TRAPPED UNDER ICE (ROCKING ROMANCE COLLECTION)

by M. J. Schiller

  “You’ll have to leave, Miss,” he muttered with a sigh, but not unkindly. “They’ll be no autographs tonight.”

  “P-Pete?” she gasped.

  He raised a hand to Cassie’s shoulder to escort her out of the area but stopped, staring at her quizzically. “How do you know my name?”

  Cassie’s mind reeled. He sent her…a name most people knew…a name every girl knew…it should be there in her mouth. Chad Evans.

  “Chad. Chad needs you. These men attacked—”

  But Cassie found she was speaking to a metal door closing behind the large frame of the man named Pete.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As Chad ran, scenes from his childhood flashed in front of his eyes unbidden. He tried to tell himself this woman’s attack had nothing to do with his past, but the same adrenaline was surging through his system now as it had in his youth. He had the same sweaty tongue, the same hammering of his heart shooting blood through his system, the same sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Chad tried to clear his head of the vision, but all at once memories crashed into reality as he skidded around a corner and made out a pair of figures up ahead. A large man sat on top of a woman who seemed to be struggling with him even as the man brutally punched her. Without even breaking stride, he rushed forward to tackle the man and the two rolled several feet beyond the woman.

  Coming up on top, Chad gained an instant advantage over his opponent due to the man’s complete surprise. The added strength of the blinding fury compelled his fists to pound the other man over and over again as the lines between cramped childhood apartment and echoing stadium hallway began to blur.

  Somewhere in his mind he could hear the woman screaming at him to stop, but it was as if her voice were coming at him from across the years, blended with his mother’s. While in truth, the woman had somehow managed to crawl over to within feet of him. He stopped, realizing the body beneath him was no longer moving. The red, murderous haze clouding his vision rolled back. His lungs seared with each intake of breath as he tried to focus on bringing his heart rate down.

  ***

  Beth lay stunned for a minute, unsure of what had just happened, and dizzy from being banged into the concrete repeatedly. She turned her battered head to see a tall figure in a black t-shirt and jeans wailing on the man who hit her. She lifted onto one elbow. Her vision was blurry, focus coming in and out.

  It took her some time to figure out what was going on. For a minute or two, she watched the man’s arms coming up and down, reminding her of the dunking bird she got as a child at a Stuckey’s. The image of the comical yellow toy bird wearing a red top hat as it bobbed into a glass of water was a jarring contrast to what she was really witnessing. Then, she realized her attacker had lost consciousness, but the flurry of fists didn’t stop. She rose, teetering, and stumbled over to where the two lie, falling to her knees.

  “That’s enough!”

  The fists stopped their pummeling and the man on top turned his head to look at her, panting from exertion. For a minute, he seemed surprised to see her there.

  “Chad!” a voice cried from down the hall. Beth turned to see a third man enter and run to their side.

  Her eyes spun from the newcomer back to the man who had rescued her, still straddling the figure lying prone, out cold. Of course. It was Chad Evans, the lead singer of Trapped Under Ice. As she watched, he sat back on his haunches, breathing hard.

  “It’s okay, Pete,” he finally told the older gentleman who had called out to him. The singer turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  She peered at him. His brown eyes were soft with concern. For a minute, he reminded her of Paul. Beth always thought of brown eyes as flat and uninteresting before she met her husband. Yet Paul’s eyes time and again demonstrated an ability to make her melt. She saw her husband again in these eyes.

  “I-I’m fine,” she stuttered, unnerved by his gaze.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” The older man offered his hand and lifted her to her feet.

  Chad rose, too. He looked down at the man between his boots, seeming to understand all at once that he was responsible for his bloodied chin and mouth.

  “Looks like you did a number on him,” Pete grumbled.

  “Y-yeah,” he responded, his unease with the fact evident.

  Cassie appeared from out of nowhere and rushed into her arms.

  “Oh, Cas.” Beth clutched her daughter, struggling to contain her emotions. The fear she kept at bay, the horrible thought the men would hurt Cassie, surged through her like the crowd flooding through the open doors of a department store on Black Friday, only with less warning. She could feel her muscles shaking and allowed the tears to stream unabashedly down her face; she had no strength left to fight it.

  ***

  Chad stood off to one side, feeling awkward. He had gotten into many fights before, some he no doubt even started, mostly in the bars where the band played before they were booked in stadiums. And while the big man usually came out on top, Chad generally felt miserable afterward, as he did now.

  His eyes were drawn to the pair of women who were the focus of the group, for others were arriving on the scene, too. The teen, who had found him in the hallway and had asked for help, stood hugging the woman the man had attacked, both of them obviously relieved to see each other in one piece.

  While Chad watched, the woman with the unstoppable eyes glanced up and caught his. “Thank you,” she mouthed silently.

  He nodded in what he hoped was a casual style, but his heart cartwheeled in his chest. Out of habit he checked for a wedding ring, but her hands were bare. Was she single, or just one of those women who didn’t like to wear jewelry on her hands? Then, he felt a wave of guilt. The woman had just been beaten and he was checking her out. What was wrong with him? Still, there was something about her…

  He noticed, behind the women, Pete was filling in his brother, David, and Dante, who was his best friend and bandmate, Roger’s bodyguard. David crossed to him.

  “You okay, bro?” His lips were tight as he scanned Chad’s face and searched for signs of injury elsewhere.

  Noting David’s expression, he realized he had been clenching and unclenching his hands for some minutes now. “I’m fine, Davy.” He laid a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder.

  David grabbed him up in a bear hug. Chad smiled, though a little embarrassed. His brother released his grip but stood with an arm around Chad for a minute. He reached out his hand to the pair of women still huddled together in the middle of the group. “Hi, I’m David Evans.”

  The ordinariness of his act helped to settle the mother down. She shook his hand. “Yes, I know.” She smiled. She had one of those smiles that filled a room. “Beth Donovan…and this is my daughter, Cassandra.”

  “Cassie,” the teen corrected, giving her mom a try-not-to-humiliate-me look and seeming to bounce back momentarily from her fright. She, too, appeared to be taken in by the sense of normalcy being reestablished.

  Four uniformed security guards interrupted them, appearing from around the corner. Pete and Dante walked up to greet them. “This guy assaulted these women,” Pete explained, gesturing first to the man at their feet, who was coming around, and then back to Cassie and Beth.

  “And there’s another one in the bathroom,” Beth added. “I think he may need some medical care.” Her tone was remorseful, forehead creased with worry.

  Chad gawked at her in surprise. How did this five-foot-two mother and her slightly taller daughter dispatch with a second assailant?

  The oldest of the four guards, who appeared to be in charge, approached Beth. “It looks as if you could use a little medical attention yourself.”

  Beth seemed uncomfortable with all the attention drawn to her, her blush still visible despite the redness of her injuries. “I’m okay,” she affirmed. She looked beyond the guard to David before her gaze finally rested on Chad, who stood with his hands in pockets next to his brother.

  “Well, ho
w about a beer, at least?” Roger queried, having entered with Keith a few minutes before. Chad guessed his friend was trying to ease the tension.

  Beth sighed. “Now, that sounds pretty good.” She looked at the guard for permission. He hesitated.

  “Sure. We’ll get the information from these two gentlemen”—he indicated Pete and Dante—“and if we need anything else, we’ll come get you.”

  “And you’ll make sure they are taken to a hospital?” Beth insisted.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responded, raising his eyebrows. She exhaled, her face relaxing more, and then turned to follow Roger.

  “Right this way, ladies.” The bassist swept his arm wide and bowed, throwing Chad a wink over his shoulder.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When they entered the backstage area, a woman came rushing over to Roger. She had short, brown hair with one long strand of pink hanging from the side, and she wore an eclectic outfit consisting of a black and white horizontally striped, long-sleeved t-shirt that scooped low over her abundant breasts, and a short black skirt that looked like a tutu. The girl had an enormous black and white polka-dotted bow in her hair and hot-pink tights on under the skirt. Beth immediately thought of Cyndi Lauper.

  “Are you okay, babe?” the woman asked Roger anxiously, hanging on him.

  “I’m fine. I’m fine,” Roger muttered, sounding a little annoyed. “Chad here took care of all the bad guys for us.”

  “Chad?” The woman turned her gaze on the singer.

  “I just took care of one,” Chad reminded him.

  “Oh yeah. I stand corrected.” Roger handed Beth the beer he had retrieved for her, studying her. He opened his mouth to question her further, but the woman at his side interrupted.

  “Hi, I’m Michelle. Are you sure you two are okay? Boy, if it were me, I’d still be shaking in my boots.”

  Beth noted doing that wouldn’t be too difficult in the high-heeled, thigh-high, black boots the woman was sporting. “Well, I may not be shaking on the outside, but…” Beth took a drink of her beer, grateful for its numbing relief. She raised her eyebrows and nodded to indicate she was indeed shaking on the inside.

  “Roger, get her water or something,” Michelle ordered, indicating Cassie. “What do you want, hon?”

  “Water is fine,” Cassie replied, somewhat subdued now.

  “Let me show you gals to a restroom so you can get cleaned up,” Michelle offered, leading them farther into the shadows. The rest of the group trouped after them.

  Michelle opened a door on what appeared to be a large rec room, except for the mirrored vanities lining one wall, like the cliché dressing room. She opened a second inner door as the men fanned out around the room behind them, and the three women entered a spacious bathroom.

  Beth glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Lovely, she thought wryly, the light seeming to accent every mark on her face left by the blows she received.

  “Yeah, you’re a piece of work. Let me get you a washcloth.” Michelle rummaged around and came up with a hand towel, getting it damp and handing it to Beth. Beth touched it to her lip with as little pressure as possible but still sucked in her breath in pain.

  “I’m Roger’s wife, by the way,” Michelle emphasized, giving Beth a slightly challenging look in the mirror before turning to Cassie. “And how are you doing, darlin’?”

  Cassie was splashing water on her face at the sink next to Beth. She still looked pale, but seemed to be regaining her equilibrium little by little.

  ***

  In the outer room, Chad was pacing again, half placing blame for the attack on himself. It’s little wonder something like this happened, he fumed silently. I mean, my music is pretty violent at times. It can’t be any great wonder it draws violent people.

  He quickly downed his second bottle of beer and was well into his third when the women reentered the main room. Roger was giving a comical play-by-play of the fight without ever seeing any of it. Chad, half-sitting, half-leaning against some sound equipment on the far side of the room, couldn’t help but grin at his antics. He knew it was just Roger’s way of trying to make everything okay. He had a knack for that, he reflected.

  Chad stood with a guilty start at the sound of the trios’ entrance. Roger was about to go into another reenactment of a bar brawl he and Chad were in, when he warned him with a slight shake of the head. Switching gears, Roger launched into an amusing tirade about his mother-in-law, who Michelle halfheartedly tried to defend.

  Chad’s eyes casually strayed to Beth’s face. She found a seat on one of the couches, taking everything in and sipping beer. It appeared as though she had straightened her hair and wiped the blood from her mouth. She looked much calmer. Watching her eyes dart from speaker to speaker, he decided she was even more beautiful than he had thought. He wondered how to determine for certain whether she was single or not.

  Cassie sat without speaking on the floor in front of Beth as she stroked the teen’s hair absentmindedly. He noticed, with a feeling of discomfort, her hands still trembled slightly. From time to time she pressed the cold beer bottle to her cut lip and occasionally to the back of her head. He was about to offer her the ice wrapped in a towel lying next to him, given to him to ease his knuckles, but Roger asked him to clarify part of a story and he lost track of his line of thought.

  ***

  Beth exhaled as her mind now had the time to sort through what took place throughout the evening. She went over each tortuous minute with her assailant and always came back to her overwhelming sense of relief that someone came to their rescue. After a few minutes, however, she recognized she wasn’t contributing much to the conversation. She again blocked out thoughts of the attack to tune in to what was being said.

  The group seemed to be comparing notes on their performance. As she listened, Beth tried to wrap her mind around the fact she was sitting in the midst of the mega-band Trapped Under Ice. What an odd turn of events.

  From her position in a chair opposite the couch Roger, Michelle, and David occupied, she could easily observe everyone in the band. Her attention was first drawn to the most animated speaker, Roger. The bassist stood about five-eleven, built stocky, with short, brown hair and an open, expressive face. He looked like your typical kid brother, but with a touch of the devil in him.

  “I screwed up on ‘Second Time Around.’ I thought we were on the third verse when we were only on the second.”

  “Oh, honey. You were fantastic. As usual,” Michelle cooed, planting a hungry kiss on him.

  The others seemed at ease with her display of affection.

  “What about me?” David teased from his position to Michelle’s right on the couch. He puckered up. “Wasn’t I fantastic, too?”

  Keith, the youngest of the four band members at maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, did not intend to be left out of the action. He leaned over Roger from his perch on the arm of the couch, opposite of David. “Yeah, and I bet you never heard drums like that before, eh?” In torn jeans, with a double-pierced ear and hair containing at least a half-dozen styling products, he looked the part of the drummer. He and David made loud kissing noises as they tried to embrace the couple.

  “Get the hell out of here.” Roger chuckled, swatting at them.

  They bantered comfortably, obviously a group more like family to each other than friends. It set Beth at ease to be in such a warm environment, to be in the midst of people who seemed to care a great deal for each other.

  “What did you think, Beth?” Roger interjected.

  “Me? Well, I’m hardly an expert.”

  “Nonsense. You are the expert. You’re our audience. So what did you think?” Before she could answer, Roger added, “Be brutally honest, but kind.”

  She laughed. “Okay. I honestly thought you sounded great. The stage set up was impressive, the best I’ve ever seen, and I loved the way Chad interacted with the crowd. I’ve been to concerts where the band sounded exactly like they did on the radio, but had no real connection
with the audience, and they weren’t nearly as fun. But...”

  “But what?” Roger prompted, sitting up straighter.

  She felt all eyes on her. Here was her opportunity. “You didn’t play ‘I Just Had to Have You Last Night.’ I love that song.”

  He smiled, appearing relieved the criticism was mild. “Yeah. I love it, too, but I feel like something’s missing. We may have to rework it.”

  She glanced in Chad’s direction. “But I thought—”

  Roger anticipated her confusion. “Chad writes the music and sings the music and plays lead guitar and all, but I’m the real brains behind this operation. I decide what we play and what we don’t. While Pretty Boy’s off doing interviews and such, I’m back here slaving away, making the real magic happen.”

  There was a general uproar with his statement and Roger was pelted with couch pillows.

  She again raised her eyes to scope out Chad. The singer was shaking his head in amusement and laughing quietly, but was standing apart from the others, behind the couch, almost lurking in the shadows like some specter. She witnessed his love for his brother and for Roger, yet he kept himself at a distance. As she tried to figure out the famous rocker, she couldn’t help but admire his long legs, which were crossed at the ankles, and the well-defined biceps of his arms folded across his chest. Though she had never really considered anyone’s hands before, even the length of his fingers she found indescribably beautiful as they curled loosely around his arms. He wore a leather cord around his wrist, Beth noted, and several silver rings on his fingers. She wondered idly if they ever interfered with his guitar playing. She realized the singer’s gaze had shifted to her and was forced to pretend she was supremely interested in what Roger was saying.