Rock

by J. A. Huss

  “Hmm,” I grunt.

  “Not because of your dad. Mostly because we all thought you’d come back. We were hoping you’d come back,” she corrects. “We were looking forward to seeing you and when the day passed and you never showed, well. That’s when it all became real. You were gone.” She turns around and faces me, one half of a lemon clutched in each hand. “We just missed you, RK. That’s all. No one’s mad. No one’s holding any grudges. No one wants you to leave again.” She sighs deeply, staring into my eyes. Silent, like she’s waiting for an answer.

  “Well…” I stall for time. “I do have another life, you know. There’s not much left of it right now, but it’s still there. So eventually I’m going to have to deal with that.”

  “I know,” Missy says with a small smile. “But not tonight. We can deal later. Not tonight.”

  And then she goes back to her cooking.

  “Wanna hear some music?” I ask, watching the way her body moves. The small, feminine muscles of her back peeking through the tank top. The curve of her ass in the loose-fitting ripped jeans. Her red-painted toes as she scoots along the counter doing this and that.

  “Your music?” she asks with a smile over her shoulder.

  “Well, that’s not what I was thinking. No.”

  “That song you wrote for me? The one you played at Mel’s funeral?”

  “Fuck, no,” I say, trying to laugh but not quite making it.

  “I love that song.”

  “Everyone does. They never stop asking for it. They scream it out at every show. It doesn’t even have a fucking name. They just chant, ‘The song, the song, the song,’ over and over again. It drives me nuts.”

  “Does it have lyrics? You didn’t sing that day.”

  “No,” I say, my thoughts stuck on that day.

  “You didn’t write lyrics? Or you just don’t sing lyrics?”

  I see the words in my head. I’ve been writing lyrics for that song for years. Every once in a while I’ll just stop everything because another verse comes to mind and I have to think about it. “Never wrote them,” I lie.

  “Why not? It’s unusual for you, right? Maybe you’re different these days but you wrote that song back when I knew you. And you always wrote the lyrics before the beats.”

  “I guess I changed the day I wrote that one.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she says, looking over her shoulder again. “But I’m not gonna push it. You’re entitled to your private thoughts. Besides, I’ve rummaged through most of them while I’ve been staying here. I can’t complain.”

  I smile big. I can’t help it. “God, I missed you, Melissa Vetti.”

  “Ditto, Rowan Kyle Saber. You’ve been gone way too long.”

  I’m silent after that. Both of us are. For a few minutes, at least. I just watch her, wondering why I let the past dictate my future the way I did.

  “Are you happy?” she asks, washing her hands and drying them on a dish towel. The wine sauce is simmering in a pan on the massive six-burner stove and the whole kitchen smells like lemons and white wine. Like the past. Like it did when things were good, back before my mom got sick.

  “Happy?” I repeat. “No. Not even close.”

  Missy leans back against the counter, studying me from top to bottom. “You look good. Considering what’s happening. Was the rock-star life not what you imagined?”

  “I never wanted to be a rock star, Missy. That was you.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  “So what’s it like? Tell me about it. Let me live vicariously through you.”

  I walk into the living room and slump down onto the couch. The pillows are all askew, kind of like my life. And the quilt I’ve been using is bunched up in one corner. Missy sits down next to me, pulling her feet in underneath her.

  “And start from the beginning,” she says. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”

  “The beginning.” I think about it for a few seconds.

  “Your dad hired a private investigator. We knew you went to LA.”

  “Yeah. I still had his credit card back then. I needed it to escape. So I guess that part was easy.”

  “You got rid of it though. And then we lost you. Never got a job?”

  “Not a real one. No. Everything was cash. I was sort of promoter for a few local clubs in Hollywood back then. I met Kenner first, we bonded, you know.”

  “He’s an amazing musician.”

  “Yeah,” I say, some of the sadness creeping back in. “He was.”

  “He’s going to be OK, right?”

  “I guess. If he can ever drum again he will.”

  “Why wouldn’t he drum again? I don’t know what all his injuries were exactly, but they… he… he’ll recover.”

  I run all those words back in my head, trying to make sense of them, but then I decide none of this makes sense. “Same reason I’ll probably never sing again.”

  “It hurts too much?” she asks.

  “Well,” I say, my hand automatically going to my throat. “Not too bad these days. It’s getting better.”

  “I think he’ll drum again. And I think you’ll sing again too.”

  “Well, I think you’re naively optimistic.”

  She laughs. “So you got to LA and became some kind of club promoter. Met Kenner. And then what happened?”

  “We just…” I let out a long sigh. “We just got manic, you know? Fucking manic. Like sixteen-hour days writing songs. And we recorded a few, just us two playing whatever it was we needed. Him on drums, since he rocks the skins much better than I do. Me on guitar and piano. Sometimes I played bass, but mostly Kenner did that too, and we just mixed the tracks together to make songs. We got our hands on a violin and a cello. No one was making music like we were making music, you know? We just found something new. Something real. Something people wanted, but never knew they wanted it until they heard us.”

  I smile, remembering how much fun it was. “Life faded away, Missy. It all just faded away that first year. We got odd jobs doing this or that for the clubs just to pay the thousand-dollar-a-month rent on Kenner’s shitty closet of a studio apartment. And we wrote.” I look at her and shrug. “We just wrote.”

  “You had a lot to say, I guess.”

  I nod. “Yeah. We both did. Ian and Elias came next. A couple months into the whole project. And then Mo. It was fucking magic. Destiny.”

  “What was it like, RK? When you figured out things were changing. You were a hit and people knew who you were?”

  “What was it like to realize I was famous?” I chuckle.

  “Yeah. That.” She leans forward. So, so, so interested in what I made of my life.

  “Surreal, I guess. Once the money started flowing and people started calling we moved up, of course. Got a nice house in the hills and tricked out a studio so we could make the music right. Took conference calls with execs who wanted a piece of our pie. And then the offer to be opening act for Rage. I was barely twenty years old and I was on a world tour with the most famous rock band on the planet. Jayce was there, of course. She was managing another local Hollywood band when we met her, but we offered her more money to jump ship. She’s amazing too.”

  “I think she’s kind of a cunt, myself,” Missy says.

  I laugh. “Well, you’re not alone. She is a cunt, but she’s a damn effective one. Daddy’s little rich girl. Graduated summa cum laude in marketing from Berkeley. She can talk circles around anyone, so don’t get her started. She’s relentless when it comes to promotion and public relations. Shit, she got people talking about us and never once had to mention my father to do it. It took them a long time to figure out who I was because I never told anyone my last name. I just morphed into… Rock.”

  “That’s when I saw you on TV. You looked a little stunned when they brought up Jack.”

  “Son of a Jack,” I say with a smile. “They ambushed me, for sure. But by then, I was over it. Fuck him, was all I kept thinking on t
hat show. Fuck him.”

  “And then…” Missy hesitates. “Then the drugs?”

  I nod, the excitement of reliving my path to success over.

  “Why, RK? You knew what happened to your dad. I don’t understand that part.”

  “I just forgot, I guess.” I shrug. “I just forgot things. Forgot who I was, why I left.”

  “You don’t forget those kinds of things, Rowan Kyle. It’s not possible.”

  “It’s a figure of speech, Miss. Time passes, wounds heal, life goes on, and sometimes the lessons you thought you learned don’t stick.”

  “And last year? When they found you passed out in a bathtub with a needle sticking out of your arm? That was when you started to remember?”

  “I didn’t really have a choice,” I say softly. Kind of ashamed. Kind of embarrassed. Kind of sad. “Kenner and Mo said they’d quit if I didn’t go into rehab. And fuck, I didn’t want to lose them, you know? I’d lost so much. Kenner and I were tight, but Mo and I were close too. He was our pianist. He and Kenner both played piano and that’s always been my thing. So when Mo and Kenner said they were out unless I went all in…” I sigh. “I had to go all in.”

  “Do you love me?” Missy asks, her eyes darting wildly as she searches mine for my soul.

  “Of course I do.” It comes out as a whisper. “I’ve always loved you, Missy.”

  “Then you need to go all in for me too, Rowan Kyle. Or I’m out.” She stares hard at me, like she really means this. “I don’t want to be out. I’m sure Kenner and Mo were praying to whatever God they believe in that you’d do as they asked, because you’re bigger than life, Rock.” I cringe when she calls me that. “You’re bigger than life and people are drawn to you like fireflies to the night. I don’t want to be out. But I need you to be all in for me too.”

  I stare at my hands for a moment, wondering what it means to her. What does all in mean to her? For Kenner and Mo it was rehab. But I’m clean now. I have a fucking prescription for oxycodone somewhere in this house and I have no desire to fill that thing. No desire to shoot up or go looking for the high. The cravings are gone. I’m better now. That lesson stuck.

  So I ask. Because I want her. I want her more than anything. I want her to be real, I want us to be together, I want the past to go away and leave me alone. “What does it mean to be all in, Miss?”

  She smiles and scoots her body over to mine, wrapping her hands around my bicep and resting her cheek on my chest. “Just the truth, Rowan Kyle. Nothing more, nothing less. Just the truth.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been a liar, Missy.” I rest my head against hers, inhaling the sweet smell of her shampoo. “If I lied to you, I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know, RK.”

  We sit still for a while, just breathing. Relaxing. Enjoying the moment. And then Missy jumps up and says, “Shit!” as she runs to the kitchen and starts fucking around with the wine sauce on the stove. It sizzles and she says, “Shit!” again.

  “Don’t worry.” I laugh from the couch. “I’ll eat it this time too.”

  She chuckles. “Fuck you, Rowan Kyle.”

  But it’s a good fuck you. It’s a friendly fuck you. It’s a fuck you that says this second chance might actually be real. Even after all the bad shit that’s happened, I might finally find something real.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You know,” I say, after scarfing down her lemon pasta—which was perfect, even if she did burn the wine a little—“you’re gonna miss your own show if we don’t leave in like ten minutes.” I stand in the hall bathroom doorway, leaning up against the doorjamb, watching her put on her makeup.

  She rolls her eyes in the mirror as she applies some tan shit to her face with a sponge. “I’ll be ready, don’t worry.”

  I turn and look into TJ’s room, which is directly across the hall from the bathroom. He’s got one of those camp chairs pushed up against the wall, so I wander in, not bothering to flip on the lights, and take a seat.

  There are seven guitars lined up in stands. Three bass, two acoustic, and two electric. I pick up the one within arm’s reach, an old acoustic I recognize from when we were kids, and give it a strum.

  “Play me a song, RK.” Missy looks over at me and smiles.

  “This fucker’s so out of tune. When’s the last time he played it?” I start twisting knobs as I strum, trying to make it sound decent.

  “Oh, hell,” Missy says, fluffing powder over her cheeks. “I have no clue. Long time, I think. He doesn’t play at the bar. Not even to fuck around.”

  “Well, the strings aren’t that old. He must’ve been in here doing something.”

  “Hmm,” Missy says, applying something dark to her eyelids. “I play them every once in a while. I guess I must’ve put new strings on it.”

  I keep tuning as I watch her. She’s wearing tight jeans now, and the curve of her ass is driving me crazy. The jeans are blue like a summer sky and have thin rips going up the whole length of her thighs. All the frayed strands are white, like she’s been wearing them for years and they’ve been washed a million times. I can see her skin peek through when she moves just the right way.

  “That sounds right,” she says absently as I strum all the strings. “Play something. I’m your girlfriend. I deserve to have a song played for me.”

  I smile. Big. “You’re my girlfriend, huh,” I say, starting to pluck the strings out of habit.

  She stops what she’s doing to look over at me. “Aren’t I?”

  “You are if you want to be.”

  “That’s not a very nice answer, Rowan Kyle.”

  “Did I ever tell you about how nervous I was when I kissed you that first time?”

  She goes back to her makeup, satisfied with my rebuttal. “No. But go on.”

  “Do you remember it?” I ask, looking down at the fingerboard.

  “Sixth grade camping trip.” She laughs. “You did some funky interview in Metal Notes for Valentine’s Day a couple years ago. Remember that?”

  “Of course,” I say.

  “And the question was about the best kiss of your life.” She stops with her makeup and looks over at me, squinting her eyes like she’s trying to make me out in the dark. “Our first kiss was the best you ever had?” She cocks an eyebrow.

  “Man,” I say with a small laugh. “My fucking hands were sweating, my heart was racing, my mind was spinning. I’d imagined in my head so many times. What would it feel like? What would you do? Would you slap me?”

  “Slap you? Ha!” She laughs. “You took forever to kiss me, RK. That whole year was torture as I waited.” She stops with the makeup again and stares at me. “And I was so afraid Melanie would trick you and get that first kiss instead of me.”

  “Fuck that,” I say. “Fuck her. I know she was your sister but—”

  “Hey,” she interrupts. “I can’t defend her sickness. I’m not saying people are always responsible for their actions when they are mentally ill, but she was. She knew she was hurting me. Us, RK. She did it on purpose to hurt us. So I’m with you on that. Fuck her.”

  “Well,” I say, realizing I’m playing the song, “she didn’t win. Because you were the first girl I ever kissed, Melissa Vetti. And no one can ever take that away from us.”

  “I’m glad it was you,” she says, drawing dark lines around her eyes. I watch her as my fingers do their rock-star thing, creating music that is almost as pretty as the girl in front of me. “I love that song, RK. I’ve played that video they have online about a thousand times.” She sighs. “One day you’ll sing me those lyrics I know you wrote and my life will be complete.”

  “Hmm,” I say, closing my eyes to see what I feel in my mind’s eye. “If I ever do, you will be the first to hear them. I wrote this song for you, you know. Not Melanie.” I open my eyes. “I don’t know why I thought you were the one who died, Miss. I really don’t understand it.”

  “It’s OK,” she whispers. “We don’t have to talk about that tonight.”
And then she pinks up her cheeks with blush, smacks on some matching lipstick, and turns to face me. “I’m ready.”

  I keep playing as I take her in. She’s got some high-heeled boots on—black leather, of course—an old black tank top that has probably been around the same amount of time as the Something Corporate shirt I have on, and too many leather cuffs on her wrists to count. Her mahogany hair is straight and shiny, flowing across her shoulders and down her back. “You look like a rock star, Miss. And if I catch any of your fanboys getting fresh, Teej might have to kick my ass out for roughing them up.”

  She laughs as she turns off the bathroom light. “You’re the only fanboy I need, RK. Come on, I gotta get to the show.” She walks into the bedroom and holds her hand out to me. I set the guitar back down in the stand and take her hand, letting her pull me to my feet.

  She turns to walk off, but I keep hold and pull her back into the dark room. “Missy,” I say, letting go of her hand so I can dip my fingers under her hair and place my palms against her neck.

  “Don’t smear my lipstick.” She giggles.

  I place my lips on her throat and she tips her head back to give me access. “Lips aren’t the only things that need kissing,” I say, brushing against her skin so softly, it sends a shudder through her body. “You’re the only girl I ever wanted. Ever. So yes,” I whisper, gently nibbling her earlobe. “I want to give this another try. I want you to be my girlfriend. I need this second chance.”

  She places both her hands on mine and squeezes. “I feel like I’m living a dream, RK. Like all of this is fake and it’s going to disappear any second.”

  “Welcome to my world,” I say back. We bump foreheads and stare into each other’s eyes for a moment. And then I pull back. “Come on. I’m ridiculously excited about watching you play tonight.”

  We get in the truck and drive down to the main road. The two sheriff’s vehicles flank each side of the intersection. Missy waves to them as we drive off, one tailing us, one remaining there, standing sentry.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumble. “Don’t they have better things to do than watch me? This whole county has what? Five cops total?”