Rocking Hard: Volume 1

by Sol Crafter, Diana Sheridan, Talya Andor, Lacie J. Archer, Angel Propps

  "Don't be stupid," Sasha told him, sounding unsympathetic. "If anything, it's the opposite problem."

  Bailey stared up at him, blinking in a futile attempt to focus. "Huh?"

  "You aren't going to remember any of this tomorrow, are you?" Sasha asked, seeming a bit mollified. He shook his head and patted Bailey's shoulder. "Come on, drink up and we'll get you to bed."

  "Was trying," Bailey said forlornly, tipping the water bottle back the way he'd been slinging drinks. "No matter how much I drink, though, I still remember Tor doesn't want me."

  "All right, you've reached maudlin drunk," Sasha said. "That's enough. Hold onto your water bottle, it's time to sleep."

  "Nn-hnn," Bailey responded, putting a hand over his mouth to partially cover an enormous belch. He turned his head and breathed hard. The world swam, and for a moment he was sure he would be sick. It passed and he swallowed it down.

  "Let's go," Sasha said, getting an arm around him. He sounded equal parts squeamish and encouraging.

  Bailey didn't remember any of their conversation the next day. All he remembered was that fact that Tor hadn't come to get him for the first time.

  *~*~*

  The next week, all four of them were at their studio together working on some last minute adjustments to a few of their songs. They needed to remix a few for more planned singles, and after the mini tour they decided to change some arrangements for the live songs.

  For Bailey it was good to be working again, but it was difficult and frustrating to be in close quarters with both Gunner and Tor. He was stiff and angry. Things had been getting easier with Gunner but they backslid fast. He couldn't forget his pique over Gunner's insults, and worse, he was truly heartbroken at the loss of his easy relationship with Tor. He couldn't go back, but he couldn't move forward, either.

  He was cloistered in the sound booth for most of a day, redoing a particular song over and over. By the time he removed his headphones and came out of the muffled confines, Gunner and Tor were scuffling with each other, play-sparring as they were prone to, blowing off steam the way they'd done hundreds of times before. Seeing them at ease with each other, laughing and having fun when Bailey had just finished up a long, exhausting session, made something snap.

  "It's nice to see that the two of you can still have fun putting your hands all over each other," he said nastily.

  It wasn't the worst thing Bailey could have said. So far as he was concerned, he'd only just begun the litany of cutting remarks he could deliver from his repertoire.

  Tor straightened, disentangling himself from Gunner, and flicked a brief glance in Bailey's direction. His brows were lowered, his mouth pulled in a tight, unhappy line. Without a word, he turned and grabbed his jacket and keys and left the studio.

  "That's great, Bailey," Gunner said, shaking his head. He departed, too, taking his keys and grabbing a pack of cigarettes on the way out.

  Bailey stared in the direction they'd departed. He crossed his arms over his chest. It had made him so angry to see Gunner and Tor laughing and having fun while he was on the edge of a breakdown, he couldn't keep the words shut up inside of him. They had to come out.

  "If you're trying to break up the band, you're off to a great start," Sasha said from the corner.

  Bailey turned and his eye fell on Sasha, who was still seated at perfect ease in the L-shaped couch pushed up against the two far walls. He had one arm stretched across the back and appeared utterly unmoved. "Fuck you," Bailey replied creatively.

  "Do you actually want to fuck either of them?" Sasha said. "Really?"

  "That's none of your business!" Bailey blew up. He began to pace across the room, his brows pinching together in a fierce squint.

  "Come on, Bailey," Sasha said, his own look no-nonsense in return. "This is me. Your bandmate. You're trying to break up the band with this … whatever it is. Egocentric contest. It's my business if it breaks us up."

  "You're so full of shit," Bailey said scornfully. It had nothing to do with the band; it was about Gunner and his inflexibility, and it was between him and Tor, and the fact that Tor had broken the one thing Bailey had always been able to count on. "Get over yourself."

  "You get over yourself," Sasha retorted. His supine position on the couch was a stark contrast to his words, which hammered at Bailey like blows. "We used to have fun; remember that? It's not fun anymore, is it? You don't need to fuck everyone to prove that everyone wants you, Bailey. Leave bad enough alone."

  "That's not … You don't get it … It isn't that, at all!" Bailey sputtered. How had Sasha managed to misunderstand so badly? That made Bailey wonder whether Gunner and Tor had mistaken his intentions, too.

  He turned and grabbed his messenger bag, hustling out of the studio in a last-ditch effort to catch up to him, but Tor was gone.

  That thought echoed through Bailey's head for the rest of the week until they arrived at an after-party event as a group, presenting a united front against the tabloid rumors that had begun to pop up from every corner. Sasha had mistaken the whole situation, and Gunner had, as well.

  Bailey wasn't the most self-reflective of people, but he had a lot of time to think during the rest of that lonely week. He wasn't taking anyone's calls. Truth be told, he wasn't receiving many—not calls that weren't business related, at any rate. The three people who ranked highest in his social network, closest in his circle, were the ones he was doing a great job alienating.

  *~*~*

  Bailey emerged from the black Hummer limo with a smile fixed on his face and one thought beating its way through his brain, as it had for the past week. He was alone, and it would stay that way unless he took steps. He had his three friends, his bandmates, at his back, but none of them were speaking to him. Even Sasha had thrown in the towel after he'd walked out.

  Though Bailey fancied himself a wordsmith, master of shaping lyrics to get across the most poignant of meanings, in this respect he'd failed. He had thrown himself at one person, and his intentions had been mistaken for something else. When he'd gone after Tor, what could he expect but more of the same? And the reason they'd both thought that … the reason Sasha had been sure of it … was that, for all Bailey's public talk of romance and finding the right person, he'd only been involved in short, shallow relationships since high school.

  It was galling to admit, but Bailey knew it was because no one would put up with him long enough for everything else to be worth it. He worked long hours, toured and traveled away from home often, spent most of his time with Tor, and played up to public and Internet perceptions that he was involved with one or more of his bandmates. There was no surprise that the relationships he did have tended to be more about the sex. When he was attracted to someone, he went after them, and once that was satisfied there wasn't much to hold them together.

  Once Bailey was inside the walls of the famous chateau, he drifted around making trivial conversation and sipping cocktails, circulating and keeping his face seen. It was one of the reasons they kept attending these parties, even though Gunner and Sasha hated them and Tor made plenty of sarcastic digs once they'd departed. He spent most of his time doing rumor damage control, and it rubbed his face in how rocky things had been over the past few months for the subject to keep coming up again and again.

  "Is it true that Courage Wolf is getting dropped from the label?" one famous diva had the nerve to ask Bailey.

  They had shared the same label once upon a time, so he gave her a polite grimace of a smile and touched her elbow. "Not at all," Bailey assured her. "We're planning more performances right now. And we still need to tour Europe on this album, after all."

  The diva dissolved into a torrent of glowing flattery for the album, and Bailey smiled and laughed, clung to her arm, and didn't believe a word of it. He extracted himself politely from her partial embrace and continued his circuit of the sprawling party. It wasn't the first time that he had done the rounds solo, but tonight, he felt more alone than ever before.

  Something
was fundamentally different, and it was Bailey's fault.

  This was a difficult realization for him to achieve, but even self-awareness could occasionally penetrate through Bailey's admitted screen of density. He turned to his right with a little half-smile, ready to share that joke with Tor, before he remembered.

  Tor was off by himself, leaving Bailey to his own devices, because Bailey had driven him away.

  With a sigh, Bailey circulated the rooms again, gathering his intent and finding another drink to fuel it. He found a drink, and Gunner. For a moment, Bailey hung back, sipped his drink, and simply observed his friend and erstwhile romantic interest.

  Gunner was at the center of a bevy of pretty ladies, as usual. He was distributing his flirty smile around impartially, letting girls hang off his arms and even one on his shoulder, and he looked relaxed, at ease. There was a certain polished air to the charms he was delivering.

  As Bailey observed from a distance, he realized that it didn't bother him at all. He wasn't jealous. He didn't want to insinuate himself into the group of women and have Gunner all to himself. He wasn't even mildly hurt that Gunner wanted them, and not him.

  His eyes widened and he took another gulp of his cocktail, swallowing the burn of more than just the alcohol. Sasha had been right; Bailey had been shallow over Gunner. He'd been into it for the thrill of the conquest more than the prospect of seeking any sort of relationship ideal. The fact that he felt nothing, now, was the proof. He was completely over Gunner. The hurt of rejection had lingered.

  It wasn't worth splitting up the band.

  Apparently, bedding Gunner didn't mean that much to Bailey to begin with. As he reached that insight, his feet were moving, taking him on a path toward Gunner and his circle. He finished up his drink and set it on a table before squaring off with the cloud of perfume and smoke that wreathed Gunner.

  "Hey," Bailey said hoarsely, trying not to bite his lip or otherwise display a lack of confidence.

  Gunner's eyes met his, wary. "Hey," he acknowledged.

  "Can we talk?" Bailey asked, holding himself stiffly upright.

  Gunner smirked. "I don't know, Bailey, can we?" he replied.

  "I'd like to," Bailey said, putting his head to one side. It was barely audible over the ambient noise of the room.

  Gunner's brows rose, though, and he took a deep breath as his eyes held Bailey's. At last, he nodded and disentangled himself from the half-embrace of two of the girls, who made noises of protest.

  "No, Gunner," one of them complained.

  "I'll be back, ladies," Gunner said, saluting them with the tips of his fingers. "My boy needs me."

  The words warmed Bailey, solidifying his resolve. He'd been waiting for the right time to apologize, and maybe it was past due, but this was it.

  Together they found a quieter nook in the maze of rooms on the lower floor. It took a bit of doing to find one that wasn't occupied by a couple locked in a clinch, but at last, Bailey faced Gunner, positioning himself near enough to speak but not close enough to be considered any kind of overture. He kept his posture relaxed.

  "I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Bailey said. "For coming onto you. I never should have done it, you were right about that. And if I mistook friendly flirting for something else, that was never what I meant to do."

  "Why did you do it, Bailey?" Gunner asked, sounding curious rather than antagonistic.

  It was that crucial distinction that made Bailey answer, rather than clamming up. "I wanted something more than sex," he said honestly. "I wanted to make a connection. What you call romantic crap—that's real for me. I want someone who wants me for who I am, not what I can do for them. Not their imagined view of who I am." Like Tor, he had the sense not to say.

  "All right," Gunner said agreeably, "but if you thought you could have that with me, even though I'm flattered, I don't, uh. Think that's possible." He fidgeted with the cuff of one of his sleeves.

  "Yeah, Mister Ladies-man, I think I was over-estimating our friendship," Bailey teased.

  Gunner laughed. "Something like that," he said, looking down. After a moment, he met Bailey's eyes with renewed solemnity. "And I'm sorry for hurting you. I didn't mean … you know, you're not …" He pressed his lips together and looked awkward.

  "Forget it," Bailey interrupted, and Gunner seemed relieved. He held up a fist. "So we're cool?"

  "We're cool," Gunner said, bumping his fist against Bailey's. "And, uh. If we could never speak of it again, that would be awesome."

  "More than fine with me," Bailey said with a nod and a brief laugh. He was sure this would seem embarrassing to him, too, at some future point. "If it made it into an interview, I'd probably die of mortification."

  "You'd take it like a man along with the rest of us," Gunner retorted, giving him a sly grin. "If Tor can cop to his attraction to me, it only makes sense that you'd fall to my incredible charms as well."

  "Ah, but it's so tragic for us," Bailey quipped. "Seeing as how those charms are reserved for women."

  There was another awkward moment during which they stood and observed one another, and at last Bailey shifted, looking over his shoulder. There was more than one apology that he owed that night, but he wasn't sure his ego could handle abasing himself repeatedly.

  "Well, I'd better …" Gunner began.

  "Yeah, I've gotta …" Bailey said, crossing his arms. He started toward Gunner's right, intending to edge around him, and they bumped into each other and shared a chuckle.

  "All right, have a good time," Gunner told him, clapping his shoulder.

  "But not so much that you puke in the bushes where the paparazzi can see," Bailey finished up their traditional caution. When they laughed again together, Bailey knew it was going to be all right.

  Bailey set off in search of another drink and saw Sasha along the way. They nodded to each other, but didn't need to seek each other out. At any rate, there was someone else that Bailey wanted to see, and he wasn't going to let anything get in his way.

  There was a lot of chateau to go through. Bailey did find a drink and went from room to garden to poolside looking for one face in particular. He got caught up in small side conversations, and his gregarious nature and showman's instincts kept him longer than he wanted, making the small talk and using the face time that his position called for. It was beyond networking; they needed to stay visible, and a large part of that was collaborating with other artists.

  It took the better part of an hour for Bailey to circulate through the entire grounds, and when he'd done that, he realized upon approaching the expansive foyer that he hadn't seen Tor. He turned around and pulled his phone out, hesitating for a moment before going for the straightforward approach, same as he'd done with Gunner.

  Can I talk to you? he texted Tor's phone.

  After a while, during which he milled around a living room area that was more art gallery than anything else, he received a curt reply.

  Why?

  Bailey sighed. What he wanted most was to find another drink, get past tipsy and closer to hammered, and maybe find someone to toke up with and forget what a mess his life had become. That was the easy route, though, and he couldn't do that anymore.

  Gunner and Tor had both pushed him away because they hadn't thought Bailey meant it. With Gunner, it was no loss in the end—the two of them would never have been compatible. But if Tor thought he wasn't serious, then Bailey had to find the right way to get through to him. Problem was, he had to sort through the tangled mess that he'd created along the way.

  Because I miss my friend, Bailey texted at last. There were too many things he could say, and so few of them would grant him a second chance.

  Cabana, came the reply, after a long pause.

  Bailey snorted. "Figures," he murmured, stuffing his phone into his pocket again. It wasn't like Tor to make him work for it, exactly, but this had been the most difficult storm their friendship had weathered. Now he had to trek the entire length and breadth of the estate and forge his
way back through the conversational gauntlet in order to find the place where Tor had holed himself up.

  He chatted up a few producers, a stylist, and an up and coming PR representative, all of whom pressed their business cards on him. It surprised Bailey, because usually the partygoers were more easygoing and less business oriented at these kinds of events. He supposed that it was a sign that Courage Wolf was still a draw, despite all Bailey had done lately to try to run it into the ground.

  It was that, or the PR representative saw Bailey as low-hanging fruit, in need of someone to manage him better than Danelle had been able to lately.

  By the time that Bailey circled back around the pool, it was getting late and the party was raucous. Most everyone was drunk or working on it. He cracked the door open to the cabana and peeked inside.

  Bailey was wary of walking in on something. It had happened to him before, and after all, he'd taken so long to work his way back to the cabana, it wouldn't surprise him if Tor had found himself some companionship. He rapped with a knuckle, picturing Tor making out with a girl, or even a good-looking guy.

  It was a painful thought. He didn't want to blow his chance before he'd even really gotten it.

  "Yeah, in here."

  Bailey insinuated himself around the door and closed it behind himself, looking around the sparse interior. It was long and narrow, wooden benches along the far side, which had slats drawn shut over windows. To Bailey's right, Tor was seated in one of the cushioned wicker chairs that flanked a low glass table. There was no one else inside. "You're alone," he said unnecessarily.

  Tor waved his cigarette through a haze of smoke. "Wasn't feeling social tonight." He was shadowed in the low light, the tail of his sandy hair trailing over one shoulder, razored blond layers limp around his face. He looked gaunt and tired.

  Bailey bit his tongue before he could make another dumb observation. He stood there, hands fingering his pockets, and didn't know what to say.

  With his free hand, Tor gestured to the bench seat across from him. "Going to stay a while?"

  Bailey nodded and wet his dry lips with an anxious tongue. "Uh, sure." He sat across from Tor and folded his hands over his knee.