Redemption: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 2) Page 3

  Sky moves on to her latest release as someone knocks on my door.

  This was a time when a real drink would be good, but I made sure everyone knew to keep alcohol out of my assigned dressing rooms. Old habits die hard when you’re an addict.

  “Come in,” I say, adjusting the collar of my shirt. In the large mirror I see Molly, the stage manager, open it.

  “You’re on in five,” she says.

  I nod, feeling the nerves make a bigger knot in my stomach.

  “I’m ready,” I say and follow her out. I grab my specially crafted Gibson guitar and ease the strap over my shoulder. Even the weight of it in my hands sends a rush through me.

  This is the special Les Paul edition that Kim bought me in the heyday of The Savages. Before the drinking and drugs filled our off hours. I hadn’t picked it up since I played the last song for Kim… after I realized she wasn’t going to show me those gorgeous brown eyes of hers anymore.

  Her ghost doesn’t follow the instrument like I thought it would. I let out a sigh of relief since it’s my favorite. There’s something about hearing the strings of a Gibson that makes you rock harder, that makes the world fade away until there’s nothing left but the music.

  A stage hand fixes a microphone on my head and sets it into place. The nerves come back some as she adjusts it.

  When she’s done, I watch Sky from stage left as she belts out her number, a mid-tempo beat to tease the audience before my entrance ups the rock beat for them.

  Even while performing, she’s dedicated to her fans, holding the hands of a few who reach out for her, and kneeling so she’s closer. Malik isn’t too fond of that interaction since it makes her safety vulnerable, but Sky is headstrong when it comes to her listeners.

  “They pay for my tickets,” she always defends. “I’ll be damned if I don’t give them the show they deserve.”

  Her dedication is inspiring as I wait for my entrance. She turns her head in my direction until she spots me. Sky smiles as she finishes her song. Ours is meant to be the last number of the night to close out the show.

  Sky walks closer to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce a special guest?”

  The crowd screams and shouts their agreement as I adjust the guitar strap around my neck.

  “Give it up for Savage Saban!” Sky shouts. The audience screams as I play my way onto the stage. Bright lights blind me when I step out, so I focus my attention on Sky as I play her song, “Masquerade.” The last time audiences heard that song, it had been performed by Pit Viper using my unique spin on the riff. I’ve changed it since then. I don’t want there to be any question who strums the notes on this version.

  My left hand moves up and down the neck of the guitar with ease as the other strums the strings.

  Sky’s soft vocals drift in with the lyrics and the crowd screams. The energy in the stadium is addictive, and I play my heart out.

  I glance up briefly when the lights move to Sky. She’s nothing less than a pop goddess as she sings. Our eyes meet, and it’s as if I’m compelled to gravitate closer to her at center stage.

  She dances provocatively as I circle her. I can hear the audience go wild as we play off each other. My vocals join in on the chorus, and I can barely hear myself sing as the cheering picks up a notch.

  The audience erupts into applause as I strum the last keys of the song. My skin tingles with the vibrations they make.

  It isn’t until then that I notice many people dressed in metal and leather with some signature looks of The Savages. A few wear my old leather choker around their necks and some have even dyed their hair neon colors like our former drummer, Dylan Castle, in the punk-rock way he used to wear his spiked locks.

  It’s surreal seeing rock fans among Skylar’s dedicated pop audience. I take it all in as the cheers begin.

  “Encore! Encore!”

  “Savage! Savage!”

  “Encore! Encore!”

  “Skylar! Skylar!”

  Their chanting contains words I’m not expecting. Hearing my name in the crowd throws me off, and now they want more. I turn to Sky for guidance.

  You don’t have to, she mouths to me. I know she means it.

  I should leave, since we agreed on one song. She’s even giving me a clear out, but I can’t leave her on that stage alone.

  The Savages have crazy fans. They can fall out of love with you just as fast as they fell in love with you. Many of them were the most dedicated people I ever knew, and realizing that some of Sky’s audience remembers me pushes me forward. I want to give them more.

  Follow my lead, I mouth to Sky. Her curious look disappears as I strum the opening to “Hardcore Love,” a classic song from the band’s old lineup.

  My fingers remember each key as if they never forgot them.

  “This is one of the first songs The Savages released,” I say to the audience. “If you know it, sing along.”

  Baby your love fills me up all night long

  Like the thrumming beat of a rock song

  It’s a thinning line living on the edge

  And I never want to come off that ledge

  There’s nothing like hardcore love

  To keep my world spinning right

  I need all of your hardcore love

  To make my darkness turn to light

  When the pain gets too strong

  And angels stop singing up above

  Don’t you ever stop giving me

  Every bit of your hardcore love

  Sky joins in the chorus like we’ve been rehearsing the duet all our lives. Soon the audience joins in, too, and the music becomes a force all on its own. The next verse and bridge seem to come out naturally. I sing and play with a passion I long forgot.

  It’s surreal as the music takes over. I’m not even sure it’s me playing anymore as I absorb the familiar sensation that kept me going for so long before I left it all behind.

  When I finish, there’s a moment of silence. No one speaks or moves until the audience finally cheers their approval.

  Sky smiles at me and takes my hand. I swivel the guitar on my back and pull her into a kiss as the crowd screams louder. It’s a rush, and I hate to pull away but know I have to.

  “Thank you, Seattle,” Sky says, gripping my hand tight. “We love you!”

  It’s not until then that I notice one girl standing in the pit. I blink twice before staring at her again, and my skin goes cold. Kimberly stares back at me with a smile on her face and claps with the people around her. Everything about her is as I remember, before addiction hollowed her out and made her frail. A healthy version of her with the short blonde hair, heavy blue eyeliner, and a few strands dyed pink and blue makes a halo around her.

  What the fuck? I think. She’s dead. Kim is dead. I say it over and over in my head until I close my eyes once more. I’ve got to get my shit together before I embarrass the hell out of Sky.

  This time when I open my eyes, strobe lights fall on the audience and lights up Kim’s face, but it’s not her. Another woman stands in the place where Kim’s ghost stood. She wears her hair and clothes in the same style, but she’s a stranger. Not the woman from my past.

  Sky and I wave to the audience, but I can’t release her hand. I pull her off stage with a purpose.

  I yank my headpiece off and toss it to the nearest stage hand. Someone grabs Sky’s microphone and audio pack, and I lead her back stage.

  “Brody,” she says, “where are you going?”

  I can’t answer her. My head is muddled and my body still hums from performing. We get looks as we rush past Sky’s people and the venue workers, but there must be a determined look on my face that keeps them from stopping us.

  I don’t stop until I reach Sky’s dressing room.

  “What’s wrong?” Sky asks as I pull her inside and lock the door.

  My only answer is to kiss her until she melts into me. Taking her is the only thing that can give me focus right now.

  It’s a bl
urry rush as we make out in a partially undressed state, but Sky doesn’t question my eagerness. I need her like she’s the sustenance that’ll keep me alive. My cock strains against my pants. I need to be inside her.

  I push her back on the dark red couch that lines one side of her dressing room. I get frustrated when I realize I don’t have protection.

  She must realize the same thing, because she says, “In my cosmetic case. Side pocket.”

  I find the foil wrapper and waste no time to go back to her. I turn her so she’s bent over the arm of the couch. My fingers find her opening, making sure she’s prepared for me. With my pulse beating a wild staccato rhythm, I can’t do slow. She turns her head to stare back at me with a look mixed with longing and anticipation.

  One push forward and I’m inside her. Sky grips the arm of the couch so my pushing doesn’t thrust her headlong onto the furniture. Her hair is in a long mahogany ponytail, and I pull her by it until she’s against my chest. Her moans increase at my force as I hold her tight.

  I nibble at her neck and bite down until she shakes under me. She grips me tight, even from this position, and I struggle to hold it off. I explore more of her from this angle. My fingers find her taut nipples. All it takes is a roll and a pinch of those points and she comes around me. I’m right behind her as I pick up speed. The pressure builds until I explode inside of her, the walls of her tightness pulling out everything I have left.

  Even after our intense lovemaking, I’m still riding a high of energy mixed with confusion. Confusion at the thrill, the familiarity, and seeing a glimpse of Kim.

  We’re spent on the couch in her dressing room. My head rests on her bare breasts as she strokes my hair in a calming motion.

  “Want to talk about it?” she asks.

  “Nothing to talk about,” I say. “Just the adrenaline rush.”

  She doesn’t pressure me for more, and I’m thankful for that because I don’t even know how to explain it all to myself.

  Four

  Edmonton, Alberta and Minneapolis, Minnesota

  SKY

  It’s no wonder people see Brody as a rock god. A legend. When his long fingers move on his guitar it is an experience. Sometimes I forget to sing my part because he has me so mesmerized by his presence on stage.

  Curious, I Googled videos of him when he was with The Savages, and he was something else. Even through the computer screen, I could see he had a hold of his audience. They may have loved the band, but they were there for Savage Saban.

  Still, after watching video after video of him performing, there is nothing like seeing him make music in the flesh. Nothing exists but him when he plays. His voice, the perfect blend of soft and hardcore, puts the nail in any listener’s coffin to make them long for more of him.

  After our performance in Seattle, I was surprised when Brody agreed to do two songs to close out each show with me.

  When he performs, it’s like seeing another side of him that he never showed before.

  What also surprises me is how the audience remembers The Savages and pays homage to them in style and the signs they make.

  Not that it’s hard to see why. Their sound captures everything there is to love about rock music from the grunge sound that stormed out of the U.K. to the heart-melting and head-banging rhythms of the American sound.

  There are only a few free hours before the show, so I do an exercise run around the stadium. I ask Brody to join me, but he’s busy ensuring the next stops and appearances are in place after we leave Alberta. I swear sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing making him my manager since he’s overcommitted to my Skylar brand. He’s great at his job, just like I knew he would be, but it leaves little time for us as a couple since the tour began.

  Alyssa agrees to join me instead. At least we get some time together before the show starts, even if it is in the guise of exercise instead of the fun girl time Alyssa prefers.

  It’s refreshing running for real rather than being stuck on the treadmill. The air around the stadium is nippy, but the movement keeps me from feeling cold.

  “Slow down,” Alyssa says, trying to keep up with my pace. “Not all of us have a rock idol to help keep up our jogging stamina.”

  “You just need to push yourself more,” I say. I run back and circle around her before passing her again.

  “Cute,” she says. “This is why I stick to yoga. Flexibility works for me without the painful burn.”

  I turn to run backwards so I can look at her. Her natural, curly black hair is a wild riot around her head, a few tendrils sweat-soaked and framing her light-brown skin. “You can’t get the runner’s high without the burn first. It’s like Running 101.”

  “Damn, Sky. Stop showing off.”

  “One more lap and we’re done.”

  “Thank God.” She pushes through until we get back inside the stadium. She collapses on the carpet as soon as we get back to my dressing room.

  “Don’t pass out on me,” I say and throw her a towel and a bottle of water. “I need my opening act for the rest of this thing.”

  Alyssa gulps down some water after sitting upright. “Speaking of acts, you haven’t told me what it’s been like performing with Brody or should I call him Savage?” She bares her teeth and claws at the air.

  I can’t help laughing at her antics. “He’s not an animal, Alyssa.”

  “You sure about that? From what everyone’s been saying about the Seattle show, he practically dragged you off stage caveman style.”

  “Who’s been saying what?” I’m mortified knowing my staff’s been gossiping about us, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Gossip from the dancers and backup singers is bound to happen. It always does. Hard to avoid it when you’re on the road for weeks at a time with the same group of people.

  “They can’t help it, Sky. Not much to do on the road but practice, perform, and repeat. Besides, these dressing rooms weren’t made to block out sex noises.” She grins, toweling off the perspiration from our run.

  I shake my head. “Some of them heard us?”

  “Apparently, you two gave two shows that night. Did he go all ‘Me Tarzan, You Jane’ on you?”

  “No! I mean he was a little more hyped-up than usual. I tried to talk to him about it, but he said he was fine.” I’ve never seen Brody so energized as he was after our performance. It was almost like he was another person. Part of me likes seeing him that way, but another part wonders if I should be concerned. Although I don’t voice that part, Alyssa looks at me as if I’m holding something back.

  “He’s not using again, is he?” Alyssa asks. Her voice takes on a serious tell-me-the-truth tone.

  “No,” I say. “Of course not. He’s put that part of his life behind him. Besides, I’d know if he was. We do share a room together.”

  “You’ve never been around addicts, Sky. They’re good at hiding that side of themselves from the people they love…” Alyssa drifts.

  I know what she’s thinking. There’s no way we can talk about addiction without her thinking about her dad.

  Alyssa and I both were child actors, and, while my mother became my strict manager, Alyssa’s father became an alcoholic and gambler. He used most of the money she made to feed his habits, until Alyssa filed for emancipation from him when she was sixteen. When she won, she told him she’d only help support him if he went into rehab. The result was him going in and out for the last six years, each time promising to do better the next time.

  “Brody’s not like Jacob,” I tell her. “He’s not going to relapse like that.”

  “Hon, you know I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters, and I’m not blind. Brody makes you happy. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and have to go through what I did.”

  It’s been a year since she’s heard from Jacob, but I know she still thinks about him. He’s still her father just as my mother is still my family. They just make shitty decisions when it comes to their children.

  “I know he still strugg
les with it, but we talk about it. And he’s got a sponsor he can call when he needs him. Brody’s not going back to who he was, and he knows I’m here to support him.”

  “I know,” Alyssa says. “You guys are great together. I just hope it’s enough.”

  Deep down, I know Brody is nothing like Alyssa’s father. He cares about others and not just himself.

  Still, Alyssa’s worry has spiked a new one in me, and it’s a feeling that’s hard to shake off.

  BRODY

  I didn’t think I’d enjoy performing again, but with each stop it gets easier, almost as if I never left it. With each performance, more fans seem to come out to show their love for what The Savages used to be, but I’m reminded that it’ll never be like it was. The band is scattered, and whoever I was as Savage Saban at the height of our success isn’t the same man I am now.

  I still manage Sky, and it’s in that normalcy that I’m reminded I can’t fall too deep into my past. Nostalgia is nice, but too much of it can send me spiraling.

  Canadian audiences in Alberta aren’t as fanatic as the American ones. There’s less dressing up, but there are a lot more signs to show their support. When the spotlights aren’t blinding me, I spot the banners and posters hanging from the balconies. “We Love Sky & Savage” one reads. “Savage & Sky Rock” is painted on another with a microphone and a guitar crossing each other under the words.

  There’s something about singing with Sky that calms me. When The Savages performed it was a high and thrill like no other. It was addictive, and I fed off it. Maybe there was no stopping my path to the addiction. I would like to say that if I had a chance to do it over, I’d do it differently, but that would have changed the course of everything. Just maybe Kim would still be alive, but I know that I wouldn’t have found Sky, and right now, she’s the brightest part of each day.

  That’s why when we start our set together, I sing to her first before even looking at the crowd. I find her soft green eyes and make sure each note flows to her. I love making her blush like that. It’s like a small secret between us among the thousands of people in the stands.