by Layne Harper
Her head shakes as her eyes soften. My bones turn to jelly in relief. “No, baby. Not cancer and not life threatening. However, you’re going to have to take some time away from playing.”
“But my life is music . . .” My heart does a nasty flip as my career passes before my eyes. I see me getting my first guitar as a kid and teaching myself to play. Memories of working at the radio station come tumbling back. That’s where I interned sweeping floors to learn the business. Sam and I playing guitar in my garage and on the navy blue plaid comforter where we’d experiment with our sound, and then with each other. Our first time when we played a live show and how I was so nervous that I tried coke to get me through it. It worked and became rocker’s little helper.
My guitar. It got me through the shunning and death of my father. It was with me when the person who birthed Jude was pregnant. And my daughter’s traumatic entrance into this world. My guitar put food on the table, and Jude in horse riding gear. It got me signed to a label and even bought me out of my contract and into my own record company. But most of all, it’s saved my life. That’s not a flippant statement. My guitar has been the reason that I’ve kept going, when it would have been easy to take just a little more of whatever I was snorting.
“My hand feels fine now.” I make eye contact with Grace. “Let’s get out of here. We have a show tomorrow.” My instincts kick in, and I just want to run away from this dystonia thing. It’s like maybe if I leave New Orleans it will stay here. Logically, I know this doesn’t make sense, but I’m not in a logical place right now.
She walks around to the other side of the bed from MK. “The band is on the way to New Orleans. We’re meeting at the house. The specialist is flying in and will also be there.”
Releasing MK’s hand, I try to get out of the hospital bed until the IV in my arm reminds me that I’m still physically tethered to this place. “Tell the band not to come. Why? So we can waste a day off? I’m playing tomorrow. We’re coming to the end of the US leg of this tour. Then we have Europe and Asia. I’m not disappointing the fans.”
Grace’s business face slides firmly in place as she rolls her shoulders back. “We have decisions to make that affect not just you and your recovery but the band and our business. While I go tell the nurse that you’re awake and ready to leave, you need to quit thinking like an artist and start thinking like the CEO of a record label.” She walks to the door and opens it. “And remember the fact that a lot of people depend on you for their paycheck.”
As the door closes with a thud, my arm covers my eyes as I try to process what’s going on. I still feel a bit drugged. Everything MK and Grace have said is swirling in my brain like a tie-dyed T-shirt while Helter Skelter by The Beatles blares as if it’s being played on an eight-track.
MK’s gentle touch stroking my ribs keeps me from completely falling into the dark abyss. “You’re going to be fine, Aaron. Is your hand feeling better?”
“Yeah. It feels great, like nothing is wrong.”
“They gave you Botox injections in the muscles. That helped them to relax.” She giggles. “I told them you’re almost forty so it’s about time. I asked if they would also hit the worry lines around your eyes.”
When I don’t respond, she continues, “Sorry. I know this isn’t funny, but I’m just trying to lighten the mood. There’s a therapy the neurologist who saw you last night told us about. It’s helped other musicians train their brains to work with their fingers again.”
“Why can’t I do this therapy while we tour?” I say the word therapy as if it’s dirty and ugly.
“You might be able to. I guess that’s a question for the doctor. He’s flying in from New York.”
I meet MK’s eyes as I confess to her just how scared I am. “This is my comeback tour. I fucking hate the term comeback because it implies that I left, but it is. This is my proof to the world that I’m still relevant. It can’t be canceled.”
“That’s what you guys are going to figure out.” She leans, kissing my forehead. “Grace is right. You have to do what’s best for you and the band. I saw you last night, and Aaron, that can’t happen again.”
“Fuck. I can’t think. I feel like I’ve been drugged.” I rub my eyes hoping to clear the chaos.
“You have,” she chuckles. “You were all kinds of messed up.”
“And you didn’t bolt.” I don’t know why I say it. Maybe I’m in a shitty mood and lashing out at her. Maybe I still haven’t fully forgiven her, but I’m an asshole and I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.
“Of course, I didn’t. We promised each other that we’re in this through the good and the bad. I took that vow really freaking seriously.” Her forehead creases, and her lips tighten into thin slits.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Working on my asshole tendencies.”
The door opens and Grace walks in followed by a nurse. In minutes, my IV is removed, and MK hands me the clothing I was wearing yesterday except now the shirt is stained with black paint.
Once I’m in the bathroom, I take a moment to work my hand. It feels normal—like categorically normal. I stare holes through the skin as I watch my muscles contract and release. There’s no fever in it, and I think I could play for hours. If the injections worked this time, why can’t they just keep shooting me up with the Botox?
I throw on my clothes and splash water on my face. It’s time to face the music, literally. When I open the bathroom door, MK and Grace are engaged in a hushed conversation. I pause for a second, trying to listen to what they’re discussing.
MK’s body language appears relaxed but guarded. Her arms aren’t crossed, but I do notice her finger tracing the outline of the star on the inside of her wrist. She does this when she’s bothered.
Grace appears to be explaining something, and I catch a few of her words . . . trust, work together.
MK smiles, and her hands relax. She replies, “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I think we both want what’s best for Aaron.”
I can’t be positive, but I think Grace and MK might not necessarily be friends, but they’ve become allies.
Clearing my throat, they turn towards me. Grace says, “Seamus has the car out back. Hungry?”
“I want a chorizo, egg, and cheese taco,” I reply as I grab MK’s behind. “With some salsa and sour cream.”
MK yelps, before she replies, “This ain’t Texas, cowboy. How about we stop at a store, and I’ll let you pick out any kind of breakfast cereal you want?”
“Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
MK
September
Rock Star Groupies @RockStarGroupies
@RealJohnnyKnite sighting was a false alarm. Blonde said it wasn’t him, but might be an imposter. #StaySharpOutThere
“Here’s your mixing bowl.” I place it in front of Aaron who’s seated on my lone barstool, looking disheveled with a stubble beard, and sexy as hell.
He pours half a box of Fruity Pebbles, adding just enough milk to wet the cereal.
Leaning against the counter, I ask, “How do you stay in such good shape and eat like that? My God, I think I’ve probably added cellulite to the back of my thighs just by looking at that bowl.”
He takes a huge spoonful, chews it, and swallows before replying, “I guess good genes. Performing live is a damn good work out too. And then there’s the swimming.”
“Yeah. You mentioned the swimming. I’m glad that’s working for you.” Turning around, I walk towards the bedroom. “I’m going to get in the shower while you eat.”
He stands, grabbing his bowl with one arm, tucking it into his chest. He reminds me of Winnie the Pooh with a honey jar. “I’ll come with you.”
Shaking my head, I start the water as he puts the lid down on the toilet. “Save your lecture about this being unsanitary or whatever else is racing through your head. I don’t care. I’m not missing my strip show.”
Sexy is not how I would describe how I’m feeling. Worried, exhausted, scared, are all a
djectives that would work. I walk over to him and take the bowl out of his hands, resting it next to my sink. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I hug him and kiss his hair. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Aaron. All I want is for you to be happy.”
He nuzzles between my breasts. “I’d be happier if you were naked.”
Stepping back, I tilt his chin up so he’s looking in my eyes. “I know what you do. You revert to a sixteen-year-old boy when you’re nervous or frightened. It’s okay. I’ll let you, but remember that I’m here for you.”
His hair falls over his cheeks as he grabs his bowl of cereal and begins eating again. I take that for what it is. In some ways, he’s so good at expressing his emotions that it’s hard to believe he’s male. He was cocky enough to show up at my hotel room. I certainly didn’t knock on his door in Austin after we stopped talking. But then I look at him now. I know he’s scared to death, and I know he wants me by his side, but he doesn’t want to discuss it so he cracks a joke. That’s okay with me as long as he doesn’t push me away.
Grace’s nagging words don’t seem capable of being expunged from my brain. “He’ll tire of you when life gets rough—when the honeymoon is over. When you’re no longer the new hotness. A new one will come along, and you’ll be like the rest of us—lost in his shadow.”
I unhook my overall straps, and they fall to the ground. I’ve been in them for so long that they’re becoming part of my skin.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” he heckles.
Rolling my eyes, I pull my tank off, and then bend down picking up my overalls. I stuff my things into the hamper.
“Show me them pretty titties,” Aaron coaxes.
I remove my bra and panties and stand in front of him naked, raw, and vulnerable. “You like this?”
His goofy grin and overly exaggerated nod make me laugh on the inside, but my serious face doesn’t crack. “Then don’t screw us up. Don’t forget about me because your life just got more stressful. When we made love yesterday, I gave you my heart. It’s in your hands. Please don’t break it.” I don’t add again.
His eyes fall as he rests the bowl on the tile next to the toilet. He reaches for me, and I let him pull me between his thighs. I place my hand on his shoulders as he kisses my sternum. “Don’t give up on me because the next days, weeks, or even months are going to be shit. Stay by my side even if I’m an asshole. Love me through my shitty moods. You’re my person through thick and thin.”
“My person,” I reply as I kiss his forehead.
The steam from the shower fills my small bathroom. Tiny water droplets bead on Aaron’s temples, and I lick them from his tanned skin. A moan echoes around the small space.
He stands, picks me up, and my legs wrap around his hips as my lips touch his. He walks us until I feel the edge of my bathroom vanity just above the backs of my knees. My behind rests on the counter.
He steps away only long enough to discard his shirt, jeans, and underwear. Through the haze, I watch him as if he’s a god. His brightly colored skin glows, and I’m reminded that I still don’t know the meaning of his permanent ink. Damp hair strands cling to the sides of his sculpted cheeks, wrap under his jaw, and his blue eye are at half-mast.
This gorgeous man wants me. “Thank you for coming back into my life.”
Aaron positions himself between my legs and takes the delicate skin, just below my ear, between his teeth, giving it a nibble then a suck. He’s marking me. I’m sure Margo is not going to be very pleased tomorrow when I show up for work with a hickey, but right now, her happiness is of no concern of mine.
The pain from his bite is then soothed with the lapping of his tongue over the tender spot. My heels dig into the small of his back as my nails scratch his firm, muscular behind.
Once he’s assessed his love bruise, he kisses his way across my pulse point and down to my collarbone. His tongue dips into the curve at the top of my sternum.
I lean back, placing my arms behind me as I push my breasts towards him. His mouth pulls my left nipple between his teeth as his right-hand massages and squeezes my other one. My body feels like it might explode. Every nerve ending is on fire.
“Aaron,” I gasp in a high-pitched, needy voice. “It’s too much.”
His left hand drags down my stomach to between my legs. His finger slides inside, filling me just enough that I drop my head back, and yell, “Yes.” It’s not the deep, heavy, weight of his cock that I crave, but it’s a tease, reminding my body that there will be more to come.
Each time his finger pushes deeper, he pulls out, and rubs my clit. My head falls forward onto his shoulder. My neck doesn’t seem to be able to support its weight any longer.
“Only you, MK. There can only be you,” are the words he says as his finger replaces the fullness my body demands. Both of his hands reach around and grasp my behind as he drives inside.
I become a fiery mass of pure, hedonistic need. Every nerve and fiber of my being is raw. I want more of him. I want to be closer, and I want to claim him like he’s marked me.
“You love me,” I tell him as I bite just below his ear.
His hips pull back and push in with a thrust that hits the barrier inside me. He moans, “Oh God, sweetheart.”
My hands slip through his hair as he picks me up and angles my back against the closed door. “Wrap your legs around me tight,” he instructs. I follow his orders.
“I need this, MK.” He pushes in again with a thrust that is on the verge of being painful. My hands dig into his shoulder muscles as if I could use them for handles. “Don’t leave me.”
My tongue laps the sweat trickling down his neck as I find my spot, the same spot I bit earlier. He yells and grips my behind with so much force that I’m sure I’ll be bruised there also. Sucking, gnawing, and kissing, I leave my mark for all to see that he’s mine.
With another couple of pushes, we both find our release. I hear a loud moaning sound and realize only when I ride the waves of my orgasm down that the sound was coming from me. Clinging to him, I don’t want this to end.
He holds my behind as I slide down him. My feet ultimately having to support my spent body. We hold each other long after we’ve recovered.
Unfortunately, though, he must be at his house for a meeting soon so I break our connection.
I love the little smirk he wears when I kiss the bruise I left. “You gave me a hickey. What will my fans say tomorrow night when I take the stage and the bright lights find it?”
I step around him and walk to the shower. “Oh. I’m sure your makeup person will cover it.”
Pulling back the curtain, I lift my leg over the lip of my old-fashioned bathtub. Adjusting it back, I reach for my shampoo. Just as I pour the soap into my hand, the curtain is ripped back, and he’s standing next to the tub looking quite grumpy. “Why would my makeup person cover it?”
Working the lather through my hair, I come to the realization that as long as Aaron is in my life, I’ll have wet bathroom floors and bowls of cereal near my toilet. Seems like a fair tradeoff. “Umm . . . the same reason Margo will cover the hickey you left on my neck.”
“That’s sexy as fuck. Everyone knows you’ve had someone be kinky and dirty with you. And at your grand opening, they’ll know it’s me.” He points to his chest as if it’s a badge of honor.
“Precisely,” I reply because there’s no use in arguing with him, and the fact that he’s received bad news today and is facing a possible career changing meeting, and he’s still into me makes me believe that Grace’s harsh words were wrong. “Now, crawl your fine behind in my shower and get clean after we got so dirty.”
“Jesus, MK,” he says. “I love when you get all demanding and shit.”
I snapshot this moment. Who knows what the next couple of hours have in store for us? Right now, though, we’re perfect.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aaron
September
Rock Star Groupies @RockStarGroupies
@RealJohnnyKnite come out, come out, wherever you are. We’re ready to play.
Cammy Tidwell @CrawfishQueen_27_
@NoPinkCaddy how did the floors turn out? Can’t wait for #NoPinkCaddy to open.
“The water must be cold,” she says as she sticks her head around the curtain. “Shouldn’t we be heading over to your house?”
Shrugging, I wiggle my junk hoping to distract her and myself from what lies ahead. “You’ve left me to my own devices. Who knows how much longer I’ll be in here?”
Her shoulders tense. “If you’re late, they’re all going to blame me. Please don’t make me a bad guy.”
I turn my back to her and show her just how awesome my ass is. “No, they won’t. I always keep them waiting. I’m a rocker. Bad behavior is expected.”
Suddenly, the water stops falling on my head. She has her know-it-all voice turned up to epic levels. “Well, you behave however you wish when I’m not around. But when you’re with me, we arrive on time.”
The idea of arguing crosses my mind, but instead I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I’m thinking my best strategy with MK is to pick my battles. She seems adamant about being close to on time. I’ll give her this win.
But, of course, I can’t completely award her this victory so I shake back and forth spraying water droplets around the bathroom. Her head turns as she grabs a hand towel to wipe the condensation from her face. “Really, Aaron, can you try for once to be an adult?”
Kissing her cheek, I also give her firm ass a slap. “Nope. Adulting is for those not smart enough to stay a kid.”
That earns me a smile and eye roll. Perfection! Then she replies, “My very own Peter Pan.”
Ten minutes later, I’m dressed in jeans and a green shirt that reads Tequila, Tacos, Lime . . . Must be Tuesday. Jude likes to shop with my credit card on funny shirt sites. I should hire her to be my wardrobe person.
I use MK’s brush to untangle my hair. It’s needs to be cut like yesterday. I also use her toothbrush. I’m sure if she caught me, I’d get a lecture that included words like gross, unsanitary, and childish. What she doesn’t know won’t kill her.