Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2)

by Kella Campbell

  Eamonn smirked at that, but Jed nodded. “Sure. It’s less attractive if the vermillion border — the lip line — heals unevenly, though. A few stitches can make all the difference.” He took an instant cold pack out of his kit and gave it a squeeze and shake to activate it before tossing it to Eamonn. “You’ll want to ice that eye, Easy. You’re going to have a spectacular shiner either way, but try to keep the swelling down as much as you can. Nice to meet you, Nell.” And then he was gone, gently closing the door behind him.

  Eamonn flopped onto the bed next to Nell with a groan, holding the cold pack against his left eye.

  “You need to learn how to duck,” she told him.

  He gave her a rueful chuckle for that but shook his head. “Maybe he needed to hit me. I deserved it. So, I’m wearing my apology on my face for a few days.”

  “Nope. No way. You may deserve a lot of things, but never stay still and let someone hit you. Promise?” She put every bit of serious concern she had into her voice and expression, wanting him to see how important it was, but he had the cold pack obscuring his face so she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

  “I’m tough enough to handle it.”

  “That’s not the point.” Nell had seen plenty of black eyes and stitches, and gotten a few herself without complaining — it wasn’t a question of toughness. “You take an accidental hit or you don’t get out of the way fast enough, whatever. But the instinct to evade should be automatic.”

  “Right.” He tossed the cold pack toward her and sat up. “Babe, I’m going to take a quick shower. I was sweating a little on the way in.” With something that was sort of a shrug, he peeled himself the rest of the way off the bed and vanished into the bathroom.

  She felt somehow rebuked. It had been hard for him to come here at all, and now she’d criticized him for not managing to dodge Blade’s furious onslaught, when he’d had no training and everything had happened so fast. She crossed the room to the bathroom door, intending to knock and see if she could join him, but then she hesitated. Wouldn’t he have asked me, if he wanted company? Inside the bathroom, the shower came on with a gush and then splashing sounds as Eamonn stepped under the spray — the water would be darkening the gold of his hair and running over the ink on his torso and arms.

  Nell sighed and sat down on the floor to stretch out her back. Only minor twinges still reminded her that she’d pulled a muscle earlier in the week.

  A knock on the door startled her. The security guy had already brought their bags and Jed had fixed up Eamonn’s face. Could Blade be ready to talk so soon?

  When she opened the door, the man waiting there pushed past her into the room like he had every right to do so. She felt a prickle of apprehension, but he wore a Smidge crew t-shirt, so she held out a hand to him, saying, “Hi, I’m Nell. Nice to meet you.”

  The man took her hand but didn’t shake it. Instead, he held it in a rather too intimate grip, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “I’m Donnie,” he said, “but you can call me Big D.” He snickered at his own words, seeming pleased with himself. He was not a big man, being of average height and somewhat weedy in build, so the nickname — probably self-bestowed — was doubtless intended to imply intimate size. “I guess you’re one of Easy’s groupies? You’ve got sexy titties, baby, and he never minds sharing.”

  Nell tried to pull her hand away without making an issue of it, but Donnie tightened his hold slightly, just enough that her fingers wouldn’t easily slide out. He seemed intent on raising her fingers toward his mouth, making her shudder at the thought of contact with his scraggly goatee and potentially germy lips. She jerked her hand downward in a sharp motion, breaking his grip, and took a step backward to put space between them. “Not a groupie, and even if I were, that wouldn’t give you the right… What do you want?”

  He laughed, but it sounded fake. “I thought I’d bring Easy a little welcome-back gift. Is he around?”

  “In the shower.”

  Donnie extracted a small paper bag from his pocket. “Give him this, just tell him Big D says it’s on the house.” Then he looked at her and winked. “If you’re with Easy, you must be a party girl, right? I can hook you up with whatever you need.”

  Flipping crap. Puzzle pieces started to fall into place. “You mean… you’re his, uh, supplier?” She kept her expression neutral, showing none of the revulsion she felt. Get the facts first. Let him incriminate himself.

  “That’s right. I take care of people on this tour. Whatever you’re into, I can get it for you.”

  Confirmed. This piece of walking excrement was the dealer hidden inside Smidge’s crew, the monster who’d kept on supplying drugs right under Angel’s… well, nose would be a bad pun, wouldn’t it? “I thought this tour was supposed to be clean now. How have they not fired you?”

  Donnie smirked. “Oh, I’m safe enough. I joined the crew after Blade’s first rehab, see, and he’ll never rat me out to daddy Angel in case the craving gets too bad and he wants me to hook him up again. And there are plenty of crew who want one thing or another, keeping me in business. We just don’t, you know, tell the grownups. Now, can I fix you up with a little something? First one’s always free for a new client.”

  “No drugs,” she told him. “And Eamonn doesn’t want your poison, either. You need to leave.”

  “Oh, but he does,” Donnie said, inching closer to her with a cocky grin. “And what are you even here for, if you don’t fuck or get high?”

  He was into her personal space now. Not okay. “You need to leave now.”

  “Nah, I think I’m going to wait for Easy. Seems I can’t trust you to give him his candy.” He tucked the paper bag back into his jacket pocket with a nasty chuckle. “And now that I have both hands free, let’s see if maybe you do fuck after all.”

  In a quiet but clear voice that any of her students would have recognized as meaning a line had been seriously crossed, she said, “You need to back the hell up and leave. Right now.”

  He didn’t, of course.

  And because he was right in front of her, reaching for her hips, it was the easiest thing in the world to shove her forearm across his throat and grip his shoulder for leverage as she rammed a knee between his legs. She’d caught his wrist with her free hand out of instinct, and as he crumpled, she flipped him over to land face down, pinning him with a knee in the small of his back and his arm twisted into a hammerlock. Adrenaline and satisfaction flowed through her.

  “Ah… what’s going on?” Eamonn’s surprised voice broke into her awareness. She looked around to see him standing in the bathroom doorway, wearing nothing but a peach-colored towel wrapped around his hips.

  She didn’t even try to keep the disgust out of her voice. “This… person showed up with a gift for you, and since I refused his offer of a little something for myself, he seemed to think my only other purpose could be sexual. I warned him to leave. Twice. He didn’t listen.”

  “Well, shit. Donnie, really?”

  Donnie mumbled something but his face was against the carpet, so the words were muffled.

  “Get up,” Nell ordered, exerting a bit of pressure on the arm she still had in a hammerlock to let him know he didn’t have a choice.

  “How was I to know? You’ve always shared your groupies,” Donnie grumbled, resentment plain on his face. Nell felt a surge of fury at that. Her hands tightened on his arm and it took significant willpower not to wrench it higher behind his back as retribution for the words, even though she wasn’t sure where to pinpoint her anger. She glanced at Eamonn and knew she was letting accusation and doubt show on her face, but she didn’t care.

  For a brief moment, the bassist looked older than his years, his expression sad and tired as he said, “You’ve never understood. It was fun, sure, but I gave myself as a gift to them, not the other way around. And groupies aren’t candy bars to be shared — they’re people with free will — they can share their good times with anyone they want. Even you.”<
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  Nell felt her expression softening. Put that way, it didn’t sound so gross, and the whole matter had to be complicated for him after growing up with a groupie mom. That would be something to sort through at another time, when they didn’t have scum for company. “Moving on,” she said, “Donnie apparently has something in his pocket for you. Do you want it?”

  Unbelievably, Eamonn smiled at the question, standing there in nothing but a towel and his tattoos. “Honest answer, Nell? Of course I want it. But I’m going to say no anyway. I promised you I wouldn’t touch the stuff as long as we’re together, and I’m trying to do this integrity thing right.” And there was absolutely no reason the word integrity on his lips should give her a stab of happiness somewhere near her heart, but it did.

  Donnie spat on the carpet. “You’re supposed to be fucking addicted, Ease.”

  Eamonn shrugged. “Wrong again. I guess I’m not wired for addiction; I’ve always been able to walk away from stuff that screws other people up. I like getting high, sure, but I don’t need it.” He looked at Nell, talking to her, not Donnie. “That’s probably why I didn’t take Blade’s problem seriously until it was too late — I figured he could stop if he really wanted to, because I always could.”

  “You heard him.” Nell hauled Donnie around to face the door and let him go, giving him a bit of a push on his way. “Time to leave. I suggest you vanish altogether, before I have to talk to Angel and maybe law enforcement. I don’t want to see you again.”

  Instead of taking the hint, Donnie turned back, scowling. “I’m not scared of you, bitch.”

  Nell took a half-step forward and smiled as he shrank back a little. Big words from a pathetic excuse of a person. “Do I need to put you on the ground again?” she offered, almost hoping he’d give her a reason to do it.

  “Nah, this tour has gotten boring anyway,” Donnie mumbled. “Sad day when all the guys have turned into pussies, but whatever.” This, he said in the kind of undertone that was meant to be overheard.

  “Get out of here, Donnie. Don’t come back,” Eamonn told him.

  Donnie was almost out the door when he turned back a final time. “I don’t get it, man. You lived to party with the boys…” And then, faced with stony glares from both of them and not a fragment of forgiveness, he was gone.

  Eamonn sighed, turning to Nell. “I guess that’s what it looked like to everyone — and I thought I did live to party with them.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful, regretful. Much as she liked looking at him in just the towel, Nell decided it was time for him to either get dressed or get naked, and he didn’t seem in the mood for making out. She grabbed a t-shirt and boxer briefs from his bag, meaning to toss them into his lap — or at his head if that would shake him out of his mood. The expression on his face stopped her, though, and then he kept talking. “I was trying to hold onto something I’d never really had. Like I was reaching for starlight, only to discover I was grasping at a reflection in a puddle in a gutter.” He shook his head. “I should have been looking up. I should have — how didn’t I see? I only needed to do better.”

  “That’s a song, man,” came a deep, raspy voice. Blade stood in the doorway, with Angel beside him. The pair of them looked like darkness and light, Blade in black jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, Angel in a tight white t-shirt and pale faded jeans. “You need to write that down.”

  “Oh, hey, guys,” Eamonn said, standing up and looking down at the towel he still wore. “I, ah, need to get dressed…”

  “No, really, Easy,” Blade said. “Write those lyrics down before you forget. Please? I can feel the chords for them.” He paused, with a hesitant look at the damage he’d done to Eamonn’s face. “If you’d consider writing with us, that is.”

  Eamonn stared at them, sinking back down to sit on the bed with disbelief written in every line of his face and body, and it was Nell who found a hotel notepad and pen on the writing desk and brought it over to him. She saw how his hand shook as he wrote down the words, and realized he didn’t answer Blade because he couldn’t trust his voice not to wobble. “Believe in yourself,” she said softly, for his ears only. “Funny that it’s happening now, after everything, but let it happen.”

  “Equal split of the songwriting credits?” Angel offered, his tone warm and encouraging, when Eamonn held out the scribbled sheet of notepaper for him and Blade to take. “It’s what we always do when we’re writing together — better than arguing over who did how much or what’s creation versus arrangement and production.”

  “I’m confused,” Eamonn muttered. “I thought we were still at the apology part, and now we’re writing together?”

  Blade grimaced. “Fuck, I’m sorry I hit you, man. Still working on my temper.”

  “No — no, I deserved all of that—” Then Eamonn interrupted himself with a glance at Nell and a half-smile. “I mean, I need to learn to duck. But the apology, that’s from me to you. I knew you were getting clean and I… it was selfish and wrong of me to ruin that for you. Been ashamed ever since. I’m sorry.” He said this with such sincerity that Nell felt almost embarrassed to be standing there, witnessing what should perhaps have been a private moment between him and Blade. She looked over at Angel and their eyes met; he looked a bit uncomfortable too, but moving away could break the spell of the moment.

  “It’s okay, Easy. Bygones, and all that.” Blade held out a hand and Eamonn took it. The handshake seemed suspended in time for an instant, everyone in the room holding their breath as the moment of forgiveness and healing took place.

  “Maybe I needed that last blast and the fallout that came from it to really be sure my dance with heroin was over for good,” Blade added, with a little shudder. “We’ll never know. But — did you know Crys and I got engaged the next day?”

  “You what?” Eamonn launched himself to his feet in surprise, then grabbed at the towel that threatened to slide off his hips. “Congratulations! I saw something about that, but figured it was just another bit of Kin’s public engineering.”

  “We have a few things to tell you, I think,” Angel said, with a dry laugh. “Including the part where we severed our ties with Kinney Wicks PR. Come along to my suite when you’re dressed, Easy. It’s number 27, near the other end of the walkway. Bring your bass; we’ll jam a bit before dinner, maybe see what this turns into.” He held up the paper with Eamonn’s lyrics on it. Then he turned to Nell, giving her a kind smile and eye contact to assure her she wasn’t an afterthought. She recognized the professional technique when she saw it; he must have been taught how to make people feel special at meet-and-greets and that sort of thing. “Nell, you’re welcome to join us, or I can have Sally show you around the place and introduce you to some people.”

  Nell smiled. “If Sally isn’t otherwise busy…?” I’m not going to crash the writing session Eamonn’s been dreaming about for years.

  “I’ll send her to find you,” Angel said. Blade nodded — agreement, farewell, or both — and they left, closing the door behind them.

  “I can’t believe it,” Eamonn said. He dropped his towel, flashing her a glimpse of his perfect body, and skinned into the clothes she’d placed near him on the bed. “This isn’t a dream, right?” He seemed so full of excitement and happiness, an eager smile ready to break out like sunshine at any moment as he took a glance in the desk mirror and finger-combed his hair into place. Then he grabbed his instrument case. “You’re okay if I go do this, Nell?”

  “I’m fine. Go!”

  He planted a kiss on her lips, brief but sweet, and whisked out the door, humming to himself.

  He doesn’t need me anymore, she thought. But that was a good thing, wasn’t it? She’d never wanted to be needed. She’d never wanted him to be tied to her. I can just enjoy my vacation now, then I’ll go back home and sort my real life out.

  “Got a bathing suit?” Sally asked, leaning against the doorway.

  “I
do.” This time, Nell added in her mind with an inward grin, remembering the hot tub at Champagne Cascades. Not that the suit looked much different from her underwear, to be honest — a practical, athletic two-piece that wouldn’t come adrift if a person actually swam in it, almost solid black except for a tiny dash of scarlet trim. “But I’ve got a fresh tattoo on my shoulder, and I think swimming was on the list of things to avoid.”

  Sally nodded. “How fresh? Do you still have Saniderm or Dermalize or something covering it?”

  “Two days ago, and yes.”

  “Right. So, you shouldn’t, like, completely submerge it, but the plastic film will keep any splashes out if you want to come sit in the shallow end and cool off with us. That’s all we’re doing, anyway — Crys is too pregnant for anything active, and the heat’s killing her, so we’re doing a fair bit of hanging out in the pool.”

  Oh, the pregnant one who looks too young and sweet to be here. “That’s Blade’s girlfriend?”

  “Yep, and you’ll want to meet the rest of the Smidgettes too — we have more female crew than most tours, which might be because I’ve been involved in the hiring part.” Sally laughed, a full-blown peal of someone enjoying life. “We have fun. Come on, put your suit on and let’s head down.”

  The pool was every bit as beautiful up close as it had been on first impressions, very clean and well-maintained. One end had wide, shallow steps leading down into the water — perfect for sitting to cool off and chat — and three women were already there, enjoying the pool, deep in conversation. Nell wondered what their jobs were; one wore an athletic bathing suit a lot like hers and had a boyish haircut and more piercings than Blade, another had artful pink and purple streaks in her hair and a tiny lime-green bikini, and the third, in a British flag bikini, looked more like a secretary or something from the neck up but had a massive tattoo across most of her back. They looked over as she and Sally approached, and Nell clearly heard, “Is that her?” carry across the water, though she wasn’t sure which one had said it because they were all talking at once, and it was jumbled up with “Come on, Sal,” and “Hey, there.”