by Lyrica Creed
Gage Remington… voluntary rehab after an incident onstage… left the facility without checking out… will this escape from rehab cause his record label to drop him and his band Fire Flight…
What a bunch of bullshit! Escape. Surging to his feet, he swung around a little too clumsily in his anger. His elbow toppled the beer bottle, spilling what remained of the contents onto the bar where it quickly rivered into the lap of the nearest patron.
“Hey, asswipe!” The man had a few silver hairs streaking through his dark cut, but he had the attitude and build of a younger man. “What’re you going to do about that?” Fury dilated the man’s pupils and his jaw worked in anger.
Taking in the other man’s wet jeans with a disdainful appraisal, Gage yielded to the temper he was becoming infamous for in the tabloids. Waving a red flag in front of a bull is what he did well these days. Mouthing off an insult he wouldn’t be proud of later, he skirted the man and the barstool he perched on with the sole intention of eighty sixing himself from the joint. It wasn’t that easy. The man jumped from the stool and swung. Gage swung back, connecting with his chin.
And that’s when the bouncer and his own capable bodyguard ushered him outside.
“How many lawsuits is enough?” His security detail muttered while cramming him into the passenger seat of a very plain SUV.
“One more can’t hurt.” He knew he was being a shit to the person who was on his payroll to save his ass from himself, as well as others. All joking aside, he hoped he hadn’t been recognized. He didn’t need any more trouble coming his way.
Reaching for the radio, he turned it up and whipped his phone from his jacket pocket to text his publicist. The blinking notification however, hurtled him from the present to the past.
Scarlette.
Hey, big brother.
2:55 PM
Scarlette.
It’s me, Scar. Your dad gave me your number not long ago.
2:56 PM
Scarlette.
How are things?
2:56 PM
Hey, sis. He gave me yours too.
sent 3:55 PM
All is good, you?
sent 3:55 PM
The texts flew back and forth. He frowned when she mentioned working in a bar and smiled when she mentioned classes.
I’m sure you’re making straight A’s as usual
sent 4:05 PM
Scarlette
The grading system here is different, but I’m doing okay. You in L.A.?
4:06 PM
Finally. Just came off a grueling tour.
sent 4:07 PM
And apparently ‘escaped from rehab…’ after said tour.
Scarlette
Are you seriously complaining about rockstardom?
4:08 PM
Yeah. It’s not always all that.
sent 4:08 PM
Scarlette
I know. I was joking.
4:09 PM
He paused, looking out the window. The city was getting dark. But it didn’t hide his sins. How much did she know?
Scarlette
I’m going to be in LA in a couple of weeks.
4:11 PM
Serious?
sent 4:11 PM
The gears in his mind churned with the possible reasons she might have to come to L.A. And were the semesters different in Belize or was she on a spring semester break? What registered and took root was the fact that Scarlette, his little sis and best friend, would be in the same room with him in the near future.
Where are you staying?
sent 8:22 PM
Scarlette
With you?
8:25 PM
Scarlette
If that’s cool…
8:25 PM
Hell yeah
sent 8:26 PM
Scarlette
It’ll be two weeks from today.
8:28 PM
Keep me updated.
sent 8:28 PM
Scarlette
Thanks. You’re the best big rockstar bubbah ever
8:29 PM
Can’t wait sissy
sent 8:30 PM
She flipped him off via emoticon for the redneck nickname, and he sent the same emote back for her ‘rockstar bubbah’ ridicule.
Chapter 3
“My passport!” Raising my voice to be heard in the next room, I frantically sifted through the safe in my mother’s bedroom closet. “The bag isn’t here!” Rifling through the vinyl zipper bags, looking for the red one that contained our birth certificates and a few other important papers including our passports, I began to panic.
My mother appeared in the doorway and lifted a wineglass to her lips before sauntering into the room. After scanning the area, her eyes settled on the dresser, and she gestured with the stem. “There.”
“Oh.” I fell back on my heels, relieved. Straightening, I eyed the clock on the nightstand. Three hours before I needed to be rolling up to airport checkin. At the dresser, I fetched the passports from the bag, separated my own, returned my mother’s, and re-zipped the holder. “Why is this out, anyway?”
My mother downed another swallow. “I laid it out for you.”
My bullshit detector registered, but after a quick close scrutiny of my mother’s flushed features, I decided the odd tone was alcohol related. “Thanks.”
“You know, that boy has been in a lot of trouble. Be careful.”
Already in the hallway, I turned, fixing an incredulous look on the other woman. “It’s Gage. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Hadn’t I addressed the queen of trouble with her endless number of degenerate rock musician serfs as ‘Mom’? I could certainly handle a rock star stepbrother.
My mother followed me to my bedroom, where I zipped my luggage. “You’ll be back in a week?”
“Two weeks max.” I hugged her. “I’ve got to get going.”
“But it’s only a two hour flight. And I thought you were arriving at midnight.”
“I had to do a layover to save money. And it’s a long one.” I bit my tongue on a sarcastic retort about why I had to save money. I’d already had a screaming confrontation with my mother over my bank balance, and she had seemed ashamed.
Turbulence vibrated the aircraft, giving it the feel of a sled gliding over an icy surface, frozen during winds. My mind roamed to snow tubing with my stepbrother one winter in Washington, where we had lived during the several years our parents had been married. The plane rattled again, and in macabre fashion, my memories dredged up the time I’d been trying to show off and had instead careened my tube airborne, off a hill, and into the trunk of a snow-powdered fir…
“Are you okay?” Gage abandoned his own board and dropped to his knees beside me.
Studying the jagged rip in my favorite gloves, I avoided his striking gaze and brushed aside his concern. “Fine. Just me being stupid, as usual.”
His voice was tender when he admonished, “Told you, Scar. Stop talking shit about yourself like that.”
My seat bounced again, and I forcefully blocked images of the embarrassing tube incident and the sensation of hurtling through the air before crashing to the ground.
The moment the aircraft stilled, I swept a gaze over the other passengers. Everyone else seemed calm, so I forced my white knuckled grip on the armrests to relax. I’d never been a good flier.
A distraction was in order. Pulling my phone from my wallet, I pressed the side button and waited for it to power up. After connecting to the plane’s Wi-Fi, I checked for new text messages. Ignoring the one from my mother who insisted I call right away, I reread old messages from Ivy—all the way back to the texts in which she had begged backstage passes.
Gage’s father had operated a studio in Seattle until getting a job offer with Capital records in L.A. Access to most any show was a standing offer from him. I had taken him up on it a couple of times, and he always came through. The Rageon passes had come from him, I was counting on him having the connections to help me find Ivy.
“I like your tattoo.” He smiled, and I followed his eyes to my wrist.
“My tattoo?” I blew out a breath. Possibly, he hadn’t been looking at my phone screen.
The design on my wrist was all black. An old-timey stopwatch. The chain was inked all the way around, bracelet style. The clock face on my inner wrist was etched with Roman numerals. The hands extended from a heart made of a treble and bass clef note. Instead of two dots, the bass clef had a dot and comma, making a semi colon. “Thanks.”
Thankfully, he asked no more about it. Not that I told anyone, ever, the special meaning behind the ink.
Chapter 4
“Son of a—” Breaking off the string of curses that had been about to spill, Gage glanced at the young teen who was also vigorously working a game controller. “…biscuit eating pig!” And then he lost both the battle onscreen and with his tongue. “Dammit! Cover me! Why aren’t they covering me? Are they covering you?”
“They’re idiots. New server next game.” Seth kept his eyes cemented on the giant screen television.
“Hey!” Seth’s father and Gage’s bandmate, Colt, wandered into the room from the hallway. “Who’s in the pool?” Removing his shades, he took in the view. A long swimming pool stretched the length of the room, only a few steps beyond the open outside wall.
“Allison and a friend. Trista or something.”
“There’s two babes besides Allison.”
“Allison and two friends.” Gage corrected in a bored manner and concentrated on maneuvering his onscreen chopper. He wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the local groupie action in his pool and had let them be while teaching Seth a few techniques on the guitar.
“Gratitude for keeping Seth safe from Allison’s scary clutches.”
“That’s why you’ve been making me play games?” Onscreen, Seth’s character bit the dust. Instead of respawning, the teen threw the controller aside and furrowed a frown at Gage for his treachery. “Screw this. I’ll be at the pool until we leave.”
“Beer’s in the fridge.” Gage ignored the teen’s outburst and abrupt departure. The ‘Round Ended’ screen flashed, and he let his score tally before logging out and abandoning the gaming.
“You check your voicemail today?” Colt tossed him a frosty bottle and strategically placed himself within sight of his son and the stunning women sunning.
Twisting open the top, Gage considered the long tour leg they’d recently come off of and felt no shame in admitting he was still taking time off.
Colt seemed amused. “Vacation is officially over. You should check your messages.”
“Vacation isn’t over.” Gage countered, and straightened to his feet with the intention of joining his female guests.
“Just find your damn phone. I’m serious.”
“If there’s something I need to know, spit it out.”
But he was concerned enough to locate his cell phone and check the voicemails, texts, and other messages in queue. His heart warmed to see the text from his sister, updating him on her layover, and reminding him she was due into LAX late that evening. Just as quickly, his mood darkened to see a message from his lawyer regarding the trouble he’d gotten into on tour.
And the one Colt was surely going on about―one from his record label. The band was expected to have an album completed with a probable top ten single within the next fourteen months or the label would drop him.
“They’ll drop me? Or the band?”
“Keep listening. The next one.”
Switching to speakerphone, he glared at Colt for the dramatics. After the next message finished playing, he left the cell on a table letting the call automatically end while he drew a long swig of the beer.
It seemed in addition to a promising song, he was to have something for them to hear before the end of the month.
“Why does the douche keep saying me?” Moving closer to the patio, he roved appreciative eyes over tanned bumps and curves glistening in the sunlight.
Colt glowered while taking in the same view. Likely because the girls were openly flirting with his young teen son. Allison’s tits all but floated from the strip of a bikini top as she leaned back with her arms on the rim of the pool while talking and flashing an enticing smile at Seth. Colt had become a father when he was only a few years older than Seth, so although he spoiled his son in almost every way, he had become a real hard ass in these situations.
“Probably because you’re so easily replaced.” Colt spoke over his shoulder.
He knew Colt was joking around. But in the light of everything going on lately, he didn’t find the remark the least bit funny and expressed his displeasure with an obscene gesture. “Fuck you.”
“No. You’re the one who’s fucked. You can’t stay sober long enough to write a song. Much less an album.”
“You’re probably right.” The guitars filling every available space in this room saluted mockingly. “So you do it.”
“Yeah. Right. Because we know how well that works out for me.” His eyes had been heated with hostility, but now they chilled with clear meaning. “But I’ll also gladly take your place when you’re booted out.” Colt downed his beer and pitched the bottle into the trash where it clinked against others. As if he hadn’t ridden in on a hardline high horse, he dropped a tiny bag of white powder onto the table where it landed next to the phone of bad news. “Enjoy the rest of your vacay day!”
Easier done now that Colt was taking his leave. He and Colt had been close friends for years―as well as enemies. Colt always had his six in a pinch but also turned on him on a dime if it suited him in some way.
He watched as Colt knelt next to the water, and the women turned their sultry attention his way. This seemed to be the plan. Seth exited the pool from the far end and after looking around, dropped his hand to the front of his swim trunks for a quick adjustment. When he sent a grateful look to his dad, Colt stood, bidding the girls bye, and father and son entered the house through the great room.
Seth popped into the studio room for his guitar and grinned. The angst from a half hour ago had vanished. “Thanks for the lesson.”
“See you.” Gage returned the smile.
Soon the front door clicking closed echoed down the hallway.
Picking up the tiny zip lock bag, Gage carried it outside to the girls. His cravings ran deeper this evening than a couple of thick white lines, but he could wait for the sweet sting he desired.
Chapter 5
The baggage claim area was empty of rock stars. Gage had yet to answer my ‘Wheels down’ text. While waiting for the crowd to thin around the baggage carousel, I peered through the large windows, scanning the waiting rides, but almost every vehicle was abuzz with loading activity. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked for an answer to my text and sent another.
In baggage now. Where are you?
sent 12:49 AM
When we were children, my stepbrother had always been there for me. Even when my mom had been photographed by the paparazzi with her lover, creating one hell of a scandalous split up with Gage’s father, Gage had remained interested in my life. But a couple of years after graduation, his band, Fire Flight, had taken off. I’d rarely heard from Gage since.
Stumbling across him on the internet couldn’t be helped, him being a paparazzi and tabloid favorite. We were friends on Facebook. But I had a feeling someone else had taken over his accounts. A social media assistant who thought my congratulatory comments beneath the posts of an album drop or a number one iTunes download were the blabbering of a fan or groupie, because I never got more than a ‘like’—if that—in return.
Obviously, the niggling feeling that Ga
ge hadn’t ignored me on social media had been wishful thinking. He was a rock star, and I knew firsthand how self-absorbed celebrities were.
“Ma’am? Would you like me to help you with your bag?”
My lone piece of luggage was the only one riding on the carousal, and I hastily grabbed it up with a smile to my previous seatmate. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
Outside, I waited for a cab to glide into the pickup area and waved the next one down. The cabbie wasn’t as chivalrous as the man in baggage claim had been. He was silent as I slid open the door and wedged my own suitcase into the cargo area before climbing in the back and heaving the door closed.
“Where to?”
“I’m not sure yet. One moment, please.”
My phone vibrated and blinked with an incoming call from my mother. Ignoring the call, I tapped out my third text to Gage and then one to his father.
Immediately my phone rang, flashing my previous stepfather’s ID. It calmed me a bit to know that although we hadn’t corresponded in years outside of emails and texts, and the hour was late, he was that quick to call.
“I’m not in town right now, but I can arrange a car for you and book you into a hotel.” He made the offer, and again, I was touched. “And if you want, I can have someone meet you at my house tomorrow and let you in. How long are you staying?”
“A week. Two at most. Gage is expecting me. We talked last week, and I may have misunderstood the plans for when I arrived.” I tacked on the fib at the end because Gage’s father had always been hard on him. “Thanks though.” I really did want to stay at Gage’s house. Memories of watching movies and playing video games with him as a preteen and teen were some of the best I’d stored away over the years.
I glared again at the caller ID flashing my mother’s name and once again thumbed ‘ignore.’ He recited Gage’s address and said he’d follow up by texting it and the codes to his son’s house since “Gage isn’t reliable about receiving guests.”