Coming Altered: Welcome to Carson, Book Four

by Renee Harless

  But as the song ends the spell is broken by a pair of hot pink, sheer panties that land on Harlan’s arm before sliding down to the ground. He jolts his head angrily towards the crowd looking for the panty culprit, except the stage lights are too bright and he can barely see passed the first row.

  Afraid to look back at Cassidy and witness her expression, he slowly cuts his eyes towards her and almost misses the beat in their last song. His beauty, the woman that has him wrapped around her finger, is doubled over in laughter. He smirks as he watches her laugh so hard that she clutches at her stomach and heaves for breaths.

  As the final song ends, Harlan’s adrenaline is pumping through his veins, and his blood pounds in his ears. Instead of following the band to the right side of the stage, he heads towards the left, where Cassidy stands. Her eyes widen in surprise as he stalks towards her, glancing around nervously as he gets closer.

  But Harlan’s need for her taste is overwhelming, overpowering. With the guitar neck resting in one hand he uses his other hand to cup her jawline, almost forcing her chin to tilt upwards, as he fastens his lips with hers. His tongue presses for entrance into her mouth and she complies. He devours her mouth. Her flavor spiking his adrenaline further.

  Before she has the chance to truly react, he turns around and heads back towards the stage for the bands typical encore. He only gazes over at her once and smiles smugly as he finds the dazed expression still residing on her face.

  Unfortunately, as the band exits after the encore and instead of heading towards Cassidy, he is swarmed with reporters, security, and fans. His head twists and turns aimlessly seeking her out, but he doesn’t see her anywhere amidst the crowd.

  “Anthony! Anthony!” Harlan shouts towards their personal security agent.

  The large man parts the crowd like the Red Sea and comes to stand before him.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Where is she? Is she ok?”

  “I saw Ms. Cassidy to her bus. I didn’t want her to get lost in the group.”

  A flood of relief surges over Harlan and his shoulders slouch in respite.

  “Good. That’s good. Did she say anything?”

  “Not much. Just asked that you all report how the clothes worked for tonight and if someone wanted to bring them to her she could have them stored.”

  “Someone?” Harlan asks with a smirk which Anthony returns.

  “Yes, sir. Someone.”

  “Well, we better get this meet and greet over with so this someone can get Ms. Cassidy her costumes,” Harlan stipulates as he pushes against Anthony wanting to move the crowd along.

  “Indeed.”

  Three Weeks Later

  S CASSIDY STANDS ALONG the side of the arena she can’t help but smile wildly as Harlan moves around the stage lost in the music. Three weeks ago, if someone had asked her what she had expected while on tour with Exoneration, she would have answered differently - drugs, sex, alcohol, women. The typical MO for rock stars. Instead, she finds herself watching them run off stage and attend their meet and greets, then hustle back to their buses to play video games and sleep. She has only encountered a few groupies up until tonight.

  Tonight, as she stands behind the equipment watching the man she loves give the crowd a show like no other, she’s joined by a trio of scantily clad females that seem more interested in side-eying her than watching the band perform. Instead of letting the jealousy consume her, because the women are clearly behind stage to garner the attention of one or all of the band members, she focuses on Harlan while she mentally chastises herself for wanting to discuss the merits of covering up a woman’s behind and breasts, to leave something to the imagination, but Cassidy figures that is a conversation the women won’t particularly care for.

  The final song of the night bellows through the speakers, shaking the ground, and vibrating all the way through Cassidy’s soul, her bones pulsing to the music. As Harlan moves to exit the stage towards her, per their tradition, he slows his movements when he sees the women waiting there, vying for his attention. Harlan slows his walk and his eyes lock on hers, seeming to apologize for his upcoming actions.

  And Cassidy knows, probably understands better than most, that his public persona is about to come out in full force. She watches as he struts towards the women, particularly towards the tall blonde in the center who seems to adjust her shirt even more to showcase her over-sized plastic breasts. As the woman wraps a red-nailed hand around Harlan’s exposed bicep, he winks down at his fan before lifting his shirt to remove the black material and wiping his sweat covered face with it. Cassidy turns her attention to the floor when the woman, whose hand had been removed when his shirt lifted, places it directly along the waistband of his dark pants, her nails skimming under the top.

  Cassidy must work hard to swallow down the vomit that seems to threaten to spew forth. She can’t hear the conversation, the crowd chanting “encore” continues to grow in volume, overwhelming her senses. She notices when the bass guitar starts thumping through the speakers, signaling the band’s return to the stage, and raises her gaze hoping to find Harlan on stage.

  What Cassidy finds instead is the blonde female’s hand tugging at Harlan’s hair, while her mouth sucks at his lip ring. Her two friends are kissing along Harlan’s neck and back before Cassidy’s eyes meet Harlan’s; eyes that hold shame and regret, but Cassidy can do nothing more than turn away and head towards the exit, her heart heavy with mixed emotions. She knows acting out towards the groupies will draw unwanted attention for Harlan, and for her, and that’s a risk she is unwilling to make.

  Anthony stands there waiting for her, a frown marring his features, as he seems to have witnessed the exchange as well, then he opens the heavy door for her. Surprisingly, he escorts her through the maze of the arena out towards the lot where the buses are parked. Their walk is one of silence, though their footsteps echo in the concrete halls, hers the click-clack of heels, his of rubber-soled squeaks from his boots.

  As they approach the end of the hall, Anthony stops her with a hand on her arm.

  “Ms. Connelly, you know that he has to be like that for the fans. It’s what they expect from him, from the band.”

  “You don’t have to stick up for him, Anthony. I know how it goes. It just hurt me to see it. And then I wonder when does it stop? Does it stop if we’re official; if he gets married?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have an answer for that,” he says as his brows furrow in melancholy.

  Cassidy reaches up and lightly pats the brute of a man on the shoulders offering understanding.

  “I know. It’s ok.” Anthony opens the door for her and she steps through. “You can head back; I can take it from here.”

  Anthony narrows his gaze at her, asking her to question him about escorting her off site while the band ends their show, so Cassidy realizes that it’s futile to argue with the ex-Military Sergeant.

  A ping from Anthony’s cell phone has him reaching into his pants pockets as the door shuts behind her. They continue their walk as he stares down at his phone, scrolling every few seconds.

  All Cassidy can think is that he isn’t going to be able to protect much if he’s hunched over his phone, but what does she know?

  The bus comes into view and Cassidy turns her attention towards Anthony and regretfully says, “Please don’t bring Harlan here tonight. I…. I need some time to think…about everything. Just tell him that I need to work on mending some of the costumes.”

  “Ms. Connelly...” Anthony begins but she turns away and starts walking quickly towards the bus.

  Just as she reaches the stairs a hand grips at her wrist, turning her attention back towards him.

  “We have an emergency and I will be bringing Mr. Jax and Mr. James to your bus once the meet and greet is over. No questions asked.”

  Alarmed, Cassidy’s senses tense and the world around her swirls violently, everything around her blurs into a seamless image.

  “What kind of emergency?”
she whispers.

  “It’s best I explain everything at once. Please get on the bus and lock the door; I am the only one beside Mr. Jax with a key. And whatever you do, please do not get on the internet.”

  She jets up the steps of the bus and slams the door shut, locking it securely before rushing towards the couch for her laptop.

  Not get on the internet after you warn me that there is an emergency, seriously? she thinks to herself as she powers on the device.

  It doesn’t take Cassidy long to find out what the emergency entails. A few seconds of a Google search and she finds article after article, picture after picture, calling her a tramp, a slut, a whore. All words never used to describe Cassidy before now.

  She skims through the first page pinning her against the band mates as a picture of her holding Harlan’s hand the day they arrived on tour surfaces, followed by a dark image of him kissing her outside her bus door. She barely remembers that night as it was one of the few the two slept apart since the band had an early gig on a radio show the next morning. The next section shows Cassidy and Ryker hugging each other close, their arms tightly wound, then a follow up with her kissing Ryker’s cheek in jest the day he promised to come home with her after the tour and help her find a home in Carson.

  She and her brother had become close, the two dueling most of their childhoods, and now Cassidy feels like their semblance of a truce is about to spiral out of control. And Cassidy can’t even begin to consider what this means for her and Harlan. Though he has been insistent on making their relationship public, she has always held back, not wanting to throw a wrench in his career.

  Career?

  Now thoughts of Cassidy’s brand being tarnished by the lies swells deep inside her. As the first tear falls on her cheek, she can’t help but feel as if she is about to lose everything, her business, her family, and most of all - love.

  Resting onto the couch, Cassidy curls into herself, protecting what little of her that has yet to be broken. The tears come quickly as her life begins spiraling out of control.

  She watches as her phone lights up from across her on the table; Shelly’s name the prominent one showcased, but she can’t bring herself to answer, to hear how her business is now ruined, to hear the disappointment in her friend’s voice.

  Cassidy cries for what seems like hours, her despair over taking her.

  “What am I going to do?” she asks to no one as the reasons for wanting to stay away from a relationship, from love, force their way to the forefront of her mind. “Look what I’ve done,” she utters through her sobs just as the door to the bus flies open.

  As expected, a murderous Harlan stands at the entry, his eyes wild with anger, and a red flush crawling up his body.

  “I’m sorry,” she cries out. “I’m so sorry.”

  Pushing him aside, Ryker stomps into the bus and heads straight for her.

  “Cass,” he sighs as he moves her body to sit up.

  He takes the seat next to her and she slouches against him, her tears never halting their paths down her cheeks.

  “It’ll be ok, Cass,” he whispers in her ear soothing her frayed emotions.

  She notices as Harlan moves into the room a few steps allowing Anthony and Ann to enter. As their manager’s assistant takes in the surroundings the room drops in temperature a good twenty degrees, or so it feels that way to Cassidy.

  “I need you all back to your buses so we can pull out,” Ann demands as she punches away at her tablet.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” her brother responds.

  “What’s the big deal? So, you all ended up in the papers, it’s not like someone wouldn’t have found out that she’s sleeping with both of you at some point. You all don’t hide it very well.”

  Cassidy’s body jerks as Ryker stands to his full height, his body twitching in fury.

  “Get out,” Harlan’s deep voice resounds in the room drawing all of their attention.

  Instead of following orders Ann cackles loudly, almost forcefully, before spewing vilely, “What? Did the papers get it wrong? Are you into threesomes, Cassidy? Is that your thing?”

  Cassidy can’t help but stare at the woman in shock as she spits the heinous words at her.

  Before she has a chance to retaliate or let the words sink in, Harlan shouts into the space, “Get the fuck out now, everybody!” causing Ann to drop her tablet as she spins on her heels in irritation.

  “I hope she’s worth all this mess,” is the last thing Cassidy hears as the pulsing in her ears increases in speed, remembering the way the woman in the arena had pushed herself upon Harlan.

  Ryker shuts the door after whispering something to Harlan, but Cassidy can’t make out the words, she’s too focused on Harlan’s stare as he takes her in, his eyes echoing the hurt in hers.

  “Sweetheart…” he pleads, but her emotions are too raw, too tender to hash it out with him.

  She shakes her head as she averts her gaze and stands from the couch. On wobbly legs, she heads towards the bedroom. As she removes her concert attire of leather pants and sheer top she exchanges them for a pair of boxer shorts and one of Harlan’s t-shirts. Because, even if she is confused and hurt at his actions behind stage, she needs to feel him wrapped around her, to comfort her.

  The bed squeaks as she moves to lie on it, her tears having weighed her down, the need for sleep speeding towards her.

  “Fuck!” is the last thing she hears as she shuts her eyes.

  “UCK…. FUCK FUCK FUCK,” Harlan says as he strikes his hand through his hair repeatedly.

  He had already fucked up tonight when the groupie bimbo wanted to shove her tongue down his throat and when her friends tried jumping in.

  He knew it.

  Cassidy knew it.

  Hell, all of the band knew it.

  Somehow everyone in the band had figured out that he and Cassidy were seeing each other a few days ago, but no one made a big deal about it, they simply went on with their day. Their relationship had no effect on anyone, so when the groupies showed up tonight Harlan admits he was taken aback, especially since they were waiting on the opposite side of the stage, the side he had been using to see Cassidy.

  But once Anthony had dragged him from the meet and greet to show him the pictures showing up in the tabloids across the country the bimbos became the least of his worries. He had rushed from his seat at the table with Ryker and left without a word, but Ryker was hot on his heels, Anthony apparently giving Cassidy’s brother a head up on what was going on.

  His heart broke when he approached the bus and heard her cries of anguish. He had to stop beside the bus and bend over when the pain in his chest became overwhelming. If this is what a heart attack felt like, then he will have to take better care of himself because it is a feeling he never wants to experience again.

  The initial shock of seeing her curled up into herself took a while to break through, it wasn’t until Ann came waltzing into the bus unannounced that Harlan was able to break free.

  Now he stands here in the bus, alone, as Cassidy treks back to the bedroom so far removed from herself that Harlan barely recognizes the lost look on her face.

  He yanks on the offending lip ring in a nervous gesture, but immediately wipes at his mouth when the flavor of the woman’s overly scented lip gloss overwhelms his taste buds.

  Wanting to remove all traces of the night from his body, Harlan tugs off his clothing and steps into the shower stall; water turned up as hot as it will go. He stands under the spray, letting the hard pressure of the water bite away at his skin, unyielding in its course to cleanse his body.

  Reaching for the soap, he grabs the bottle he stored there after repeatedly telling Cassidy he didn’t want to smell of vanilla any longer. As the suds cascade over his body he hears the creaking of the door leading into the bedroom.

  Hoping to find Cassidy waiting for him, he washes himself clean and then peaks out from around the stall door. As his gaze moves around from the small bathroo
m to the ajar door leading to the bedroom, he can’t find anything amiss.

  “Hmm…”

  Harlan wraps the towel around his waist, slung low on his hips, and grabs his toothbrush, loading it with paste to cleanse his mouth.

  After spitting the foam, he pushes the door of the bedroom open the remainder of the way. He had intended on throwing on the pair of sweats he kept beside the bed, but as he finds Cassidy curled up in his shirt on top of the covers, his splintered heart shatters further.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he sadly whispers.

  Grabbing the gray sweatpants casually draped along the corner of the bed, he tugs them on as he lets the towel drop to the floor.

  Just as he leans down to grab the towel from the floor Cassidy bolts up in bed, scaring the shit out of him. Her eyes search wildly around the room, her body unsure of its surroundings. Her chest heaves with short staccato breaths, gasping for air to fill her lungs.

  Harlan rushes toward her, crawling across the bed towards where she sits with the sheets pooling around her waist.

  “Cass, are you ok?”

  With the light from the bathroom shining on her face, Harlan watches as the darkness in her eyes melt away to a warm chocolate at her recognition of him.

  “Harlan?” she asks as she shakes her head to clear the cobwebs. “What happened?”

  As Harlan sits beside her she looks to him in confusion. He tucks her loose hair behind her ears before noticing the shirt she is wearing. His soft and faded gray Guns and Roses t-shirt rests against her chest, the outline of her nipples barely visible in the dim light. Even in her quest to be rid of him, she needed something of his to console herself.

  “Do you remember anything?” Harlan inquires.

  “No, it’s all just a blur,” she says as she licks her lips, the moisture soothing the chapped skin. “I remember being behind stage…and the groupies waiting nearby. Then I remember one of them going after your lip ring…then pictures, so many pictures.”

  Harlan watches in amazement as she holds no ounce of anger, but simply confusion, but not willing to risk her emotions he treads carefully with his next words.