The Rock Star (Hollywood Heartthrobs Book 2)

by Tabitha Bree

  Willow sent me a string of abusive texts after we stole Benson back, but I think she knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on. I mean, he is my fucking dog.

  “I want that bitch to show up,” Jack says, arranging all her folded clothes neatly into her suitcase. “I’ve been learning Krav Maga.”

  I laugh. “Jesus.”

  “So where are you thinking of going?”

  I look outside again, seeing the expanse of LA from the view at my doorstep. “I don’t know, but I need some space. I need to sort my head out, and there’s too much shit going on here.”

  “Thinking about heading upstate?”

  “Maybe.” I bunch my shoulders. “Thinking about maybe seeing my dad.”

  I haven’t seen him much in the last few years. Partly because it was hard to find time to get away when you’re on world tours and have a schedule two miles long, but partly because I am ashamed. I’m ashamed of the man I’ve molded myself into, and how different he is to the man my dad wanted me to be.

  But maybe I need to go to him. Maybe facing my past is the best way to deal with my present, and move on to my future.

  “I think Keith would like to see you,” Jack says. She talks to him more than I do.

  I drain the rest of my glass. “It’s settled then. I’ll leave in the morning.”

  I walk toward the staircase, but before I can ascend, Jack stops me.

  “For the record, I think it’s stupid to not tell Dee the truth.”

  I pause, letting the words sink in, before replying in the only way I know how.

  “I think your face is stupid.”

  “Fucking hell,” she says, shaking her head. “Night, idiot.”

  “Night.”

  27

  Dee

  It’s time to clean, I think, looking around my apartment. I’m not the girl who sulks on her couch, or crawls up in bed with a romance novel when I’m feeling like shit. I need to stay productive, burn away my nervous energy like fossil fuels. So I get going.

  Of course, it doesn’t help that my apartment is always clean and orderly. But today, I’m not talking about mopping the floors and dusting the cobwebs from the corners of the ceiling. I’m doing a deep cleaning. The kind where you get on all fours and reach for nooks and crannies no cleaning device can reach on its own. The kind where you use a Q-Tip to buff around the wooden grooves of the dining chairs and a toothbrush to scrub all the hidden places behind the toilet. The kind where no fucking piece of dust is safe.

  As I think, I scrub. And every time my mind gets overwhelmed, I scrub harder. I use my uncomfortable thoughts like gas, powering my limbs to move faster and push firmer. If I can do this, keep my physical energy a step ahead of my thoughts, then maybe they won’t overcome me. I’m not avoiding my feelings—I’m just using them like kindling on a burning fire, going through them at high speed rather than dwelling on them like some stage-five clinger. It’s healthier, what I’m doing. And what isn’t healthy is getting hung up on some guy who I knew was a playboy from the very beginning.

  Even if I thought things were different, for a minute there.

  I toss my rag on the counter and lean against the refrigerator, wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist. And it’s in that moment of stillness that the vision creeps back into my mind’s eye. That girl standing there, Xavier’s oversized sweatshirt hanging off her svelte frame, her naked legs poking out underneath. The very picture of ‘we have so much sex there’s no use getting dressed properly in between’.

  I can’t believe I was such an idiot. To think that a couple of hookups and some getting to know each other meant Xavier was loyal to me or something. But it’s not even just that he’s seeing other people… it’s that I thought he was changing. Evolving from the womanizer he turned into when he became a rock star. I thought he was better than that now… better than having some random girl at his house waiting to greet him vagina-first.

  Ugh. Even the thought of them together makes me feel sick. Which is dumb, because I know what his reputation is. Everyone does.

  I walk into my bedroom and look up at the wall, staring at my Michelle Obama photo. The quote is almost mocking now. I’ve been so beyond distracted it’s embarrassing. To think I let myself get duped by a known bad boy… me, Delilah, the girl who prides herself on detecting bullshit and calling people out when they’re disrespectful. The girl who doesn’t commit to anyone and keeps her heart enclosed behind sass and attitude. The girl who swore she wouldn’t get involved with anyone until she’d made it in her career.

  And I got played by a play boy.

  It could almost be funny. If it wasn’t so tragic.

  I look away from the picture. I can’t have Michelle seeing me like this. I need to get my shit together. This is simply unacceptable.

  I pull out my phone. Maybe it’s not the best time to be alone with only my thoughts and a gallon of bleach. Perhaps some social interaction will knock the stupid out of me.

  “Hey!” Evie pipes through the phone. “What’s up?”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “Talkin’ to you,” Evie replies.

  I smile, rolling my eyes. “I don’t know how Adam keeps up with your energy.”

  Evie laughs. “He doesn’t. He just sets me up with enough activities until my batteries run out.”

  I snort. “Sounds about right. Want to hang out today? Maybe get some lunch?”

  “Ooh yes!” Evie squeaks. I can always count on her enthusiasm for an ego boost. “Let me see what Adam is doing.”

  “I was thinking maybe just the girls?”

  Just the thought of Adam’s judgy face at me explaining the Xavier situation makes me want to throw myself into the Venice Beach Canals. And that shit is nasty.

  “Girls’ day, I’m in! What do you have in mind?”

  “Great.” I feel a buzz against my ear. “I just got a text, hold on.”

  Sadie: Pool party at the W! Get here girl xx

  I mull it over for about five seconds before bringing my phone back to my ear.

  “How about poolside margaritas?”

  When we arrive at the W, I feel like we are already several drinks behind. There definitely isn’t a ‘no alcohol before noon’ rule here. The fact that summer is over doesn’t deter people from frolicking in the water, however most of the women are laying on the sides, sunning their skin with cocktails in hand.

  “It feels like the fourth of July,” Evie says, bouncing on the spot. Her red, high-rise polka dot bikini stands out, especially amongst the thong-clad backsides facing the sun. “I didn’t know this place existed!”

  Evie and Adam are one of those couples that don’t keep up with the trends or the cool things to do in LA. Evie is happy going for drives out of town or doing her crafts, and Adam is happy just being with Evie.

  “It feels like Tinder came to life and barfed everyone out in one spot,” I say, looking over the crowd and trying not to be surly. This is exactly the kind of scene I can picture Xavier in, hundreds of women stuffed into his cabana. Limbs sticking out at awkward angles. “I need a drink.”

  As we walk to the bar, I hear someone calling out my name and look across the pool to see Sadie waving her skinny arm around. She points to her table and then does a weird X shape with her hands. And because I’m not very good at charades, we make our way over to her.

  “I have no idea what that means,” I say, giving her a quick hug.

  “We already have bottles for the table, no need for the bar,” Sadie says brightly, gesturing to the table. It’s full of different bottles and mixers, all ready to free-pour at our own risk.

  “I’m Evie!” Evie says, giving Sadie a hug before I can introduce them. “You must be Sadie. Dee’s told me all about you. I feel like we’re already friends!”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet,” Sadie replies, hand on chest. “Dee’s told me about you, too. I’m so glad we can finally meet!”

  They coo and smile at each other and I’m surpr
ised the amount of cuteness doesn’t cause some kind of chemical reaction in the atmosphere. How I ended up besties with the two sweetest girls on the planet makes zero sense. Maybe it’s a balance thing.

  Sadie introduces us to her other friends, and I’m kind of surprised to see they’re not your typical model-slash-actress types. It’s refreshing. I hope Sadie can hang on to her roots when she becomes a huge star, which is only inevitable.

  The margaritas are poured and passed around and Evie wiggles her eyebrows excitedly, taking the straw to her lips. This is exactly what I need—to get out of the house and out of my head. I smile at her and let the citrusy, tequila goodness wash down my throat.

  There was a glaring flaw in my plan. One crucial detail that I looked over, and now it’s too late—that alcohol brings everything in the back of your mind to the forefront of your lips.

  Meaning, I can’t shut the fuck up.

  “Evie, I feel like such a tool,” I say, slurping through my straw. “You should have seen me, standing there like an idiot while the gorgeous blonde just looked at me like I had a concussion.”

  “HE’S the idiot, not you,” she says, ever supportive. “To carry on with you while seeing other people? Having some girl at his house?” She shakes her head.

  “I guess I just fell for his shit,” I reply. “Thinking that he was being genuine and trying to spend time together. Being all gentlemanly and walking me home without ulterior motive. Jesus, why didn’t I see right through that?”

  “Because you were giving him a chance. Because you thought there was more to him after you got to know him better in Hawaii.” She brushes a piece of hair away from my face, and it springs right back.

  “What are we talking about over here?” Sadie slides over to our end of the couch.

  I make eyes at Evie not to say anything. Maybe I’m tipsy, but not tipsy enough to let my secret on-set affair slip out to one of our cast members.

  “I know that look,” Sadie continues, tilting her sunglasses down from her eyes. “That’s the ‘I have boy drama’ look. I wish I wasn’t so familiar with it.”

  Evie pulls a face at me that says she’s good, and I sigh, watching a guy in hot pink shorts cannonball everyone in the pool. Reasoning that I can tell her the story without telling her who it’s about, I concede.

  “I’ve been kind of… spending time with a guy, a guy I knew was no good from the start,” I say, taking another sip. “But it seemed like he was changing… genuinely interested in me… seemed like we had a connection…”

  “And what happened?”

  My face falls. “I went to his house and found a girl in nothing but his sweatshirt.”

  “Ugh!” Sadie shakes her head. “What a dick.”

  “Yep. So now I just feel stupid. Like, why did I expect anything different? He’s like Hollywood’s most lusted after bad boy and what, I thought it was different with me or some dumb shit like that?”

  Sadie laughs. “He sounds like Xavier.”

  I stop mid-slurp through my straw and tell myself to relax my face. But Sadie isn’t looking at me. She’s looking at Evie, and Evie has a ridiculous Muppet-mouth expression that says about a thousand words.

  “Holy shit.” Sadie looks back at me. “Is it Xavier?”

  I swallow, and suddenly my drink goes down like peanut butter. Damn Evie and her horrible poker face.

  I gradually bring my eyes to Sadie, my silence answering the question.

  “Oh my God! How could you not tell me?!” she gasps.

  “Um, because it’s humiliating? Because I couldn’t be any more of a cliché or a sucker? I’m mortified just having this conversation with you.”

  “Don’t be crazy, you can tell me anything! And hey, I am on no high ground when it comes to behaving stupidly around men,” she says, tilting her head. “Remember? I followed my ex all the way to LA only to get dumped?”

  “I thought you just grew apart because he had a new world out here?”

  “That’s what I told myself.” She settles against the couch, looking absently into the pool. “But deep down, I knew it was him who didn’t want me. I didn’t compare to the flashy lights and the fame and the attention that came with it.”

  “Who is your ex-boyfriend?” Evie asks Sadie as she refills our glasses and passes them around.

  “Damon Reeves.”

  I nearly choke on my drink, and not because it’s strong. Evie’s tequila to lime juice ratio wouldn’t get a kitten drunk. I stare at Sadie, narrowing my eyes.

  “Damon Reeves?”

  “I know, Hollywood heartthrob turned laughingstock when he made an ass of himself a couple years back on set.” Sadie sighs.

  “We worked with him,” Evie says. “On Primal Nature!”

  Sadie’s eyes go wide. “You’re kidding, I had no idea!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. I can’t believe I missed the part where the ex she talked about was Damon fucking Reeves. Diva extraordinaire. Pain in mine and Adam’s and Evie’s asses for months.

  “Would you go telling people about it?” Sadie asks, raising her eyebrows. “Besides, you’re one to talk, Mrs. Xavier Black.”

  Evie snorts into her glass and I pull a face.

  “Okay, that’s fair.”

  28

  Xavier

  Driving up the Pacific Coast Highway feels liberating. Like pulling a Shawshank and making a run for it. I drive with the windows down, letting the salty sea breeze whip through my hair as I travel up the winding road. I know I’m doing the right thing, getting out of town for a few days. And seeing my dad will be a bonus.

  My stomach knots when I remember how long it’s been between visits.

  But my dad isn’t one to complain. In fact, he is probably the most easy-going, tolerant person I know. And every time he does see me, I’m met with a big smile and a warm hug. And I’m not too macho to admit that I need one of those big dad hugs right now.

  Dee hasn’t attempted to make contact since she showed up at my house with Jack answering the door, and I don’t expect her to. I know what she’s thinking, but I can’t bring myself to take Jack’s advice and explain the situation she walked in on. The truth is, I don’t want to plead my case.

  I can’t get Dee’s words out of my head… the way she deadpanned the camera and said all those things about me. Even if it was from a while ago, I don’t care. The fact she could say it, believe I was those things with such conviction in her eyes… it fucked me up.

  The cool air fills my lungs and I take it all in, driving the entire way without music so that only the sounds of the road and the ocean can be heard. It’s calming… therapeutic. Nothing can touch me out here. As long as I stay off the fucking internet.

  When I reach Cambria, I take my usual detour, stopping off the side of the road where a bunch of tourists are parked. Before I leave my car, I slide sunglasses over my face and put the hood of my sweatshirt over my head.

  It still smells like Dee.

  I walk over to the railing and look out over the beach. The grunting always makes me smile.

  Stretched out as far as the eye can see are the resident elephant seals, hundreds and hundreds of them. They lay on top of each other, flopping around with exactly zero fucks to give. Every now and then one lifts its head, barking orders at the one next to it. They are different colors… some gray, some brown, some a sandy hue. Some are even shedding, and they look disgusting. But I love them all the same. Dad used to take me here as a kid, and it always makes me feel a bit more like myself. A wholesome activity where I can just stand, watch, and laugh.

  They really are so fucking strange… big fat, furry slugs with cute otter faces, body rolling down the sand because of their lack of legs. The deep gurgling sound that rips from their chest cavities sounds almost monstrous, and yet no one cares.

  They’re able to just be.

  I miss that… being able to just live my life without people passing judgment, without people deciding what kind of person I am
. I want the anonymity of these seals. I want to get lost in the hundreds… have the freedom to be myself because no one cares.

  But that’s not how it is. People are obsessed with talking about me, and I don’t know how to stop it. I want to get off the merry-go-round, but it’s going too fast. The pressure is pushing me back inside and I just have to deal with it, watching the outside world go blurry around me.

  I need to catch a fucking break.

  My car rolls down the familiar driveway and I crane my neck, smiling at how it always looks exactly the same. Timber exteriors, A-shape roof, wrap-around porch, the house completely in its element amongst the forest of trees surrounding it. But the thing I love the most is the man standing at the front door, the way he always does when I arrive.

  “Do you just stand there waiting for me to get here?” I ask, pulling my bag out of the car.

  “You’ve let LA get to your head. Now come here and give your old man a hug.”

  Music to my ears.

  I walk up the steps and drop my bag. “Hey, pops.”

  He wraps his arms around me before I even get a chance to look at him, rubbing and patting the back of my shirt like he’s both trying to keeping me warm and put out some embers.

  He pulls me away from him, inspecting me while he holds me by the shoulders. “You look thinner than when I saw you last. Are you sleeping?”

  Who needs a mom when I have a dad to fuss over me?

  I laugh. “Yes Dad, I sleep. Though not quite as good as I sleep here.”

  “Never-ending sirens, the official soundtrack to Los Angeles.” He picks up my bag like I can’t do it myself. “Come inside, I have your special chili on the stove.”

  I smile as I follow him. He makes my ‘special’ chili every time I visit—which is basically regular chili with cocktail wieners all through it. It sounds gross, but I still love it as much as I did when I was a kid.