he’s not human! Like he has no feelings! He’s right here.” Yanking the money from Mr. Cocker’s hands I count it out and give Shelby what was stolen. “I’m so sorry.”

  Silently she takes it.

  I quickly count the rest and there’s not enough to cover Bobby’s share of rent for this month. Mr. Cocker is watching me. I meet his eyes to insist, “It’s a disease. He can get help!” as I put my arm around Bobby to ask him, “You okay?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  My voice is uncommonly steady as I tell Mr. Cocker, “Thank you for what you did tonight. I know you didn’t have to.” I start to leave and realize I don’t have my car. But my voice does not falter and my spine stays proud as I ask Ben, “Would you please drop us off? If you don’t feel comfortable doing that I can call a Lyft.”

  “Of course I’ll drive you.” He guides a stricken Shelby to the Jeep. “Uncle Justin, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t tell Rachel what you did tonight. Your father can handle it.”

  “Mom will never know. Thank you.”

  Bobby’s body has deflated, his urge to fly back inside that warehouse, gone. He gets in the Jeep without a fight and I climb in the backseat with him. Shelby and Ben sit up front. Nobody talks until we get dropped off first.

  Ben says, “Bobby?” My brother glances to him. “You ready to be a man yet? Getting help is up to you.”

  They hold the look before the Jeep pulls away and harmonious chirping begins to echo off the Dogwood trees.

  “The cicadas think they’re alone,” my brother chokes, on the verge of tears.

  Hugging him I whisper, “You’re not alone.”

  GABRIEL

  Mopping the sweat from my face after Montreal’s concert I head to my dressing room with people patting me on the back along the way. “Great show, man!”

  “Thanks,” I mutter, pulling my phone from my pocket and checking it again. Ben hasn’t called me back after five calls and seven days. He and Ethan are tight but I’m not going to embarrass myself by asking for Ethan’s help or any inside intel. Especially with Charlie due to pop any minute. I saw how she was when she interrupted our pool game nonstop – she’s gotta be ten times worse now.

  And after how I told my sister off I can’t really give her a shout. Yo, what’s up with Ben and the girl I fucked over?

  Nevertheless she’s all I can think about. Every night I’m dreaming of Paige. In Vancouver and Toronto I searched the audience for her secretly hoping she’d been nuts enough to stalk me and show up unannounced. How insane is that? I saw a girl in Montreal’s airport when we arrived yesterday morning who from the back with a hint of profile showing could have been Paige. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest as I ran over.

  It wasn’t her.

  The photo that girl asked me to take with her showed my disappointment.

  These dreams are killing me. I can smell her in them. I can hear her begging me to fuck her. Feel the sting of the slap when I called her a bitch. And sometimes my salt-of-the-earth cousin is holding her in a passionate embrace, his eyes warning me that she’s his. I’ve woken up in a damn sweat over both kinds.

  Four of the dancers burst into my room a few minutes after the show, minus Olivia.

  Jamilla is always their spokesman. “Gabriel, we aren’t takin’ no for an answer again! There is no way we are letting one more Canadian city slip by, with us on the dance floor and you in your fuckin’ hotel room. Uh UH!”

  “Ladies, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Is this because of Olivia? Because she wouldn’t come when I told everyone I have had it with you moping around!”

  I pop a top off a bottle of beer and mutter, “Nah, she and I are cool.”

  “Bullshit,” Andrea says under her breath, brushing her long black hair with impatient fingers.

  I flop onto the couch and throw a boot up as I motion to the door. “Go get her.”

  The dancers look at each other and Andrea bounds out of the room, producing Olivia a couple seconds later. She’s not happy about it.

  “You want something?”

  “We good?”

  She glances to the floor and crosses her arms. “Yeah.”

  “Hey, are we good or no?”

  Meeting my eyes she stares at me. I hold her look with a small smile. Her pretty little lips start turning up. Then she relaxes and gives me a full-blown smile, releasing all the resentment in one decision to let it go. “Yeah, Gabriel, we’re good.”

  I take a swig and slam it on the table. “Then let’s dance.”

  Applause and dancing explodes from the girl and they’re so practiced as a team that it looks choreographed. Proud of herself, Jamilla bounces over with some badass moves and throws an arm around my waist as I toss my mine around her shoulders.

  “I knew you wanted to get the fuck out of here. It’s unhealthy, man!”

  “Am I the poster boy for sane?”

  We pass the roadies who are breaking down the stage. They give me head nods and guy-waves – the subtle kind that show respect. These men travel with us, putting sets together, making sure our gear runs, loading it into trucks and the shit is heavy. They get paid okay but their motive isn’t money. It’s the music they care about. They get off being behind the scenes where it all goes down, building and breaking down the foundation for this entire glamorous creation. Just because they can’t sing or don’t play instruments, doesn’t matter. Without them the show doesn’t happen and they know that. But they don’t socialize with us. The groups don’t mix as an unspoken rule. It’s like we’re on two different planes.

  But not tonight.

  Louie and I lock eyes and I stop walking, my arm still casually around Jamilla. “Hey Louie, you and the guys come out with us.”

  He glances to the other roadies who are waiting for a verdict. One nods. All are surprised but men don’t show it like women do, not when it comes to status and acting cool in front of other men.

  “Yeah, we’ll be there,” Louie shrugs. “Soon as we’re done here.”

  Jamilla says, “We’re going to The Garage. Here’s my number.” She steps away from me and recites it as he thumbs it into his cell. He’s a stocky Italian with dirt under his fingernails and she’s a dark-skinned diva who loves her hoop earrings and manicures, but the look he gives her says something could spark between them tonight. And what a tornado of heat that’s gonna be.

  “I’ve gotta get showered,” one of the roadies says behind us as Jamilla and I join the waiting dancers.

  “How long does it take you to fuckin’ shower? Shut up!” Louie grumbles.

  Olivia holds my eyes, silently asking if I’m going to do anything else differently so she can prepare herself. The others break into a really bad rendition of one of my songs. As I check my phone one more fucking time, she gives up on me and walks with them.

  How can none of these text messages be from Ben?

  Pulling up Paige’s number I stop walking and stare at it, thumb hovering over the call button.

  Fuck it.

  Just hit dial.

  Press the damn button.

  Jamilla calls out, “Gabriel, you coming? We want to get drunk!”

  Shoving it in my pocket my footsteps pick up again. “Coming.”

  PAIGE

  “My name is Paige and this is my first Al-Anon meeting.”

  Twenty-plus people seated in a circle at the Galano Club, say in unison, “Hi Paige.” Some even add, “Welcome.”

  Tears slide down my cheeks. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” I smile, wiping them away. The format of the meeting is structured with readings of the twelve steps and traditions in the beginning, plus some pamphlets telling the group that Al-Anon is for the family and friends of alcoholics, the sister program to AA. After the readings people share their stories focused on ‘strength, experience and hope,’ in three minute uninterrupte
d intervals.

  The last fifteen minutes is reserved for newcomers to speak.

  That’s me.

  I can’t believe I raised my hand, but…I’m lost.

  I need help.

  “Um, my mother told me to come. She’s a gambler not an alcoholic. But she told me the effects are the same and I heard someone speak about being raised with a rage-aholic so I guess it’s okay for me to talk. God, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” Several of the people smile with compassion. “When I was a little girl, she wouldn’t come home for days. My dad – they’re still together – he would hunt her down and make up excuses for why she’d left us. But I guess that gave me a feeling of abandonment early on. I’m the oldest child, so I took care of my brother through all of it. I was the mom. And then she found Gamblers Anonymous when we were teenagers and I thought everything was going to be okay, you know? You tell yourself that it’s over. Even still, I’ve never healed from it. I feel tense in here all the time, like I’m all alone and have to do everything myself.” I point to my chest. “Now it’s happening all over again. My brother has disappeared again. This time he stole my jewelry. I finally called my mom and told her what I’ve been going through. God, I can’t believe I’m crying like this.” A total stranger hands me a tissue and returns to his seat. “Thank you. So, um, that’s where I am. My brother is missing. I’m worried, but I’m always worried about him. The truth is I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired. I don’t want to be a doormat anymore. He knows where to go if he wants to stop. Instead he took precious gifts my grandma gave me that I can never replace! I need help. If anyone has any ideas, please help me.” Sniffling I whisper, “Thank you.”

  They always clap after every ‘share’ and the gentle applause for my desperate honesty is coupled with several voices quietly urging me, “Keep coming back.”

  When the meeting ends, a man says, “That’s all the time we have. Will all who care to, please rise and say the Serenity Prayer with me?”

  Everyone stands. The people to my left and right reach for my hand. One gives me a squeeze and I meet her kind eyes before she turns to recite a prayer I’ve heard my mother use, and never thought I’d say.

  “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can. And Wisdom to know the difference.”

  The hands break from mine and friends starts chatting amongst themselves about the troubles and victories in their lives while others stack chairs and gather the reading materials.

  An older, gay gentleman walks comes over with a gentle smile. “I used to be a gambler.”

  “You were? How did you stop?”

  “I had to learn to stand on my own when my family stopped holding me up.” He smiles at me, knowing that wasn’t the answer I wanted, especially because I know it’s true. “We’re not allowed to give advice here. We can share our experiences and you’ll take what you like and leave the rest.”

  “When they stopped helping, you gave up gambling right away?”

  He shakes his head. “Wouldn’t it be great if it was that easy? I had to hit bottom first. But I couldn’t hit it when I was standing on their broken bodies.” He spreads his hands out, miming a bridge. “When those were gone, I learned I had to change. Addiction is a cunning bastard. It lies. It’s a bold-faced liar.”

  “I know,” I croak, wiping my eyes.

  He clasps my shoulder and says, “Keep coming back,” before walking away to talk with other members.

  Outside I walk into bright sunlight, squinting and running a hand through my hair as I wait for her voice, the cell held close to my ear.

  “Paige?”

  “Yeah, Mom. I just went to my first meeting.”

  She sighs with relief. “What’d you think?”

  “Harsh wake up call.”

  A knowing chuckle comes through the phone. “I can imagine. What now?”

  Staring at white clouds drifting in the sky I tell her, “I need to process everything, Mom.”

  “Your father might be someone you can talk to about this, too. He was where you are.”

  My stomach twists as I walk to my car. “I’ll talk to him later.”

  “Please reach out if you need us.”

  We hang up and I immediately dial another number. “Ben?”

  PAIGE

  Returning from the ladies room at Après Diem there’s a bulletin board to my right that gives me a way to stall, so I pause. The only posters here are of local bands announcing shows at Terminal West and Eddie’s Attic. These have the same style I’ve seen musicians use for years, but after meeting Gabriel and seeing what a real backstage looks like, they have more weight to me now. I can see the marketing behind the art. The mood they’re trying to convey. And of course I wish I were looking at his face.

  He hasn’t called.

  Not that he would.

  Compacting the pain of my brother abandoning me, and Shelby not treating me the same as she used to, is the knowledge that Gabriel is on tour in all those amazing cities with Olivia in his bed.

  My heart is ruptured.

  And I’m leaning on Ben.

  He’s so grounded. Solid. Kind.

  Here.

  Forcing my feet to walk through the dark restaurant, the pastry display on my right, I see him at the bar patiently waiting. His profile is so familiar after we went through that intense night rescuing Shelby’s money together. Heightened circumstances always bond people, but other than that feeling, my heart doesn’t pump for him. Maybe it will in time.

  “Hi, sorry, there was a line.”

  “Your crab cakes are getting cold,” he smiles pushing the plate closer.

  “You could have started without me,” I smile back, picking up a fork. “These look delicious.”

  Ben adjusts his long legs and our knees touch. My fork freezes a moment before I drop it and carve out a small bite. I can sense that he wants to touch my hand, but since I’ve given him no sign I want him to, he’s waiting.

  Chewing in silence I blink at the memory of Gabriel pulling me out of Rays on The River and how good it felt when our fingers came together.

  “This is yummy. Want some?”

  “Sure.” He takes a larger bite. “Mmm.”

  “Good, right?” We eat in silence for a bit and then I say, “Thank you for not bringing Bobby up.”

  “Figured you’d talk about him if you wanted to. How’s Shelby?”

  “Not good,” I sigh meeting his eyes. “She shows up to work seconds before her classes and leaves as soon as they’re over.”

  “That's rough. Have you tried talking to her?” I give him a look like that is a stupid question and he chuckles. “Sorry.”

  “I told her when she wants me I’m here. She didn’t answer and I’m so sick of fighting stubborn people. I’ve decided that I have to take care of myself for once. Let’s talk about something else. You have any brothers or sisters?”

  Leaving the last bite of crab cake for me, he takes a gulp from his beer. “Only child. My parents tried but it turns out that when you hit perfection, God stops there.”

  Laughing, “Wow!” I finish off the food and smile, “Now I can see the relation!”

  His sexy grin flickers at my bringing up Gabriel. To the bartender he calls over, “Can we get some french fries? Thanks.”

  I want so badly to ask about his cousin.

  Have they talked?

  Has Gabriel asked about me?

  “So, um, are you close with your parents?”

  “Yeah, they’re the best. My Dad’s like me, quiet. Mom was a travel writer, saw a lot of the world. She used to live in New York City.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yup, city girl in a country home,” he laughs with love in his eyes. “My dad’s that good.”

  Laughing I hit his arm, “Don’t talk about your parents’ sex life like that!”

  “Why not? Have you seen my family? Bunch of horny motherfuckers.”

  Cracking up, I sha
ke my head, “I can’t even imagine my parents doing it. No, scratch that. I don’t want to! So gross.”

  Ben shrugs, “Sex is amazing. Everyone should be doing it.”

  My grin changes as he looks at me without hiding that he’s thinking of us getting together. He’s gorgeous, but it feels wrong to even think of it. I don’t know if he is aware that I’ve already been with his cousin. He probably thinks I haven’t, that I would not be the type who’d let that happen in the limo like I did.

  Let it happen.

  Who am I kidding.

  I asked for it.

  Begged.

  God, I wish Gabriel was…

  Raking my hair out of my face I stutter, “I, uh, haven’t seen your whole family, by the way. So I have nothing to go on, but I’ll take your word for it.”

  Ben smirks, “There are seventeen cousins in all, from six brothers. So that gives you a clue. It’s in the genes. My grandfather was a stud.”

  “Oh he was, was he?”

  “Definitely.”

  He holds my eyes until I become nervous again. “Are you the only one who doesn’t have siblings?”

  The french fries get placed in front of us and Ben asks for mustard. “My cousin Sofia Sol is an only child. We were born within months of each other, too, which is a weird coincidence since we’re the only ones without brothers and sisters.”

  “Is she like you?”

  Ben’s eyebrows rise as he pictures her. “She is like nobody you will ever meet. Fearless. Fucking intense as hell. Independent in every way you could think of…except maybe when it comes to…Thank you.” He takes the mustard from the bartender and doesn’t finish his sentence.

  “Except when it comes to what?” I smile, leaning forward and dying of curiosity. “I want to hear about the one thing she cares about.”

  Ben locks eyes with me. “Her family.”

  Leaning back my smile fades. “I know how she feels.”

  He nods. “Still don’t want to talk about Bobby?”

  “Definitely not,” I mutter, scooping up french fries. “But I like hearing about you guys. Tell me more.”