Fall: a ROCK SOLID romance

by Karina Bliss

  Zander swung the rear door closed on the suitcases and unhooked her laptop from her shoulder. “Let’s get you settled in, first.”

  His hesitation told her everything.

  She grabbed his arm as he opened the passenger door. “The specialist has given you a prognosis, hasn’t he?”

  Zander dumped her laptop in the back seat. “I’ve got some lamb steaks marinating and a bottle of local wine in the fridge.”

  She tightened her grip on his arm. “Zee, don’t torture me.”

  He glanced at Elizabeth, as if for reassurance, and dread pooled in Dimity’s stomach. Oh God. It’s over.

  “I’ll make a full recovery.”

  She burst into tears, surprising the hell out of all of them. “Ignore me,” she managed between sobs. “It’s stress leaving the body, that’s all. I’m just so h—h—happy.” She dabbed at her wet face with her sleeve but the tears kept coming, trickling into her wide smile and salting her tongue. She should feel embarrassed—Zee had never seen her cry.

  If she needed to weep, she found a hidey-hole somewhere. Tears were simply a build-up of tension. You turned on the tap, flushed pesky emotions from the body and returned, refreshed, to business.

  But oh, these felt like a blessing, washing away the toxic sludge of doubt, fear and frustration that had held her hostage for nearly eight long weeks. Waiting on a medical prognosis had been wearying, but ignoring her fears? Exhausting. Outcomes beyond her control were her worst nightmare. She thought she’d left powerlessness behind with her childhood.

  Zander laid a hand on her shoulder. “There’s more—”

  “Recovering your full vocal range will take another few months.” Gratefully, she accepted a handkerchief from Elizabeth. “I did research.” When she couldn’t sleep she’d obsessively trawled through every obscure medical paper related to vocal health.

  “My singing voice isn’t the only consideration—”

  “Way ahead of you.” Nothing like business to snap a girl out of sentimentality. Briskly, she wiped away her tears. “We have to win our case against the insurance company before we can afford touring again.” For weeks her forward planning genius had been shackled to the outcome of Zander’s medical verdict. Now it broke free and ran. “I wonder if it’s worth trying to settle out of court to expedite the process… Maybe we should get the lawyers to run some figures.”

  “Can you listen without interrupting for a minute. Please?”

  She nodded, but the opportunities fired along her synapses were as distracting as fourth of July fireworks. How do we break the news to best effect? Ellen will give us a slot.

  As a silent Elizabeth offered her a half-empty disposable cup, she watched Zander’s mouth move.

  Or should we go for print? There might be more gravitas releasing to the New York Times.

  “Difficult for you to understand…”

  I could also see Zander on the cover of Rolling Stone. Rock’s Lazarus rises again.

  “…You’re my general…”

  “Brilliant!” She beamed at him. Lip-syncing at a military fundraiser had got him into this mess. His first public performance had to be for the war vets.

  Zander folded his arms. “This whole experience has forced me to reassess what kind of man I want to be—”

  “I’m glad you brought that up, Zee, because we need to fast-track rebuilding your reputation.” Dimity paced beside the dirty vehicle. “It’s time to come clean about all the charities you’ve been supporting… No. Hear me out.”

  She took a swig from the cup she was suddenly holding—tepid coffee. “We have to make more of the war vets’ support. If they believe your heart was in the right place when you lip-synced the national anthem, then anyone calling you unpatriotic hasn’t got a case. That’s why your first public performance has to be at another military fundraiser.”

  Absently, she shook the contents of the cup, hoping to stir up sugar. “You have to return to home soil immediately.” Her spirits soared. “Maybe you and Elizabeth should get engaged or something. Have you written her a song yet? Let’s spin all this lurve sludge into gold.”

  She took a breath and another swig of coffee. Yes, sugar! “The only thing I don’t understand is why you’ve been encouraging the other band members into side projects…but I don’t pretend to your marketing genius.” Zander tried to interrupt and she laughed. “I’m raving, but I hadn’t realized how much this was weighing on me. It sure explains a couple of the crazy things I’ve done lately.” It was such a relief to categorize her hook-up with Seth. Her subconscious had been creating busy work to distract her from all this.

  Her boss was watching her with the strangest expression. Glancing at Elizabeth, Dimity saw it reflected and was able to identify compassion, more familiar on Elizabeth’s face than Zee’s. A chill pierced her euphoria. “What?”

  “I’ll get you a fresh coffee,” Elizabeth said. “Skinny milk, one sugar.” She touched Zander’s arm in passing, almost in reassurance.

  “What?” Dimity demanded again.

  “I’m not telling anyone else my singing voice is recovering—only you and Doc. Our press release will simply say my future in music remains uncertain and that my immediate priority is creating other opportunities for everyone involved with the band.”

  She stared at him, her brain still transitioning from warp speed. “But Rage?”

  “Has had its last encore.”

  “I don’t understand. If your singing voice is recovering?”

  “I’m glad I resurrected the band when the original members left.” He pulled off his cap and raked a hand through his white gold hair. It had grown since he’d cut it to raise money for the vets, a day before his doomed appearance for them.

  The extra length made him look his old self again. Which made it even harder to process what he was saying. “I did it for the wrong reasons—because I’m a fucking egotist and need center stage—but my God, what a war we waged, Dimity. We revitalized one of the world’s greatest rock bands.”

  “And we will again,” she said, bewildered. “You know all the haters will run out of steam. The lawyers will win the claim against the insurance company. You’ll have money to finish the tour.”

  He replaced the ugly cap on his head. “Remember the Star Trek motto? To boldly go where no man has gone before. I’ve got nothing left to prove and everything to lose.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s time for me to focus on my relationships and prioritize family.”

  “You’ve just spent the last seven weeks bonding with family, they’ll probably be glad to see the back of you. Zee, this isn’t you talking.” Was he on drugs for his vocal recovery? Anywhere in the world, if people had to name iconic bands, Rage would be among them. To pull that off, twice, and then walk away? Music—the power, the politics, the game—fame was his life. She’d seen him living for it, had adopted his creed as her own.

  Who needed a personal life when your professional life was so absorbing? And he was saying it didn’t matter? That he wanted to exchange that edgy, thrilling chaos for the touchy-feely, cloying, mystifying complexity of personal relationships? Domesticity was for lesser mortals, not gods of rock. Not the god of rock.

  “You’ll never be happy away from the world’s stages. Whatever kind of magical lovefest you’re on with Elizabeth, it’s going to wear off, get boring, get too real.”

  He was watching Elizabeth approach with Dimity’s coffee and she followed his gaze, trying to see what he did. Yes, his former biographer was a wonderful woman—Dimity was secretly fond of her, herself—but there was nothing in her pleasant features and lanky grace to inspire the razing of empires. “The high won’t last. It can’t. You don’t rely on love.” He’d been abducted by aliens. It was the only explanation that made sense.

  Zander was still watching Elizabeth. “How long have you worked for me?”

  “Nearly three years.”

  “And until Doc came alon
g I knew nothing about you unless it related directly to me. I didn’t know you were financially supporting your mother or that you were crying in stadium utility closets because you were exhausted through overwork. As long as I could anesthetize my conscience with alcohol, I believed my vocal gift justified selfishness in every other area of my life. When I had to sober up to conserve my voice I also woke up to what I’d become.” He added quietly, “The high we’re feeling now will come and go through our lives. But my love for her will never change.”

  “Spare me your Hallmark moment.” Dimity glared at Elizabeth as she accepted fresh coffee. “As for you, I thought you only used your powers for good?”

  “I made this decision alone,” Zander answered. “Doc’s supportive of whatever I want to do.”

  “Because she has no clue what a disastrous mistake you’re making.” Dimity swung her glare to Zander. “This decision isn’t reversible, Zee. The longer you stay out of the music industry the harder it will be to return to it. People forget.”

  “Exactly,” he said. “To sustain the level of fame I’ve been used to I have to give everything. I’m not willing to give everything anymore.”

  “But to leave when your reputation is tarnished. What will that mean for Rage’s legacy?”

  “Twenty years from now Rage’s music will matter or it won’t, regardless of whether I go out on a high or a low. I lost sight of that.”

  “You have one of the greatest voices in rock ever, according to everyone who counts these things and you’re what…bowing out? Singing isn’t what you do, it’s who you are.”

  “I’m more than my voice,” he said. “It’s defined me for twenty years, hell, it’s been the only worthwhile thing about me since I was fifteen. I’m not expecting the transition to be easy. But change will be impossible if I mainline into the adulation that encourages me to stay exactly the way I am.”

  She felt as if she’d woken in a lifeboat with no memory of the Titanic going down. “What about your fans?” She was desperate now, clutching at straws. “You’ve always said Rage’s fans come first.”

  His jaw tightened. “I’m not saying this is painless, only that it’s necessary.”

  She was running out of arguments. While she cast about for a roadblock to stop this madness, he said gently, “It’ll be okay. You still have a job.”

  “Doing what? Sending out your fucking Christmas cards? And what about the other band members?” Moss, Jared…Seth.

  “They’re more than talented enough to succeed in their own band. I’ll help them as much as I can.”

  She tried to read his eyes behind his sunglasses, but the lenses reflected only an anguished woman. Automatically she began smoothing down her windswept hair and stopped. Everything seemed pointless, confusing, jarring. The sun too bright, the oily miasma of diesel and brine with its hint of moldering seaweed, the coffee she held.

  She hurled the paper cup at the beach. The white plastic lid flew off, skimming through the air like a Frisbee. A spray of muddy liquid splattered across the grass. The breeze caught the cup and rolled it toward the sea.

  “I’ll get it,” said Elizabeth, and this time it was Dimity’s arm she touched in passing. Dimity shook her off. Judas.

  “I wish I’d never helped you sort out your problems with Zander,” she told Elizabeth when she returned. “Not if this is the result.”

  Elizabeth dropped the cup into a public trash can. “I had nothing to do with his decision.”

  “Of course you did. If he wasn’t so damn happy, he wouldn’t be doing this existential bullshit.”

  “Dimity,” Zander warned.

  She ignored him. “You’ve killed the career of one of the greatest bands in rock ’n’ roll. Yoko has nothing on you. And you’re too naïve to realize it.”

  “That’s enough,” Zander said sharply.

  “Let her speak, she’s upset.” Elizabeth’s gaze remained steady on hers. And Dimity hated her in that moment, hated her for understanding.

  Itching for a fight, she rounded on Zander. “So that’s it? You’re abandoning us? Your Rage family, the people who have worked for and believed in you.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure no one suffers by my action. Though frankly, given my pariah status, you probably all have better prospects without me.” He took off his sunglasses and she was hit by bolts of crystalline blue sincerity. “But I’ll always be there for you.”

  Beyond him, city-bound passengers lined up to board the return ferry, a brightly colored snake-chain waiting for the gate to reopen.

  “Is this where Shep comes up with his tail wagging and you tell me you’ll make me godmother of your first child and we smile tearfully and everyone’s happy?”

  “I’d like that to happen, but I’m sensing some resistance.” Zander hit her with his killer smile, the one that always got him what he wanted. “What if I named that first child after you?”

  “Don’t,” she said, almost too bitter to speak. “Don’t you dare make a joke of this. The terrible waste of your talent, the end of one of rock’s greatest comebacks. The pain you’re causing me, the band, your fans…everyone who’s believed in you and followed you.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He dropped the smile. “I need practice with this stuff. I will do whatever I can to help you all in your careers. But I have to live my best life. And Rage won’t get me there.” He held out his hand. “Please understand.”

  Dimity slapped it away. “No. I can’t pretend you’re not making the worst mistake of your life. I can’t play along with your stupid fantasy that you’re capable of being an ordinary Joe, satisfied with life in the ’burbs. You have a talent that makes you extraordinary and you’re giving it all up for love? You should be committed, not congratulated.” She wrestled with the door to the Land Rover’s trunk but couldn’t find the catch.

  Joining her, Elizabeth said softly, “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving.” She couldn’t stand to look at either of them. The ferry’s engines started, a deep-throated throb. Giving up on her luggage, she tightened her grip on her shoulder bag and grabbed her laptop from the back seat.

  “Go ahead and abandon us,” she told Zander. “But know it for abandonment.”

  Without waiting for his reply, she hurried toward the pier, where the last passenger was disappearing across the gangplank.

  “Dimity!” His voice was huskier post-surgery, more so when filled with anguish.

  One of the ferry staff started untying the dock lines and she broke into a jog. When one foot slipped out of its stiletto, Dimity kicked off the other, leaving both behind and sprinting in bare feet. She had to get out of here.

  A guy closing the railed gate at the bottom of the gangway shook his head when she pulled up, panting. “Sorry, you’ll have to wait for the next one.”

  “Please,” she gasped. “Please.”

  He looked up at the ferry to check its status and she took the opportunity to slip past him. “Hey!”

  At the top of the ramp another guy was sliding the gangplank away from the dock. “Emergency,” she yelled. “I have to get on.” Her face must have given her credibility because he reached out a hand and jumped her over the small gap and onto the vessel. “Ticket?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Go on,” he nodded her away. “Don’t tell anyone and don’t do it again.”

  Stammering thanks, she ducked inside and found somewhere she could wedge herself away from people. Her cell buzzed Zander’s call signal—Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions’. Hunching further into her corner, she ignored it, watching the island recede into the distance.

  As far as she was concerned, she’d just quit.

  Chapter Eight

  “Dad.” Astonished, Seth faced the man who’d farewelled him with the words, You’re breaking my heart. “I thought you’d be at work.” Rain, hail or flu, his father always left the house at six a.m. returning twelve hours later. “Did you stay home for me?
” This was better than he could have hoped for.

  Arms open, he was halfway across the hall when his father answered.

  “Isn’t that a rock-star attitude? That it’s always about you.”

  His steps slowed. Behind him, his mother said sharply, “Frank.”

  His father thrust out a hand, as effective as a stop sign, and Seth stared at it. His grandfather—Frank’s father—had been a cold man, uncomfortable with physical affection, and his handshake had become a private family joke. The message couldn’t be plainer.

  Fuck that. Seth wasn’t playing this game anymore. Side-stepping the outstretched hand, Seth enveloped his father in a hug and became conscious of frailty in the big man’s frame. He’d lost weight. Frank stood stiffly, neither returning the embrace nor pushing him away. Seth read that as a positive sign.

  Releasing him, he stepped away. “It’s good to see you, Dad—regardless of why you’re still here.”

  His father looked through him. “I’ve got a nine a.m. meeting nearby, so your mother decided we should all have breakfast together.”

  And good to see you, too, son. “Great, I’m starving.” Seth had expected mending fences to be hard work. No point being hurt by it. Letting everyone off the awkwardness hook, he smiled at the others. “Let’s eat!”

  Halfway through the meal, which they ate under the wisteria-covered deck overlooking his mother’s flower beds, Seth was grateful Janey had chosen her favorite breakfast and not his. The atmosphere was too tense to enjoy it.

  Frank sat opposite, the leaden weight of his disappointment evident in the new stoop to his shoulders and the downward drag to his mouth. Did I do that?

  For the hundredth time, Seth reminded himself that he couldn’t live his father’s dream, only his own. For the hundredth time, it made no difference to the guilt.

  Once they’d talked a lot, mostly about work. But the business had become a no-go zone. Which left small talk about relatives, punctuated by little pools of stagnant silence.