Dangerous Hearts: Rock Star Romance, 1 (Lyric & Wolf) (2 page)

Lyric,
15
years
old

“Lyric,
stop!”

My dad’s calling, but it’s too late. I’m
already running to my hiding place
—
a dark
corner beneath the stairwell fitted with a single couch. I fall onto a blue and
white checkered cushion. It
releas
es
a hefty poof of dust as a heaving sob bubbles up my
throat.

I should have known it would come to
this. The last three years have been too perfect.
Too .
 . .
normal. Life is safer on the road where instability is expected.

This is what betrayal feels like. Like
someone threw my heart in the blender and set it on a slow grind. My daddy just
mutilated my heart. And I apparently watch too many horror films.

“Are you okay?”

I jump and swivel to face the strange
voice, but there’s an echo and I’m not sure where to look. My heart rate spikes
and my nails dig into the ratty seat that once provided comfort.

“Up here,” he calls.

I look up. There’s an outline of a face peering
back at me between the stairs. Someone is there. Watching me. Listening to me.

I should be scared.

“What are you doing here?” I call out angrily.
“No one is allowed back here.”

The boy chuckles. “Well, then you know
why I’m here. I’m a rebel. And so are you.”

“Are you here for the show?” Of course
he’s here for the show. He must be. Though I’m not sure how he managed to sneak
backstage. Security at the Aragon is tighter than most venues I’ve been to.

“Not really. You?”

“Not really,” I mimic. Of course I’m here
for the show. I’m
always
here for the
shows. I practically live here, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“If you’re done crying, you can come with
me.”

That
was rude.
“Where are you
going?” He may have
piqued
my interest, but I don’t
hide my distrust.

“It’s a surprise. Come up here and I’ll
show you.”

Isn’t that what the serial murderers say
before they lock their victims up and torture them slowly? My heart is
pounding. It’s fear, beating itself out of me, screaming for me to run and find
my dad.

“Who are you?”

“I’m someone who is about to blow your
mind and make you forget whatever it was you were just crying about. See, I
already have, haven’t I?”

There’s a tug at the corner of my lips.
The boy is arrogant, that’s for sure.

I
get up from
the
couch.

I reach the stairs and the boy’s there,
still blanketed in darkness, but a dim light from above illuminates his face. He
appears to be my age. And he’s smiling. Or maybe he’s smirking. His eyes are
kind. His features seem to be soft, but the fauxhawk gives him an edge.

There’s something about him—something
that reminds me
of .
 . . me. There’s
loneliness there, behind his rough edges. Maybe some anger too.

“Well,” I say to him with an exaggerated
shrug. “What is this surprise?”

He extends a hand
,
never lifting his eyes from mine and I look down at it. Stare at it,
conflicted. This is beyond strange, but it excites me, and for that awful
,
stupid reason alone, I place my hand in his.

He turns and leads me up the stairs and
opens the door with a key. Sounds of the city blast us as he steps outside, his
back holding the door open. Adrenaline takes over my body. It pushes me forward
and ignores every warning that’s screaming from my subconscious.

“How did you get that?” I gesture to the
key in his hand, unsure if he can hear
the
shakiness in my
voice with the blend of night
traffic.

“I stole it.”

At least he’s honest.

He never
lets
go
of my hand. The door slams behind us. We have to step around the wall to see
the rest of the space, and then we’re walking to the edge of the roof. I tug on
his hand, silently letting him know this is as far as I want to go, but he
pulls me forward. “Come on.”

I think my heart might just be pumping
hard enough to push its way out my throat. I can’t do heights. My feet become
heavy, and when we’re a few feet from the edge, they stop moving completely.
The boy turns to face me, a look of admonishment on his face at my resistance.

And then he sees me. Recognizes my fear.
I watch as the rough edges of his features soften once more. He steps closer. When
he wraps his arms around me, his warmth surprises me. The boy is caring, and
the heart beating against the walls of his chest is loud. Strong. Good.

I’m shaking in his arms, but it’s no
longer because we’re near the edge of the roof. “Geez, girl. Okay, okay, no
pressure.”

After a few seconds, my breathing returns
to normal
,
but I don’t pull away
.
I'm
too afraid to
see how close we are to the edge. As if reading my mind, he pulls me toward the
center of the rooftop and releases me. We sit fac
ing
each other. My face is flushed
, but
i
t’s dark enough
that I
don’t think he can see it. The moonlight casts a faint glow on us both,
illuminating more of our features.

He’s giving me a curious look now. “Are
you afraid of heights?” I nod. “Okay.” He draws the word out, thinking. “Do you
want to tell me why you were crying down there?”

For a second, my thoughts collide into
each other, and I’m unsure what I really want to tell him. And then I decide
that he’s been fairly nice up until this point
,
and I can’t seem to forget the warmth of his hold, so I tell him the truth. He
may be the only person I’ve ever confided in, but why not talk to a stranger if
I’m going to talk to anyone at all? He can judge me all he wants, and I never
have to see him again.

“My dad is sending me to live with my
mother.”

“And you don’t like her.”

It’s not a question, and I don’t intend
to answer it anyway.

“I like it here.”

“I don’t blame you.”

It’s hard not to look at him. Now that
I’m allowing myself to steal longer glances, I can see that he’s cute.
Definitely boyfriend material in the face. Still figuring out the personality,
though.

“How did you know you could get up here,
anyway? I know the hidden spaces of this place better than anyone, but I’ve had
three years to explore.” I narrow my eyes at him
—
as
if that will do anything. He’s already lured me up here and become familiar
with too many of my weaknesses.

He shrugs. “I pay attention.” A grin
emerges through his tough expression. He’s breaking. “I saw some guy up here
earlier today when we arrived, so I knew it was possible, and it didn’t take me
long to find a spare key.”

I can’t help it. I laugh, then lean back
on my hands, tilting my head at him. “I think I like you.”

His raised eyebrow gives him away. He’s
reading way too much into that. “No, no,” I backpedal. “I just mean you were a
little creepy when I first met you. You know, voice in the shadows and all. But
you’re
kind of cool. And I like your hair.”

He grins. “Thanks.”

I laugh again, this time nervously.
I like your face, too
.

“How old are you, anyway?” I ask.

“Fifteen. You?”

“Same. You’re not from here.”

He shrugs. “My mom lives in California,
my dad is from here, so it’s easier to say I’m from all over. I don’t like to
claim home to any one space.”

I frown because that’s exactly how I’d
prefer to be. It beats the reality I’m facing now. I’m about to leave a home
that I love. The only place I could ever think to call home. And I may have
just found someone who understands enough to talk to about it.

“One day we won’t need our parents,” he
says.

The words are few, but heavy. “What?”

“If it helps the pain, just remember
that. Remember that one day, you’ll be on your own anyway
,
and there’s nothing they can do or say to hurt
you. You’re living this life for you, not them.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t resolve how
lost I already feel by the thought of moving and not being with my father. We
were happy here. At least, I
was
happy here.

I want to ask the boy why
he’s
here. Why he seems angry. Where he
lives in California. The questions are ready and I have so many of them. But
I’m distracted as I track his movements. He’s moving closer until his legs are
pressed against mine, his face so close, and all words become a jumble on the
tip of my tongue.

“
You’re
kind of
pretty,” he says. He’s examining me as if I’m an abstract piece of art.

I think I stop breathing, but just for a
second, because there’s a commotion at the entrance to the roof. A bang of a
door opening and crashing against the wall. It startles us apart.

My dad’s voice booms through the air, a
hint of panic in his voice. “Pumpkin, are you up here?”

“I’m here,” I call out in a rush and
stand, giving the boy one fleeting glance as I run. “Coming,
D
ad.”

My dad has his hand on the open rooftop
door when I round the edge of the wall, and his expression is more concerned
and curious than anything. He rarely gets angry, and he never gets angry at me.
“How did you get up here?”

 
“
Uh .
 . .
I—the door was open.”

My dad wraps his arms around me the
moment it sinks in that I’m safe. “I’m sorry,
p
umpkin.
I know you’re upset, but you can’t be up here alone. Go home and get some
sleep. We’ll talk about the arrangements in the morning, okay?”

The
arrangements
. My stomach
churns, but I nod. I won’t let him see me cry. “Okay.”

He shuts the door behind us and we make
our way down the steps. As my dad ushers me out of the venue and into a taxi, I
look up to the roof one last time. The boy is there, wearing the same expression
I left him with. Hope.