Rock Rebel

by Tara Leigh

  My body was ruled by the cavern deep inside of me. Everything else was blank, a bright white void.

  Was this how Dax felt? How I made him feel?

  Weak and powerful. Desperate and determined. Breathless and bursting with life.

  I gathered the duvet into my fists, needing to hold on to something, anything, before I was lost entirely. Because there was darkness, too. A place Dax was taking me to, pushing me to.

  Mercilessly.

  My heart was pounding, terrified of making the jump, not knowing if I would soar or sink, destroyed by the fall. “Dax, Dax, Dax.” His name was a whimper, a whine, a wail. Just the one syllable, over and over and over.

  Darkness came for me anyway, rolling over me so suddenly I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t see. But it was accompanied by an explosion of pleasure that burned me up from the inside out, hot and bright, leaving nothing but charred remains behind after it devoured all the oxygen in my veins.

  Never more alive.

  Dax’s head shifted, the weight of it pressing on my stomach. I reached for him, my fingers running through the mess I’d already made of his hair. Feeling empty and full at the same time. Limbless and exultant. I hadn’t crashed.

  I’d soared.

  And it was fucking amazing.

  So when Dax bit down on my hip, unleashing a string of guttural curses, I thought he was in the same headspace, on the same mental plane. As overwhelmed and awed as I was.

  He wasn’t.

  Dax pushed off me, not meeting my eyes, although the look of fury on his face was easy to read from his profile. Only a minute ago I’d luxuriated in my nakedness, but now I pulled the end of the duvet over me, wanting to hide my body as he yanked his pants on, gathering everything else in his hands—shirt, shoes, belt. “Dax…?” The tone of my voice was entirely different than it had been a minute ago, too. High and thready. Hesitant.

  “This was a mistake. A huge mistake.” His eyes flashed, all darkness, like polished onyx. “Fuck!”

  I shivered from the coldness in his voice, in his face. “I don’t—I don’t understand. Please, talk to me.” I hated the way I sounded. Weak. Desperate.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I did talk. I told you this was wrong. That we were wrong.”

  “There was nothing wrong with what we just did, Dax. Nothing.”

  Was I saying it for his benefit, or mine?

  Dax stilled, the faintest bit of sadness stealing over his features. “It was all kinds of wrong. I’m sorry, Verity.”

  What did he need from me? How could I convince Dax that he was wrong? That we were nothing but right. Or at least, more right than wrong. A lot more. Words bubbled up in the back of my throat, but I swallowed them down. I would do just about anything for this man.

  But I was no one’s beggar.

  Not for him. Not for anyone.

  And just knowing that—that there was a line I wouldn’t cross, that I was strong enough to hang on to the tattered remnants of my pride rather than let Dax take it with him—assured me I would be fine. With or without Dax.

  I had my voice. I had a kick-ass agent. I had an upcoming album and a tour.

  It was a hell of a lot more than I had a few months ago.

  I didn’t need a man just for the sake of having one. If Dax didn’t want me, then he didn’t deserve me.

  But I couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “For a tough guy, you sure are afraid of taking a risk.”

  He walked to the door, pausing at the molding. “You’re right. I am.” After a moment he turned back to face me again. “Verity, you’re just hitting your stride, with everything ahead of you. I’m at the top of my game, with everything to lose. We share an agent, a label, and soon we’ll be sharing a stage. If things go south, who do you think will get cut loose?” His stare turned sad, his words a warning. “Don’t waste your second chance on me. I’m not worth it.”

  With a parting rap on the door, he walked through it, his softly plodding footfalls on the stairs a mournful salute.

  The quiet close of the front door was a boom that ricocheted inside my chest. I rubbed at the ache, knowing there would be no bruise, no broken bones. The kind of wound Dax inflicted, it didn’t leave a scar.

  Because it wasn’t the kind that healed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dax

  Guilt ran over me with the subtlety of an oil slick. Clogging my pores, blinding my eyes. I felt it in my ears and mouth. Tasted it on my lips.

  Vandalizing the entire fucking night.

  Everything I’d just done with Verity. Everything.

  I tore at my clothes the second I got back to my house, leaving a trail of them on my way to the shower. Setting the temperature as hot as it would go, I sucked in steam like it could break up the thick knot of desperation trapped inside my throat. Wet heat pounded my tense muscles as I coughed and yelled, lathering soap and shampoo until I was covered in a thick white film, tugging and twisting at my hair.

  But as the suds ran down the drain, I didn’t feel any less dirty. Not one goddamn bit.

  I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist, staring at the fogged-up mirror. Seeing only Verity’s face when I called what we’d done a mistake.

  I never wanted to hurt her.

  But I had. I had.

  And Verity’s hurt…It was fucking killing me.

  Earlier, with her thighs trembling against my neck, her satin skin pressing tight against my ears, tasting the potent sweetness of her on my tongue, I’d reveled in the moment. She was with me and I was with her and everything was fucking perfect. And then—

  The pure joy of it had flipped.

  Right became wrong.

  Until all I could feel was loss.

  The soul-shattering pain of losing a woman who was threaded into every atom of my existence.

  So I made it happen. Before I could lose Verity, I made myself give her up.

  And now…sitting here, alone in my house, the arrogance of it was astounding. Appalling.

  I was a coward flaunting my fears like a crown, tripping over a pretend throne.

  I grabbed my phone from my discarded pants, swiping a thumb over the screen. Shane answered on the third ring, his tone alarmed. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Everything’s fine. I just have a question,” I said quickly.

  He exhaled a relieved sigh. Late-night phone calls were hard for Shane. “Sure.”

  “You and Delaney, you had your ups and downs, right?”

  I heard him mumble something that sounded like “be right back,” then, “Fuck yeah. We were a goddamn mess.”

  “What made you decide to go for it? To clean up your shit and go for it?”

  There was a pause, and I could tell Shane had moved outside, as I had. His Malibu beach house was just north of here, but we were staring out at the same ocean. “Well, I have my brother to thank for that. After I let Delaney go, too lost in my own head to see straight, Gavin called me, completely disgusted with me. And he said two words that changed my life. ‘Choose happy.’”

  “Choose happy,” I repeated, feeling disappointed. It sounded like a cheesy bumper sticker.

  “Yeah.” Shane laughed. “I would have expected more from my brother’s brilliant legal mind, too. Turns out, it’s so simple it is brilliant. You make a million choices every day, right? What to eat, when to sleep, what to say, when and where and who to fuck. Why not make the choice to be fucking happy?”

  My mind was trying to process the concept. “Because happiness isn’t a choice; it’s a state of mind.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Once the basics are covered—food, clothing, shelter, blah, blah, blah—the rest is pretty cut-and-dried. Just choose happy, man.”

  Verity

  “Verity? What on earth are you doing in here?”

  I squeezed my eyes tightly at the explosion of bright light, quickly slapping a hand over my face and ducking beneath t
he covers. “Mom?” My voice was hoarse from all the tears I hadn’t let myself shed, although judging from the dampness of my pillow, I’d cried buckets in my sleep.

  “Don’t sound so surprised. What did you think would happen when I heard all about your new song, your new project? Did you think I would just let you humiliate me? That I would roll over and play dead, while you and your hotshot Hollywood agent destroyed everything I built?”

  I’d expected a confrontation with my mother, but I thought it would be preceded by a phone call or some sort of warning before she returned to L.A.

  I should have known better.

  Her heels stabbed at the carpet as she walked across the room, and I braced myself as she yanked at the duvet. “You are going to call that man right now and tell him you made a terrible mistake. I am your manager and agent. Me. I am your mother. You can’t just throw me away like yesterday’s news.”

  Blinking rapidly, I tried to get my pupils to retract. When they did, and I could finally see, I took in my mother’s flushed skin, the furious pink patches on her cheeks obvious even through her fake tan, the scowl no amount of Botox could mask. “I’m not throwing you away. But I’m not making that phone call.”

  “You most certainly are. Because you are not going on some tour with a rock band. Honestly, Verity. I just don’t understand what you’re thinking.”

  I yanked the duvet from her hands and tucked it beneath my arms. “No, I’m not. And I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that I’m almost twenty-five years old and it’s about time I took control of my own career. If you want to discuss this, we can. Preferably after I get dressed.” What I really wanted was a few minutes to clear the cobwebs from my mind and wash the streaks of makeup from my face so she wasn’t speaking to a sluggish raccoon.

  My mother’s jaw sagged for a moment before she snapped it shut and stalked from the room.

  I had just sat up when she reappeared in the doorway, looking at me as if I’d suddenly grown horns. “I really can’t believe this is up for discussion at all. Do you know how much I sacrificed to make you a star? And this is the way you repay me?”

  I knew exactly what my mother had sacrificed—because it had been my sacrifice.

  My childhood.

  My innocence.

  My trust.

  “Repay you? What more do you want from me? This house is in your name. The car I drive is in your name. Every one of my bank accounts has your name on it.”

  “You were a child actor, Verity. Of course everything is in my name.”

  “Were. Past tense. I haven’t been a child in a long time. Travis Taggert takes a percentage of my income; the rest is mine. When did you ever do that?”

  “So this is about money? You’ve kicked your own mother to the curb for a few more dollars?”

  “No. I wanted to shift from acting to music. To make albums that reflect who I am as an artist—”

  “Pfft. Artist.” She spat the word like an insult. “Is that what Taylor promised you? That you could be an artist?”

  “Travis. Travis Taggert. And yes, that’s exactly what he promised me. He’s delivered on it, too.”

  She crossed her arms. “Really? You are the opening act on someone else’s tour, Verity. Have you forgotten that I got you the starring role in a nationally syndicated television show? I’m hardly impressed, and you shouldn’t be either.”

  I didn’t need to be reminded what it took to earn my role on The Show. I would have given anything to forget it. “Well, that’s too bad. But you’re entitled to your opinion, and I’m entitled to mine.”

  Her stare turned cold. “If that’s the way you feel, I want you out of my house.”

  I laughed at the absurdity of her demand, but her frown only deepened. The laugh died in my throat, disintegrating into a bitter coating of ash. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Like you said, this house is in my name.”

  “Bought with money I earned.”

  She shrugged. “Who’s to say it wasn’t bought from my cut as your manager?”

  “You know what, fine.” I leapt from the bed—naked—my shoulder brushing hers as I passed by on the way to my bedroom. Well, not mine anymore. Apparently it never was. “If this is how you want it, I’m out.”

  I closed the door, using all the restraint I had not to slam it behind me. Although I’d intended to get dressed and leave, one look in the mirror was all the proof I needed to take a shower first. I turned my face into the water, the stream pelting my swollen eyes and mascara-streaked cheeks, erasing the last taste of Dax from my lips. Before I could sink too deeply in my mess of a mind, I opened bottle after bottle. Soap, body wash, shampoo, conditioner. Rubbing the contents into my hair and skin, rinsing them down the drain.

  All the while expecting a knock on the door. Not an outright apology. I’d never get one of those. But maybe just an “It’s late. Go to bed. We’ll discuss everything in the morning.”

  There was no knock while I was in the shower.

  There was no knock while I dressed and packed a small bag.

  There was no knock when I decided to blow-dry my hair.

  I would have put on makeup, just to kill time, but my skin was tender to the touch and I didn’t want to look in the mirror and see Verity Moore—Hollywood creation. Not when I felt like a little girl inside, dangerously close to severing the last fragile tie I had to my mother. We weren’t close, true, and Janet Moore would never be a candidate for Mother of the Year.

  But she was all the family I had.

  Err on the side of forgiveness.

  It was one of my grandmother’s favorite expressions. Easy to say, difficult to practice. When dealing with my mother, it had become something of a mantra. With a heavy sigh, I dropped my bag in the hallway and knocked once on the door to the bedroom my mother used when she was in L.A. before opening it. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze expectant.

  “Mom, I don’t want to fight with you. I really don’t. I’m excited about the direction I’m headed in, and I wish you were, too.”

  “What direction? You’re an actress, not a singer.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re the one who wanted to be an actress. And when it didn’t work out for you, you decided I would be. I love singing. I’ve always wanted—”

  “Oh please.” She shot me down with a disparaging shake of her head. “You have no idea what you want.”

  “Stop. Just stop. I do know what I want…but you’ve never cared.” I paused for a moment. “I think this will be good for us. I do. Maybe we can actually figure out how to have a mother-daughter relationship, rather than a working one. I’m sure you’ve heard what people are saying about Jack, what they think I’m saying about him in ‘Bombshell Rebel…’”

  “It’s sick, Verity. Absolutely disgusting. And I’m embarrassed that you’re not jumping to his d—”

  “I wish I could defend him. I really do. But it’s true. He and Millie—”

  Her eyes narrowed. “They did no such thing, Verity. I was there. I would know.”

  “You weren’t there, not in the room with us.” My voice was a choked whisper.

  But my mother’s lips were set in a hard line. “How dare you, Verity? If you do this, make these accusations, move forward with another manager, we won’t have a relationship at all.”

  My throat tightened. I couldn’t have said another word if I wanted to. But apparently, I didn’t need to. There was nothing left to say. I stepped back into the hall and picked up my bag.

  I wasn’t quiet on the stairs, the zipper of my bag ping, ping, pinging on each rail of the banister. And I wasn’t quiet when I went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, purposely bumping into a barstool, the legs dragging across the tile floor.

  But the silence from my mother was deafening.

  With one last glance upstairs, I walked out the front door and down the driveway. The keys to the Range Rover were in the car, but if my mother w
as kicking me out of the house, it wasn’t a stretch to assume that she would claim the car as hers, too. I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of calling me a thief.

  Travis had assured me he would get control of the assets my mother had claimed as her own…as soon as I decided how badly I wanted to fight for them. Legal battles weren’t only pricey—they were public.

  In the cul-de-sac of my gated community, there was a landscaped clearing with a gazebo. I headed there, considering my options. I could call an Uber and check into a hotel, but the chances of the driver or front-desk attendant phoning in a tip to a gossip site was high. I could call Piper, but she was pregnant and I didn’t want to wake her. And if I called Travis, he would just call Piper.

  I had made a few friends on The Show, but I hadn’t spoken to any of them since the series ended. And none of the people I used to party with had been worth keeping in touch with.

  Laughter bubbled up from deep in my throat, a bitter gurgle that reverberated within the small enclosure. Not long ago I’d felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Like my life was finally falling into place and I had everything I’d ever wanted.

  Wrong.

  I had nothing.

  It was a trick of light, a sleight of hand.

  I didn’t have a home or a car. Or a mother to whom I meant more than a paycheck.

  Pulling out my phone, I saw I hadn’t slept nearly as long as I thought. Dax had left only an hour ago, maybe two. It felt like a different decade.

  Don’t think about him. Not now. You can’t afford to fall apart.

  Scrolling through my contacts with trembling fingers, I realized that I didn’t have a single friend in this town who wasn’t on my payroll. Not one.

  When it vibrated in my hands, the screen flashing with Dax’s name, I was so surprised I automatically accepted the call.

  Damn it. I had nothing to say to him. Nothing.

  “Verity, I—fuck—I’m sorry for—” There was a clatter on the line, as if he’d dropped the phone. “I don’t even know what to say. My head is a fucking mess and…God, I have a lot to explain—”