Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)
Page 15
Ty raised his champagne flute in Quinn’s direction with a knowing smirk. Quinn winked at Shan and tapped his glass against Ty’s.
Oda had baked a big carrot cake. Shan blew out the candles while everyone sang, then they forced her to sit in the middle of the room and presented her with gifts. Denise and Dan gave her a gorgeous Indian scarf and she received a dainty silver ankle bracelet from Ty. Bruce’s gift was a stone jar filled with guitar picks and Oda’s was a cool tie-dyed backpack. When she’d finished unwrapping, the coffee table was covered with birthday cards and wrapping paper.
Denise was examining the gifts. “Quinn, didn’t you give her anything?” She frowned at him with disapproval.
Shan laughed. “He’s not the sentimental type, remember?”
Quinn cocked his head. “Is that so? Well, it just happens I did get you something.” He reached behind Shan’s chair for a long, brightly wrapped box that he set on the floor. “Careful,” he said. “It’s heavy.”
Shan stared at the package. It was almost as big as she was. She looked up at Quinn, who was settled against the window sill with a cat-that-got-the-canary expression.
She slid out of the chair and dropped to her knees. She loosened the wrapping paper and pushed it aside, revealing a heavy-gauge cardboard box. When she opened it, her eyes widened. Securely cushioned in a bed of tissue paper was a black vinyl guitar case. Shan looked up at Quinn again. A ghost of a smile was materializing on his face as she flipped back the lid.
She gasped. “Holy shit!” Ty exclaimed. She heard a swift intake of breath from Dan, and a low whistle from Bruce.
A Martin.
Not just any Martin. It was a Martin HD-28, the acoustic dream machine she’d lusted after for years. She recognized the spruce body and tortoise pickguard from the catalogue.
“Have you lost your mind?” she blurted. “This is a three-thousand-dollar instrument!”
His grin got bigger. “I got a deal on it.”
She snorted indelicately. “So you got it for twenty-eight hundred? Come on, Q. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, but it’s too much and I won’t accept it.”
“Too late,” he said. “I had it personalized, so you can’t return it.”
“Personalized?” She examined the guitar more closely. She was almost afraid to touch it.
Then she saw it. There, on the headstock, a tiny inlay, no bigger than a guitar pick, directly between the machine heads.
It was an angel. A tiny, stylized angel with flowing hair and dainty weblike wings.
It was insanely extravagant and over the top, but so thoughtful and personal and lovely, the most wonderful gift she had ever received. Her throat closed and she was unable to utter a single sound.
“I thought she looked like you,” Quinn murmured when she got to her feet and put her arms around him. “You wouldn’t refuse a gift I put so much thought into, would you?”
She shook her head, hard. “Oh, Q,” she said, when she found her voice, “I lo—”
…love you.
She gasped, pulling away from his embrace before the words could escape her lips, but when she looked up at him, she knew it was true.
She loved him. Truly. Deeply. Completely. Quinn, with all his arrogance and bossiness and frequent flyers and stupid, arbitrary rules. She loved him.
He was the one. The only perfect one.
He was looking back at her, frowning a little now. “What?” he asked. “Don’t you like it?”
“I love it,” she said. “Love it. It’s perfect, Q. Absolutely perfect.” And she stepped back into his arms.
“Oh, break it up,” Denise sniffed.
“Yeah!” Ty agreed. “Are you going to play this baby or what?” He held out the Martin.
Shan released Quinn and took the guitar. When she ran her fingers over the strings, she noted that it was tuned to a T. As she began the opening riff of “The Only Perfect One,” marveling at the rich, full-bodied sound, she could feel her arms prickling.
Quinn grinned and she knew he could see the goose bumps.
Several hours later, Quinn searched out Shan and found her in her room. She was sitting on her futon admiring the new Martin, which she’d placed in the metal stand that had always held Joanie.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. She turned around to regard him tenderly.
“I still can’t believe you did this. Not just this,” she motioned to the Martin, “but everything. Thanks for making it so special, Q. I…” She paused, searching, then shook her head. “I don’t have any words.”
He sat down beside her and looked around at the familiar furnishings, the shelves under the window overflowing with books and CDs, the futon with its colorful Indian blanket, the posters on the walls: Dylan, the Grateful Dead in Haight-Ashbury, a Monet print from the cathedral series. His gaze took in the objects scattered on top of her dresser, guitar picks and packets of strings mingling with earrings and necklaces, a framed photograph of her mother, a small amber bottle of the essential-oil blend she always wore. He noticed a new photo tucked in the corner of the mirror: a picture of the two of them that Denise had snapped one day at a Village street fair. They were cheek to cheek and their smiles were enormous.
“I’m going to miss this room,” he said, a trifle wistfully. “I’ve spent more time here than I have at my own place this summer.” He reached for her hand, then looked down at it. “What’s this?”
When she opened her fist, he saw that she held a small piece of wood. He took it, examined it. It was a guitar bridge. “From Joanie,” she said softly. “I was just…saying good-bye to her.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “This one could be Joanie Two.”
Shan shook her head no. “This one’s name is obvious, don’t you think? She’s the Angel.”
“The Angel and the Kur. They’ll make a good couple.” He set the bridge on the milk crate Shan used as a nightstand, then stood up. “We’re going to head home, I think. It’s getting late.”
She rose, too, and put her arms around him. He hugged her back, resting his cheek on the top of her head. The scent of sandalwood tickled his nose. When he felt his body stir, he drew back.
She compensated by pressing closer and felt so nice that he was unwilling to let go of her just yet. Maybe she wouldn’t notice how much he liked the way she smelled.
She made a small, inarticulate murmur, then slid her arms around his waist.
Uh-oh. She’d noticed, all right.
He buried his face in her hair and let the hypnotic fragrance draw him in. The soft swells of her breasts were generating twin circles of heat that penetrated deep into his chest. He felt her tugging at his shirt and a moment later she was touching the skin of his lower back. Almost of their own volition, his hands slipped down her body and inside the waistband of her jeans. He murmured when he encountered the velvety cleft of her buttocks.
He was straining against her, pressing into her yielding form in an irresistible dance of intimacy. She was arching against him, responding with equal ardor, and his gaze traveled over her head to the futon located just behind them.
It would be the most natural thing in the world. Kick the door shut and tumble her back. Free her of her clothes, and glide his hands and his mouth and his cock over every inch of her.
He heard a sound behind him and turned his head.
Dan was in the doorway. “Er, we’re heading out. Did you want to come or…” He trailed off.
Quinn hesitated. He felt Shan’s arms compress around his waist and a tremor run down his spine as she pressed her lips into the hollow of his throat. He stared at Dan woodenly for a moment, then heaved a regretful sigh. “Yeah, I’m coming. Just give me a minute, okay?”
Dan nodded and backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Shan raised her head and he saw that her laser eyes were smoky with passion. His gaze fell to her full, pink mouth. He raised his hand and traced her lower lip with his index finger.
He hastily pulled his hand away from her mouth. “We can’t, though.”
“Why not?” Shan rested her chin against his chest to gaze up at him. “We both want to.”
“But there’s a really basic disconnect here. You,” he touched the tip of her nose, “are not an indulger in casual sex and to me there’s no other kind. And so there we are.”
“I see.” Her eyes had darkened ominously. “Got to stick to those golden rules, right? God forbid you should bend them, just this one time.”
“You’re such an idiot,” he said, giving her a little shake. “When have you and I ever played by the rules? But this isn’t something we should just jump into, no matter how much we both want it. Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow. How are you going to feel when I’m gone?”
She pulled away and glared at him. He glared back for a moment, then turned toward the door.
“Q?” Her small voice made him pause in the act of slamming it. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
His scowl faded. “Do you think I’d leave without saying good-bye?”
She shrugged and he shook his head as he came back to put his arms around her again. She hugged him back, very tightly. “You really piss me off sometimes, Mr. Marshall.”
He chuckled, then pulled away. “You’d better let go of me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I might not be so noble next time. I only have a limited supply of morality, you know?”
Just before he pulled the door closed, he looked back at her. She was watching him, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and the most enchanting expression on her face. He felt a tremendous tug at his heartstrings. She was so fucking beautiful he could hardly look at her.
“Happy birthday, angel.” The door clicked shut between them.
During the ride home, Quinn was pensive and silent. When they pulled up at a twenty-four-hour store and Ty went in for a pack of cigarettes, Dan cleared his throat. “You know, I wasn’t sure you’d make it home tonight.”
Quinn shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed out the window. “I got the feeling Shan wanted you to stay,” Dan said.
Quinn remained stubbornly silent. “I could drop you back there,” Dan persisted.
Quinn swiveled his head and scowled at him. “Lay the fuck off! You’re worse than a broad, for Crissakes. Why are you pushing me?”
Dan shook his head with a small smile. “Because you’re crazy about that little girl, dude. You’ve got it bad, and everybody knows it but you.”
Quinn waved him off. “All I’ve got is a raging hard on.”
“So why don’t you do something with it?”
“With a bandmate?” Quinn shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Just a simple case of fuckstration that creates some tension every now and then.”
“Bullshit,” Dan declared. “If you just wanted to get wet, you’d have done it a long time ago. I’ve never seen you like this before, and I think you should do something about it.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “If you tell me I’m pussy whipped, I’ll slug you, Danny.”
Dan regarded him seriously. “I wasn’t going to say that. It might be time for you to reconsider your priorities, you know? I think she’s good for you. She suits you.”
“Yup, she’s a good friend and a great bandmate. End of story.”
“That would be too bad.” As Ty emerged from the store, Dan imparted one final comment. “It would be a damn shame, in this case, if the only perfect one was the one that got away.”
The next morning they came over for breakfast and the mood was deliberately light. When the hour of departure arrived, Shan, Denise, and Dan walked Ty and Quinn downstairs.
As they lingered on the street, Quinn glanced at Shan. She was visibly upset, her lips tight and her eyes glittering with pain. “Will you keep in touch?” she asked.
“You know, I’m not dropping off the face of the earth,” he told her. “I’ll call.”
“Will you write me?” she persisted.
“I’m not great at that stuff, but I’ll try. Or better yet, you write. I’ll read, and I’ll send music.” She nodded gravely and he felt a twinge of pain. “Please stop looking at me like that. You’re killing me. Why are you so fucking bummed out all of a sudden?”
“I feel like I’m losing my best friend,” she said and he frowned.
“You’re not. Okay?” She nodded, but her face was wreathed in sorrow and he groaned aloud. “Just don’t cry. I don’t think I could stand it.”
“I won’t.” She shook her head. “I never cry. Ever.”
That was true, he mused. He’d never once seen a tear in her eye, not even when she was coming off heroin. “It’s time for us to roll, so give me a hug.”
She did, and brought her lips close to his ear. “I love you, Q,” she whispered. “A lot.”
He drew back, a trifle alarmed, then kissed her chastely on the forehead. She reached up to smooth the hair out of his eyes, but he turned away. “Let’s go,” he said to Ty, refusing to look at Shan. He gave Dan a light cuff on the chest and headed toward the car, then hesitated.
He was going to miss her. Christ, was he going to miss her.
“Come on, man,” Ty said from the driver’s seat. “We should have left an hour ago.”
Quinn pivoted, grabbed Shan around the waist and swung her up in his arms. “What—” she began, but her words were muffled when he clamped his mouth over hers.
She stiffened, but only for a moment, then kissed him back. Her feet were dangling a good four inches off the ground, so she wound her arms around his shoulders and surrendered, secure in the strength of his embrace.
He let her body slide through his arms until she was standing on tiptoe, then moved his lips close to her ear. “It’s a good thing I didn’t do this last night,” he murmured, “or it would have taken an act of God to get me out of that room.” And he kissed her again, hard and sweet.
Then he let her go and smiled his boyish smile. “See ya.” He got in the car, shut the door, and gave her a long, last look as they drove away.
Shan watched until the car disappeared around the corner. Her heart was pounding and she could still taste him on her lips.
For the first time that day, she wished she had a fix.
part two
1991
One good thing about music,
when it hits you,
you feel no pain.
—Bob Marley
chapter 18
In the van, Shan leaned forward, twisting around a pile of sleeping bags to peer out the window. “Is that it?” she asked, squinting at a small house just visible over a craggy hillside.
“We’re looking for Echo Road,” Dan reminded her, not for the first time. They had no air conditioning and he had his hair pulled back in a ponytail. Shan could see dots of perspiration on his cheeks and the back of his neck. “No, that’s not it,” he said, as they passed a sign identifying the small street as Ottie Road.
“I wish we’d get there already. We’re getting so far from town,” Denise said, fanning herself. The small diamond Dan had given her two weeks before glittered as she waved her left hand.
“Q said it was isolated,” Dan said. “I guess he wasn’t kidding.”
Shan sat back, her hands drumming against her thighs. She wished they’d arrive, too. She could barely stand it, the waiting. She’d waited so long already.
They’d been on the road just over a week and it felt like they’d stopped in every random town between New York and Los Angeles. In fact they had not, although Denise insisted upon incorporating a few landmarks into their route. They’d seen the Sears Tower and Dodge City. They’d followed Route 66 through Flagstaff and, even in her urgency, Shan was enthralled by the beauty of the Grand Canyon. Acc
ording to Quinn they’d be living in a canyon, Big Tujunga Canyon, and the vast walls and swooping descents of the South Rim captivated her, but even that only momentarily quelled her compulsion to keep moving.
She’d obtained her driver’s permit for the trip and argued for traveling through the night, but Dan was adamant that they stop. He wasn’t comfortable sleeping while she was at the wheel since she was a new driver, especially not with the U-Haul hitched to the back of the van.
The trailer made Denise nervous, so Shan and Dan divided the driving. They spent the nights at campgrounds, sleeping in tents since the vehicles were packed to capacity with Dan’s drum kit, Denise’s furniture and darkroom equipment, and Shan’s guitars. In consideration for her traveling mates’ privacy Shan had acquired her own small pop-up, which she pitched some distance from theirs. At night she could hear them making love and sometimes she touched herself, dreaming of Quinn.
She thought about him constantly, replayed the events of his last night in New York over and over again. When she did, she could practically feel his hands on her body, taste the kiss he’d given her before he left. When she wasn’t remembering, she was fantasizing about the life they’d have when they were finally together again.
He’d flown out of Boston a few weeks earlier, right after graduation, to find a house where they could all live together. And that place, where the next phase of her life would happen, was somewhere ahead of them on this windy canyon road.
Their progression across the country had felt painfully slow to Shan, but neither as painful nor as slow as the passage of the ten months since he’d left New York. After his departure, she’d fallen into a funk from which she’d been unable to rouse herself. Her heaviness of spirit stirred the embers of her heroin jones. They had smoldered while Quinn was there to distract her, but flared with a vengeance once she was alone.