Rock Me Deep (34 page)

Relaxing was the furthest thing from my mind. But, if it got everyone off my back, then I was glad to follow the path of least resistance.
Lola's fine. She just needs some time. That's all it is.

I was never great at lying to myself.

****

A
s we drove to the hotel, I couldn't control how I looked around for Lola at every turn. In the car, I finally gave in and sent her a quick text, asking her to call me if she needed anything.

Brenda handed our keycards off to us in the Hilton lobby. When she gave me mine, she held it tight, not releasing it from her grip. “This time,” she whispered, “I didn't put you and Lola in connecting rooms. Get my drift, Mr. Keep Everyone Awake at All Hours?”

Yanking the card free, I shoved it deep in my jeans. “It doesn't matter how far apart you put us. If I want to see her, I'll do it."

“I'm just trying to encourage you to get some sleep. You guys have a huge final show, especially with this new song and all. How's that coming, by the way?”

An arm circled my neck to pull me into a rough hug. “I heard it earlier,” Colt said, shaking me playfully. “It sounded great. Tell him to add some drums though, would you? Brenda? Please?”

“As if he'd listen to me,” she snorted.

Struggling out of the choke-hold—and making Colt grunt from a light rib punch as I went—I said, “Give me a break. I don't want other instruments in this song.”

“Man, it's fine.” Palming the back of his head, the drummer winked. “I'm kidding around. For real, I guess I just miss jamming with you. Even if you always wrote the songs, you at least listened to my input when we were kids.”

I flushed at his honesty.
I guess we did create stuff together when we were younger.
Was I shortchanging my friends by cutting them out of the process? When had I gotten so insulated in my music? Softly, I said, “After the tour, we should work on a new CD. All of us.”

Porter joined us, one fist full of hotel mints that occasional dropped to the floor. “Love that idea. But you know what I'd love more?” The hard, white candies crunched like pottery in his teeth. “Some lunch.”

Shaking her thick mane of hair, Brenda pushed us towards the elevator. “Agreed. Enough sappy stuff, let's order some room service. You guys are going to lose it when you see the private suite I have.”

“Why do you get all the cool stuff?” Porter whined.

“Because I deserve something nice for dealing with you jerks!”

To be fair to Brenda, our rooms were fine. They even had some nice flat screens on the walls. But, in the end, we still gawked at the suite she proudly walked us into.

One section was an open-air patio, a private jacuzzi taking up half of it. Brenda grinned proudly, asking us to get comfortable while she made a phone call. It must have been to the kitchen, because quick as anything, several servers arrived with a selection of cloches on rolling carts. “Gentlemen,” she said, waving grandly. “It's now, officially, time to relax.”

Food came and went, my band mates chomping away until they couldn't fit anything else in their stomachs. I managed to work down something, but my appetite was poor enough that I didn't even remember what it was.

We really did need to relax together. Granted,
I
wasn't very relaxed, but Porter and Colt were goofing off with Brenda. Alcohol helped ease the strain of the tour. There was appreciation in Porter's voice when he held a beer can high, saying, "One more show, boys. We killed this fucking tour."

It wasn't over yet... but I suspected he was right.

We'd given a hell of a tour.

The sky above warping from watercolor red to brackish blues, evening sinking upon us. Porter grunted, standing with a mild sway. "I'm burnt, I'm going to sleep."

"I'm not as lame as Grandpa here," Colt said, following him. "But... I think I'll head to my room and test out the mattress. See you two." He waved, so I joined him absently. My mind was elsewhere, and suddenly alone with my rather quiet and slightly drunk manager, I felt the weight of my day.

Lola hasn't called me once.

“She's fine,” Brenda said, too good at figuring me out. Standing tall, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Let her have some space, she needs it.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I shifted on the edge of the chair. The last of my beer washed over my tongue, giving me time to consider my response. “How would you know?”

“I just do.” Without any lead up, she yanked her shirt over her head. I wasn't shocked; she'd been talking about the jacuzzi all day. In a bright green bikini, my manager slipped into the tempting, circular pool. “Here, just come and try to chill out for once.”

“I don't really think it'll help.”

“Suit yourself.” Dipping in the water to her chin, she pointed at the bucket of champagne—the fourth one—that she'd ordered. “Can you get that for me?”

My knees popped as I stood.
I'm feeling like an old man.
I was too young to have so many aches and pains, but the tour had done a number on me. Sliding the bucket and glasses closer to Brenda, I made a snap decision.

Turning so I faced her, I slid my shirt up across my chest. It kept her from seeing my scar, even though I suspected she'd done her research on me before signing the band.
She probably knows about it, but I'm not taking any chances. I don't want to deal with questions right now.

I wasn't looking for a reaction, but Brenda ran her eyes up and down me without pretense. “I forgot why your fans go so nuts for you. Meow. Coming in after all?”

Rolling my eyes, I said, “For a bit.”

She made a face when I unbuckled my belt. “Please keep your boxers on.”

"I don't usually hear girls say that." Carefully, I lowered myself into the heated water across from her. The jets began working out the knots that had made a home in me. “Damn, this does feel good.”

“Right?” Beaming, she offered me a glass of champagne. I took it and swallowed a healthy mouthful. “Like I said, you need to relax.”

The way she stated that made my mouth pucker. “Don't act so all-knowing.”

“I
am
all-knowing,” she laughed. “I know you're freaking out about Lola, for one.” I shot a glare at her, then peered into my drink in silence. The next time Brenda spoke, it was far softer, more kind than usual. “Drez, what's going on? You're obsessing over this girl—and don't get me wrong, she's talented and pretty—”

“Gorgeous.”

“—But I've never seen you so... off. What did she do to you?”

Listening to the bubbling water, I shut my eyes. “You actually want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

Swirling my drink, I sipped it. The alcohol was like a blanket of cotton on my brain. It wasn't enough to soothe me, but it was a start. “She asked about my past.”

She barely reacted, not grasping how serious this was for me. “I take it you don't want to tell her?”

My champagne glass was empty. Drinking it made me think too much of Lola, of the way we'd celebrated her joining the band. “I just want her to want me as I am. Nothing about who I was, what I dealt with, matters now.”

Sinking deep into the water, Brenda considered me. Those thin eyebrows moved into her bangs. “Not everyone gets what they want. If anything, you two are stupid lucky.”

“What the hell does that mean, how am I lucky?”

Her attention went off to the side, elbows resting on the edge of the jacuzzi. “Sometimes we fall for someone at the wrong time, or someone who just never meshes with us.” Her tone was fragile and bitter. “I don't know, some of us get saddled with being attracted to someone that we have to see all the time but can never touch.”

Oh, shit.
My back went tense against the wall. Had Brenda just admitted to being secretly in love with me? The very concept was awkward as hell. My skin prickled, suddenly I couldn't look her in the eye.
If my manager has had a crush on me this whole time, then...

“You fucking moron,” she snorted, covering her mouth and laughing. Brenda tucked a curl of crimson hair behind her ear, dark eyes watching me with sly amusement. “I can tell what you're thinking. It's not
you
that I'm interested in, asshole.”

I was relieved—crazy relieved. But her arrogance didn't sit well with me. Tilting my head, I said, “Yeah, you're incredibly clever for figuring me out. Also? Good job confirming you were talking about yourself.”

Her whole face turned redder than her hair. “That—I—just forget it, jeez. We're supposed to be talking about you and Lola, not me and whoever.”

My interest was piqued, but ultimately, Lola was my focus. “You really think I can't have what I want?”

Reaching over, she refilled her glass, taking a deep swig. “If you mean having a relationship beyond the surface level with the girl you
love...”

Alcohol makes her too bold,
I thought sourly.

Brenda said, “Then no. Not without telling her about everything you went through, without facing it all over again. Drezden, Lola isn't the kind of person that can ignore your past.”

Does Brenda really know a
ll about it?
I wondered. She was talking like she did. “What kind of person is Lola?”

Hesitating, my manager wiped her mouth. “Did she ever tell you what she answered with on the day she auditioned?”

“I—answered?”

“That stupid question you made me ask everyone.”

My heart slammed into my ribs.
What does it take to be a good guitarist?
“She never told me, no.”
I forgot—no, I guess I didn't even care about that once I met her. I got caught up in how good she was, in all of her.

“You told me to turn away anyone who answered 'talent' and to let in everyone who said 'patience, hard work, or determination.' Right?”

Those were the answers I'd decided that came closest to defining the difference between those who would make it big, and those who would not. "Right," I finally said.

Brenda shrugged so hard that her bikini strings tickled the back of her neck. “Lola didn't say any of those things. Her answer was... honesty.”

“Honesty?”
How the hell does honesty make any sense—oh. Oh, fuck.
So quickly that it left me reeling, I actually understood Lola. Where her talent came from, why I was constantly drawn to her open nature, her genuine reactions.

Honesty.

I wanted to laugh; the answer was so simple. I grasped why she was upset with me earlier, too. This puzzle piece gave me clarity to see the full picture.
She spilled her guts to me about her ugly past. Then, I refused to do the same.

My chuckle was throaty, cynical. “I'm a real dumbass, aren't I?”

“Yeah.” Brenda wore a tiny smile. “I'll say you are.” Water ran down my muscles as I stood up. Blinking, she craned her neck. “Hey! Where are you going?”

I shook droplets from my hair. I knew when I turned around that she would see my scar, but I no longer gave a shit.
Honesty.
“I need you to book a private flight for me.”

“Excuse me? When—and to
where?
”

I caught my reflection in the side of the tall, aluminum heater that made the patio comfortable. In the light of the evening, my eyes were darker than pitch. “Right now. I have someone I need to visit.”

“Drezden, what the hell are you saying?”

My blood was electric; everything in me was buzzing with realization. I finally knew what I had to do to make everything right. “You can book me this flight tonight so that I make it back in time for the final show, or you can accept that I won't be here for it.”

It was a standoff, our eyes locked as she tried to will me to back down.

I said, "Brenda. I need to do this."

Lifting the bottle of champagne, Brenda finished off the contents and gasped for air. The glass rattled when she slammed it into the ice bucket. “I really shouldn't have signed you and your fucking band, Drezden. I'm never going to stop regretting that. Pass me my purse and I'll arrange your stupid as hell flight. Dammit, I was
supposed
to be relaxing!”

Without missing a beat, I handed Brenda her purse.

Lola

––––––––

I
wandered the parking lot for a long time. Telling Brenda I was going to find food hadn't really been the truth. I
needed
food, yes, but after sitting with Drezden, being forced to avoid talking about his past, I'd lost my appetite.

I want to know what he isn't telling me.
Kicking aside a small rock, I looked back at the giant, glossy tour bus. The breeze was light on my face. With very little direction, I dropped down onto the pavement between two cars and just... waited.

I didn't know what I was waiting for.

My mind kept diving back to one thing: Drezden was refusing to tell me the truth.
It's just like Sean said,
I realized grimly.
He won't tell me anything.

Movement, voices, drew my eye. From my hidden spot I watched Brenda and the rest of the band climb out of the bus. They were laughing; all of them but Drezden. His expression was like old concrete.

Even from here, he makes my pulse jump.
Hugging my knees, I watched them all climb into a solid black car. The windows were tinted to hiding them from prying eyes.
Guess that'll take them to the hotel.
With nothing going on between now and the final show, it was nice that Brenda had arranged a hotel for us.

It made me think about that night. About the first time I'd seen Drezden's scar. Shaking my head, I stared after the car until it was guided out of the lot by uniformed security. Seconds later, my phone vibrated, making me squeak. Fumbling it free, I read the message from Drezden:

'Call me if you need anything. I'll be at the Hilton until then.'

The words, so crisp on my screen, took time to sink into my head. I should have felt excited about the message, Drez was so
good
at making my knees weak. But I just wanted to scream at him to explain his scar, his name, his past, everything.