Hard Rock Roots Box Set (103 page)

“But that's not good enough,” I say, and I try not to grit my teeth. I move back another step and stab my cigarette into a glass ashtray. “Because you want Turner Campbell. Because fucking everybody and their grandma wants Turner motherfucking Campbell.” I pretend I don't see Hayden tilting her head, hazelnut hair spilling over her shoulder. I don't want her to look at me right now, watch me be shot down. This a moment nobody should have to see.

“I want fire, Dax,” she says, and her voice gets breathy. Naomi is in so deep it's not even funny. If Turner breaks her heart … I squeeze my fists at my sides. No, not
if.
When. When he breaks her heart.
Fuuuuuuuck.
“I want flame. I want to be engulfed and burned alive.”

“Sounds fucking pleasant,” I say, and I don't look at her. I won't look at her. Not right now. My nerves are shot; I feel like a fallen angel about to approach the gates of Heaven. Today is my second judgment day. I failed before, but here I am again, ready to receive the disdain, the anger, the pain.

“I like you, Dax, but I don't … I can't move on with my life if I don't at least give this a try. Turner … I love him.” Naomi chokes on the words, but it doesn't matter. They sting me so deep, I feel like I've got internal bleeding. My mouth goes dry and my whole body threatens to topple over. I spin around and put my hands on the edge of a table filled with water bottles. “I hope this doesn't fuck up our friendship, Dax. I still care about you.” I try to summon some words to my lips, but nothing will come out. What am I supposed to say to that anyway?

“Why don't you fuck off and leave him alone,
Naomi
?” Hayden growls, coming up behind me and rubbing her body along my back. I don't need her to fight my battles for me, but I don't have the energy to say anything. I knew this was coming, really. I did. But, man, Naomi's timing fucking sucks.

“Why don't you let him speak for himself, you stupid, anorexic bitch?” Naomi snarls, and then there's a sudden draft of air behind me as she yanks Hayden away from me and shoves her into a roadie with an armful of sweaty towels. A fight breaks out as I turn around and try to step between them, but America is already there, yanking Naomi back by the waistband and using her sling as a barrier between the two girls.

“Self-control, please. I realize it's a difficult thing for you ladies, but keep in mind that there are more important things to worry about than fighting over Mr. McCann here.” America gives Naomi a pressing look and drops her hands by her sides.

I purse my lips and push the surge of anger back, squeezing my fists so tight that it feels like the bones in my fingers are going to break. This is such
crap.
Fuck. Want me to be emo? Shit, man, I fucking
hate
my life right now. I look at Hayden, panting, eyes wide, gold shirt sparkling weakly in the dim light, and then I glance over at Naomi, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear and scowling. Two women, two completely different personalities, wants, needs, fears. They're both fighting over me yet neither of them really wants me.
Depressing.

“Let it go,” I whisper, staring between them, catching the stares of the staff from the corner of my eye. These aren't our usual people. Most of the folks back here belong to the magazine, LMTV, or that rocker website, the one that's famous for comparing every album they review to a recreational drug. And some of them are writing things down, not at all discreetly. Whatever we do back here is going to become public. This isn't our tour, taking place behind locked gates and in the backs of buses with tinted windows. Our dirty laundry's out in the open now. I sigh.
As long as they don't ask us to do a reality show. Dear God, please don't let that happen.
If somebody offered, America would jump on that faster than Turner Campbell on a hot, young roadie. “Just remember,” I say as Naomi rolls her eyes and Hayden lifts her chin defiantly. “Everything you do is being watched.” I whisper this last part and move away towards the curtains, peeping out to check on the progress onstage. It's dark as hell out there, but in the dim lighting I can just barely make out the lines of my kit. It's almost time. We are
this
close to the biggest day of our lives.

And here I am praying that nobody I know sees it.

How did I even get to this point? I close my eyes and slump sideways against the wall. My mind keeps recycling Naomi's words over and over again, no matter how hard I try to block them out. Even through the nerves and the anxiety, it hurts like hell.
I want fire, Dax.
I sway on my feet and listen to the ache of my body, the throbbing soreness of my bones. That tornado really fucked me hard, left me lying on my back on the pavement wondering what the hell my purpose in life was. I was there dying for a woman who barely sees me, a friend I wish could be more but never will be.

I wish love was like a faucet, something you could turn on and off at will. I'd switch my flow away from Naomi, from my father. I touch my fingers to my face, wishing I was wearing gloves on my hands. They feel naked without them, raw, like everything I touch is twice as rough as it should be. I press against the bruise on my cheek gently and decide that the pain level has dropped from
hurts like a motherfucking bitch from hell
to simply
hurts like a bitch.
A definite upgrade.

“Are you alright?” Blair asks, coming up close and whispering so nobody else can hear. We've been friends since elementary school, so I know she knows me just as well as I know her. No point in bullshitting.

“I'm lonely,” I whisper back because I know Blair understands how that feels. But at least she has a family that loves her, that cares. They might be a thousand miles away from here, but they're there and they don't hate her guts. But then, that's not the kind of lonely Blair is. She's desperate to find that other half, the one person out there in the universe that understands her. I get it.

“
It is strange to be known so universally and yet to be so lonely,
” Blair quotes and then grins. “Einstein,” she says, and I smile. “Don't be so down in the dirt, Dax. Things'll get better, they will.” She pats my arm gently and then reaches down to adjust the waistband of her designer jeans. They don't look right on her, not at all. Whoever styled Blair today either completely misread her or wanted to rebrand her in a different light. Blair Ashton likes to wear clothing fished from the bottom of clearance bins, torn up and sewn back together, mixed with fabric scraps she's up-cycled from God knows where. “Naomi's in a hard place right now. Things are … complicated.”

“I've been after her for a year, and she's only just now noticed. Now, after she started getting mixed up with Turner Campbell. I have the worst luck, don't I?”

“At least you're standing all by yourself today,” Blair jokes, reminding me that just a few days ago, I could barely walk. I can't say I'm completely healed, but a handful of Vicodin goes a long way. I stand up straight and flex my bicep, proud to see that I've actually got a good amount of muscle there. Drumming is no easy task; I've built up quite the arsenal from playing my instrument. That, and I make an effort to work out at least three times a week. The zombie tattoo on my arm shifts as I roll my shoulders out and try to work the kinks from my bones. Being this sore all the time blows. My body tenses all on its own, without my even knowing it, and I end up with these cramps and aching bones to match the bruises. No fun at all.

“At least there's that,” I say with another smile, sliding my hands down into the pockets of my black jeans. “Almost makes up for getting shot down.” Blair's eyes widen, her white feather eyelashes fluttering gently against her forehead.

“She didn't?” I laugh. It's not a nice laugh, but at least there's some sound coming out of my throat. My chest feels so tight, it doesn't seem like I should be able to talk. “That bitch!” Blair whispers, glancing over her shoulder. Naomi's looking this way, so maybe she knows we're talking about her. Oh well. “What did she say?”

“She wants to be engulfed in flame. I'm a nice guy, but you know.”

“Turner,” Blair supplies with a sigh.

“Turner,” I say and we both turn to look at Naomi then. She flips us the bird and spins away. “But I could kill a girl with my kiss. She did say that.” Blair looks back at me, flipping some of her hair over one shoulder. One of her dark brows raises in question. “Want to die?” I ask in my most horrible Dracula imitation. “Want to live
forever?
” I grab Blair by the cheeks and press a chaste kiss against her lips.

“Ugh, gross,” she growls, shoving me back and wiping her mouth on her forearm. “Now that is disgusting. No wonder she turned your ass down.” I laugh again, and this time, it's a little more me, a little more real. I wish I felt something with Blair, some spark, some …
magic.
But I don't. Naomi is the only woman that's ever been able to stir my heart and my crotch at the same time. I suppose that eventually I'll have to move on. I look back over at her again and catch a glimpse of her throat moving carefully, water sluicing between her lips as she downs a water bottle. My dick immediately rises to the occasion, and I groan, dropping my hands down to hide the rising bulge.
Eventually.
But not yet. Naomi still has my heart, and she'll continue to own it until I figure out a way to get it back.

“Careful there, Mr. McCann, you might put an eye out.” America smirks at me and then snaps her fingers, turning around and backing towards the curtain, drawing the attention of everyone in Amatory Riot. It's like a flip switches then. Naomi drops her water bottle by her side, Wren sits up and opens his eyes, and Kash puts his phone down. Blair and I exchange a glance and turn to face her fully while Hayden moves up beside us.

Oh crap. Oh motherloving crap. This is it. This is it, right here.

I do my best not to let my dad's voice filter in through my gray matter, but there it is, a haunting plague, a shrouding pall, always overhanging me, always stifling me.
Enjoy your brief moment in the spotlight, boy. When it moves on and you're left in the dark, you'll come crawling back to me. I'm sure of it.
I swallow hard and squeeze my hands at my sides, trying to relieve some of the stress that's just come crashing back into me like a freight train. On the bright side, my erection is completely and utterly erased. I adjust my belt and listen carefully, keeping my hands away from my hair. The stylist put so much gel in it that it, at least, is stiff as a board.

“Listen up,” America says, her blonde hair coiffed and perfect, her suit pressed and styled just so. She looks like the president of a first world nation, one seriously bent on destruction.
Team America, fuck yeah,
I think and try not to smile. Sometimes, when I get really nervous, I get goofy. It's a pretty shitty tic to deal with. Try making
Sesame Street
jokes at a funeral. You see what I mean? “We're following Indecency, not an easy act to compete with.” Her smile gets tight and her teeth shimmer white as fresh snow. “You can thank Naomi for that, for setting the bar
here.
” America levels her hand above her forehead, catching her gaze on each and every one of us. “So we need to be here.” She raises it up a couple of inches. “Indecency is good, epic even, but that doesn't mean we can't be. In the world of music, you're only as good as your last live show. Make this one count. And remember, if you guys suck tonight, we can't market this concert as a DVD/Blu-ray package.”

Naomi groans, but Hayden smiles, scooting over and leaning her forehead against my arm.

“Tell me I can do this, Dax,” she whispers, but I don't know what to say to her because I'm not even sure if
I
can do this. I pull Hayden into a small half-hug anyway and pretend nobody's watching. They don't know the things I know, why she does what she does, but I do. I do and that's why I slept with her. Because I felt sorry for her. I feel horrible, but I can't say it's because I love her; I don't. Well, not like that. I mean, I do love Hayden, but not the way I love Naomi. Hayden doesn't make my mouth dry or my body ache, but I care what happens to her.

“You can do this,” I respond automatically. “You can because you have to.”
You can because your daughter is counting on you to make it happen.

“
Oh, beg for this body, baby,
” Hayden growls as she pushes between the curtains, transforming right before my eyes. She turns from an insecure, frightened girl to a powerful woman. Her hair changes from mousy brown to chocolate, burning bright under the spotlight as it trails across the stage. The gold shirt she's wearing reflects across the darkness like a disco ball while Hayden sways her hips and bends low, breathing into the microphone. Beside me, Naomi sighs begrudgingly. No matter how anybody feels about Hayden, they have to give her credit for being able to put on a good show. And her voice onstage is pure magic. She might not be a Turner Campbell or even a Naomi Knox, but she has fans that adore her. “Can I get some love?” she asks, pouting out her lips, putting her hand on her skinny hip.