Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kill me.

  I don’t know how many miles we’ve run when he finally stops at a juice shack shaded by a big umbrella.

  “Two Greenies please,” he says. The girl dips behind the counter and a blender whirs. I make a face at Luke, but he’s still got that same shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “This juice is so good. Really helps clean out all that shit from the night before. Rehydrates, replenishes, everything.”

  “Who are you, seriously?” I ask, eying the weird green drink he hands me. I’m not from Southern California like Luke. This is where he’s always lived. Maybe he’s just more into all this new age shit than I thought. But hey, if it works for him.

  “What, have you forgotten my name already, old man? Been too long since you’ve been in the next hotel room hearing my name screamed through the walls.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Thankfully, I’ve done enough drugs to mostly erase those memories.”

  He chuckles and chugs his juice.

  I take a small drink of mine and make a face. “The fuck is this?”

  “Parsley, spinach, kale, celery, cucumber, lemon, and apple. Really good for flushing out toxins.”

  “You want another?” I say, offering him mine.

  “I’d rather know why you called me.”

  “I can’t just want to catch up with my old bandmate?”

  “Did you?”

  I sigh, drinking more of the green juice to stall. The stuff’s actually not that bad. Just takes some getting used to.

  “I didn’t want to go home. I’m just… I’m going through some shit and don’t really trust myself right now.”

  “So you called me?” he asks, incredulous.

  “Crazy idea, right?”

  “This about that girl?”

  “What girl?”

  “The hot redhead you’re playing with these days.”

  My grip on the cup tightens, jealousy spiking up in me, but I shove it down, swallowing it with the juice I squeezed up through the straw. I know he didn’t mean anything by it.

  “I guess she’s got something to do with it, yeah.”

  He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “How many times did you fuck her?”

  “What? I don’t know. A few?”

  Luke takes a deep breath and looks up to the sky like he’s saying a prayer. “More than twice?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “This is serious, bro. Did you fuck her more than twice?”

  Luke’s gotten loud enough at this point that the girl behind the juice shack counter drops the blinds, slinking away behind the counter with her lip curled. He doesn’t seem to notice that anyone’s bothered.

  “Calm down, dude. Yeah. Why?”

  “Fuuuuuuuuck. You can’t do that man.”

  Oh boy. This is gonna be good. “Why not?”

  “Come on, don’t you know the rules?”

  “What rules?” I’ve got no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s pacing now, his juice gone, the cup crumpled and tossed in the recycling bin. He’s scratching at his jaw, in need of a shave, looking totally panicked.

  “The rules that say if you fuck a girl more than two times, she ends up fucking you. I thought you were smarter than that.” He throws his hands up in the air and grunts to the sky on my behalf. I shrug.

  “Guess not.”

  “Well, what’d she do to you?”

  “It’s not really that simple,” I say. Tori definitely made some mistakes, but it’s not all her fault and I’m not blaming her for it all.

  “Okay. What’d you do to her?”

  “It’s not like that Luke.” He narrows his eyes at me, brow furrowed. Clearly, he thinks I’m full of shit.

  “So what’s it like?”

  “It’s… complicated,” I say, repeating the same excuse I used with Kamala. It’s not a lie, but it is a crutch, and it’s keeping me from thinking about the full magnitude of everything that’s happened between Tori and me. It’s keeping me from really thinking about anything too hard or from having to face how much I’m hurting right now knowing she hates me, knowing she needs help, and knowing she’s not going to take it. Being on the other side is a bitch, and I could probably be handling it better.

  “Dude. Girls are complicated. Fuck ’em.”

  “But only twice,” I say.

  He doesn’t get the sarcasm and sends me finger guns. “You got it, amigo.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, but I haven’t slept yet so…”

  “Thanks for running with me, man, we should do it again sometime.”

  “May—” Before I even manage to say a whole word, he’s turning away from me, running down the sandy beach, stripping. And it’s not an empty beach. People are having to dodge him left and right as he goes charging into the water stark fucking naked.

  I just turn and walk away like I’ve never seen the man before in my life. I need to go home, get some sleep and figure out what the fuck I’m doing next.

  Chapter 12

  Tori

  It’s probably an hour after Serge leaves when there’s a new knock on my door. I glare at it from the couch, like if I stare at it hard enough I’ll be able to tell who’s on the other side.

  “Who is it?” I call out. I’m not getting up if it’s Serge. He can go fuck himself. I mean, who does he think he is, anyway? Just because he had a serious fucking problem doesn’t mean everyone does. So what if I like to drink? Newsflash: the whole world likes to drink. Alcohol’s been around as long as people have realized they could drink shit other than water.

  “Let me in, Tor,” Onyx says through the door, and I groan. He might be worse than Serge. But at least seeing Onyx’s face isn’t going to make me want to throw things.

  “Pain in my ass,” I grumble, dragging myself up off the couch. “What the hell do you want?” I ask, yanking the door open. Onyx just gives me a once-over and shakes his head.

  “You’ve been drinking again?”

  “Hair of the dog that bit you,” I grin, shaking the bottle of tequila in my hand. Pretty much the moment Serge left I went down to the corner store and bought it. I had the cap off and was taking swigs of it as I climbed the stairs back up to my apartment, and by now, it’s about a quarter empty.

  “What the fuck Tori?” he growls, dragging his hand through his hair, the shaggy ends falling right over his eyes again.

  I roll my eyes and flounce over to the couch again, taking a swig from the bottle and then a squirt of lime juice, straight out of its bottle too.

  “Did you just come here to be a buzzkill, grandpa?” Before he can answer, I ask, “Got a smoke?”

  He sighs and sits down on the armchair opposite the couch, handing me a pack of cigarettes as he does. I spark it, take a drag, and total calm washes over me. Fuck Garret for being such a slimeball. Fuck the record for siding with him. Fuck TMZ for not having anything better to do than report on my every fuck-up, and especially fuck Serge for being a sanctimonious asshole even though we both know he’s no better than me.

  “What the hell is going on with you Tori? You know this is no good.”

  I scowl, looking out the window. It’s such a pretty day, clear sunny skies, a gentle breeze rustling palm fronds; it pisses me off.

  “What does it matter? Who’s going to care? I don’t have a label to get mad anymore. I don’t even have a manager to care. I can do whatever the fuck I want, Onyx. I’m finally free.”

  He arches a skeptical brow. “I didn’t realize you were ever a prisoner.”

  “You are too!” I exclaim. “Fuck them all, man. Just live your life.”

  “Tori…” he says, his voice with a warning note to it.

  “That sleazeball Garret fucking betrayed me. He set me up and then tried to blackmail me into fucking him. I’m supposed to be upset about him being gone?”

  “So you’re saying this isn’t what upset looks like?”

  “Fuck no,” I say, chugging another big swig
of tequila. The sharp burn makes every cell in my body feel like it’s recoiling with horror at the vile taste, but I kind of like that feeling. That’s my problem. I’ve always liked things that are obviously bad for me.

  “And don’t even get me started on that other asshole,” I say, scowling even harder at the thought of Serge.

  “Which one is that?”

  I glare at him. “You fucking know.” Then I narrow my eyes and think really hard. “He’s probably the reason you’re even here, isn’t he?”

  Onyx doesn’t say anything and I curse under my breath.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you two? I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

  “Can you?” he asks, his face infuriatingly placid.

  “Yes. If you’ve forgotten, I’ve done a pretty fucking good job of taking care of myself since I was old enough to reach doorknobs.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he says, still so calm it just makes me want to scream. How can I be so mad at everything, so mad at him and he’s just not reacting? It’s bullshit. “But this doesn’t exactly look like taking care of yourself. It looks like you’re letting other people control you.”

  “I am not,” I grumble, glowering into the bottle.

  “No? You’re not drinking because Garret betrayed you and Serge pissed you off?”

  “I didn’t… I’m not… Ugh,” I groan, gripping the bottle tighter, wishing it would crack and shatter in my fist just because I want the satisfaction of breaking something. But then I think about the blood and stop squeezing so hard.

  “I’m just drinking because I want to, okay?”

  “Yeah, I know,” he says. “By yourself in the middle of the afternoon. Fun party.”

  “I’m not by myself,” I protest, but he gives me a hard look.

  “Fine,” I sigh. “I know I’m fucked up. I know I’m a mess. Fuck,” I groan, shoving the bottle to the coffee table, the contents sloshing around even though they’re half gone by this point. “I don’t know what to do. I feel like everything I do is wrong. Like no matter what I do it’s just going to make shit worse. What am I supposed to do?” My voice breaks and the irreverence I’ve been holding onto like a security blanket falls away in the face of bearing my soul to my best friend.

  “First things first, stop getting shit-faced every time something goes wrong—”

  I snort. “You drink too, Mr. High-and-Mighty.”

  “Yeah, I drink. To have fun, Tor. Not to deal with my problems. Not to forget shit or stop feeling my emotions.”

  I chew on my bottom lip. For Serge to tell me I have a problem was one thing, but hearing it from Onyx is another entirely. Maybe there’s some truth in it if Onyx is worried about me. Maybe I should think about this.

  But thinking is always easier when I’m drinking. My best ideas come when I’m drunk. I reach for the bottle again, but before I can grab it, there’s a deliberate knock on my door.

  “What now?”

  The knock comes again, swift and sharp, rattling the door in its jamb. Onyx looks at it concerned, then gets up to answer it.

  “We’re looking for Tori Winters,” a man on the other side of the door says. I can’t see the door from where I’m at, but I figure it’s gotta be reporters or some other dumb shit.

  “She’s not here,” I shout. “She’s never coming back!”

  Onyx stumbles back from the door as three police officers push past him into my living room in full uniform, not a hint of amusement on any of their faces.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to come with us,” the officer in front says, one hand on his radio.

  “Why?”

  “You’re under arrest,” he says, as one of the other officers lifts me off the couch by my elbow and cuffs me before I can respond.

  “What?”

  “We have a warrant here for your arrest. Violation of parole. Jenkins, read her her rights.”

  “You have the right to remain silent—”

  “Onyx,” I say in a panic. “Onyx, they can’t do this, right?”

  He’s standing in my kitchen looking lost and horrified, just watching what’s happening as I try to twist away from the cops, trying to get him to tell me that this isn’t happening. “Onyx!”

  “You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one—”

  “I don’t need a fucking attorney, you can’t do this!”

  “Ma’am, this will be a lot easier if you cooperate,” the lead officer says, his voice so calm I want to scream.

  “Onyx!” I screech as I’m being steered out into the hallway, but he doesn’t come after me. He doesn’t say anything. He just lets them take me and I feel more betrayed than ever. I’m still fighting and struggling against them until they put me in the back of the cruiser and then it seems pointless to fight. My shoulders are already aching and my fingers are starting to go numb from the handcuffs. Last time this happened, I was too drunk to have any recollection of it. I wish I could say that now, but my tolerance is too damn high and everything’s happening in crystal clarity.

  When we get to the station, I’m put through booking and then they put me in a cell with a dozen other women, one of whom is talking into her shoe like it’s a cell phone, another who makes aggressive jumping moves whenever I accidentally look her way, and another woman who is very heavily pregnant and sobbing uncontrollably.

  There’s only one seat open and it’s next to Jumpy McAngryface, so I just stand in the corner, hugging myself, trying not to cry as I slowly sober up and realize what a colossal fucking disaster I’ve made of my life.

  The woman who was talking on her shoe gets taken out of the cell at some point, but there must be a minimum level of crazy required in here, because as soon as she’s gone, one of the other women starts muttering to herself about crazy people that talk to their shoes. She doesn’t stop there, though. She starts muttering snide comments about each of us. Like she doesn’t realize her internal dialogue has decided to be external. When she says something about Jumpy’s beefy head and neck tattoos, I think for sure there’s going to be a fight, but her mutterings don’t get a reaction and she just keeps going.

  After I’m sure I’ve been here for a few hours, I wave down an officer walking by. “Don’t I get a phone call or something at some point?”

  “Once they’re done processing you,” she answers.

  “How long does that take?”

  “You got somewhere else to be?” she jokes and a few of the girls behind me laugh. I can tell that some of them are regulars because they’re on friendly terms with these officers, but I don’t get the same treatment.

  “It’s just that I’m sure someone will bail me out if they know I’m here.”

  “Not ‘til they’re done processing you,” she says, unamused.

  “And… You don’t know how long that will be?”

  “It’ll be as long as it is,” she says drolly. “Enjoy your stay.” And then she’s walking away, leaving me standing in the corner hugging myself again.

  I don’t get it though. Onyx was there when I was arrested. He should be bailing me out already. Unless he’s trying to teach me a lesson. Unless he thinks this is fitting punishment for all my shitty choices. I hate to think that he’d do that to me, but then again, I never thought he’d be siding with Serge about my drinking habits.

  Onyx and I have been through thick and thin together. Through ups and downs and more benders than I can count. I don’t know why he suddenly has an issue with me drinking when he never did before.

  Or maybe he just never had the courage to say anything. I think back to how I blew up in Serge’s face when he suggested I have a problem and guilt hits me like a Mack truck. It takes a lot of balls to face a tricky subject like that with someone. Especially when they’re not ready to hear it. But he still did it. Even knowing everything he knows. But why?

  Because he cares, a voice in my head says, reminding me of the way he promised to stay by my side through rehab. Maybe it
wouldn’t be so bad, knowing I could go home to Serge.

  But I might have already burned that bridge. I know if I was Serge, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Not after the way I acted. Not after the mess I made of everything.

  Hours go by and other girls leave the cell, new ones coming in to take their place. At some point, I manage to snag a bench seat, still hugging myself, the cold concrete of the walls and floor not doing anything to help with this chill in me that refuses to go away.

  “Winters,” the female officer from before says, and my head snaps up.

  “Do I get my phone call?”

  “Even better,” she says. “Someone’s bailed you out.”

  I don’t believe her at first and I wait for the other shoe to drop, for her to crack a smile or burst out with one of those rusty-nails laughs at my expense. But none of that happens. She unlocks the door and pulls me out, leading me through a series of locked doors until I’m out in the lobby with the public, a free woman again.

  “You can pick up your effects at that counter,” she says, making me sign something agreeing to show up in court.

  I look at the counter, but I don’t think I had any effects. I didn’t have my wallet or phone or anything on me when they took me out of my living room, so I think I’m good to go, even if I’m still not quite believing it.

  I spot Onyx in the lobby and run up and hug him.

  “Thank you for bailing me out.”

  “Sorry it wasn’t sooner, they were taking their sweet ass time processing you.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, the trials and horrors forgotten.

  “Someone else is here,” he says, and my heart clenches as he steps aside and I see Serge sitting there. His eyes focus on me and he stands.

  My whole body is on fire with humiliation. I was such a fool. Such an ass. I can’t believe he’s even here. But he is. He’s standing right in front of me, and that makes me so ridiculously happy that I can’t even contain it.

  Still, I don’t know how he’s going to react to me. I don’t know why he’s here. He could be here to tell me that this is the last straw and he never wants me to contact him again.