Love Rock'ollection: The Brutal Strength Rock Star Trilogy, books 1-3

by Michelle Mankin

  “Ok.” Avery stood slowly, head throbbing. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she moved across the plane to throw her empty bottle into the recycling bin. She ran right into Marcus who apparently had been heading full steam for the exit.

  “Oh!” She grabbed onto his upper arms to steady herself.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered voice gruff, his taut biceps flexing beneath her hands.

  She didn’t move, couldn’t move, savoring the warmth and feel of him. When her gaze finally lifted from where it had stalled out on the center of his chest, she encountered his blue as the Caribbean eyes and fell into them with a splash.

  Her grip tightened. She didn’t want to let him go. Not now, not ever.

  His hands came up and covered hers.

  “Marcus, please,” she pleaded, moistening her lips and moved in closer. “I miss you so much. Talk to me. I know we can work this out.”

  He stared at her. A moment passed, and then another. She allowed hope to soar from the cage of her heart.

  “No, Avery,” he said softly, prying her fingers loose. “There’s nothing left to say.”

  Hope plummeted to earth, sputtered, and died. Bitter tears curtained her eyes as she watched him turn the corner out of sight.

  “You ok, Avery?” Ray asked.

  “No, I’m not.” His rejection was a searing wound through her chest. She felt battered and bruised inside and out. “I’m going to need a moment.”

  He took a step toward her as if he wanted to comfort her, and then hesitated. “Sure. I’ll give you a few.” All business he moved toward the exit. “I’ll send the rest on ahead to the hotel,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you by the car.”

  MARCUS TOOK ANOTHER swig of his Coke, wishing it was Crown instead. A whole lot of Crown.

  Something to take the edge off.

  Something to help him forget.

  It had been a near thing on the plane today. He’d been about a heartbeat away from taking what she had offered. He no longer trusted himself to do the right thing where she was concerned. He had no freaking willpower when it came to her. He was going to have to do something drastic to get her to move on with her life. Something to make her hate him.

  His gaze flicked over to her again. He’d been pathetic, stalking her all night with his eyes.

  It didn’t help that she looked so devastatingly beautiful.

  She was wearing some clingy thing that gathered around her wrists and was tied at the chest. His fingers itched to loosen the ribbon so he could watch the black and white dress slip off her shoulders and puddle to the floor. No doubt underneath there’d be some sexy lingerie. Maybe he’d even talk her into keeping those high heels on when…

  Shit.

  He pulled the collar of his t-shirt away from his hot neck. He barely refrained from audibly growling at the jackals salivating all over her, including that effing Tempest guitarist. His hands tightened on the glass tumbler in his hand. He and that guy had some unfinished business that needed to be resolved. He took a step toward him, anticipating an outlet for the tension coiled inside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Avery throw her arms around some handsome Latino guy he didn’t recognize. The impeccably groomed man ran a familiar hand through Avery’s hair and down her arm before he kissed her hand.

  Who the hell was this?

  “Benito!” Trevor exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

  Oh, so this was the guy responsible for Avery’s gender bending transformation. She’d mentioned him before, but she’d never said anything about how good looking or touchy feely he was. His eyes narrowed.

  “Hey, little brother,” Dwight said, moving to stand close beside him. He followed the direction of Marcus’ gaze. “Who’s that guy with Avery?”

  “Ricardo Benito,” he muttered.

  “The celebrity stylist?”

  “Apparently,” he bit out, feeling pissed as he watched Benito flirt with her.

  “They look pretty cozy.”

  His sentiments exactly. Marcus closed his eyes, shuttering his emotions from view. When he opened them Dwight was still there. “Do you need something bro, or are you just hanging around to torment me?”

  “Marcus, it’s obvious you’re still in love with her.”

  Marcus thought it pointless to deny it.

  “So why don’t you try to work things out with her?”

  “There’s nothing to work out.”

  “Doesn’t appear that way to me.”

  “Leave it, Dwight,” Marcus growled. “Things don’t always end up the way we want them to.”

  “Strange talk coming from a control freak like you.” Dwight’s brows rose. “Haven’t you always just taken what you wanted?”

  Marcus glared at him.

  “I don’t understand you, little brother. Why do you torture yourself? It seems like you want to be miserable. Actually I’m too tired to argue with you tonight. I need to call Lisa before I turn in.” He glanced at Avery and then back at Marcus. He shook his head as he walked off muttering, “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  Absently, Marcus nodded, searching the room for Avery. Locating her again, he moved in closer, not happy to see Jackson had joined her now. Maybe he couldn’t have her, but he definitely didn’t want that douche to be his replacement.

  “Hey, Marcus. Old buddy.” A tall, slim man with shaggy blond hair and a crooked nose came up, slapped him on the back and unwittingly blocked his view of Avery. “Long time no see. How the heck are you?” His brow rose curiously as Marcus strained to see around him.

  “Owen,” Marcus replied distractedly. “How are you?”

  “Good. Just got back from Hawaii. You remember Wendy Wilcox don’t you?” Owen drew a statuesque tanned blonde into view.

  “Hello, Marcus,” she purred, her lips lingering an uncomfortably long time on his cheek. Oh, yeah. He remembered her. Remembered that they had nothing in common except what they had shared in the bedroom.

  “Wendy,” Marcus returned and took a step back, totally disinterested in what she was selling. A quick glance at Avery revealed that her attention was riveted in their direction. Her brows were lowered and her posture stiff.

  “Avery,” Marcus heard Jackson say as he tugged on her arm.

  She blinked and her attention shifted back to her small entourage.

  And that’s when Marcus knew exactly what he would have to do. It would hurt her temporarily, but after he did it, they would be done. Permanently. There would be no more pleas from her to get back together.

  And he knew just the right woman for the job.

  Adrienne Tate.

  Groupie extraordinaire.

  The only thing Adrienne loved more than sleeping with someone famous was telling everyone else about it.

  “Wendy tells me you guys dated back when you lived out here in LA,” Owen mentioned.

  “Dating? Is that what you called it?” Marcus commented drily. “I’d use a different word,” he concluded, leaving Owen perplexed and Wendy smirking before making his way toward Avery.

  He saw Avery’s chin dip. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Will you all please excuse me? I need to… I need to…” Words seemed to fail her as she hurried away.

  “Avery,” Marcus called out and caught her by the elbow before she made it out the door.

  “What do you want?” she hissed under her breath, tugging her arm free.

  “You were right. Earlier on the plane. We do need to sit down. Hash this out.”

  Her expression softened.

  “There are things that need to be cleared up. Let’s get together tomorrow in San Diego.”

  “What time?” she asked after a short pause.

  “You have the Opus thing in the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, unfortunately I’ve got shit booked up through the afternoon. Why don’t we meet after the concert? My room. So we can talk privately.”

  “Alright,” she agreed.
>
  The hope that he saw blossom in her eyes drove a spike of dread straight through his heart.

  ALONE IN THE small tropically themed lobby of the Half Moon Inn in San Diego, Avery picked at the threads in the colorful floral pattern of the cushion on the rattan chair while she waited for her ride to arrive. A fish tank bubbled softly behind her. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, trying to allow the soothing sounds to quiet her unsettled mind.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous night. After her conversation with Marcus, she had watched him leave the party with Owen and Wendy, jealousy sinking its razor sharp claws deep into her heart. She’d moved toward the door to go sulk in her room when Bryan had stepped in front of her. “Is everything ok?” he’d asked. “You look upset.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” She had started to walk around him, but he had grabbed her arm. “Let go of me,” she’d told him, enunciating each word carefully, her irritation bleeding over into her tone. “Go on back to your skanky groupies and leave me the hell alone.”

  Eyes narrowed, he’d had no answer to that and given her venom, it’d been no great surprise that he’d complied with her wishes.

  Back in the swanky white on white California beach themed room at the C Beverly, she’d endured yet another sleepless night, this one even worse than the previous as she’d lain awake wondering if Marcus had taken Wendy to his bed.

  I’d use a different word.

  She’d eventually moved out to the lounger on her balcony. Putting her earbuds in, she had scrolled up the volume trying to drown out her tortured thoughts, anxiously waiting for the sunrise.

  After that, she had successfully avoided contact with Marcus as well as everyone else, boarding the plane well ahead of them and locking herself in the bedroom. If he’d been with Wendy, she hadn’t wanted to know and couldn’t have borne the pity from the others. Mentally, she had held it together, but just barely. Scratching off each hour she’d endured. Hoping that when the time finally came to talk, Marcus would tell her this had all been a big mistake. But the evidence against that happening was becoming impossible to ignore, and as that had started to sink in, her thoughts had become increasingly negative.

  Face it.

  He’s moved on.

  It’s over.

  There’s nothing left to save.

  She should have been used to people checking out on her when she needed them most. No one ever loved her enough to stay. First, her father after her mom died, then Justin with the drugs, and now Marcus.

  Intentional or not, each time she ended up feeling emptier than the last. It was getting harder and harder to pick up the pieces and go on. She was beginning to wonder if she should trust anyone with her heart.

  “Good morning.”

  Startled, Avery swiped at her eyes before looking up.

  Bryan stood in front of her wearing low hanging jeans and a corded navy shirt, his faux hawk perfectly styled with gel. He set down a guitar case.

  “Morning,” she mumbled, cheeks flagging with red, remembering the last words she’d spoken to him.

  The cushion sank down as he sat beside her. “When’s our ride coming?”

  “What?”

  “Our ride,” he spoke the two words loudly as if she was hard of hearing and raised a brow. “To the high school in Epicida. It hasn’t been cancelled, has it?”

  “No, but I really didn’t expect you to still come. I mean I know we talked about it before, but after the way I acted last night.” She blew out a breath and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry by the way.”

  “Apology unnecessary, but accepted. Dammit Red, I’m new to this friend business, but I’d be a real shitty one if I abandoned you the first time you said an unkind word to me, don’t you think?”

  She nodded, attempting a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Why’d you bring your guitar?”

  “I thought I might play something. The kids in LA kept asking us to.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Well, why don’t you go get yours, and then we’ll come up with something to do together on the drive over?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”

  “Avery.” He swiveled to put a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you do what you wanna do for a change?”

  “You’re right.” Her chin lifted. “I’ll get my guitar and be right back.”

  ON THE DRIVE over, oblivious to the hilly topography or tropical greenery, they talked about their favorite bands. Bryan was a big Guns ‘N Roses fan and liked a lot of the metal stuff from the late nineties. He wrinkled his nose when Avery mentioned her love of classic rock.

  “Van Halen. You’ve got to be kidding me? David Lee Roth. That dude is such a side show!”

  “And Axl Rose is not?”

  “Good point.”

  “Speaking of show boating,” Avery mused, “what song do you want to perform?”

  “How about ‘You and Me’? That will probably sound real good unplugged, and I think it’s popular enough that they will connect with it.”

  “Lifehouse?” Her lips curved up.

  “Yeah, why are you staring at me like that? What’s wrong with Lifehouse?”

  “I just hadn’t pictured you as a ballad guy.”

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Red.”

  “I never do that.” She smiled. “Ok. Lifehouse it is. But you know every girl in that auditorium is gonna fall for you if you sing that one.”

  He stared at her a long moment. “I’d settle for just one.”

  “Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  He opened his mouth to say something but then looked out the window instead. The driver was pulling the SUV into the front circle of a two story red brick school, its decorative planting beds filled with kangaroo palms. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

  “I don’t have any,” she answered, twisting her hands. Her meeting with Marcus was foremost in her mind. Anything beyond that seemed immaterial to her.

  “I was thinking of going out to Coronado Island for the day. Eating lunch at the Del. Would you like to come with me?”

  “I haven’t been to the beach since I was a kid.” She sighed longingly.

  “I love the ocean, the smell of the salt spray, the sound of the waves. When I wanna get away that’s where I go. There’s a real nice stretch in front of the Del. More shells than people this time of the year. A great place to put things in perspective.”

  “It would be good to get away from all the stress.” She was quiet for a moment, auburn brows coming together. “But I don’t think I should. I really can’t make any firm plans for tomorrow. But thanks for inviting me.”

  At a formal ceremony in the school’s gym, Avery presented the superintendent of the district with a check from the foundation. Then she and Bryan sat at a folding table while the students lined up and filed past to get autographs.

  A group of girls were still giggling at something Bryan had said as they moved to her. While Avery signed Brutal Strength CD’s for them she tuned into Bryan’s conversation with the next teen.

  “Hang in there, man. It’ll get better.” Bryan was leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I know it feels as if high school’s the center of the universe right now, but it’s not.”

  “Dude, if it wasn’t for my mom, I’d quit school. Get the hell out of here. Start over somewhere else.”

  “I know. I felt the same way when I was your age. But my mom, my sisters, and I stuck it out together and found ways to make ends meet. Life wasn’t easy. It kept knocking us down, but we never stayed there. My mom went to school at nights and got her nursing degree.”

  “Doesn’t that take four years?”

  “It does if you don’t have to work days. It took her seven, but she did it. Don’t give up is what I’m trying to say.”

  “I won’t.” He bumped knuckles with Bryan. “Thanks.”

  “Take it easy, man.”

&
nbsp; “Ok. Time’s up at the signing table,” the principal informed everyone, checking his watch. “Mr. Jackson and Miss Jones are going to perform a song for us before they leave.”

  Avery and Bryan picked up their cases and moved to the folding chairs that were set up in the center of the gym.

  Avery managed to smile at Bryan. Just like in LA, he’d been a big hit with the kids. He was confident, yet approachable, with an appealing hint of sensitivity beneath the swagger.

  He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. “You ready?” he asked, pick poised over the strings of his guitar.

  Avery nodded and kept her head down, trying not to look up into the cameras flashing all around them.

  Bryan bowed his head and strummed the opening chords, taking the lead on vocal and guitar. He rocked back and forth in his chair, his tatted arm draped over the instrument while his twinkling eyes remained on her face. She almost missed her cue to join him on the chorus. At the bridge, he changed the words “she does” to “you do,” personalizing the song. Her finger slipped and her string squeaked. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of those grey green eyes so focused on her face, to no avail.

  And as cheers and whistles rained down on them, something inside of her responded.

  “I KNOW WHAT the problem is,” Marcus grumbled. “This is the same old crap they talked to me about when I was in twelve-steps last year.”

  “And yet here we are again.” The psychiatrist tucked a strand of grey hair back into her bun and peered over her reading glasses at him. She adjusted her jacket when Marcus was silent. “Very well, enlighten me.”

  “I get frustrated with people or circumstances that I can’t control,” Marcus admitted, running an irritated hand through his hair. He glanced at his watch for the third time since the session had started.

  “And so drinking makes you feel more in control?”

  “Of course not. I used drugs in the past as a crutch to numb me, but not anymore.” He blew out a breath. “I thought I was ok, that I could handle a drink or two every once in a while.”