Backstage

by A. m Madden

  In spite of the ache, I guess you could say that I was healing as well. I noticed a change within. I’m a bit more trusting, a bit more compassionate. I called Taylor’s parents and filled them in on all that happened. I spoke to them over the phone for hours. Not having heard from me, they did turn over the disks. It was the exact day Tara was rescued. We discussed Abe. I have no clue how he did find me, and I’ll never know. The reality that he’s burning in hell is all I need to know. The Rappaports were upset hearing I was no longer with Tara. They hoped after all I’d been through, I could finally find happiness with someone. We left things off with I’d keep in touch. For the first time in ten years, I gave them my phone number and address so they could reach out to me whenever they pleased.

  I’ve already heard from them since that conversation occurred. As the news outlets and gossip magazines exploded with my story, they called concerned for my wellbeing. I told them I was taking it all in stride, touched they actually do care about me. I had plenty of support around me now, and I faced all the craziness head on.

  Once news did break that my girlfriend had been held hostage, the perpetrators were killed at the scene, blah, blah, blah, all hell broke loose. My phone rang off the hook. I’ve gotten calls from my past steady fucks Trini, Kate, and Lori. Lori being the most concerned and wanted me to know she was there for me as a friend. I’m sure Matt would love that. I thanked her, having no intention of calling on her for advice. The most surprising call came from my mother. It was very short, as once I found out it was her I practically hung up on her. She begged for me to hear her out, so I did and then hung up on her.

  I’ve been inundated with offers to sell my story. They poured in keeping Jen and the studio very busy with gossip control. Statements were needed, forcing Jen to hold a press conference to get the story right. Except for signing off on the official statement that was given, I told Jen I wanted no part of the media circus that revolved around me. I trusted her to make any necessary decisions. I had only asked that she be sure those informed had the truth and to leave me out of it. Of course, I was kidding myself. I was being dragged into this by default, and it made me irritable and antsy. I needed to find something to keep me busy. We weren’t working much. Jack negotiated the summer off, having us back in the studio in September.

  I’ve been bored out of my fucking skull. Most of the time it was just my ache and me.

  Tara has been taking advantage of Leila’s beach house and has been using it as a private haven to meditate and hide. While she’s at the beach mending, I’ve been trying to do the same in the city...but I’m not having any success.

  There’s only so much partying one can take before they get sick of it. Plus, the people I wanted to party with were busy with their own lives. My popularity exploded, making it difficult to venture out alone. I was never hurting for groupies. I most definitely had my fair share before this mess. But now, the chicks were coming out of the woodwork, clamoring at the chance to fuck the elusive Trestan Barton. I could have cherry picked them without shame. I wanted to release my frustrations and resort to the only way I knew how, but I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready to go back to my whoring ways. My heart wasn’t at the same place as my cock. That’s never happened to me before. So what did I do as therapy? I got a few more tats and pierced my cock. I always wanted to. It seemed like a good time to finally get one. The pain was a welcomed distraction to the ache.

  My healing cock kept me celibate. It was the perfect excuse to send them on their way. I just couldn’t take that step yet. Through all the chaos, I was thankful that none of the shit that followed me would affect Tara. My indiscretions, by the time I chose to have them, wouldn’t either. This kind of attention would not be good for her. It’s just another reason that she’s better off without me.

  Summer is dragging by. I personally can’t wait until it’s over. I’m anxious to get back into the studio. I crave rehearsing and getting ready for our next tour. This one will be epic. I no longer need to worry about my past. My actions won’t differ from the other tours, except I’ll be able to breathe.

  I am no longer filled with hate, resentment, or fear. My ache stems from longing, need, and love. It’s a transfer of pain, if you will. On the outside, I am still that cocky smartass prick. On the inside, I’m a fuck-up in love. I’ve come to the conclusion my body is just a vessel to hide the real me. It’s just pure fact that I’ll always have to hide my real emotions and feelings. Like Hunter will always be a fucktard and Scott will always be pale.

  All kidding aside, those dudes have been a godsend. Just as they did when I first joined them, they let me be. They waited for me to set the tone, never bothering me or questioning me. After my story went public, they proceeded as normal. I love those pricks. Even though Leila has been a pain in my ass by bothering me enough for all of them, I love her too. The look on her face was priceless when that slipped out. We were chilling at their apartment, she nonchalantly mentioned Tara, and I said, “I love you, Little Lair, but I need you to shut the fuck up.”

  Her eyes bulged and she grinned like an idiot. “You do love me!” she exclaimed. “Jack, he finally admitted he loves me.”

  Shit…I let that one slip.

  Jack leveled me with a steely glare and said, “Stay the fuck away from my wife.”

  “Relax Papa Lair,” I responded with a smirk. “She’s all yours.” I then told Leila a very crude joke.

  They’re my family now, all of them. We are an obnoxious, cocky, bunch of rockers who have each other’s backs. Sure, there are girlfriends, marriages, kids, and a whole lot of downright pussy-ness that took over the lair. Through it all we are still badass rockers…Hunter and Scott included.

  All in all, I’d say I’m good…maybe good is a stretch. I’m fair. I’m okay. I’m better than I was. I’m accepting of my fate and my constant ache.

  That’s it. I’m finally accepting of my life now. I’m meant to be alone. I’m not meant to love or be loved.

  I accept that.

  Today I’m finally making an appearance at the beach house. I haven’t been there since the night Tara and I broke up over two months ago. As part of her healing, Tara has traveled to Boston for a few days to meet with her family, so it’s safe for me to finally accept Leila’s invitation. I’m glad Tara is mending bridges with her family on her terms.

  My ride to the beach house feels like it takes forever. By the time I pull up, it’s dark out. The rumble of my motorcycle cuts the quiet neighborhood like a knife through butter. I’m sure their neighbors just love when I come to visit.

  With the turn of my key, silence descends once again. The only sounds coming from the surf behind the house. Something seems off though…it’s too quiet. I don’t hear the twins squealing in their normal loud-as-fuck manner. Leila did say she wanted me to relax. Maybe they’re already asleep. Or better yet, maybe she left them in the city. I love those two but they’re fucking demons. They’re crawling now, and they hate being confined. They’re like little roaches on speed, always scampering around. Last time I saw them I thanked Leila for the reminder to always cap it before I tap it. I do love setting them loose on Hunter. That’s always funny as fuck to watch. So far, no fuck words have come out of Madden’s mouth, but I’ve been working with him. I’m actually working on Siarra also. She’s a Leila mini-me. I’d love it if she actually repeated fuck before Madden. That’ll teach her mom to annoy me.

  After ringing the doorbell and a few knocks, I’m starting to wonder if I’m being punked. Where the fuck is everyone? When I twist the knob, the door opens.

  “Lei? Jack?”

  What the fuck?

  They’re probably fucking on the beach. Those two are insatiable. Part of me really doesn’t want to walk in on that. The deck door is open, and a hot breeze hits me when I cautiously step outside. A silhouette of a woman leaning against the rail stops me in my tracks. I feel like I’m seeing a ghost. It’s too dark to see her face, but I don’t need to.

&
nbsp; “Tara?”

  There is no way she didn’t hear me when I came in. She turns slowly, or I could be seeing this all in slow motion. It’s surreal to have her standing there across the deck in the flesh. With every step she takes, my chest pumps harder. Her face is back to normal. No bruises are visible. My initial thought is Leila set us up. She must have arranged this to get us to speak. If that’s the case, I’m going to kill that little shit.

  “Hi, Trey.” She doesn’t look surprised to see me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for you,” she admits.

  “Why?”

  She shrugs and smiles. Instead of answering my question she asks, “Do you want to sit on the beach? I’d like to talk to you.”

  I drop my helmet and the bag I’m still clutching on the nearest chair. Tara walks ahead with a sudden purpose to her step. I follow her down the steps to the lower patio. “Have a seat.” She offers one of the chairs that are facing the ocean. She sits beside me, tucking her legs beneath her.

  We sit in silence for a long time, both watching the surf, both lost in our own thoughts. She stares at the ocean so intently, I feel like she’s trying to draw courage from its churning waves. I can’t imagine what it is she brought me down here to say. A sickening thought dawns on me. Is she sick? Did one of her injuries cause health issues?

  “Tara, are you okay?” I finally ask.

  “I am. I’m in a really good place,” she admits confidently.

  Twelve step? Does she need closure to move on?

  “So what’s this about?” I’m hoping my question gives her the gentle push she needs to speak to me, to tell me what’s on her mind.

  She turns to face me, demanding my undivided attention with her eyes. I can’t believe she doesn’t know that she’s already got it. Her lips are parted just enough to provoke thoughts of wanting to trace the crevice with my tongue. The stifling July heat causes her cheeks to tinge pink. My eyes shift down her face to her neck, searching for those ugly bruises that were there the last time I saw her. It’s back to being smooth, pale, and perfect. Her skimpy tank top leaves nothing to the imagination.

  My God, she is so stunning. I’ve forgotten how beautiful she is. The shallow prick that I am only remembered her broken and beaten. My ego thought she was still wounded, both inside and out. But she’s not, on the outside she’s back to being the beautiful girl I met a few months ago. From the looks of her posture and her confident stance, she is good and she has moved on.

  The realization hurts like a motherfucking bitch. My pussy-whipped heart is hoping to hear that she misses me, even though my logic is hoping it’s something else.

  “I look back to normal?” she asks when my eyes make my way back up to hers. She looks amused at my obvious perusal of her body. The spark is back in her eyes. The feistiness is back in her smile.

  “You look beautiful, Tara.”

  “Thank you. I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” she teases. “I meant it when I said that I was good. I have a long way to go, but I’m able to at least talk about it now.”

  “Do you want to? Talk about it?”

  “I do. I want to start by saying it wasn’t your fault, Trey. I don’t blame you. I never did. After what you said in the hospital, I thought about it long and hard. I really tried to conjure up feelings of resentment toward you. My therapist delved into that. He said not once did I say anything about you that indicated I harbored resentment toward you. That’s one of the two things I’m one hundred percent positive with. The second is…” She stops abruptly and looks back out at the water.

  “Is what?”

  She tugs her bottom lip in between her teeth. “I’ll come back to that,” she says quietly. “When he took me I had no idea who he was or what he wanted with me. I thought I must have pissed someone off in my past. Then he said I was being punished for something my boyfriend did, but he kept referring to you as Trestan. My head was swimming in confusion. It was hard to stay focused. Each time he beat me, he would quote a scripture from the Bible.”

  The blood turns to ice in my veins as the hatred I felt toward him returns with a vengeance.

  Tara notices my clenched fists and shakes her head. “Please don’t get upset. I’m not telling you all this to upset you. I want you to know the journey I’ve taken so you understand where I’m at now.” She leans over the short space between us and unclenches my fist, keeping our fingers entwined.

  “Okay?” she asks eagerly.

  I carefully measure my breathing before making that promise. “Okay,” I finally agree.

  “The first day they held me prisoner, they ignored me. They kept me chained to a bed or a chair. When he did finally check on me, he was concerned, making sure I’d eat and drink. Then without warning or being provoked he would throw a fit of rage, taking it out on me. He never told me who he was or why he had me. The entire time all I cared about was how you were handling it. All I could think about was seeing you again. Even when he…” she chokes on her words and buries her face in her hands.

  I reach over hesitantly, wanting to hold her, to touch her. “Tara? Can I hold you?”

  She nods while sobbing. As I lift her into my arms and sit with her on my lap, she clings to me. This is breaking my heart. I don’t know what to do for her, or how I can help her to forget. Guilt surges through me once again. This happened because of me.

  I offer pathetic attempts of comforting her by caressing her back, her hair, rocking her gently, and using my voice to soothe her. And as pathetic as they are, I’ll sit here doing them all night if it gives her even an ounce of comfort. I’ll sit here all week.

  Her sobs get quieter. Her hold on me loosens. She looks up at me embarrassed by her outburst. “I’m sorry. This is backfiring.”

  I take her chin between my fingertips. “Hey, stop it. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

  She settles back into my chest, pulling in deep breaths. I resume my comforting, waiting for her to either continue or end this torture she is determined to rehash. I’m still not sure what the purpose of this is. Why she is determined to relive those horrific days.

  “Trey?”

  “Yeah, Babe?”

  She pauses, a small smile plays on her lips before she continues. “Remember I said before there were two things I am certain about, the first being I don’t resent you?”

  I nod at her question. Slowly she lifts her head to search my face. Her eyes sweep over my eyes, my lips. She watches me for a few seconds, skimming her fingertips over my nose, my jaw. It’s as if she’s committing my features to memory, wanting to memorize every detail of my face. She leans in enough for me to feel her breath on my lips. The urge to kiss her overwhelms me. She’s clouding my senses, and my resolve. Just as in the past, being near her clouds my judgment.

  “The other thing I’m certain about are my feelings for you.”

  My heart kicks in my chest. I want this. If she wants me, I want this. I need this girl like I need air.

  “I wanted to be sure you knew I really thought long and hard about us. This isn’t coming from the heat of a weak moment. I’m not feeling this as a substitute emotion to what I want to erase. I am saying this because I mean every word of it. I love you, Trey. Over the past eight weeks, I know the only thing that kept me sane, calmed me, the only thing that kept me moving forward was the chance to be with you again.”

  She stops to let me process it. Her big brown eyes are focused on mine, waiting for me to say something. She planned this well. She knew how to eliminate any arguments I would have. I can no longer think of one good reason as to why we are apart. Not one fucking reason. My mind blanks on all the reasons I’ve conjured up to stay away from her. I had one rule. She needed to decide on her own. Now, even that’s shot to hell.

  “Tara, I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be,” I pathetically try one more time to keep her away from me.

  “What I need you to be is my lover, my friend. I fell in love wit
h Trey Taylor, not Trestan Barton. I just need you to be Trey.”

  Relief courses through me at lightning speed. It makes it hard to find the words. Right then as she stares into my eyes expectantly, I decide I need to find the right words to assure her that I’m not going anywhere. I don’t feel determined to protect her from me anymore. I want to protect her from everyone else. I want to be that for her. Of all the things I could be feeling right now relief is what dominates.

  She lets out a sigh when I kiss that spot on her neck that I love so much. Her scent fills my lungs, making me feel high. Her heated skin chills when I drag my lips up to her ear and circle the shell with my tongue. She moans when I bury my hands in her hair and practically whimpers when I take her mouth as prisoner. I’m deflecting with my touch. I’m doing what I’m good at. I’m avoiding. Through our kiss I realize I need to break the habit…now, with Tara.

  She looks confused when I’m the first to pull away. Her expectant eyes wait as I stumble over the perfect words to say.

  I guess my confused look confuses her. “What’s wrong?” she asks, worried.

  Just say it.

  “Tara, I love you. You have it all wrong. I’m the one that needs you. I need you to keep loving Trey Taylor.”

  She gives me a smile that lights up her face. When she shifts on my lap so she is now straddling me, that same smile becomes devilish.

  “I missed you,” she whispers into my ear.

  I turn my head just enough so those same sweet lips are now against mine. My whispered response is, “I missed you, too.” I gently take her lips in a slow, sensual kiss. Our tongues touch tentatively. It’s not a passionate, heated kiss. It’s cautious. It’s painstakingly cautious. When I pull away to look into her eyes, she smiles shyly.

  “Are we alone?” I ask, thinking she’s holding back because Jack and Leila will appear at any moment. I look past her shoulder, pretending to be searching for someone. “Hmm. It does seem as if we are alone. Speaking of, where is that pain in my ass and her ass-licking husband?”