A Rockstar in Her Bed

by C. Tyler

  “We good?” I ask sarcastically.

  He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out before saying, “Yeah.” He takes a half-step back and falls into the seat across from me. “We’re good.”

  “Good,” I nod sharply.

  For a few minutes, I can’t help but rub my face. I don’t know if it’ll bruise, but it might. If so, that’s going to be a fun story to tell Jason and Tommy.

  “So,” Max finally says.

  “So,” I repeat.

  An unspoken understanding passes between us. Max has gotten his point across and he knows it. By holding back, Max gave me a warning shot, but he made it count, wanting me to know exactly how pissed he is. Fair enough. Now I know. “If it makes you feel any better,” I say with a sigh, “it’s over now.” Saying it out loud hurts as much as reading it.

  I’d gone there with a purpose, too. Damn. As stupid as it sounds now, I kind of hoped Max would invite me along just so I could be around Chris because I––and I can’t believe I’m even thinking these words––wanted to woo her. It might have only been for a couple of days, but I wanted to show Chris how much fun it could be if we took whatever it is we had to the next level, and started an actual relationship. Because that’s what I wanted. It’s what I still want. I want a relationship with Chris. I want her to be mine.

  Yeah, that’s working out really well. Great plan.

  “Over?” Max asks with a deadpan voice. I nod lazily. “That why you bought her a ring for Christmas?”

  Shit.

  Chapter Six

  Adam

  March, and the tour’s finally coming to an end. After a long year, we’re about to give our second-to-last show and it’s in Madison, Wisconsin. I guess the planets have aligned or something because not only is the show not far from Max’s hometown, but his mom’s birthday is in a couple of days. The only reason I know is because he’s said so repeatedly when she calls his phone, beaming excitedly about seeing her son.

  Max and I are better. It’s been three months since Christmas, and we’ve finally hit a stride where we’re both comfortable. There’s still some underlining weirdness, but playing every night helps. The whole tour’s helped us move past the fight, actually.

  I haven’t talked to Chris, though … not once. And it physically hurts my heart every time I think about it. Honestly, it actually hurts. I thought heartbreak was bullshit. Seriously, how can someone feel something so strongly that it breaks their heart when it’s taken away? The concept seemed so ridiculous to me, at first. Now, I’m not so sure.

  Every once in a while, I scroll through my phone and read our old conversations. It’s so fucking stupid, but I can’t help it. I’m acting like a teenager who’s lost his first love, revisiting all previous contact and memory. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? It’s like we broke up, which I know is bullshit because we never actually dated. And yet, that’s how this feels… I feel like I just ended a years-long relationship. And the worst part? We didn’t end it by choice. It was ended for us.

  The show’s going to start in a couple of hours and according to Max, his mom’s on the way to say hi. It kind of makes me smile thinking about Cynthia swooning over her son in front of everyone because somehow, I know that’s exactly what she’ll do.

  I’m sitting off to the side backstage, tuning one of the guitars I plan to use tonight when I hear it. That same loud shriek of joy his mom let out when we showed up at her house echoes in the backroom, and draws everyone’s attention immediately. When I look up, I see Cynthia wrapped around Max, squeezing him tightly and swaying from side to side as she hugs him. I don’t bother hiding my smile, and neither do Tommy and Jason. Max’ll never live this down. But as I’m sitting there toying with my guitar and watching the display, I see Chris emerge through the door a moment later and my fingers stop moving. I feel every muscle tense and my blood chill. She looks like she always did: dressed in casual attire, with her dark hair down. But it stops me dead in my tracks anyway. Shit, I forgot how beautiful she is.

  The three of them talk to each other and the guys go up to say hi, but I don’t move. Truth is, I’m not entirely certain I’m allowed to. I don’t know if Max wants me anywhere near his family and until I do, I’m not going anywhere.

  Thankfully, after a couple minutes, Max turns and waves me over. I guess he’s realized how weird it’d be if I was excluded somehow. Even though Tommy and Jason haven’t said anything, I’m sure they’ve noticed the tension between us in the last couple of months.

  I set my guitar down and head over, flashing my regular smile as I do. I notice Chris barely meeting my eye the whole way over and it kills me. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed, ashamed, or what. All I know is it twists me up inside, but I can’t show it. I have to keep my damn smirk plastered on, and act like everything’s okay.

  “Mrs. Price.” I’m not about to assume she’ll let me call her anything else given the hell I brought down on her house over Christmas.

  “Cynthia, please,” she chastises lightly.

  I breathe an internal sigh of relief and my eyes drift to Chris. She looks up at me through her lashes with those emerald green eyes of hers and it takes everything in me not to at least reach for her.

  “Hey, Chris.”

  She gives me a nod, but she says nothing. I haven’t heard her voice in months … and I miss it.

  Conversation moves on regardless of my internal hell. I participate in it, but admittedly, I couldn’t tell anyone what we talked about if they asked me. It all goes in one ear and out the other, fading from memory almost immediately amid my inability to stop thinking about how badly I just want to reach out and touch Chris.

  After probably fifteen minutes, Chris and Cynthia head out. I guess they plan to grab some food before the show. It makes sense––the concert won’t start for a while. For the first time in years, I’m actually nervous about performing.

  ****

  The roadies are on stage setting up our equipment while the guys and I stand backstage. Our set’s about to begin in a couple of minutes and my fingers are tingling. I’m anxious.

  I feel someone walk up beside me and I glance over to see Max. His eyes are on the stage, but I know he has something to say. Given what I told him I planned to do, how could he not?

  “You sure about this?” he asks. My heart’s beating faster than normal, but I know my answer.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I think so.”

  Max glances up at me briefly and gives a short nod. That’s all he has to say about my plans and it’s both reassuring, and at the same time, unnerving. As my eyes drift back to the stage, I have to take in a few steadying breaths.

  Right after Christmas when Max came back to the bus, we talked. Jason and Tommy were back home seeing family, so we knew we’d at least have privacy given the subject matter. I couldn’t tell you how long we talked, but I know it was a long ass time. Max was full of questions and I did my best to answer them, despite how fucking awkward it was. I guess, in my guilt, I felt like he had the right to know.

  I remember what seemed to finally make Max realize I didn’t mean to break the code. Up until that point, he thought I’d been fucking Chris just because I was an asshole … and admittedly, I can be. But that wasn’t it. When he asked why I picked her, why I gave her the ring, and why the hell it went on for so long, I finally had to say it out loud: “Because I think I love her.”

  The ‘think’ in that sentence didn’t help my cause, but as I told Max I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not entirely sure what it feels like. But given the past few months, I can’t really classify it as anything else.

  The lights on stage suddenly cut off and the crowd erupts with applause. That’s our cue to head out, so together the four of us take the stage. We each grab our instruments and take our places a second before the lights blink back on. The crowd again screams and applauds. I feel the familiar rush of being on stage and it helps me relax just a little.

  The theater we’re playi
ng in has the main floor in front of the stage like all the others, but also a little raised section just behind it and beneath the balcony where people can sit at tables. As my eyes dance over the crowd, I see Chris and Cynthia sitting at one of those tables. Cynthia’s beaming wide, smiling like any proud mom would be, but Chris is stoic. She’s leaning forward onto her propped-up arm with her lips buried in her hand while her eyes glide over all of us. Every time they come close to me, she does her best not to linger. I’ll have to change that.

  “How you guys doing?” I call out into the microphone. They cheer louder than before and it brings a smile to my face. “Good to hear. How ‘bout we get this party started, hmm?”

  Glancing to the set list taped to the stage at my feet, I begin to play the first song and the guys join in immediately. We fall easily into the action. We’ve been singing the same songs for years and even our new stuff for a few months. We know how to play off each other, how we perform in front of people, and the like. ‘Going through the motions’ actually makes it easier for me because my mind’s a little divided at the moment.

  “Okay!” I call out when the final note of our previous song ends. “Now, I’ve got a confession for you guys.” There is a chorus of ‘ooos’ that makes me smile. “I wrote a song a couple months ago and we haven’t played it for an audience yet, so it might be shit. I won’t lie.” I hear a few laughs in the crowd. “I was just wondering if you guys wanted to hear it first?” The cheers are nearly deafening, like a tidal wave of excitement, and my smile widens. “Awesome.” I chuckle. “Then let’s get it started.”

  The song I start to play is a little slower than our others, but it’s not exactly a ballad so it fits pretty well with our set list. My fingers glide easily along my strings and instinctively, my eyes drift to Chris. She’s staring right at me for the first time since the concert began, and I’m both relieved and freaked out because I wrote it for her.

  When I make it to the chorus and the stage lights flash on the audience, I can see her flinch.

  I want to hold you closer,

  ‘Cause I just can’t let you go.

  How could we already be over?

  Please, just let me know.

  She’s shifting in her seat. I can tell she’s becoming uncomfortable, but I don’t know why. I guess she’s just beginning to realize this isn’t some random-ass song about some equally random chick.

  I should have told you how I felt,

  Should have told you the truth,

  But I was scared of what you’d say,

  I was scared of losing you.

  When the song eventually ends, the audience cheers, but I’m only looking at one person. I know she knows it was about her. Even if the lyrics were a little generic as far as love songs go, I didn’t look away from her once. Chris has to know.

  My ears start to buzz with the sounds around me. I’m only waiting for one reaction, though, and it’s not coming. I can’t see for shit past the lights now, but I can tell she’s staring at me blankly. With half her face hidden behind her hand still, I can only see her eyes and they’re not telling me anything.

  I want something to happen. I want her to do anything that will––

  Chris suddenly shoves her seat back and stands, walking briskly away from the table without bothering to look back at the stage. It feels like someone has reached into my chest, wrapped their cold, steely fingers around my heart, and squeezed.

  The entire ordeal lasts maybe two minutes, not long enough for the audience to realize something’s wrong, but Max does. His clearing throat brings me back and whether I want to or not, I have a show to finish. We still have four songs to sing and as the old saying goes: the show must go on. Plastering a fake smile on my face feels wrong, but I have to do it. I have to pretend like everything’s fine even though every fiber of my being aches to follow after Chris.

  Chapter Seven

  Chris

  I’m shaking. I’m actually shaking, and it has nothing to do with the bitter chill in the air. It might be March, but winter is still hanging on for dear life. Just because the calendar says it’s spring doesn’t mean Mother Nature agrees. But I don’t even notice the temperature outside despite it being less than fifty degrees. I’m shaking because of Adam. How the hell can he do that to me? And in front of my brother, my mom, and more than five hundred strangers. What the hell is his game?

  My eyes are prickling with coming tears. It’d be a lie if I said I haven’t missed Adam. I have, more than I probably should, but that shouldn’t matter. We never dated. We weren’t a couple. We just had sex, that’s it.

  So why was it so hard for me to forget about it and move on after Christmas? For three months, I’ve thought about Adam every day. I look through my texts and the pictures on my phone. I even wear that damn ring every day. Why?

  Never mind… I know why. I’ve known for a while.

  My heart drops and breathing becomes a little difficult. I know why I look through my phone when I have some time to myself and why I still wear the ring. I even know why I check the band’s social media pages constantly.

  Being as attached to the group as I am, of course I follow them––and the individual members––on every single piece of social media they have. I like all of the obligatory posts, favorite and quote them. I did my duty as Max’s sister, but in the last couple of months, I’ve become more of a cyber-stalker than anything.

  I check all of their sites, scroll through their posts, and look at all their pictures because I miss him. I miss Adam and somehow, deep down, I know I’m not allowed to talk to him anymore. My relationship with Max is back to where it was before the blowout, but there was an unspoken agreement that I would not talk to Adam again, at least outside of social situations. I knew it’d only hurt Max if I did, so I stopped. After thanking him for the ring, I haven’t said a single word to Adam Cleary.

  As I’m standing on the nearly-abandoned sidewalk outside the theater, trying to will the ache out of my chest, I hear something behind me.

  “Sweetie?” It’s Mom, and I immediately begin to wipe the tears from my cheeks. I feel her hand on my shoulder so I force a smile and turn. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I openly lie. “I’m fine, but I’m kind of getting a headache. I think I’m just going to go grab some coffee, or something.”

  “Okay,” she nods. “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” I smile again. “I’ll just be down the street. You go ahead and go back to the show.”

  She seems uncertain, but after a little more prompting, Mom heads back inside and I’m allowed to let my smile fade. There’s a coffee shop down the street, so that’s where I plan to wait for her. I’d go back to Mom’s place, but we only brought the one car and it’s a half-hour drive back. I don’t want to abandon Mom at the theater.

  With my hands in my pockets and my mind still racing, I make my way down the street. Despite the late hour, they’re still open, and when I step inside, I’m immediately greeted by the scent of coffee and pastries. I give the barista my order, pay, and gather my drink before taking my seat.

  My cell phone keeps vibrating with notifications, but I don’t bother answering it or checking them. The guys have someone to take pictures of them while they perform and post them up on one of their sites, so I know that’s what’s making my phone go off every minute or so. I have no desire to look at them right now.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I let my eyes drift through the massive windows to my left and sink once again into my thoughts.

  ****

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in the coffee shop, but I guess it’s been a while because my coffee’s almost completely gone and cold. Eventually, I decide to just call a cab and head back to Mom’s. As much as I want to see Max after the show and congratulate him on it and the tour, I want to avoid Adam just as much. I thought I’d be able to handle seeing him after so long, but I was wrong. I was immediately uncomfortable in the backroom and the song he sang… I ju
st had to go. After texting Mom and telling her my plan, I call a cab, and leave Madison.

  ****

  I’m sitting in the living room watching TV, but hardly paying attention to it when Mom finally gets home. I’m a little surprised, and not, at the same time. It’s a bit of a drive from Madison, and it makes sense that she’d want to stick around and talk to Max before the band has to be on the road again.

  “Hey,” I call absently over my shoulder.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” she says as she removes her coat. “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah,” I nod. I know she can tell I’m not being honest, but thank God she doesn’t press. I’m not in the mood to talk.

  “Well, Max was a little disappointed you weren’t there to tell him goodbye.” She chastises me softly as she enters the living room.

  “I’ll text him.”

  “Hmm,” is her only response. “Well, I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  I nod again and listen to her leave. When the show’s over, which won’t be long, I’ll do the same, get as little sleep as I tend to, and then tomorrow night I’ll be on a flight back to California and go back to pretending everything’s okay.

  This was just supposed to be a nice trip home for Mom’s birthday, and now I’ve been thrown into emotional turmoil.

  ****

  April

  I’m in my office pouring over some plans for a new job. I love my work. I get to bring these old, classic pieces of architecture back to life and restore them to their previous glory, and better yet, it keeps me busy. Between dealing with the city for permits, contractors for work, and about a thousand other people, it keeps my plate full and allows me absolutely no time for my mind to wander. And that’s what I need. I need to focus, especially since that fucking song Adam wrote is now on the radio.