Bad Boy Redemption (Bad Boy Rock Star #3)

by Candy J. Starr

  But if I hadn’t gone to the studio, I wouldn’t have known a thing. I’d be at home with him, blissfully unaware.

  Did I want to be blissfully unaware? Maybe I did. Just for a little while.

  I shivered. There were too many emotions for me to deal with. I wavered between wanting to be back in his arms and wanting to never see him again in this lifetime. If only I could get back to sleep. Sleep was awesome. You didn’t feel anything when you were asleep.

  I picked up the remote control and turned on the TV, hoping to find something to drown out my thoughts. With so many voices competing for space in my head, it just made me feel sick. I poured myself another drink. I’d drink myself into oblivion.

  I found the hotel robe to wrap myself in and turned on the heating. I sat another bottle of vodka on the coffee table and filled the ice bucket. I could fight this. I could be strong and figure out a way to fight this whole thing, but I’d do it later. I deserved a night off from the hideous mess my life had become. I’d drink myself into a stupor and my mind could rest.

  I picked up the menu from beside the bed and ordered room service, not even wanting real food, just something to pick at. Olives and chocolate and fries and peanuts. Maybe that sounded weird to the kitchen, but I didn’t care.

  There was only shit on the TV. I wished I’d brought my DVDs with me. I wished Angie was free to come over and help me drown my sorrows. We’d say things about what a shit Jack Colt was, and she’d cheer me up. Instead, I hugged a pillow for comfort until my food came.

  Chapter 24

  I made it through to the day of the album preview gig without getting anything sorted with Jack. I discussed band business with Eric and he passed it onto Jack. Not once had I asked him how Jack was or to pass on anything personal.

  I’d emailed Angie from the hotel and she’d brought my stuff over. She also gave me a lecture on wasting money on a fancy hotel, but I was too apathetic to care.

  “I’m worried about him, Hannah. He’s going too far,” Eric had called the day before. If Jack had Eric worried then I was worried. Eric was normally unflappable and used to Jack’s shit. They’d been through so much together.

  I wished that I’d kept my mouth shut about Frank. When things started going bad between us, we both had to keep pushing as though we were competing to see which one of us could hurt the other the most. It wasn’t healthy, and that just made me more determined to stay away from Jack.

  The band had found a new drummer. He’d played with one of the bands Storm had supported. That band had broken up, and Chris was at a loose end. Eric said he was talented enough. They’d been rehearsing together, and he’d learnt the songs they’d perform at the gig.

  Since I had classes, I couldn’t get to Central Square early. The radio people were doing most of the set up anyway so it was just a case of getting the guys there and doing soundcheck. Angie and Eric said they’d handle that. I suspected that they wanted to keep Jack and me apart before the gig. I wanted to keep us apart too.

  My cab dropped me off near the square and I could already hear the crowds.

  A massive canvas banner of the band hid the stage with a photo of Jack looking all surly out front, taken at the moment he ripped his microphone from the stand. Eric stood beside him looking ready to spring into action and, because the photo had been taken from the tour, Spud was in the back, playing drums. You didn’t even notice him there unless you knew specifically what to look for, like they’d darkened the background to fade Spud out.

  In that picture, Jack seemed so full of himself and solid, as though he would never break. He wore the leather pants that showed off his junk and droplets of water sparkled in his hair. Everything about him seemed perfect in that picture. My chest hurt. I had to find something to do so I kept busy.

  A girl walked by wearing a homemade T-shirt. It had a picture of Spud with a RIP and the dates beneath it. I hadn’t even known Spud’s year of birth until I saw that. I mean, I must have seen it on things he’d filled out but I’d not ever paid any attention to it. That made me feel a little bit sad. Maybe I should’ve made more of an effort to get to know the guy. I’d never know him now.

  Then I shook myself. Of course I’d never gotten close to him. Every time he came near me it was to say something mean, and when he wasn’t near me he was near Jack, trying to poison him against me. I’d never have been friends with that guy if he’d lived a thousand years. He ate my last banana.

  The street was jammed with people now. Most of them wore Storm T-shirts and were headed to Central Square.

  By the time I got into the square itself, every space was filled and I had to push my way through. I didn’t need this. I was going to get there last minute as it was.

  Behind the stage, the crew had set up a labyrinth of wire fences covered with tarps. I walked up to the gate and flashed my pass. The security guy waved me through.

  I walked into an area filled with equipment and people wearing the radio station logo over their clothes. I looked around for the band area, but everyone rushed about and I didn’t want to interrupt them. Then I saw a gap in the fence leading to a closed off area.

  A hard-faced woman and a chubby, pompous man sat on chairs getting their makeup done. They glared at me.

  “The band?” I asked.

  “Next door,” said the pompous man without looking up. I assumed they were the radio people, the “voice of youth”, as they were known.

  I popped my head into the next gap and Angie rushed at me.

  “Where’s Jack?” she asked, looking around as though Jack could have been tagging along behind us.

  “He’s not here?” I was the last person on earth who would know where Jack was. If he’d gone somewhere, surely he’d be back soon.

  “He’s not here. He hasn’t been here all day. I’ve been trying to call you. Where were you?”

  My head spun. He’d missed soundcheck?

  Chris, the new drummer, sat in the corner with his head in his hands. He probably wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself in for. Eric paced the tiny area, chewing on his thumb knuckle. Angie tried to put her arm around him but he kept pacing. I think he’d worn a path in the concrete beneath his feet.

  The crowd’s screams had turned to chants. They wanted the band and they weren’t going to be happy if the band wasn’t delivered.

  “Shit, where is he?” I said. “We have, like, five minutes. When did you last see him? Can you call him?”

  Eric shook his head.

  “I haven’t seen him since last night. He went out and said he’d see me here today. He’s not answering his phone, and I’ve called everyone I know.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve skipped class for the day. I bet my piece of shit phone isn’t working again.”

  A thunderous roar came up from the crowd outside. The radio guys had obviously gone on stage. That meant some chitchat and sponsor announcements, and then we’d be expected to go on. And we couldn’t go on without Jack Colt.

  All the possibilities flooded into my mind: he was dead somewhere in the gutter, or in hospital, or he was stuck in traffic. All those possibilities would be better for Jack fucking Colt at the moment than the arse kicking he’d get when I saw him.

  “Are you ready?” One of the crew guys came into the room. “They’re stretching things as much as they can out there, but they can only do so much. The crowd are going nuts.”

  “Give us a minute,” I said. I had no idea what to do. If he didn’t show, the band were screwed. The crew guy probably realised I was lying. I mean, you could’ve bottled the stress in that room. It came off me in waves, hitting the waves that Eric emitted. Neither of us could stay still and I’d chewed my nails down to the point where my fingers were almost bleeding.

  “What can we do?” I tugged on Eric’s arm as if he could make Jack magically appear.

  “We sure as hell can’t play without him.” Eric’s voice shook. I knew how much this day meant to him. It meant a lot
to all of us. And it should have meant enough to Jack for him to turn up.

  This is what a meltdown felt like. I wanted to flee. A band pulled tighter and tighter, like wire around my chest. When the crew guy returned I’d have to tell him that we couldn’t do it. Everything we’d worked for would be destroyed. The record label would pull the plug on the appearances and publicity. All those people out there screaming, the fans who’d come along to support the band, they’d be disappointed. I kicked the fence but it just rattled in a non-satisfying way.

  “Angie, you played at the TV station that time. You could go out there. Just for one song to give us some more time.” I looked at her pleadingly, willing her to say that she could get on stage and play all five songs perfectly. That she had this secret talent she could just pull out of her butt.

  “You are kidding, right? That was a 30 second grab. I can’t do a whole song. I don’t even know how to play, really. And those people, they want Jack, not some chick they’ve never heard of.”

  My heart sunk. She was right. The screaming out there had gotten piercing and they’d not be happy with anyone but Jack. They’d probably tear us into little pieces for not delivering him.

  “Call him again,” I asked Eric.

  Eric shook his head. “I’ve been trying and trying, but no answer.”

  “We have to tell them,” I said. “There’s nothing else for it. It’s not like Jack is going to rush in at the last moment and save the day. Let’s get this over with and then we can try to hunt him down.”

  “And when we find him, I’m going to kill him.”

  Poor Eric. I didn’t blame him for being angry. He’d been let down badly. He could’ve had a high-paying career with his graphics but he’d given up most of the work to focus on the band. He had more to lose than anyone. I wanted to say I’d kill Jack too but, after what I’d said to Spud, I was too scared to. The wires around my chest tightened more. Maybe this wasn’t Jack’s fault. Surely he’d not miss his big chance, not on purpose.

  “I’ll go and find that guy and let him know.” In saying it, I gave up all hope of rescuing this disaster.

  Then I heard a crashing from outside the band room. Jack. My heart jumped for a moment, believing this would work out after all, until I saw him hit the ground. He stumbled to get up and fell again. I rushed to him, wrapping my arm around his waist to help him up but he threw me aside.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” I asked.

  Jack lurched passed me into the band area.

  “You can’t go on stage,” I implored. “You’re a wreck. You can’t even stand up. What the fuck have you done to yourself?”

  But Jack ignored me.

  “Ready to ROCK ‘N’ ROLL?” he yelled.

  Eric shook his head and Chris tentatively stood up. I wasn’t sure if Jack could even stand on stage. Maybe it’d have been better if he hadn’t turned up.

  Jack grabbed his guitar. I seized hold of him. As he swung around, I saw his eyes. There was nothing there, just a blankness.

  “Get off me.” He pushed me out of the way. I was knocked into the wire fence but bounced back off. There was nothing I could do except pull them out of the gig altogether. Could Jack actually manage this? Could he go out on stage and play in that condition?

  I shot Eric a questioning look. Eric would know if he could do this. Surely Eric would know.

  Eric just shrugged. “I guess we’re going to do this,” he said.

  The guys walked down the ramp to the stage. Angie and I stopped at the side and nodded to the crew guy while the guys got set up. When I gave them the thumbs up, the canvas covering the stage dropped.

  I had to cover my ears as the screams exploded. Storm began their first song and I hugged myself, thinking this might go okay. I chewed my thumb all through the first verse, waiting for disaster to strike. Jack had absolutely no personality on stage but he sang the words he needed to sing and he played the right chords. The crowd seemed easily pleased, but this was not a performance that would win over new fans.

  They started the chorus and Jack looked out over the crowd. A grin spread over his face. He jumped up and swung around the mic stand, but missed his mark. He stumbled, face-planting on the stage.

  The entire audience gasped, holding their breath as Jack stumbled to his feet, giving the crowd the finger guns and winking as if it were all a joke.

  Eric had stopped playing when Jack stopped but Chris continued, missing his timing. If Spud had been with them, they might’ve had a chance of covering that up. He’d have known instinctively how to react. But for a new drummer, having never played with them live before, what could you expect? Again, I felt sorry for him.

  Bruce, the guy from the record label, came over and stood beside me. It was too loud for him to talk but he cocked his head at the stage. I tried to answer with a confident smile, as if this was all planned, but my mouth wouldn’t co-operate. I think I managed a tight-lipped grimace.

  They got it back together without too much of an issue and made it through to the end of the first song. It was only a short set of five songs to promo the album. I clenched my fists, praying that they’d do those next few songs with no dramas. Then I could get Jack offstage and I’d be able to breath normally again.

  The next song went fine. I could tell Jack screwed up a note here and there, but I’d heard him play it a thousand times and I knew exactly how the song should sound. I doubted if many of the audience would even notice. Even Chris seemed to improvise around it.

  He could do it. Jack could hold it together. Maybe he was on auto-play mode and could perform these songs without actually have anything functioning in his brain. It might not be the performance of his life, but it was enough. It was adequate.

  He got through to the last song before he cracked. At first the crowd went crazy as he put down his guitar and ripped his shirt off. Not a move I’d have advised, but it sure as hell compensated for the mediocre performance, judging by the screams.

  Angie grabbed my arm.

  “I think he can do this,” she said.

  Just as she said that, he screwed up the words to the song, mumbling and making some up. He’d stopped playing his guitar altogether as though he forgot he were even holding it.

  Then he unzipped his jeans. Fuck. He was not going to strip naked before this crowd. This was a public performance in the middle of the city, not some shitty club. There were kids in the crowd, young kids. I wavered between running on stage to stop him and watching on in horror.

  The deafening screams just encouraged him but I could see a few people leaving. Before I could react, he had his cock out of his pants and his foot up on the fold-back speaker, pissing a yellow streaming arch into the middle of the audience. Girls screamed and cleared the spot where it splashed onto the ground.

  My heart dropped to the ground. This was worse than I’d even expected.

  Eric took off his bass and walked off stage, shooting Jack a look of disgust, but Jack ignored it.

  “Fuck you, fuck you all,” Jack screamed as he laughed maniacally. He shook more piss into the crowd then stumbled off the stage, again falling down in full view of the audience.

  “That’s fucking rock!” he screamed.

  You could be sure every single press photographer had gotten a photo of that.

  “We’re done for,” I said to Angie. “It’s over. The band will never get a gig again. They may as well pack up their gear and burn it. What the fuck was Jack thinking?”

  “It might not be that bad,” she said.

  “It’s bad. It’s totally bad. You don’t do that kind of thing in the middle of the city at a promo gig. Jack knows that. Why did he even turn up? It would have been better to cancel in the first place.”

  I wanted to cry or punch something. Maybe punch Jack. He’d pretty well made a statement that he didn’t give a fuck about me, about the band or about his fans.

  Angie and I went back to the band room. I didn’t want to see Jack and I didn’t wan
t to talk to him. I just wanted to grab my bag and get out of there.

  Even before we entered the band room, we heard the shouting.

  “I’ve had enough, Jack. Screw your life up as much as you want, but keep it off stage. You need help, you should—”

  We ran in and saw Jack swinging at Eric, his fist smashing into Eric’s jaw. Before Eric had even hit the ground, Angie rushed at him.

  “You bastard. Keep your hands off Eric.” She jumped on Jack’s back, raining punches on his head. He tried to swipe her off but she clung like a monkey, scratching and screaming. His face twisted into a grimace as she grabbed a handful of his hair.

  I ran to help Eric up. His face had started swelling.

  Jack shook and twisted until Angie fell from his back. I ran to check if she was okay, but she was more concerned about Eric.

  “I’ll never forgive you, Jack Colt,” she yelled.

  She’d managed to scratch Jack’s face and he had blood trickling down his cheek. He looked crazed with his dead eyes and his bleeding face.

  Before I could try to settle him down, Bruce came into the band area. He saw Jack and stopped dead in his tracks.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “What the hell is going on?”

  Jack spun around and swung a punch at Bruce, knocking him into the fence. I gasped. If Jack wanted to completely end his career, that was the way to do it. Then he turned on me.

  “This is your fault,” he said. “You make everything go bad.”

  I recoiled. I couldn’t even answer before he walked out of there.

  Chapter 25

  Angie held an icebag to Eric’s face while I paced around the kitchen, fuming. What the fuck had Jack been thinking? He couldn’t just punch out his best friend like that and he couldn’t punch out executives from the label. He should have a better sense of appreciation for those who helped him, instead of being a douche about it.