Damaged Hearts (Book 2, Rock Star Romance) Read online

  I close my eyes, and Wolf invades my mind. Morning kisses that start on my lips and work their way down my body until he has me fully awake and aching with pleasure. Strong arms that wrap around me the moment we’re alone because he’s missed me. Sweet lovemaking—because fucking always seems like such a crude way to put it when it’s so much more. Wolf’s eyes. A shiver races down my spine. The most beautiful eyes that found my soul with a simple glance.

  The buzzing of my cell phone pulls me from my dreams of Wolf. I sigh and look at the screen. Every muscle in my body locks up. I swear I can feel the blood drain from my face as my shaky hand presses a button on the screen to view the message in full.

  Terese comes back to the table and sees my reaction to the message.

  “What’s wrong?” Terese leans over to see my screen. “Shit, is that your mom? Do you seriously call her Destiny?”

  “She lost the title of Mom a while ago. I’m not sure she ever wanted it.” Scorn drips from my tone.

  “What is she saying?” Terese is still trying to catch a glimpse of the words on my screen.

  I laugh and pull my phone away, but I read it out loud anyway. I can trust Terese. We’ve known each other for a few years. She worked with the events team in the same Vegas hotel Tony performed at. We bonded instantly and reconnected just before Wolf’s tour. Now she’s working for the local San Diego Perform Live team.

  I clear my throat and read the text aloud. “Heard you’re in town. Did you think of maybe calling? I am still your mother.”

  Terese rolls her eyes. “Is she for real?”

  I smirk and toss my phone on the table. It makes a clattering noise when it connects with the table, and I groan.

  Terese snatches it from where it landed and reads the next message out loud. “Lunch tomorrow. My driver will pick you up from your hotel at noon. Dress appropriately.” She laughs now. “What does she think you’ll show up wearing, exactly?”

  I laugh, too. “Something ripped. And leather is completely out of the question. And never an outfit I’ve worn in public before. You know, just in case the paparazzi were to snap a picture. It would completely ruin her reputation.” I roll my eyes. “Oddly enough, the paparazzi always seems to know where she is, and she’s never surprised to see them.” As I say this, I realize how coincidental it is that she wants to see me just after I’ve gotten some social media attention.

  “She planned it all?”

  Without hesitation, I nod and take my phone back. “Of course. If there wasn’t publicity in it for her, I was on my own. I couldn’t wait to escape her when I was eighteen. I barely saw her, but when I did . . .” I shudder. “She thinks parenting is like playing with Barbie dolls.”

  “And you haven’t seen her since you left her house at eighteen?” Although I can see she feels for me, Terese can’t understand how much I hate my mother. No one can. But no one knows the truth.

  “I’ve seen her a few times in passing, but they were never planned meetings.” I shrug. “Life is better without Destiny around asking me for favors.”

  “Are you going to see her?”

  I think about it for a second and stare at my phone. With a quick tapping of my fingers, I reply, See you tomorrow, and then look back up at Terese. “I guess I am.” She’s still my mother, and I’m curious.

  The rest of the night is better. We change topics from Wolf and my mother to her and Derrick. Turns out they haven’t been as casual as I’d assumed. They’ve been talking every single day, and they’ve seen each other a few times since the band has been back in the area. He wanted to see her tonight since the band is only hitting venues in Southern California this week, but she decided to have dinner with me instead.

  “It’s fine,” she reassures me after I find out she canceled her plans. “I would have had to drive back early in the morning for work anyway. Besides, I’ll be at the next two shows, and I’ll see him all next week. Just don’t be surprised if you don’t see me very much.” She looks happy. I’m glad. Terese is a good girl, and Derrick doesn’t seem like the stereotypical rocker. If anything, Hedge, the bass player, is the ladies’ man of the bunch, but even he’s harmless.

  “I get off at five tomorrow night, and then we can have a car drive us out to Irvine—unless you wanted to leave earlier than me. I could meet you there?”

  Shaking my head, I know I’ll want to get there as late as possible, and having Terese with me will be best. “I’ll wait for you. Just call me. I’ll be ready.”

  That’s a lie. I’ll be anything but ready to see Wolf again.

  Wolf

  I’m in my dressing room, taking a moment before I make my way down the crowded backstage hallway toward the crowd already screaming my name. One steady syllable ricochets through the stadium, repeating with a passion I wish I could say I was feeling.

  Wolf. Wolf. Wolf.

  I’m trying to use the chanting to rev me up, to feel it again—that electricity passing through my body, that buzzing in my chest. I should be fired up by now. The crowd is eating out of the palm of my hand, and I’m not even on stage yet. What happened to the days when my boner would emerge at the first sound of my fans’ affection? When my veins would fill to the brim with adrenaline so powerful I thought I could fly. Where the fuck are my wings?

  I need that feeling back. I need to remember what I first fell in love with—the music, the stage. The rush of it all. If I don’t get my shit together, they will notice. I’m sure they’ve already started to. The past two shows have definitely been my worst. Like Derrick reminds me, I’m shit at hiding my emotions. My dial has two settings: hot and cold. Neither are good. There’s only one person who’s been able to balance me out. But she took the balance away.

  Someone bangs at my door. “Wolf, let’s go!”

  It’s Lionel Crawley, but everyone just calls him Crawley. I grit my teeth and fight back a growl. That fucker’s going down. He’s already been kicked off my bus. Now I’m just playing my cards right, biding my time until I figure out what he has on me and why he feels as if he owns my ass. I’m done with him, but Crawley isn’t someone to mess with without a well-thought-out plan.

  I throw the door open before I can stall another moment, but I breeze by Crawley like I never heard him. Rex, my bodyguard, is waiting. He walks beside me while security flanks me on all sides to get through the growing crowd as quickly as possible. Something has to be done about this crowd control. It gets worse at every show. Gloom punches me in the gut as I realize, like I have for the past two fucking shows, that Lyric isn’t pressed up against one of the backstage walls where I can reach for her and taste her lips briefly before letting the crowd own me. And she won’t be on the side stage where I could always find her. She was always there—until she wasn’t anymore.

  The chanting quickens and I start to feel the vibrations in my chest. It’s the energy I’ve been missing for two days now, and it feels good. It’s not the same, but it’s something. “Thank fuck.” I say it loudly, but the sounds around me drown out my voice. I embrace the energy as it seeps in, slowly at first, until it’s barreling through me at a speed that feeds my soul. This is what it’s all about.

  The second I reach the backstage staircase, someone tosses me a microphone.

  I wait for Derrick’s cue, and then . . .

  “Owoooooooooooooo!” I howl as I run onto the stage until I hit the spotlight dead center, and then I howl again, throwing my head back and arching my spine, eliciting the loudest welcome I’ve heard since Lyric left.

  I can do this.

  Wake up. Coffee. Breakfast. Rehearsal. Hotel room check-in. Lunch. Sound check. Nap. Workout. Dinner. Concert. Meet and greets. Club. Bed.

  Fucking clockwork. Not always in that order, but fuck. It’s nonstop. I’ve always been busy, but this feels different. Like work. Music has never been work. But going through the motions and staying busy is the only way to suffocate thoughts of Lyric. Every time she pops into my mind, l
ike now, I get heated, angry, on the verge of a fucking meltdown. That’s what she’s done to me, and I hate her for it. I hate her for everything I love about her. And I hate that I want her to come back.

  Doug is doing a fine job filling in for Lyric as road manager, not that I expected any less. He’s had a lifetime to get this right. He’s simply not her. I used to wake up excited to see her every morning, even before we were us. In the frenzy of a late-night concert crowd, she was the one I sought out. And I could always count on her to be there.

  I don’t know if Lyric is coming back on tour or if she’s quitting the scene altogether. I know what her options are, and while I thought I’d gotten to know her well, I have no clue what she’ll decide. Not after how she left.

  The wait is agonizing, even though I’m trying to ignore all thoughts of her. What if she doesn’t come back? I’m not ready to answer that question. She’s supposed to make her decision today. If she decides to come back, she’ll be here tomorrow. If she doesn’t . . . Fuck.

  Guilt edges its way into my thoughts as I remember my response to her decision to leave as requested by the tour company. I wasn’t exactly the understanding boyfriend she probably deserved in that moment, but how could I possibly sympathize with her when she wouldn’t even tell me why she’s so hell-bent on keeping her lyrics a secret from the world? When she left, my anger felt justified, as if her choice was really to leave me. And because she refused to see my side, we wound up here.

  Rex has already started allowing the girls to line up outside of the bus again, probably at the band’s prodding. They never actually believed I was changing my ways for the long haul. They probably think I need a good fuck to get Lyric out of my head and I’ll be cured.

  We’re all close; the band is the closest thing I have to a family, but when it comes to my deep feelings for Lyric, I keep them to myself. Ever since she stepped onto that elevator at Perform Live, she was it for me. I may not have realized it right away, but my heart began to lead; nothing was going to get in our way while we figured out what was going on between us.

  However, things drastically changed. So now what? It’s just a matter of time before I let some hot rocker chick ride my cock. It’s been three days without sex, and I can already feel the ache. The need. Pleasuring myself to memories of Lyric can only hold me over for so long. I’m unfulfilled. Damaged. Lyric completely ruined me.

  “Want to grab a bite?” Doug hands me the key card for my room just like Lyric used to do at every hotel stop, and the downturn of my lips is automatic. Everything reminds me of her. It feels like someone’s swinging at me and connecting with my gut every time. As much as I’d rather hole up in my room and drown the noise in my head with TV, I need to eat and Doug’s a good guy.

  “Sure, man, let me shower and shit. Where to?”

  Doug nods to the restaurant on the other side of the lobby. “We don’t have to stray far. We’ll grab something quick before sound check.”

  I’m in my room and in the shower a few minutes later, wondering what comes next. A lunch invite from Doug isn’t unusual. I’ve known the dude since the first tour we booked with Perform Live, and he’s always been a great guy, but he’s close with Lyric. A family friend. Given the timing of it all, he could be prepping me for Lyric’s return . . . or permanent exit. The latter releases an unfamiliar pressure in my chest. I pound on it with my fist a couple of times, replacing one pressure with another one I can control. Nothing helps. I take a deep breath and lean against the wall of the shower.

  I picture her face. It’s not hard. Every time I give into this need, her sweet face comes clearly to mind—my favorite image of her. On the tour bus, wrapped up in my white sheets, her sage eyes gazing out the window with the morning light streaming in and illuminating the glow of her perfect skin. How can someone so angelic completely wreck me?

  I groan as the image transforms to the face of the Lyric who left me. Seething with anger. Too worked up to see what she was doing to me. To us. All I could do was watch her as my forever became The End. She walked out and took all the good parts of me with her. My Lyric gutted me.

  Do I want her to come back? Do I want to see her again? Yes. I’m afraid of what I might do if she doesn’t. It doesn’t mean I’ll forgive her for leaving or ever trust her again. What’s worse, she may not ask for forgiveness.

  I can’t keep doing this to myself.

  I turn the water to cold, and the temperature changes fast. I gasp but take the sting, forcing a breath and letting the icy water drown any further thoughts of her.

  “You look like shit.”

  Doug is already sitting at our table, and he’s eyeing me with full-on criticism.

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks. I feel like shit.”

  He takes a sip of his tea. At least I assume it’s tea. That’s all the guy seems to drink besides alcohol. “Would it help if I told you she made her decision?”

  Without hesitation, I shake my head. “Nope.”

  “You’re going to be a miserable ass either way, eh?” He laughs, and the truth of his question triggers a smile to lift my cheeks—a reaction I didn’t know I was capable of producing since Lyric left.

  “Most likely.”

  The waitress comes over and hands me my whiskey water, and then I look at Doug. “Don’t give me trouble. I’m doing my best.”

  He shrugs. “You won’t get judgements from me. You’re the tamest rock star I’ve had the pleasure of accompanying on tour. And that includes Mitch Cassidy.”

  I chuckle. “Tame, huh? Fuck. I’ve really lost my shit, haven’t I?”

  “A little. But it’s not a bad thing. As long as it’s not affecting your show—and as far as I can tell, it’s not.”

  “Really? Because I feel weak on that stage, man. Like a robot just going through the motions. All I can think about is her.” Why the fuck did I say that out loud?

  “It’s not my place to speak for Lyric, but you should know—maybe you already do—she’s been through a lot of heartbreak in her life. I witnessed the worst of it, and it wasn’t pretty. A young girl like that shouldn’t have to face what she’s faced. She’s strong, though, and she may have made a decision you didn’t agree with, but I’m sure she was just protecting herself. She’s had to do a lot of that, and she does it the best way she knows how.”

  “I’m sorry, man, but that doesn’t help our situation or how I feel right now. I would have stood by that girl for anything, but she wouldn’t even talk to me. She just left. Everything before it just feels—”

  Doug leans forward and pushes my drink in front of me. I take a swig and let him talk. “Don’t go there. You don’t know what will happen in the future. Take it from someone who’s been in this business far longer than you. The rock star life can be the best thing in the fucking land, but the moment you let someone into your world, any control you once felt is gone, out the window. You and Lyric—you’re both so young, and this thing between you is still new. You’re figuring how your worlds work together. Don’t let the media destroy what you’ve built. And don’t let Lyric’s past get the better of you. She just needs time to open up, is all. She needs to grow up and let go of her past so her hurt no longer defines her.”

  “She seems to have a good handle on herself. She’s independent. Determined. What’s missing?” I genuinely don’t know where Doug is going with this.

  He leans back in his chair and shrugs. “I think I’d be crossing the line if I went into specifics. She’s still living in her parents’ shadow. Lyric needs to pave her own way. Working for Perform Live may not necessarily be the best thing for her, but she’s not ready to see that.”

  Our food comes quickly, and by that time we’ve switched topics to the remaining two days on the tour.

  “So, back to the elephant in the room,” Doug cuts in at some point in our conversation. “Wright called me today, and we had a long talk about the tour and Lyric. And well, I know you said it wouldn’t make you fe
el better, but . . . she’s coming back.”

  My heart stops. A whoosh of relief fills me. I’m unprepared for the emotions, but I try to mask it. “Tonight?”

  I don’t miss Doug’s smile. Guess I’m shit at hiding things. “Not sure. I know she’ll be at the final show, and then she’ll be flying with you guys to Florida for the studio record. The company wanted me to take the reins, but things changed today. I’m getting pulled onto another show.” He sighs. “I wasn’t planning to travel for a while, but they need someone to babysit Tony after that catastrophe between you guys. Rumor is he completely lost it that night. Went rogue on his band, missed a show—a small, private one for the label—and now he’s hitting the drugs hard. I don’t know how much of it is true, but with Lyric back out on tour with you, the company doesn’t want to take any risks.”

  “Makes sense. So you’re taking off at the end of this leg?”

  Doug nods. “Looks like it. I’ll get Lyric settled back in, and then I’m off.”

  “I appreciate you telling me. And thanks for filling in this week. You’re always welcome on my bus, man.”

  He smirks. “Thanks. Figured I’d tell you first. I should have told Crawley, but I can’t stand the guy. Sorry.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. He’s toast, anyway.”

  “I can’t say I’m not happy to hear that. He’s definitely got it out for Lyric. You know he tried to alter the terms of the contract you had him send over, right?”

  My head feels as if it’s about to burst from the quick-building pressure. “What?” I try not to shout, but I’m pretty sure I fail miserably. I sink into my seat and lean forward. “You’re kidding me?”

  “I wouldn’t lie. He made some clever alterations regarding her lyrics and the ownership of them. Tried to get her to sign them over to him instead of you. And then he added a line about her working for him, not you. Some shit like that.”