Revival: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 3)

by L. V. Lewis

  Let’s face it, I’d been well on the way to falling in love with him when he stopped calling. I’d gone so far as to call him something like ten times, and I lost count of how much I’d texted him before I realized he wasn’t going to call or text me back.

  I’d put on a brave face when I’d been around Sky and Brody, until I’d finally broken down and told Sky the real deal when the tour ended.

  “I didn’t want to say much around Brody but Dylan’s not returning any of my calls or texts,” I’d said.

  “Really?” Sky said, a frown of concern on her bow-shaped lips. “I thought you two hit it off.”

  “That’s what I thought, too, but it’s like the guy has fallen off the planet. I don’t even think Brody’s talked to him, because I asked him a couple of times and he’s just as clueless as I am about Dylan’s whereabouts.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. He’s bound to contact Brody sooner than later. I know Brody’s said he wants to keep more in touch with his former band, especially Dylan since they were so close before everything went down with Kim.”

  “Thanks, Sky,” I said, trying to maintain some semblance of chill, although I was pining for Dylan like he was a lost appendage that had been lopped off in a freak accident.

  Now, I think all bets are off that Sky and Brody don’t know exactly how much Dylan meant to me. I pretty much killed my chill by acting like a raving lunatic today.

  I pick up my cell phone and look at the time. What the fuck?

  Scratch my previous thought. It’s already tomorrow, or Friday if I’m being technical. Sky and Brody are probably already in the studio. I’d better get a move on.

  I raid Sky’s closet and borrow some of her Fabletics. We’re not the same size, but this fabric hugs the frame. She and Brody are creatures of habit, so I know they’ll spend some time in the gym after finishing up in the Studio, so I dress accordingly.

  After taking the circuitous route and pillaging Della’s kitchen for some leftover breakfast, I find the love birds in the studio working out the final half of the song they’ve penned together for the upcoming pre-honeymoon concert, for lack of a better name for it.

  “Sleeping beauty has risen,” Sky says when they notice me come in.

  “I’m probably a better Tiana, Jasmine, or Pocahontas, than Sleeping Beauty.” I quip. I could have gone further and said because my Prince Charming is nowhere in the picture, but I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me. Again.

  “Good morning Alyssa Jasmine Tiana Lawrence,” Sky teases without skipping a beat.

  “Good morning, Sky, Brody. Do you guys need me for any background on this cut?”

  “Yeah,” Brody says, handing me a sheet of music. “You can take booth one. We’ve already laid down the tracks for the music and our voices. Do you need to run through it before we record?”

  I scan the sheet. “Yeah, maybe once so I can hear what you two have done so far, that way I can blend in.”

  “Sweet. Sky will man the mixing board.”

  “You mean woman the mixing board,” she says.

  “Right.” Brody agrees, his electric blue eyes only for her.

  Sky gives him a peck on the lips, and he swats her on the butt.

  “Watch it!” She says half-teasing before she ambles over to the mixing board booth.

  I refrain from rolling my eyes, because it’s not their fault that I’m not acting just like them with someone. Anyone. I grab a set of headphones and enter booth one where I make sure the mic is hot and I can hear sound.

  If the tables were turned, I’d certainly be all over my man if I had one. Here I am fronting like their PDA is overkill when it’s really not. I’m not only low-key jelly, I am full-blown jealous of what they have because almost a year ago I thought I was about to have it and Dylan got cold feet or something. We’d just spent a blissful night together at the Ritz after the tour killed it in Dallas.

  I can still see every detail of Dylan’s body. He’s just an inch or so shorter than Brody, with a more defined musculature and a lot more ink. Drummers tended to be heavier than guitarists because they sit during the show, while the guitarists strut around the stage like Mick Jagger or some shit. What I found sexiest about Dylan were his forearms and his thighs. They were works of art. His abs and biceps were a close second, but I couldn’t complain about the whole package at all, because for me he was perfect.

  When you top all that with soulful brown eyes and shoulder-length dirty blond hair that was as soft as down, a girl couldn’t find a better body to rub up against. And Dylan certainly knew how to make a girl’s body purr. Shit. I miss my cue and Brody stops the soundtrack.

  “You ready, Alyssa?” his disembodied voice inquires.

  “Yes.” I say. “From the top.” This time I come in on cue and nail my part in the first go. The song is so pretty and such a great combination of Sky’s pop flavor and Brody’s rock influence. But what really gets me is the lyrics to Anytime Soon.

  Never thought I’d find someone to get me like you do.

  Never thought I’d find the one that made my heart ring so true.

  Your love sends me into the stratosphere;

  I swear I’m over the moon.

  If I ceased to exist today

  There wouldn’t be another love for me anytime soon.

  I sing Sky and Brody’s song like I mean it, because I do, and when I close my eyes while singing the lyrics all I see is Dylan.

  Seven

  Hollywood, CA

  ALYSSA

  A workout in Sky’s gym and a shower makes me as right as rain, and I join them again for lunch. It sometimes feels weird that Brody and I both have residences apart from Sky’s place, because we spend so much time here together recording. It’s only like this because Sky set up her studio in her home years ago so she wouldn’t have to go traipsing all over LA to record when she needed to. It works well for Brody and me because we’re not buying studio time elsewhere, either. What we produce in Sky’s home studio is just as good or better than what mainstream studios provide on CD, or upload for customers to buy from all the digital music sales venues today.

  Della’s serves up a fully organic salad bar today. Sky and Brody insist on it at least three times a week. Otherwise Della would serve her healthy soul food and rich French and Italian cuisine she’s become such a pro at preparing. Usually, we work on dance routines in the afternoon, so burning up the calories isn’t a problem. The salad bar is just an attempt to get lighter fare into their diets on the regular so they don’t feel guilty about the decadent desserts Della is also very proficient at whipping up daily. Sky sends a ton of shit home with the dancers and me, so she’s not visiting the kitchen for late night snacks, which she has a habit of doing.

  Once when we were on our TV show back in the day, Sky gained quite a few pounds courtesy of Della’s cooking. Of course, Elaine fat shamed her until she lost it, which is just one example of Mrs. Samuelson’s mothering style that I’m not a fan of.

  Jacob wasn’t a damned father-of-the year by any stretch of the imagination after my mother died of ovarian cancer, but one thing he didn’t do was squash my self-esteem. He was just trying to numb his pain, a by-product of losing my mother, which he was never able to shake. I had to be the adult during most of what should have been my childhood. Now he’d been in rehab so many times I’d lost count. Sending him this time to Naveah, the facility that helped Brody get clean, I hope is the charm that actually works for him.

  Despite all the times he’s let me down, swearing that he was going to get sober and stay sober, I am still that little girl who just wants her Daddy. Especially now. This pain I’ve been in since Dylan dumped me has been excruciating. I’ve never been one to self-medicate, but in the past eight months I’ve depended on more than a single glass of wine at dinner, given that there’s a strong addictive gene in my pool that I shouldn’t be feeding.

  I’m drawn out of my reverie, when I hear Sky say, “Right, Alyssa?”

&
nbsp; I shake my head in an effort to clear it from my deep introspection. “What’s that?”

  “We’re retrofitting a few of the numbers we do together to work into this concert, but we’re doing a lot of new songs to get fans primed for the next album.”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “We’re getting our fan-base used to the pop/rock aesthetic we began in the last tour.”

  Brody grins. “And that’s good because the guitar chords have been totally revamped for most of your older stuff, and Nick is on board with it. I think he kinda likes rocking out at a pop concert.”

  We all smile when we think of how geeked Nick has been. I’m taking a sip of water when Brody’s cell rings. He seems content to let it go to voice mail he’s so slow to look at the screen, but when he does he smiles apologetically at me and Sky. “I think I need to take this,” he says and immediately clicks to answer.

  “Hey…D-, uh friend,” he says awkwardly. “How’s it going?” He moves to stand and leave the table, when Sky interrupts.

  “Is that Dylan?”

  My ears perk up, but I keep eating. Well, I begin to move my food around on my plate, because my appetite just went from ravenous to not even remotely hungry in no time flat.

  Brody holds up a hand as if to shush her, and Sky narrows her green eyes at him.

  I shake my head. Unbelievable. We don’t hear from the bastard for months and now that he’s best man he’s got conversation. Well, for Brody anyway. I feel some type of way about that, but I don’t let on to them. I just keep my ears pealed to try and get some inkling of what’s going on in his life.

  “Yeah, we can get you fitted a couple of weeks before we fly out. No problem.” Brody nods. “We’ll make it work. I’ll ask the tailor to save a slot for you at the end of May, but the guys and I will keep our appointments at the end of next week.”

  Brody listens intently while Dylan speaks. Sky and I can hear his deep voice buzzing from where we sit, but can’t quite make out what Dylan’s saying. I hate to be an eavesdropper, but that voice melted my panties quite a few times when we were…hell I don’t know what we were. It was too short a time to call us an item, but too long of a time to be a one-night stand.

  “I know you want to be at your peak when you’re fitted. I totally understand.” Brody listens again.

  “Before you called? Oh, we were just eating lunch.” Another question from Dylan. “Sky and me… and Alyssa.”

  Then Sky and I hear a stream of expletives that we can’t mistake.

  “It’s not my fucking fault. You should’ve looked at the time and converted the fucking time zone, man. I only picked up because you haven’t called me in forever, and I thought it was a fucking emergency.”

  Brody listens as Dylan’s voice goes back to pseudo-normal. We only pick out “sorry” and “tell them hello for me.”

  “Why don’t you tell her your damn self,” Brody says, and begins to reach me his phone. I panic and freeze, and all I can hear coming from the phone is “Noooo. You idiot. I need to say what I have to say to her face-to-face.”

  When I refuse to take the phone, Brody brings it back to his ear. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, man. Do you blame her?”

  Brody’s listening again, so I take the opportunity to carry my plate into the kitchen, and Sky’s sad eyes follow me as I exit the dining room. Della is piddling around in the kitchen, but it doesn’t prevent her from scolding me.

  “You know, I have one job here, Cher.” When she talks to us, particularly me, her old Louisiana roots sometimes come out. Her family moved from the south out west to Seaside, California when she was in elementary school, which she calls grade school. But she’s proof that you can take the woman out of the Bayou, but you can’t take the Bayou out of the woman.

  “I know, Della. Let’s chalk it up to a bout of temporary insanity.” I put my plate on the counter next to the sink, where she promptly takes it and scrapes out the detritus of my food into the compost. She then rinses it and places it in the dishwasher, where she’ll run it through a hot wash. Della is nothing if not serious about obliterating every germ that might even consider remaining on her dishes. She owns the kitchen in Sky’s home and Sky has given her the kind of carte blanche that is unprecedented in other Hollywood homes.

  I lean against the island and chat with her as she’s replacing the bowls and pans she used to prepare lunch.

  “So, what’re you gonna do when the lovebirds go off to the Maldives in June?”

  “Oh, I’m going to go visit my family for a week and a half, but I’ll be there shortly before the wedding.”

  “You don’t want to do the two week vacay?”

  “No baby. You know Della don’t get down like that no more,” she chuckles. “That’s a party for you young folks.”

  “I guess you’re right. So what’s the deal with Elaine? Is she refusing to come, or has Sky un-invited her?”

  She gives me a version of her venomous side-eye. “Now, that’s none of Della’s business.”

  I should have known not to go there. Della would never give even the appearance of betraying Sky by gossiping about her personal business. She is loyal to a fault, but she acts as if I’m a perfect stranger.

  “You know Sky will tell me if I ask, right?”

  “Then you best get to asking her,” Della says and closes the dishwasher with a loud thwap. I try not to react, but I flinch just a bit anyway.

  “You can best believe I will,” I say, then meander out of the kitchen and into the living room, leaving Della puttering in the kitchen and Brody’s faint droning behind. As badly as I’d like to know what’s up with Dylan, I refuse to be desperate enough to hound Brody for information. That’s just not my style. Besides Della just put me in my place and I am now salty enough from Dylan’s call to lash out if Brody or Sky says the wrong thing.

  I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday, so chilling in the living room is a better look for me right now. I turn on some Cardi-B; there’s nothing like her angry, raunchy lyrics to get me out of my funk. I’m spitting along with Cardi’s Be Careful With Me like I’m going after her gig when Sky and Brody find me in the living room.

  Sky turns my music down and they face me on the sofa where I stop doing a lazy Cardi-B concert in the stuffed chair.

  “Sorry about that,” Brody says. “Just working out groomsmen logistics.”

  “I know,” I reply. “That happens when you’re getting married.”

  They both grin, then Sky says, “Speaking of. We have fittings this afternoon, because it takes a bit longer for us to get fabulous. Right?”

  “Speak for yourself,” I say. “I’m always fabulous.” So no dance practice this afternoon. Score! It’s amazing how one close call with Dylan has robbed me of every bit of my motivation to continue my normal routine.

  Sky rolls her eyes playfully. “Why do I always step blindly into it?”

  I could go so many places with just that response alone, but I choose not to. I’m more interested in whether or not anyone’s going to address the elephant in the room, but I pretend it doesn’t exist, too. “So, what time is this fitting?”

  “Two o’clock,” Sky says. “I pre-selected several designs for the bridesmaid dresses for you guys to choose from.”

  “Cool,” I say.

  Sky frowns.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s not like you not to have an opinion on fashion. I mean, I know it’s my wedding, but you always give me your opinion.”

  I have to think fast to move her away from figuring out something’s off-kilter with me. “Yeah, but I can’t give you an opinion on something I haven’t seen. Trust. If the dresses you’ve selected are god-awful, I’m going to tell you.”

  Brody nails me with a look that says but you’d better not hurt her feelings. And this time I do have an eye-roll for them both, but I concede. “Look, I’m sure there will be something in your selection that I’ll like.”

  “Even if you hate them all, the maid of honor ca
n choose something totally different, especially if it’s in the color scheme I’ve selected,” Sky assures me.

  It’s just like my bestie to give me an out. “Bet,” I say. Hoping like hell we’ve settled this mini wardrobe crisis which I could give two fucks about. Somebody needs to talk about what the hell was up with Dylan or I just might spontaneously combust. It’s funny how I haven’t been anxious about him for months and now that it’s certain I’m going to see him in at least two months, I’m like a bitch in heat who’s stumbled into a dog pound.

  Brody puts me out of my misery.

  “About that call earlier. Dylan’s just been going through a personal family crisis or something. I’m sure he’ll explain it all to you when we see him in the Maldives.”

  Well, that’s not at all what I was expecting. That explanation is as vague as they come. I need details. Why are most men no fucking good at providing details?

  “Geez, that’s like me saying I had a bad monthly, so I’m kicking Dylan to the curb. In the meantime, I’ll talk to you about it at the funeral of my second cousin thrice-removed.”

  Brody’s face gets red at me mentioning my period. I laugh. “You know, they just did a whole documentary about periods that won an Oscar. Women bleeding monthly is in the mainstream now Brody. Don’t hyperventilate over that shit.”

  Sky caresses his cheek. “Aw, babe. When we move in together for good it’s going to be a common occurrence you won’t be able to avoid.”

  “I know, it’s just I never had sisters, and Kim was as mean as a feral animal or some shit during her time, so it’s not been something I’ve personally chosen to deal with. Much.”

  I notice that Sky doesn’t get that wonder if I’ll ever measure up look she used to get when Kimberly Heart’s name comes up, and I’m glad. Brody would kill for her. I hope she knows that now. Well, she’d better, because he’s put a ring on it and is marrying her in two months.

  “It’s all good,” Sky says. “I just want to curl up in bed when I have mine. You know that.”