by K. K. Allen
“I’ve tried calling him! Not even an hour after I left, I was texting and calling him like a crazy person. He must have blocked me because my messages and calls stopped going through. If he won’t even talk to me, then what kind of chance do we have?”
“Of course he’s pissed,” she sighs back at me. “The real question is, why aren’t you trying harder?”
“Because,” I start, trying to find the words. But I’m not even completely sure why I left with so much anger like that back in LA. Of course I was reacting to the situation with Tony and to our fight, but it’s more than that. Fixing things with Wolf would mean divulging why I hold so much resentment toward my parents, especially my mother. I just want to forget the past. I don’t want to have to explain it to anyone, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting that wish anytime soon.
“It’s just … complicated. I’ve loved the music scene my entire life, but it’s also led to all the people closest to me hurting me somehow. I should have never given myself to Wolf like that. Not so fast. It was reckless. As much as I care about him, I can’t stray from the path again.”
“What if he is your path?”
I stare at her. Something tugs in my chest at her question. Words don’t come.
“Lyric, this is coming from someone who wasn’t there, so you can completely ignore everything I’m saying. But as your friend, someone who is listening to you now and seeing your pain, I don’t think Wolf is someone you should give up on. Whatever your parents and Tony did to you, fuck them. You’re letting your past control you. Don’t give them the satisfaction. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to be loved the way it seems like Wolf loves you.”
I swallow. Fuck. There’s a thickening in my throat and my eyes grow heavy with the weight of an oncoming flood. We sit in silence for a moment before Terese excuses herself to find the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
God, I miss him. So much. It hurts to think about. By putting up these walls again, I’m bracing myself for the worst. But what if we can fix things? Wolf might be hurt, but I can get him to trust me again. I can make things right with him again. I have to.
With my eyes pressed closed, Wolf invades my mind. His morning kisses that start on my lips and work their way down my body until he has me fully awake and aching with pleasure. His strong arms that wrap around me the moment we’re alone because he’s missed me. His sweet lovemaking, because “fucking” always seems like such a crude way to put it when each moment together makes a home in my heart and soul.
And then an image of Wolf’s caramel eyes invades my reminiscence. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the eyes that could see through me like no one else’s.
The buzzing of my cell phone pulls me from my dreams of Wolf. I sigh and look at the screen. Every muscle in my body locks. I swear I can feel the blood drain from my face as, with one shaky finger, I press a button on the screen to view the message in full.
Terese comes back to the table, and it’s clear she’s noticed my reaction to the message.
“What’s wrong?” she leans over to see my screen. “Shit, is that your mom? Do you seriously call her Destiny?”
“She lost the title of Mom a while ago. I’m not sure she ever wanted it.” I’m fully aware of the disdain dripping from my tone.
“What is she saying?” Terese is still trying to catch a glimpse of the words on my screen.
I laugh and pull my phone up. I can trust Terese. After clearing my throat, I read the text aloud in my best Destiny accent—sophisticated arrogance at its best. “Heard you’re in town. Did you think of maybe calling? I am still your mother.”
Terese rolls her eyes. “Is she for real?”
I smirk and toss my phone on the table. It makes a clattering noise when it connects with the sticky metal, and I groan. Terese snatches it from where it landed and reads the next message out loud in the same affected tone. “Lunch tomorrow. My driver will pick you up from your hotel at noon. Dress appropriately.”
Terese laughs. “What does she consider inappropriate?”
I laugh too. “Anything ripped. And leather is completely out of the question. You know, just in case the paparazzi were to snap a picture. It would completely ruin her reputation.” I roll my eyes. “Oddly enough, the paparazzi always seem to know where she is, and she’s never surprised to see them.” As I’m saying this, I realize how coincidental it is that she wants to see me just after I’ve gotten some social media attention.
“She plans it all?”
Without hesitation, I nod and take my phone back. “Of course. As a kid, if there wasn’t publicity in it for her, I was on my own. I couldn’t wait to escape her when I was eighteen. I barely saw her, but when I did…” I shudder. “She thinks parenting is like playing with Barbie dolls.”
“And you haven’t seen her since you left her house at eighteen?” I can tell Terese feels for me, but it’s clear she also can’t believe how much I hate my mother. No one can. But that’s only because no one knows the truth.
“I’ve seen her a few times in passing, but they were never planned meetings.” I shrug. “Life is better without Destiny around asking me for favors.”
“Are you going to see her?”
I think about it for a second and stare at my phone. With a quick tapping of my fingers I reply, “See you tomorrow,” then look back up at Terese. “I guess I am.”
She’s still my mother. And I’m curious.
The rest of the night is better. We change topics from Wolf and my mother to Terese and Derrick. Turns out they haven’t been talking as casually as I’d assumed. They’ve been talking every single day, and they’ve been out a few times since the band has been back in the area. He wanted to see her tonight since they’re only hitting venues in southern California this week, but she chose to have dinner with me instead.
“It’s fine,” she reassures me when I find out she cancelled her plans. “I would have had to drive back early in the morning for work anyway. Besides, I’ll be at the next two shows, and I’ll see him all next week. Just don’t be surprised if you don’t see me very much.”
She looks happy. I’m glad. Terese is a good girl, and Derrick doesn’t seem like the stereotypical rocker, anyway. If anything, Hedge, Wolf’s bass player, is the ladies’ man of the bunch, but even he’s pretty harmless.
“I get off at five tomorrow night,” she says, “and then we can have a car drive us out to Irvine, unless you wanted to leave earlier than me. I could meet you there?”
The thought of seeing Wolf any sooner than already planned makes me nauseous, so I shake my head. “I’ll wait for you. Just call me. I’ll be ready.”
That’s a lie. I’ll be anything but ready to see Wolf again.
I’m in my dressing room, taking a moment to get into the zone before making my way down the crowded backstage hallway and toward the crowd already screaming my name. A steady syllable ricochets through the stadium, repeating with a passion I wish I could feel the way I used to.
Wolf. Wolf. Wolf.
I’m trying to use the chanting to rev me up, to feel it again—the electricity passing through my body, the buzzing in my chest. I should be fired up by now. The crowd is eating out of the palm of my hand, and I’m not even on stage yet. What happened to the days when I would pop a boner at the first sound of my fans’ affection? When my veins would fill to the brim with adrenaline so powerful I thought I could fly?
Where the fuck are my wings?
I need that feeling back. I need to remember what I first fell in love with. The music. The stage. The rush of it all. If I don’t get my shit together, they will notice. I’m sure they’ve already started to. The past two shows have easily been my worst. Like Derrick reminds me, I’m shit at hiding my emotions. My dial only has two settings: hot and cold. Neither is good. There’s only been one person who could balance me out. But she knocked the wind out of me when she left, and I’ve yet to get back my balance.
Someone bangs at
my door. “Wolf, let’s go!”
It’s Crawley. I grit my teeth and fight back a growl. That fucker’s going down. He’s already been kicked off my bus. I’m just playing my cards right, biding my time until I figure out what he has on me and why he feels like he owns my ass. I’m done with him, but Crawley isn’t someone you want to fuck with without a well-thought-out plan.
I throw the door open and breeze by a rosy-cheeked Crawley like he’s nothing. Rex, my bodyguard, is waiting. He walks beside me as venue security flanks me on all sides to get through the growing crowd as quickly as possible. Something has got to be done about this crowd control issue. It gets worse at every show.
A sadness fills me at first as I realize, like I have been every single fucking night since she left, that Lyric isn’t pressed up against one of the backstage walls where I can reach for her and taste her lips briefly before letting the crowd own me. She was always there—until she wasn’t anymore.
The chanting quickens and I start to feel the vibrations in my chest. It’s the energy I’ve been missing for two days now, and it feels good. It’s not as powerful as it once was, but it’s something.
“Thank fuck.” I say it out loud, but the screams from the crowd drown out the sound of my voice. I embrace the energy as it seeps into me, slowly at first, until it’s barreling through me at a speed that feeds my soul.
This is what it’s all about.
The second I reach the backstage staircase, someone tosses me a microphone.
I wait for the band’s cue, and then…
“Owoooooooooooooo!” I’m howling as I run onto the stage until I hit the spotlight, and then I howl again, throwing my head behind me and arching my back, eliciting the loudest welcome I’ve heard since Lyric left.
Okay. I can do this.
Wake up. Coffee. Breakfast. Rehearsal. Hotel room check-in. Lunch. Soundcheck. Nap. Work out. Dinner. Concert. Meet and greets. Club. Bed.
Fucking clockwork. It’s not always in that exact order, but fuck. It’s nonstop. I’m busy. But it’s the only way to suffocate my thoughts of Lyric. Every time she pops into my mind, like she has now, I get heated. Angry. On the verge of a fucking meltdown.
That’s what she did to me, and I hate her for it. I hate her for everything I love about her. And I hate that I want her to come back.
Doug is doing a fine job filling in for Lyric as road manager—not that I expect any less. He’s had a lifetime to get this right. He’s simply not her. I used to wake up excited to see her every morning, even before we were anything to each other. She was always the one I sought out in the frenzy of a late-night concert crowd. And I could always count on her to be there.
I don’t know if Lyric is coming back on tour or if she’s quitting the scene altogether. I know what her options are, and while I thought I’d gotten to know her well, I have no clue what she’ll decide. Not after how she left.
The wait is agonizing. What if she doesn’t come back?
I’m not ready to answer that question. She’s supposed to make her decision today. If she decides to come back, she’ll be here tomorrow. If she doesn’t… Fuck.
“Hey, Wolf.”
I’m hopping off the bus when I hear the sound of a purring woman call my name. Flipping my shades over my eyes, I turn marginally toward the voice and see a sight that was once the norm. Four scantily clad women lean casually against the bus, giving me that look—the one that tells me they’re down for whatever. No-strings-attached fun.
Looks like Rex has already started allowing the girls to line up outside the bus again, probably at the band’s prodding. They never could believe I was changing my ways for the long haul. They probably think I need a good fuck to get Lyric out of my head. Maybe they’re right.
The woman who called my name starts to walk in my direction, a syrupy smile on her overly made-up face. A panic alarm sounds off in my head, and before she can get any closer, I turn and walk toward Rex, Crawley, and the band, who are all watching and waiting near the hotel entrance.
Most of them look amused by my disinterest, but Hedge throws his head back and howls with laughter. That little shit. I punch him in the gut as I walk by, not trying to hold back.
“What the fuck?” he cries as he curls over himself, and the rest of the band laughs. It wouldn’t be the first time Hedge got socked by one of us. As the trouble maker of the bunch, he usually deserves it.
Derrick jogs up from behind me, throwing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me toward him. “Hang in there, dude. Everything will work out. Don’t let fucking Hedge, or Crawley, or any other one of these dicks mess with you. I’m proud of you, man. Seriously.”
I roll my eyes at Derrick’s pep talk. He’s way too optimistic as always, and while I appreciate it when it comes to music, I could do without it right now.
“Thanks, man,” I return, because no matter how I feel about my situation, Derrick is still my best friend, and he means well.
“I’m sorry, Wolf,” Hedge cries loudly behind me in a playful plea of desperation. “Forgive me!”
Derrick chuckles, and as annoyed as I am, I can’t help but smile just a little. No fucking way I’ll let Hedge see it, though, so I flip him the bird over my head instead.
The band is the closest thing to family I have, but when it comes to the feelings I have for Lyric, I keep them to myself. Ever since she stumbled into that elevator at Perform Live, she was it for me. Nothing was going to get in our way while we figured out what was going on between us.
But things have changed drastically since then. And the band knows as much as I do that it’s just a matter of time before I let some hot rocker chick ride my cock. It’s been three days without sex, and I can already feel the ache. The need. Pleasuring myself to memories of Lyric can only hold me over for so long. I’m unfulfilled. Damaged. Lyric completely ruined me.
“Want to grab a bite?” Doug hands me the keycard for my room, just like Lyric used to do at every hotel stop, and I can’t help but frown. Everything reminds me of her, and it feels like someone’s punching me in the gut every time. As much as I’d rather hole myself up in my room and drown out the noise in my head with an action flick, I need to eat, and Doug’s a good guy.
“Sure, man. Let me shower and shit. Where to?”
As Doug nods to the restaurant on the other side of the lobby, I can’t help but focus on the silver of his hair contrasted against California tanned skin. Doug and my father are probably around the same age, somewhere in their fifties, and neither have a wrinkle on them, except for that crinkle around the eyes when they squint or smile. I haven’t seen my father’s smile in years, but the resemblance is haunting.
“We don’t have to stray far. We’ll grab something quick before soundcheck,” he says.
I head to my room and jump in the shower, wondering what comes next. For the tour, and for Lyric and me.
A lunch invite from Doug isn’t unusual. I’ve known the dude since the first tour we booked with Perform Live, when he accompanied us on the show from hell. Seriously. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, did. Imagine us showing up to our very first venue for our first-ever show in front of more than a couple hundred people and seeing clouds of smoke and three fire engines rolling up to the joint.
It was a kitchen fire, no one was harmed, but the fire marshal refused to allow anyone inside. So Doug, being the quick thinker that he is, quickly made arrangements for a parking lot show instead. It was badass, and in retrospect, probably one of our best shows ever.
He’s always been a great guy, so it’s no surprise he and Lyric are so close. Given the timing of this lunch, I wonder if he could be prepping me for Lyric’s return … or permanent exit. The latter radiates an unkind pressure in my chest. I pound on it with my fist a couple times, replacing one pressure for another one that I can control. But nothing helps. I take a deep breath and lean against the wall of the shower.
I think about her face. It’s not hard. Every time her sweet face c
omes to mind, I imagine her wrapped up in the white sheets of my tour bus bed, her sage eyes pointed out the window with the morning light streaming down, illuminating the glow of her perfect skin. How can someone so angelic wreck me so completely?
I groan as the image of her transforms to the face of the Lyric that left me. Seething with anger. Too worked up to see what she was doing to me. To us. I just watched her as my forever became the end. She walked out and took all the good parts of me with her. My Lyric gutted me.
For the first twenty-four hours after her exit, I couldn’t see straight. She called and called, but I ignored every single one. Eventually, I blocked her number, knowing that any conversation we would have in the heat of the moment would end badly. After delivering Lyric’s options to Perform Live—coming back on tour or letting her walk without penalty—I unblocked her, but it’s only messed with my head. I’ve spent the past two days with my phone in my hands, waiting for a goddamn call that may never come.
Do I want to see her again? Do I want her to come back on tour?
Yes.
I’m afraid of what I might do if she doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll forgive her for leaving. My biggest fear is that she won’t even ask for forgiveness.
I can’t keep doing this to myself.
I turn the shower to cold, and the temperature changes fast. I gasp but take the sting, forcing a breath and letting the icy water drown my thoughts of her.
“You look like shit.”
Doug is already sitting at our table in a sectioned off corner of the beach-themed restaurant when I stroll in fifteen minutes later, and he’s eyeing me with full-on criticism.
I roll my eyes, then blink against the blinding sun streaming in through the large paned windows. “Thanks. I feel it.”
He takes a sip of his tea. At least I assume it’s tea. That’s all the guy seems to drink, besides alcohol. “Would it help if I told you she made her decision?”
I shake my head, fighting my subconscious. “Nope.” I’m a fucking liar.