by Sarah Dosher
Yeah, my parents’ lives were both fucked up by drugs, and it was tabloid news for a very long time, but I did not live like this. I was not part of a crazy existence like this. My mom tried to force me for a long time, but I’d been able to escape her and cocoon myself in my simple and safe world. I didn’t want it to be any different, I didn’t want nasty drug lords named Vito threatening to make me repay a drug debt with my body. I could still feel his tongue scraping across my cheek and it made my skin crawl. Literally, I felt like there were a million and one cockroaches scurrying across my skin.
“I can’t do this, I can’t fucking do this shit.” I blurted out just as my GPS announced we had arrived at our destination. I pulled into the first parking spot I saw and slammed the car in park.
Deacon didn’t speak; he simply reached across the console and wrapped his big, warm arms around me. He pulled my head to his shoulder and soothed his hand down my hair. I inhaled deeply and slowly, deliberately, released it—it didn’t make me feel better, didn’t relax me in the least.
I didn’t get out of the car for a long time. My seatbelt stayed on while Deacon opened his door, got his guitar out of the back, and disappeared inside the building. My forehead stayed pressed against the smooth leather of my steering wheel when Duke tapped on my window and shouted my name through the glass. My ass stayed perfectly still as my mind worried and concocted what I knew were probably completely inaccurate stories about drug dealers that had my hand twitching to call Shaw, tell him he was right about Deacon, and beg him to come take me away and protect me.
That’s what I did, I relied on Shaw—always had. After losing my dad he was all I had; he liked it that way, and until today I had liked it that way, too. Shaw was always enough, always there when I needed him to make things better, or simpler, for me. He took the tough out of life and replaced it with an unhealthy, co-dependent relationship that had blown up in both our faces. But a big part of me still needed him, and didn’t feel safe without him by my side.
I pushed his number on my speed dial and he answered before the first ring ended.
“Are you okay?” He asked, so fast I barely understood him. “Elizabeth? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Shaw.” I said and exhaled long and steady.
“Are you sure? Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”
“No, I’m fine. I just…umm, I just needed to hear your voice, that’s all.” My voice was muffled into the steering wheel as it held all the weight of my head, and my world.
“Elizabeth, are you sure? You don’t sound okay.”
“I’m sorry, everything’s fine. I shouldn’t have called you, I’m…I’m sorry.”
“No it’s fine-“
I hung up. It wasn’t fair to involve him when I knew I wouldn’t be rushing home to him tonight like he wanted. I needed his friendship, but he still wanted more, and I needed to be careful with those feelings. I groaned at myself for being so needy, not being able to take care of myself.
I finally unlatched my seat belt, but my head stayed forward, continuing its reliance on the steering wheel to remain attached to my body. But after a while, I lifted my head and looked around. The parking lot was full of cars and bustling with people, two of them being Duke and Willow who were perched just outside the front door with their eyes trained on me. She smiled, he frowned, I groaned.
It took all of two seconds before Willow was tapping on my window while trying to open the door, which luckily, was still locked. I took deep breaths and counted them out…one, two, three, four, five. Then opened the door. Before Willow could even open her mouth I placed my index finger over it and shook my head then walked past her and toward the entrance.
“See, told ya she’d come out eventually.” Willow said behind me.
“I was starting to wonder.” Duke whispered, but I still heard.
I opened the door and entered the large, smoke filled arena. There was already a band on stage with shrieking guitars and deep, baritone screams filtering through the sparse crowd. Today’s show was a festival of sorts. The day was nothing but bands and beer for everyone that dared to show up. The smaller, lesser-known bands had started the day off with the more popular bands to come at night. I’d been able to get Unforgiven and The Elle’s in the lineup at the last minute. They both had evening slots right before the main attraction, which was a well-known rock group from the area.
I found a secluded corner near the back and sat to listen and clear my head. The music helped. Didn’t matter if it was Mozart, or screaming metal, the organized beat helped my scattered mind align and feel complete. I watched the fans find the rhythm of the music, their bodies rocking and moving to its flow, and remembered why I was even here. I wasn’t here because of some guy or his past, however rocky it may, or may not be, I was here because of music. Because it kept me alive every day, and sometimes was the only bright spot I could see in the future.
There was a time, after I lost my dad, that I lost my focus on music and wanted to end everything. After he died, I stopped playing the piano; I didn’t play for almost two years. The darkness eventually consumed me and I couldn’t see there ever being brightness in my life again. It was a time when I should have been hanging out with high school friends, getting drunk, acting wild and experiencing life. Instead I hid away and tried to end it all with the cut of a blade to my wrist. Immediately after the cut was made, I knew it was a mistake; I knew my dad would want me to live—I knew I deserved to live.
Luckily the cut wasn’t deep, I’d been hesitant enough with my slice to do nothing more than teach myself a lesson about life. One I’d remembered every day following. Instead of hiding the proof of my darkness, I highlighted it with ink showing the beat of my heart, an even more prominent reminder to live. No matter how alone I felt on those days, living was more a testament to my strength than the one simple act that could have taken it all away.
The day had turned to evening, and it wouldn’t be long before The Elle’s took the stage. I made my way backstage and flashed the guards my pass. Backstage was not a new experience for me, I’d grown up backstage. However, the older I got, the more I realized the version of backstage I’d seen as a child was not a true depiction of what actually transpired. I had been exposed to the groupies and obsessive wannabe rockers, but the darker side, the drugs and sex part of rock n’ roll, was something that I’d been sheltered from. But no longer.
The first thing I saw once the door swung open, and I stepped into this sacred area, was a guy decked out with the tallest mohawk I’d ever seen, with his pants around his ankles receiving a blow job from an overly enthusiastic groupie. She was blonde, which didn’t surprise me. I frowned at him and groaned my disapproval loudly, which only excited his moaning further.
This wasn’t the largest event center I’d ever been in, so it didn’t take me long to hear the yelling of The Elle’s, drawing me directly to their dressing room. I’d paid extra to have our own dressing rooms because I knew it would help with the headache dealing with both groups was going to cause me.
As I approached the dressing room, I saw Deacon leaning in the doorframe staring at me. I stopped directly in front of him holding his gaze for several minutes. We stood in silence; I don’t think we had the words to fill the void just yet.
Erika and Stephanie came rushing from the room next door, followed closely by Mia and Willow.
“We’re on our way to the stage, you coming?” Willow asked as she passed by me.
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I said, tearing my eyes away from Deacon and looping my arm through hers.
The Elle’s took the stage to screams and hollers from the crowd. They played the best show I’d heard from them yet. Their practice was paying off; now, they were more in sync, feeding off of each other’s energy and subtle changes in rhythm.
I watched the show from the side of the stage and could feel my world shift with Deacon’s presence. Unforgiven was next to play, and all but Deacon seemed to be buzzing
with energy. This was the first time I’d seen them before a show, and the other three were tightly wound bundles of unused excitement, while Deacon was the calmest I’d ever seen him. His eyes were tight, but every muscle in his body seemed to be loose, as if he’d just emerged from hibernation. I could feel his eyes burning into me, but he kept his distance.
The Elle’s played their last song and there was a short lull while instruments were traded out. Finally, Unforgiven descended the stage and the screams that filled the arena were deafening. As before, they entered the stage in almost total darkness. Duke took his spot front and center, but it was Deacon’s guitar the crowd heard first.
With the first strum of his guitar strings, I knew the melody. It was mine. It was the one I’d played with him on the piano. He had taken my melody and perfectly altered it, making it his own and it was even more beautiful than before. He played each note more deliberately causing it to sound more overcome and melancholy. Consumed with emotions I didn’t understand, I ran; sprinted from the side of the stage, not stopping until I’d reached the dressing rooms.
The Elle’s had already taken over their room with several adoring fans mixed in, so I went into the guys’ room, making sure to shut the door behind me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Deacon
I tried to give her some space so she could come to terms with what was happening all on her own. But you know what? I’m not good at that shit. I see something I want, someone I want, and I go all in—no holds barred—and I can promise I wasn’t going to let her get away without a fight. I couldn’t blame her for being freaked out. Damn, I was freaked the fuck out, too. But I could fix this shit, I would fix it and we’d all come out unscathed, at least that was the plan.
I’d hoped playing her song during my opening solo would tug at her heart, make her remember how good things had been just this morning. I hadn’t even practiced it; my fingers just played what they remembered from this morning. I could smell her, feel her all around me, filling every crevice and void I had, making me better—whole. My eyes fluttered shut as my mind was consumed with her, everything about her felt right, we felt right. There was no other way to explain it; she filled a part of me I never even knew was missing. How could I let her go now, even if that’s what was best for her?
I opened my eyes just in time to see her turn and haul ass as far from the stage as she could get. My fingers immediately stopped playing, my heart clenched so hard I was gasping for breath.
“And that was the shortest solo I think I’ve ever heard from Mr. Deacon Chastain.” I heard Duke’s voice fill the arena, drawing me back to the huge room of music lovers staring back at me.
Johnny clanked his drumsticks together, timing out the first song, and everyone but me started exactly where they were meant. Duke swiveled around, mic in hand, and pointed at my guitar. I ignored him and ran my hands up and down my face several times before I finally popped my knuckles and let my fingers fall to rest on the strings. I could play these songs in my sleep. I wrote them, they were a part of my soul. But with Eli running away as far as she could possibly get, I felt like an even bigger part of my soul was being ripped from me.
I knew she couldn’t feel like this about me, our first meeting hadn’t touched a piece of her soul like it had mine. She had no clue, what little I had accomplished in my shitty life was because of her; without even truly knowing me, the goodness in her heart trusted in my talent, and I still carried that with me everywhere I went. Without her I would be dead, or sitting in the jail cell next to Tony.
My fingers moved fast, increasing the tempo little by little until I knew we’d get done with our set soon. The guys noticed, no fucking way they didn’t, but the crowd never would. The second the last note of the final song echoed through my amp, I unhooked and took off. My guitar slung over my back as I weaved through the crowded backstage, completely ignoring the calls of those I passed by. The final band was set to take the stage and their entourage was clogging the damn path.
The girls’ dressing room was full of people and laughter. Willow saw me, shook her head, and shrugged her shoulders. Fuck, she was gone. How stupid could I be? I’d given her a foot of rope, and she’d hung me with it as she ran away. Kicking the door to our dressing room open, I cussed loudly and heard giggles come from behind me.
“Hey Deacon,” I heard a high pitched voice say behind me.
I turned around and came face to face with a bleach blonde—tits as big as bowling balls, clothes as tight as skin—groupie, and slammed the door right her face. The last thing I needed was her STD’s on my dick.
The second the door slammed shut and the lock was turned, my fist collided with the wall, and I felt a very small, minute amount of anger leave in a sudden rush.
“If you don’t stop punching stuff, your hand is never gonna heal.” I heard from across the room, my heart stopped to cherish the sound of the voice I thought I’d never hear again.
“I thought you left…left me.” I said, still facing the opposite wall, afraid if I turned she’d disappear before my eyes could find her, not wanting this to be the last time I ever saw her.
“Almost, but I couldn’t.” She admitted.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She said, her voice no more than a whisper.
Finally turning, I saw her beautiful face was streaked with wetness.
“No, baby, don’t cry.” I said as I shed my guitar to the table and walked to her.
Blackness had pooled under her eyes and flowed down her cheeks. My thumbs swiped across her smooth skin, clearing it away as best I could. I wanted to see her pale skin, not the evidence of her pain—pain I’d caused.
“It doesn’t make sense.” She breathed. “I barely know you, my feelings, they don’t make sense.”
“They don’t need to. Your mind knows mine, your body knows mine. That’s all that matters. Don’t try to make sense of it, just trust what you feel; trust in us.”
“No, Shaw was right. I don’t know, today proved that. You live in a different world than I do, and I can’t be a part of that—I don’t want to be a part of that.”
My whole world shifted at her words. She was right; she was too good to be a part of my life, too fucking good for a piece of shit like me. But she’d saved me once, made me better, and she could do it again. I could be better for her, she could change me.
She moved past me, not pausing, not faltering one step until her hand touched the doorknob, and I knew this was my only chance.
“Don’t leave me.” My voice cracked. “You saved me once. You didn’t even know it, but you saved me.”
Her hand left the doorknob and she turned to look at me. Her eyes full of confusion.
“A long time ago, you were so young, so innocent. You promised to help me meet your dad. Then you made him listen to me play. It changed my life, gave me a hope I’d never really had.”
Her eyes slowly filled with more tears as my words washed over her. Her chest expanded with a deep breath, and as she exhaled, the wetness trickled down her cheeks.
“That was you? Laughing and singing in the hallway, joking about the groupies? That was you?” She smiled, even through the tears her mouth stretched wide.
I nodded.
“Your hair? You were so skinny.” She mumbled to herself.
“Yeah, I looked different. But so did you.” I smiled. “That night changed my life, Eli. You believed in me, for no other reason than the fact I said I was good. Your dad believed because you did. I’d never had that before, or since. No one cared about some scrawny foster kid living on the streets. All I had was Tony, Angela, and a life full of peddling drugs. You gave me what I needed to leave that and find music; you gave me everything.”
She shook her head.
“You did. That one night changed my life. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I went home that night, packed my shit, and left my spiraling life behind. I focused on music after that and never looked back, and every
time my fingers touch a guitar all I think about is you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked.
“I don’t know, thought it might sound a little crazy.” I laughed.
“I think about that night all the time. That was the only time any of my dad’s fans cared anything about me, made me feel as special as the music.” She paused, closing her eyes as she remembered. “He talked about you, too, and how freaking talented you were. I think he even tried to find you after that night. You become some mysterious figure around here. I had such a crush on you for so long, I didn’t even have a clue who you were, but I dreamed about you. I can’t believe it was you.”
I watched as she sucked her bottom lip in her mouth and rolled it slowly with her teeth. Then we moved together, our bodies colliding, molding into one. Her words caused warm satisfaction to spread throughout me, I’d been thinking about her and she’d been thinking about me—dreaming about me. Aw fuck, there was no way she could leave me now.
I licked just below her ear and felt her whole body shiver as goose bumps spread across her skin. I bit down and lightly rolled her flesh, just like she’d done to her lip. She moaned and her breath increased dramatically, her pulse pounded in her neck harder and faster against my tongue. Sucking one last time, her legs went weak and I took advantage by lifting her body and wrapping her legs around my waist.
***
Eli Blue
He pushed my back to the wall as his hands tangled in my hair. Our kisses were scorching hot, wet tongues, teeth clacking, lips entwined—frenzied and full of need. God, I needed him more than I needed air to breathe. I wanted him inside me; to own me completely and never let me go. I could hear the doubt Shaw had placed in my head, the part of me still tied to Shaw, which trusted him, was scared what this man would do to me. If I gave him all of me, my body and my heart, would there be anything left when he was done with me?