My Rock #4 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #4) (3 page)

I got the coke cut down and then I made a line. I
had to go dig through the kitchen drawers to find a straw, and when I finally
did, I cut it in half. When I sat back down at the table, my phone buzzed.
Shit! I looked at it; it was a text from
Elly
.

“Please
don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’m here for you if you need me.”

Such a fucking Pollyanna! She thought she has a clue
what I was going through. She had no idea. I heard her talking to her mother on
the phone. Her mom sounded like fucking Carol Brady. Anyone raised like that
couldn’t possibly understand. She probably smoked a joint or two and panicked
and then checked herself into rehab. I would have bet she was never really
addicted to anything in her life.

Shit! I slammed my hand down on the table and the
line I’d just painstakingly created was suddenly all over the place. I hated that
shit. I couldn’t keep doing it…letting shit control me. I was not that fucking
weak. I was not the kind of pussy who couldn’t live or think or be creative
without a crutch. It wasn’t about
Elly
and what she
wanted, or that fucking show and what those people wanted; it was about me and
what I needed. I picked up the mirror and the vial and the baggie of weed and
took them into the bathroom. I flushed it all and threw the mirror into the trashcan.

I looked at myself in the mirror then. My eyes were
sunken and my face was really thin. I hadn’t been able to eat; I always felt
sick to my stomach. I was a fucking mess.
Shit!
I slammed my hand into the mirror on the wall.

“
Ow
! Fuck!” I yelled that
out as my knuckles made contact, but afterwards, it actually made me feel better
to focus on how bad that hurt as the blood oozed out of it and ran down my
wrist. I just stood there and let it bleed and throb for a while. Finally,
after making a bloody mess of the bathroom, I went into my room and got a
bandana out of the drawer. I wrapped my hand up to stop the bleeding and
wondered what the hell to do. I could go buy some bleach…

CHAPTER
FOUR

ELLY

I got to work a couple of hours before the results show
started. I had to set up, but also, I had to admit that I was hoping Tristan was
planning to come in early to talk to me. I may have been an idiot for thinking
it, but I really thought he would call and apologize to me for telling me to
shut-up. Especially in front of people, and especially after I was willing to
still be there for him. I knew he was hurting, but that was crossing a line. I
hope he paid attention to my text and he didn’t do anything stupid. I knew his
bad attitude was because of being sober for a couple of days. I was sure he felt
like hell, but it not my fault. If he was going to make it and kick the drugs,
he was going to have to start taking some personal responsibility. He seemed to
be really good at putting that on everyone else.

I couldn’t help but wonder how the show was going to
go. He made such a scene and spewed profanity at the judges. Then the final act
where he threw his guitar against the wall was just beautiful. I saw Clint come
out of his office down the hall just as he did that. He didn’t look happy. I
wondered, if he made it through by some miracle, would the producers let him
stay? When no one was looking, I’d taken his guitar and put it away. I’d take
it to him later.

I wanted him to win the contest. He really was the
most talented contestant and he deserved it…but, he needs help. I feel sick
inside every time I let myself think about how bad he looked the night before. If
he got voted off, I was sure that he’d throw in the towel and just go back to
using. I was pretty sure that the contest was the one thing that he had to look
forward to. I would have liked to believe it was me as well, but I that might have
given me too much credit. The bottom line was if he kept using, he was going to
end up losing everything eventually, maybe even his life. I couldn’t stand that
thought.

I tried to act natural while Molly, Keith, and I
worked on setting things up. All the talk was about Tristan’s scene last night
and I got a couple of glances from Molly that looked…sympathetic, maybe? She
was discreet though, and I did my best to avoid having to discuss it. I could
tell that she was dying to ask me about it, but to her credit, she didn’t. The
rest of the staff didn’t know about Tristan and me, yet I felt like I kept
getting cornered by someone who wanted to talk about it. I did my best to act
neutral. Once everything was ready to go, and the contestants started showing
up, I got nervous all over again wondering what kind of mood Tristan would be
in.

When he finally got there, he took a seat in the far
back while he waited for the contestants to get called on stage. He didn’t make
eye-contact with anyone and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had to
feel bad, or be embarrassed about how he acted…he was just so stubborn that he
wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. He had a bandage around his right hand and I
wondered who or what he had punched. He was going downhill fast and all I could
do was sit back and watch. I was praying that he still planned on going into
rehab…I was afraid he wouldn’t make it otherwise.

I wanted to go talk to him so badly and make sure
that he was okay…but people would wonder what I was doing. With Tristan being
everyone’s focus, they’d be asking a lot of questions that I didn’t want to
have to answer.

“Hey! What happened to his hand?” It was Molly. She
had obviously noticed the bandages too.

“I have no idea. I haven’t talked to him since
before the show yesterday. At least not since I tried to make sure he was okay
and he not very nicely told me to stay out of it.”

“He was definitely having a bad night,” Molly said.

“Definitely,” I agreed. The show was getting ready
to start and as the contestants went to take their places, Molly and I watched.
The four contestants that were left were supposed to sing together. I wondered
if Tristan even knew about it. I doubted that he showed up for rehearsal. I
watched closely as they sang and it was obvious that Tristan was only holding
the mic and moving his lips. He had absolutely no expression on his face at
all. If I could tell that he wasn’t really singing, everyone else could, too.
He was really blowing it. It was like watching a sinking ship and not even
having a life raft to toss out.

When that song finished, they got down to the
results. The host did it a little differently tonight since there were only
four of them.

“Ethan and Rosa….” he said, and then he paused as he
normally does for drama’s sake before saying, “You’re both safe. Ethan, you
came in second in the votes last night and Rosa, you came in third. That means
that Tristan or Michaela got the most votes and the one that remains got the
least and will be going home tonight. We’ll find out who that is…after the
break.”

My nerves were on edge, and I could only imagine how
Tristan must have been feeling. He’d completely melted down on live television.
He didn’t look nervous….but he didn’t really look anything. He was flatter than
I’d ever seen him. I wondered if that was lack of drugs, or if he’d found
something to numb the pain. When the lights came back up, the MC rehashed what
had already happened and then he said, “Tristan….”

I knew that was it. My belly was full of
butterflies. I was so convinced that this was it for Tristan, I barely heard the
MC say, “You’re safe!” There was a rumble through the audience and the judges
all had looks of shock on their faces. Everyone had thought the same thing I
did: that he was through. I seriously couldn’t believe it…after all that. I
guessed Americans were addicted to drama. They must have developed a new found
respect for him or something because he told the judges off. All I could do was
shake my head.

Tristan looked the most shocked of all. I think he’d
already prepared himself for the worst. He still didn’t look happy, though; that
broke my heart most of all.

After Michaela sang her final song, the host said, “This
year we’re trying something new. I’m excited about this and I think the
contestants and the audiences at home will too. Next week, the three finalists
will be doing a duet. The kicker is this…they can sing with anyone they chose
to sing with. It can be their mother, their best friend, their music teacher,
or the homeless guy that sits outside the theater. It’s up to them. I can’t
wait to see how this turns out. That’s all for tonight, America! Thanks for
watching!”

CHAPTER
FIVE

TRISTAN

I woke up the day after the results show and had to
remind myself that I didn’t get kicked off. It was…ridiculous. That’s the only
word I could think of. I’d cussed out the judges, all big name people, in front
of a live audience. There was no way I should have made it through that cut,
yet I did.

I was trying to work up some excitement about still
being on the show, but I couldn’t. I just didn’t have it in me to care. My mind
was racing with a hundred jumbled thoughts. I couldn’t slow it down long enough
to organize them. I felt like it was unraveling. I kept getting bits and pieces
of thoughts that would come and go; I was all over the place. I hated it. It
was fucking miserable.

I finally got out of bed and into the shower. I
stood there underneath the hot spray wishing that I could just wash away all
the anxiety. I was trying to calm my mind down enough to come up with an idea
about what to do for the next week. I was still on the show. That meant there
was still a chance I could win…no matter how slim. I suddenly remembered what
the MC had said about the week’s music…a fucking duet. I didn’t know a single
person that would agree to do that with me. The guys in my band were pretty
much the only people on earth that still spoke to me. None of them were too
happy with me at that moment. Since I started on the show, we hadn’t had any
gigs, and that had made it hard on them, too. Even if they forgave me for that,
none of them could carry a tune to save their lives. They were decent
musicians, but if I was going to redeem myself on the show, I needed a fucking
awesome vocalist.

Everyone from my former life had abandoned me. I
didn’t know any singers that would be willing to be seen with me. As I was
drying off, I thought about the day I’d gone over to
Elly’s
apartment and how she’d said she had to go to chorus. I’d asked her that day if
she was good and she’d said she was “okay.” I knew she wasn’t as cocky as me
when it came to extolling her own virtues. I had actually waited until she was
around the corner and then I’d followed her. I’d stood at the door and listened
to her sing and I was blown away. “Okay” was definitely an understatement. A plan
started to formulate in my addled brain.

I got dressed and after drinking two of the water
bottles in my refrigerator, I went out and got on the bike. I needed to see
Elly
later and persuade her to do this with me. She was my
only hope of staying on the show. First, I drove towards the studio to see the
band about the music I was going to need for my duet. After that, I’d go see
Elly
.

I realized as I was driving along thinking about it,
that her first response was going to be that the producers weren’t going to
like it. She was always so worried about us being caught and her losing her
job. I personally didn’t give a fuck if they liked it or not, and it’s not like
she couldn’t get another job if she had to. I really thought that if I won the
contest, the press would have a field day if they took it from me because of
Elly
. They had, after all, said we could sing with whoever
we wanted to. They didn’t say it couldn’t be someone working there, right?

I parked the bike and made my way down towards the
music room. I thought about calling
Elly
, or at least
sending her a text that I was coming when I finished. I decided against that. I
needed to do it face to face. It would be easier for her to say no on the
phone. I was sure she was pissed at me for not talking to her since the day I
yelled at her. Maybe she had a right to be. Right then, my mind wasn’t working
well enough to worry about it. Somehow, I needed to convince her to do it with
me. I had no other choice.

Before I made it to the band room, one of the
producers stopped me in the hall. I think it was the one named Tony who tried
to act as if he had the skills to solve all the problems in the universe. He
was just a little rich punk whose daddy got him a job in the industry because
he had no other talents.

“Hey, Tristan, when you’re finished in there, Clint
and I would like to talk with you. Can you come on over to our offices before
you leave?”

Fuck! What the hell could they want? “Yeah, okay,” I
told him. I’d rather pull out my own fucking teeth with a pair of pliers, but I
doubted I had that choice. I went on in and talked to the band about my duet
and one of the guys asked me who was singing with me. I thought about
Elly
again, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot if I
said she was and then she refused.

“A friend of mine,” was all I said. That was kind of
funny. It had been a long time since I’d had any real friends. I wondered if
that was what
Elly
and I were.

I dragged my feet in the band room until one of the
other contestants, Ethan, stuck his head in the door and said, “Oh, I’m sorry
Tristan. I thought you were done.” Fucker didn’t think I was done; he was just
trying to rush me.