Song for Me (Rock Me Book 4)

by Lee Piper

  Drake’s gaze darts between my eyes, and I can almost see his mind working to rationalize my logic. He’s quiet for a long moment, considering me. However, eventually, he murmurs, “Yeah. I’ve been there.”

  “I’m not talking about your dream of becoming a singer in a famous rock band. This isn’t some cheesy sitcom with a cheesy ending. I’m referring to something basic, so fundamental it’s engrained in your DNA. Like, you need to achieve it to prove you exist, to show the world you stand for something.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?” To be honest, I’m surprised. Though when I consider his lyrics and the layers upon layers of tumultuous emotions hiding between them, I shouldn’t be.

  Drake nods, his fingers tracing the line of my hip. “Yeah. I’ve been there.”

  I cup his cheek with my hand. “Then, I’m sorry.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs on a swallow, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply nods, watching his fingers as they travel the length of my waist.

  The pain deepening the lines of his face is too much. It’s as though his hurt reflects mine back twice as powerfully, almost as if I’m forced to carry both our burdens rather than mine alone. I swear, my body sinks further into the mattress. Glancing away, I remove my hand.

  I will the tears back.

  The hurt back.

  Everything fucking back.

  “It’s just… I gave everything I had, you know? Every part of me was in that speaker.” I meet Drake’s gaze again. “And it wasn’t enough.”

  Drake’s eyes darken moments before full lips press against mine. Soft breath wisps over my skin as he rumbles, “It was more than enough.”

  Pulling back slightly, I shake my head. “But it wasn’t. I mean, it’s sweet of you to say and all, but the reality is, even if it’s the best speaker to hit the market, it’s too late. Mikhail said he’d need at least a week, maybe two to come to a decision.”

  His jaw tics. Yep. He gets it.

  “I needed to blow his mind. Then and there. I needed him to love my speaker so freaking much he couldn’t not want it. And I know this shit takes time. I do. But fuck.” I exhale a long breath. “Just once, I wanted a miracle.” Pause. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting two weeks, not even one. You heard what The Collector said. I’m lucky if I get three days.” Shrugging, I mutter, “Two and a half now.”

  We’re quiet. For the longest time, we’re both lost inside our heads, trying to make sense of the situation. And it’s ironic, really. I’ve purposely cut myself off from others, not wanting the inevitable heartbreak relationships bring. Yet here I am, about to have my heart ripped out by the actions of my own hand. I’m sure there’s dark comedy in there somewhere. Only, I’m too drained to see it and too cynical to find it amusing.

  Drawing my bottom lip into my mouth, I bite down. Anything to stop it from trembling, from being the precursor to endless tears.

  Drake notices my inner struggle and rolls me to my back, his long body pressing on top of mine. Elbows rest on either side of my head, caging me in place. “We’re gonna figure this out. You hear me? We’ll find a way. I’ll lend you the cash, and you can pay me back after the contract is signed.”

  “Drake—”

  “Princess, I’m telling you. Mikhail will want this design. He’d be stupid not to.” He presses his lips to mine. “In the meantime, we’ll set up a short-term loan. Once the contract is signed and the money comes through, you can pay me back. Simple.”

  “Nothing about this is simple. Don’t you see? I want to—no, need to do this myself. This isn’t me being proud; this is me making a goddamn footprint. And I get it’s at the expense of my freaking life, but damn. What kind of life would I have if it was based on handouts?”

  “It would be the kind where you’re fuckin’ breathing.”

  “I just,” I glance away, blinking, “I want to show the world that I was here, you know? If only for a short time. Despite the shit hand I was dealt, despite people holding me back, despite everything that stood in the way of my dream. I want to leave something behind to prove that I survived.” Inhaling gasping breaths, I close my eyes. “The only leverage I had was my speaker, and it failed. It fucking failed. I’ve got nothing left to fall back on now. There’s no safety net; my design was it.”

  Tender fingers play with my hair. “Look at me.”

  It takes a while to get my breathing under control and even longer to swallow the tears burning the back of my throat, but, eventually, I do.

  “We’re gonna sort this out. I promise,” Drake’s voice is firm.

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “I can. Watch me.”

  “The only certainty is that I’m going to die.”

  His jaw hardens, his hands turning into fists. Sharp shooting pain erupts on my skin where the tendrils are pulled tight. “You’re giving up? Is that it? You’re gonna roll over and die like a fucking martyr?”

  Gritting my teeth, I glare.

  “I won’t let you. You hear me? I won’t let you give up on yourself.”

  To my horror, sobs claw their way from my throat. Before long, tears stream down my face, blurring my vision, and I’m bawling my freaking eyes out. “I don’t want to die, Drake.”

  He drops his forehead to mine. “Baby, you’re not going to die.”

  “I only just found you. I can’t lose you, not now.”

  With a low groan, he kisses me. My eyes, my cheeks, my jaw, my nose. Nothing is overlooked. “You’re not gonna lose me. Trust me on this.”

  “He’ll come after you.”

  “He can try.”

  “But—”

  Drake silences me with a kiss. “Shh. I’m like a damn cat; I’ve got nine lives. Might have used up five of them, but I’ve still got four left.”

  I laugh-slash-sob.

  “And I’ll use every one of them protecting you.”

  Tears pour from me. “Why do you have to go and be romantic, huh? You know I can’t handle that shit.”

  “Can’t improve perfection. It’s how I’m made.”

  More laughter. More tears.

  “Princess, stop. Please. You’re killing me, here.”

  “Don’t say that.” I slap his shoulder.

  “Jesus.” Drake lowers his full weight on top of me. It’s almost crushing. I love it. I love how every part of him aligns with every part of me. It’s like my body sees its other half and breathes, Oh, there you are.

  His hands are in my hair and his lips trace my face, neck, collarbone, anywhere they find exposed skin. Grasping his shoulders and back, I hold on to him, needing him closer. Craving him under my skin and inside my bones.

  With whispered promises, Drake and I kiss. Time pauses as we become lost in each other. Breaths mingle, bodies hum, words float in the air between us. It’s as though we create our own universe right here on the bed. However, the second we break apart, time shifts back to its steady rhythm, speeding up once again.

  It pushes forward. Always forward.

  Once the fervency eases and rationality returns, it’s with Drake’s words teasing the edges of my subconscious. “Ace?”

  “Hmm.” He nuzzles my neck.

  Not wanting to break the hushed spell, yet needing answers, I lick my swollen lips. “What did you mean when you said you’d already used up five lives?”

  Drake stills. He raises his head, mouth a hairsbreadth from mine. Blue eyes stare into my soul, tortured yet clear.

  My fingers trace his cheekbone before following the strong line of his jaw. It’s tense.

  He swallows. Looks away. Swallows again. Somehow mustering the strength to speak, he glances at me with weary resignation. “Used them up against my dad.”

  I stop. Everything stops. “Your dad? What do you mean?”

  With a tired sigh, Drake rolls onto his back. He lifts his arms behind his head and stares at the ceiling. Not wanting there to be empty space between us, especially if it’s filled with unspoken words, I nestle aga
inst his side, my head resting on his chest. Drake lowers one of his arms and places a hand on my hip, maneuvering my body until I’m half sprawled on top of him.

  “When I was a kid, Mom would lose her mind over the smallest things.” His voice is deep and hypnotic as he loses himself to the memory. “I always wondered why the fuck it mattered that the jars in the cupboard had to be in ascending order. Why the chairs had to be evenly spaced around the dining table. Why the washing needed to be dry by Sunday night.” He falls quiet, blinking at the roof above.

  I prop my chin on his chest, wanting to see him despite him not meeting my gaze. My free hand rests over his heart; it drums beneath my palm.

  “And then there was the makeup. There were days when she slathered it on so thick, I could barely recognize her.” Pause. “The swelling didn’t help either.”

  Something inside me cracks and splinters.

  “Mom never said anything. She’d do this weird grimace-smile thing and say everything was fine. But when Dad got home from work after a shitty day, she’d frantically corral us kids together and whisper that we needed to be brave. She’d tell us to run to our rooms and hide in our bedroom closets behind the winter jackets and wool knit sweaters. She hung them especially. They were bulkiest so they hid us best.”

  Holy. Shit.

  “She’d say that if we heard raised voices we weren’t allowed to come out of our rooms until morning. Dad would be asleep then, and it would be safe.” Drake clears his throat. “But if we heard a loud noise and then silence, we needed to get the hell out of the house. Run to our friend’s place the next street over and call the police.”

  “Jesus.” I want to wrap my arms around him, take all the fear and pain away. But something tells me if I move, he’ll stop talking. Drake’s so lost inside his memory, I’m not sure he knows I’m even here. The only evidence he’s still in this room is the hand gripping my side. It grows tighter with each revelation.

  “I was six when it happened. Dad got home late from work, and as soon as Mom heard his car in the drive, she rushed us upstairs. Since I was the only boy, I had a room to myself, but my sisters shared, so they were together.” He stops and stares unseeing above him. “There was talking, then yelling. Nothing new. It always started with him finding something that pissed him off. That night it was the TV remote. Mom moved it when she was cleaning and hadn’t put it back where he left it.” His laugh is bitter. “A fucking remote.”

  Drake pauses, as though collecting his thoughts. “Out of nowhere came this massive crash. Shook the house to its foundations. It was so fucking loud, I half expected the lower story to be debris and rubble.” He licks his lips. “There was this shrill cry. I’ll never forget it. It’s stuck,” he taps the side of his head, “right here. It was this fucked-up mixture of torture and anguish. In that moment I learned every emotion has a sound, agony especially. Some are easier to hear than others, but all of them are unique in their own way. It’s what got me into singing. I’d try to replicate an emotion, draw it out with my voice until it fit the echo inside my head.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Only way to get it to stop.”

  Drake’s heart isn’t the only one hammering out of control. I’m so caught up in his story, I barely remember to breathe. It’s only when my chest is screaming and my lungs are burning, that I inhale.

  He continues, his low voice jagged and rough. “Anyway, after the crash there was nothing. No noise. It was like an explosion went off, and I was deafened by the aftershock. I was crouched in this tiny ball in the closet. I didn’t know if I should stay or leave; if I should find my sisters or investigate. I had no fucking clue.”

  “What did you do?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shuts his eyes and takes a deep, unsteady breath. “Turns out, bravery isn’t hiding in a fucking closet. Mom might have wanted me to think it was, but I knew, even then, it wasn’t.” Blinking his eyes open, I watch as long lashes hug the tops of Drake’s cheeks before kissing the soft skin of his eyelids.

  “It was cowardice. Staying where I was and doing nothing to stop whatever the fuck was happening downstairs was weak. I might have been six, but even a kid knows better than that.” He takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “So I told myself that I’d go and find out what was going on. Then, if I had to, I’d run back upstairs, get my sisters, and leave.”

  Ducking down, I press my forehead against Drake’s chest. Part of me doesn’t want him to continue. It wants to stay blissfully ignorant of the young child’s plight. However, the realist in me knows life is a cruel bitch and it’s the people who admit it, who fight through it, who learn the most about themselves.

  Resigned, I raise my head again, hair falling into my eyes.

  For the first time since he started talking, Drake looks at me. Really looks at me. He brushes the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ears. “So I went downstairs.”

  “I’m sorry.” My broken whisper is preemptive, I know. But I need him to understand that I’m hurting too. His words have transported me back until I’m reliving this memory alongside him, and it hurts so freaking bad.

  His smile is sad as he continues playing with my hair. “Didn’t notice her at first because there was shit everywhere. Dad was busy moving furniture around the living room, tipping chairs over, throwing ornaments and picture frames all over the fucking place. I barely recognized my own house.”

  Pause.

  Oh God.

  “She was lying on her back, eyes open. There was blood and other shit I didn’t want to think about oozing from a wound on the side of her head. A chunk of her skull had caved in, similar to a sinkhole. But it was the look on her face that got me. Shock. Like she couldn’t believe she was dead. I couldn’t believe it either. Made me double over and retch on the stairs. Ended up slipping in my own puke and falling down the last three.”

  It’s useless wiping away the tears that stream unchecked down my face. They’re not easing up anytime soon.

  “Dad noticed me then. His eyes…. I’ll never forget them. They were feral, kinda like he was possessed. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. His crazed expression told me everything I needed to know.”

  “He killed her,” I whisper.

  Clenching his eyes shut, Drake nods. “He played the role of grieving husband like a motherfucking method actor worthy of a Golden Globe. At one point I questioned what I’d seen with my own eyes.” His laugh is bitter. “He was that good.”

  Sharp pain twists my insides. “So, he got away with it?”

  “Yeah.” He clears his throat, then opens them again. “And the cops believed his story. A break-in gone wrong, he’d said. Terrible tragedy. How would he go on without his loving wife?” His jaw tightens. “Asshole took off Mom’s jewelry before they got there; her rings, necklace, everything. Then he hid them beneath the stairs. There’s a loose floorboard no one knows about. I didn’t even know it was there until I saw him hide her stuff.”

  Disbelieving, I shake my head. “No one questioned him about it?”

  “Nope.” Drake stares at tendrils of my hair as they slip through his fingers. “Fucker got away with it for twelve years.”

  “Twelve….” And that’s when it hits me. “That’s the darkness you’ve been talking about, isn’t it? You mentioned a while ago that you lived in darkness for twelve years.”

  He twists my hair around an index finger. “Sure is. He made damn sure I kept my mouth shut about what happened.”

  I gasp. I can’t help it. There’s this twisting sensation in my stomach warning me I’m not going to like what Drake’s going to say next.

  He shrugs. “If it meant I distracted him from hitting my sisters, it was worth it.”

  “He beat you?”

  A nod.

  I feel sick. The thought of a young Drake being used as a scapegoat for his dad’s murderous secret is enough to have bile churning inside me. “Did anyone report the abuse? Surely someone saw something and acted on it, right?”

&n
bsp; “No. Fucker pretended to be a doting father whenever we had visitors—which wasn’t often—and made sure the bruises he gave me were where no one would notice. Besides, my sisters were too freaked by what Dad did to me to open their mouths.”

  “How could your sisters not say anything? They’re your family! They’re meant to protect you! I mean, fuck.” Breaking away, I blink unseeing in the distance. Fire burns my veins, making me restless. I need to punch something, or better yet, someone. After picturing Drake’s dad being ripped apart by rabid dogs, I slowly calm down. Mindfulness at its finest. Willow would be proud.

  When I’m certain I won’t insult Drake’s spineless sisters out loud, I glance at him again. He’s watching me.

  Goddamn.

  Drake’s hair is dark, so dark the night sky could become lost in it. His skin, though pale, is luminous and stretches tight over a strong jawline. Those high cheekbones are stark against the slight hollows beneath and draw the eye directly to pillow-soft lips. It should be illegal how gorgeous he is. Really, there needs to be a law against it.

  The corner of his mouth twitches.

  Despite everything he’s told me, or maybe because of it, he’s truly the most beautiful person I know. And I don’t just mean outside, that’s obvious. I mean he’s beautiful where it counts. He’s honest yet complex; the perfect combination of troubled resilience.

  It’s probably why I drop my voice, murmuring, “Family is meant to stand for something. They’re meant to have your back, no matter what.”

  Silent, he raises a sardonic brow.

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Ray’s a poster boy for how not to grieve. Hell, he could win the title for Worst Uncle of All Time. I get it, I do.” I nibble my bottom lip. “But where’s the loyalty? If your family won’t stand by you, then who will?”

  With a gentle smile, Drake tugs on my hair. “My sisters are loyal. They did what they could. They’d clean the cuts, bind the wounds, and make sure we had frozen peas in the freezer for the swelling. When they were old enough, they even tried Mom’s trick of covering up the worst bruises with makeup.” Releasing the hair from his finger, he drops his hand to the mattress. “We were stuck in hell; we dealt with it the best we could.”