The Rockstar and the Pussycat (Dark Fire Book 1)

by Ivy M. Jones

  "How are you still single?" I croaked.

  "I don't follow, pussycat," he said, confusion apparent in his tone.

  I stared at the edge of the car door and tried to figure out a way to clean up without getting anything gross on his hoodie. I had kept it clean, even after the quick stop and barely getting the door open.

  A towel was pushed into my hand and I gaped at it.

  "It's gonna smell funky. It's been in here awhile," he apologized. I didn't care. I began mopping my mouth and nose and when I was done, I held the towel ‒ rolled up so the mess wasn't showing ‒ with one hand, and dug through my bag with the other.

  Finally, I found what I was looking for and popped a stick of gum in my mouth. The minty flavor chased away the bitter taste in my mouth and helped settle my stomach.

  Justin stepped carefully on the ground under my door, helping to tuck me back into the seat and closed the door before walking back to the driver's side.

  Once he was in, his hand came out to brush some stray hairs from my face. I was totally wiped and leaned my forehead against the cool window.

  "What was that about me being single?" He sounded amused, but I couldn't get my eyes open to check his face.

  "You're a rock god with a hot body who loves his family and gives outstanding back rubs to pregnant damsels in distress. I just wondered why some super-hot model type hadn't snagged you yet." I cleared my throat and sank lower in the seat.

  "Honestly? Being a rock god is hard work. And I'm gone a lot. The kind of women who throw themselves at me are the kind I want to avoid, so that's not going to happen. Besides, I haven't been interested in looking for someone to settle down with because I didn't want to drag someone I care about into the craziness that is my life."

  "But you'll shackle yourself with me because it's the right thing to do..." I groaned.

  His voice turned sharp. "It's not shackling. It's voluntary, okay? And you're nothing like the women I've been avoiding, so it's not exactly a hardship marrying you." I cringed at being labeled not exactly a hardship, and his voice softened.

  "So it's a little earlier in my life than I'd planned. Who cares? So I get married now. To you. You seem like the kind of girl I'm interested in anyway, so I'm glad. I'd like to get to know you better, because I'm pretty sure you're the kind of girl I could‒" He cut himself off, then was silent for a moment before he finished, "be happy with."

  "That's an awful big risk to take, don't you think?" I managed to get the words out with what I hoped was minimal worry in my voice.

  "Getting married is always a risk. But I would point out that I already know you well enough to know that you and I have more in common than you and Tyler. So, in a manner of speaking, you kind of dodged a bullet there."

  "Oh, be still my heart," I muttered under my breath.

  "These times of woe afford no time to woo," he countered.

  "You are so cliché." But I grinned against the window.

  "That's not an insult to a song writer, so I'll take it and call it good." I smiled a little more and let myself doze off.

  Justin

  Pussycat had nodded off about twenty minutes into the drive and I let her sleep. She seemed to really need it. I hadn't noticed before, but she had shadows under her eyes and her cheekbones were too prominent, like she was seriously starving.

  When I finally pulled into Aunt Georgie and Uncle Ed's driveway, I noticed there were more cars than there should have been. Aunt Georgie's station wagon, which I could remember riding in when I was in middle school, was parked in the normal spot. Next to it was Uncle Ed's motorcycle. But on the street in front of the house I saw my mom's Jeep and my Uncle Don's teal neon.

  Something about our family must incite the members to hold onto cars forever. Uncle Don had owned that neon since the mid nineties and I had many fond memories of borrowing my mom's Jeep when I was in high school and college.

  I could have easily bought every one of them a new car, and had even made the offer. But everyone had turned me down and I couldn't blame them.

  I pulled up the parking brake on my Escape and took a moment to run my fingers along Pussycat's face. Her cheekbones were so sharp, I worried I might bruise her just brushing my fingers over her skin.

  Her eyes fluttered open and from that close, I could see that they were bloodshot. The only real color on her face was her nearly-gold eyes, the pink of her lips, and the color she'd used to make her eyelashes stand out. I frowned.

  "Is something wrong?" She frowned in return.

  "You need to eat," I said.

  "Brilliant," she said, stretching. "Between that and telling me earlier that I need a husband and father for my unborn child, I'd say you should apply for MENSA."

  "I'm serious, pussycat. You need some meds or something to help you keep food down. This can't be healthy." I helped her unbuckle and grabbed her bag for her. She stumbled slightly, trying to get down from the SUV and I used the excuse to wrap my arm around her waist. She pressed against me, taking advantage of the assistance, and I admit I was surprised by her willingness to accept my help in any way.

  "I looked it up online. It's completely normal to be sick the first trimester. And when I called the local OB's office, they told me they don't usually see patients until at least two months in, in case of miscarriage."

  "I thought you said you were a couple of months along?"

  I noted that her body stiffened and she slowed down a little as she tried to make the step up to the porch.

  "I rounded. It was about two months ago," she explained.

  "I still think you should call again." Before she had a chance to answer, or more specifically, to argue, I knocked loudly on the front door, effectively cutting her off.

  The door swung open and Aunt Georgie and Uncle Ed had pussycat pulled into the house and into their arms before I could blink. I smiled to myself and let myself in, closing the door behind me. I toed my shoes off into the corner where a larger-than-normal stack of shoes already sat.

  Looking around the corner into the living room, I noted that Aunt Georgie had been busy since she'd hung up. My Uncle Don and cousin Nicki were sitting on the couch. Nicki had her earbuds in and wasn't paying attention, but Uncle Ed was flicking her knee with the back of his hand, trying to get her to notice the guest.

  My mom was sitting on the recliner, my dad behind her, a can of Coke in his hand. Dad nodded at me and I nodded back. Mom stuck her hand out palm down and I walked to her so I could pull her up in a tight hug.

  "I can't believe how lucky we got," she sobbed into my ear.

  "What do you mean, lucky?" I asked quietly.

  "Do you realize, if that girl had come at any other time, you might not have been there to answer the door and she might have turned around and walked away? Georgie and Ed would never have known and that poor girl would have raised her child all by herself, never knowing there were two people out there desperately missing their son, believing their family had ended with his death."

  "I hadn't thought about it like that," I admitted. It made me think about how fate might work and I started humming some ideas for a song. Running to the office in the back of the house, I grabbed a sheet of paper from the printer tray and a pen from the cup on the desk, and quickly scribbled the words down.

  When I was done, I folded the page and shoved it into my pocket and clipped the pen to the collar of my shirt- just in case the muse visited again. Then I made my way back into the living room, where pussycat had been placed in the recliner and someone had brought her tea. Someone had taken her shoes and the footrest had been flipped up. But based on the look on her face, I can honestly say I've never seen someone look so uncomfortable.

  I took her teacup and placed it on the side table next to her before dropping down on the arm of the recliner, sending it tilting around before I used my other foot to stop the motion. It had the desired effect. Pussycat gripped my arm and closed her eyes, warding off any potential nausea. And even when the chair settled
into position, she continued to hold on, looking up at me with panicked desperation.

  She was in a house full of people who were lovingly suffocating her, unsure what to do or say. And the only reason she had managed to land in that spot was because of something she hadn't even purposefully done. And wouldn't have chosen voluntarily.

  I did so love being the one who got to comfort her though. Technically, I'd known her the longest, and for that reason alone, I got to play the hero for her. I smiled, then cleared my expression, hoping not to give the crowd anything to question me about.

  As I looked around at my family, I realized Aunt Georgie was absent from said crowd. Just as I was about to say something, she came in from the kitchen, holding the cordless phone out to pussycat.

  "They need to get your information, dear," Aunt Georgie said, handing the phone over.

  That look of defeat was back and she shook her head. "I don't have insurance anymore," she whispered.

  "Then just tell him that. I'll make sure everything works out." Aunt Georgie patted her hand and gestured for the rest of the adults to clear out into the kitchen, giving pussycat some privacy.

  Nicki still sat on the couch, her earbuds still in place, but her gaze kept flickering between me and the girl who had one hand gripping the phone and one hand gripping my arm.

  "Hello?" pussycat said into the phone.

  I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but it was easy enough to discern.

  Then my jaw dropped.

  "Andrea James," she said into the phone. I hadn't realized, until that moment, that I'd been referring to her‒ both in my head, and out loud‒ as my pussycat. I didn't know her name until that moment.

  She gave her birthday and I noted she was older than me by a few months. She also rambled off her the name of some other doctor before I watched her face scrunch and she said, "I don't have insurance anymore." Her look brightened however, when whoever-it-was answered. And she actually looked relieved by the time she hung up.

  "Who was that, pussycat?"

  She smiled as though my use of her nickname was a relief and I reached up to the back of her head to rub her scalp, just a little ways up from her neck. I heard her sigh and felt her body relax. How apropos. My pussycat liked to be petted.

  "Your mom insisted on calling an OB friend of hers. Said I'm too dehydrated. So Doctor Stein is calling in a prescription for something to deal with the nausea." She handed the phone to me and I put it on the table next to her tea.

  "You want some more tea?" I gestured to the cup.

  She made a face and I smiled. "I really don't like tea," she admitted.

  "Me neither." The voice from the couch surprised us both and I looked up to see Nicki pulling her earbuds from her ears.

  "Ahh, the 'Oblivious Ploy' again?" I laughed, pointing to her iPod.

  "I swear, they never realize they're getting played." Nicki looked more disappointed than devilish, and I had to wonder just how often in the last few months she'd pulled the stunt.

  "I'm sorry," Pussycat said. "Oblivious Ploy?"

  Nicki looked at me and giggled. I turned to Pussycat and explained.

  "One time, years ago, when Nicki got mad, she put her earbuds in and turned on her iPod so everyone would leave her alone. And it worked, but about a minute or so in the battery ran out and she ended up listening to nothing. But she left her earbuds in and everyone just ignored her."

  Nicki laughed and held up her iPod, showing pussycat that it was off. "It worked so well, I overheard an entire conversation between my dad and uncle Ed about what they planned to do to about my outburst. Of course, I also heard my dad mention that, should I at least try to make an effort in school, that maybe they wouldn't have to go through with it." She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in the other direction before settling back against the cushions.

  "I put a little effort in for the next week and my dad left me alone. Worked like a charm."

  "And I figured it out one day when she seemed a little too intent on the conversation Tyler and I were having about this chick he'd ba‒ uhh, been hanging out with."

  "Justin, I'm not stupid," pussycat laughed. "Tyler was a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am' kind of guy. You don't have to tiptoe around that."

  I grinned and Nicki stood up and gestured for pussycat to hand her the phone. "I'll go tell them someone needs to go pick up your script."

  Pussycat handed her the phone and Nicki sashayed into the kitchen and a moment later we both heard her holler that someone needed to" go pick up the meds for Tyler's baby mama".

  I grimaced at Nicki's bluntness and swung a glance at the girl holding my arm. She had her head in her hands and was shaking her head back and forth. Unsure what else to do, I tilted her face up to wipe away the tears that were no doubt streaking her cheeks.

  But instead of tears, I saw her shake with laughter.

  She cleared her throat and tried to compose herself before trying to explain.

  "I've just had the craziest two months of my entire life. I figured, when I looked back at all this one day, I'd be able to laugh about it. And apparently, my hormones have decided that right now is the perfect day to start laughing about it."

  Andy

  I'm sure Justin thought I was going insane. Oh well. I probably was.

  I wondered, just for a moment, if anyone had ever plead temporary insanity from pregnancy and gotten away with a crime.

  "Your dad just left to go pick up the meds, Justin." Nicki plopped down on the couch and plugged her earbuds into her ears. When she noticed me watching her, she flipped her iPod up so I could see the scrolling song header. I laughed and she tilted her head back on the couch cushions to stare at the ceiling.

  "The three of us were more like siblings. We all grew up together, but she was even closer to Ty than I was. She hasn't taken it well." I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  We sat in silence for a few more minutes until I noticed Mrs. Brown duck her head around the corner.

  "Andrea, can I get you anything besides crackers?"

  "No, Mrs. Brown, but thanks. And you can just call me Andy."

  She sighed, smiling. "And it would make me really happy if you'd call me Georgie," she said, her voice low.

  "Alright.... Georgie." I felt uncomfortable and when she smiled and ducked her head away, I looked at Justin, lost.

  "I guess you'll just have to get used to it. But I'll be here if you need me."

  I felt a sob work its way up my throat but somehow managed to push it back down. I relaxed into the chair a little before it occurred to me that I still had my hand wrapped around Justin's arm. And he had unconsciously begun brushing his fingertips against my knuckles.

  It was such a small touch, done without thought and only because on some unconscious level, he wanted to make me feel better. And I desperately needed it. The stress and exhaustion of the last week, never mind the last two months, were enough to break me. But a knight in shining armor in the guise of a rock star sat an inch from my hip, his fingers stroking my hand and somehow I knew. I knew that I could make it through this, as long as he didn't leave.

  And that meant keeping secret my complicity in his cousin's death.

  Mr. Brown came through the front door awhile later, digging through a pharmacy bag. He handed over a bottle of tiny white pills and told me to take one right away. Then he whispered in my ear that Georgie had made some pot roast and he was really hoping the pills worked quickly or else he'd be eating crackers and ginger ale "in solidarity‒ whatever the hell that means."

  Less than half an hour later, we were all seated around a ginormous dining room table with enough pot roast to feed an army layered across the center, and my mouth was watering. Food hadn't looked so good since I'd gotten over mono my junior year of high school.

  Justin sat on my left and Nicki sat on my right. And for the first time since I'd arrived, the mood had relaxed and I felt like maybe I could be comfortable around this family.

  "Nic
ki, make sure you pass the vegetables to your father. He's practically drooling over there."

  "You know sis," Don said to Georgie, "I should toss one of those carrots at your head. But they look too good to waste, and you cooked them. So you win. Make all the drool jokes you want," he said, gesturing to the bowl Nicki held. "But Nicki, you better get that bowl down here soon, just in case I need to toss one at her."

  Smiling, Nicki shook her head at her father and aunt's sibling rivalry.

  Whispering, I leaned over to Justin. "Where's Nicki's mom?"

  The question didn't faze him and he leaned over after he'd finished chewing and swallowed to whisper back, "She left Uncle Don when Nicki was two."

  "I'm sorry," I whispered.

  "Nicki doesn't remember her, and honestly? From what I heard, it's for the best. That woman was like twenty-five cards short of a full deck."

  I laughed at his cliché and continued to dig into my food but all too soon, my belly decided it was full and I resigned myself to sipping a can of Coke while everyone else finished eating.

  "I thought the pill worked, sweetie..." Georgie said sadly.

  "Oh, it did. Trust me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to eat at all. But I haven't eaten a full meal in over a month. My stomach must have shrunk. Which is pissing me off because this pot roast is fabulous." I sighed and poked at the food left on my plate.

  "Well you can take as much as you like home with you, sweetie. Eddie will just have to settle for a single night of pot roast."

  Eddie grumbled but seemed resigned to his leftover-less fate.

  "Justin, why don't you show Andrea around the house. I want her to feel welcome here and she still hasn't seen a lot of it. Plus, I'm sure she'd feel less stuffed if she took a little walk."

  I noticed the words had been a question but her tone hadn't left an option to decline. However, without argument, Justin pushed his chair back and held out his hand to help me up. I wasn't even showing and he was being all gentlemanly about helping me get in and out of chairs. In fact, he'd pulled my chair out and helped me sit down before the meal, whispering to me about how his mama would kill him if she saw him being anything less than the fine, upstanding lad she'd raised.