My Rock #4 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #4) (2 page)

“What about you, honey? They don’t work you too
hard, do they? You still have time for your school work and yourself without
having to stress too much? I don’t want you making yourself sick.”
 
Oh, mom.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine. I like the job a lot.
Everything else is good, too. I’ve been doing well in all of my classes. I’m
healthy as a horse.”

“Did you meet your new boy at school?” I thought it
was hilarious how she kept referring to him as a boy. Tristan would love that.
I couldn’t tell her who he was though…at least not yet. She would worry herself
sick.

“No, Mom, I met him through work,” I told her. It
wasn’t exactly a lie.

“How old is he?”
Oh,
mother!

“He’s twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-eight? He’s quite a bit older than you…” I
had known that was coming.

“It’s only six years, Mom. Please don’t worry; I’m only
dating him for now anyways, barely.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t sound like she
wasn’t going to worry.

“What day are you and Daddy going to be here for the
show?”

“Since it’s on a Friday, we thought we’d come on
Thursday and stay through the weekend. Don’t worry though; we’ve already made
hotel reservations. We won’t pile in on you and Susie. Your father and I can’t
wait to hear you sing in the concert. Oh! Why don’t you invite your new boy to
the show? He can hear your angel voice and we can meet him.” There was a knock
on my door. Tristan must have left his house as soon as he texted me. He’d
gotten there really fast.

“Oh! Someone’s knocking on the door, Mom…”

I pulled it open and Tristan looked me up and down
with a raised eyebrow. I still had my mother on the line when he said, “Do you
always answer the door in your underwear?”

“Hey, Mom, I have to go.”

“Is everything okay?” I was pretty sure she heard
his comment. She was getting better at practicing her self-control.

I laughed, “Everything is fine, Mom. Please stop
worrying. I love you. Kiss Daddy for me.”

“We love you, too.”

I disconnected the call and said, “Come on in before
my neighbors see me.”

He stepped in with a grin and said, “I figured since
you answered the door that way, they’d seen it all before.”

I had to take him by the arm and physically pull him
in. I think he was hoping someone would see me, maybe as payback for the night
he ran naked after me. Once I had him inside I said, “I got a phone call and
didn’t realize how much time was passing. I planned on getting dressed…”

“I’m not complaining,” he said. He stepped forward
and grabbing my ass with both hands, he pulled me against his chest. “It makes
you look like you’re ready to fuck. Since I’m always ready…that’s a good
thing.”

I pushed back from him and said, “No, Tristan! I
have a class soon. I thought you needed to talk. I made breakfast.”

He looked pissed. That was just fine. How dare he
tell me he was in trouble just to get over here and get me in bed? Being his
sex toy was getting a little old.

“Okay then, let’s eat,” he said. I should have known
he didn’t want to talk.

I fixed him a plate and then told him I’d be right
back. I went in the bedroom and pulled on my jeans. When I went back out to the
kitchen, he looked me up and down again and rolled his eyes. Bastard really did
think he was going to come over here and get a piece of ass under the guise of
needing to talk.

I fixed my own plate and sat down. After several
minutes of silence I said, “So what’s going on?”

He shrugged and said, “Nothing, really.”

“I thought you wanted to…”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he said,
cutting me off.

Then
don’t fucking text me and say you do.
I thought it, but I
didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t want to argue with him.

The rest of our breakfast was basically silent. When
he finished eating he got up and went over to the sink and rinsed off his
plate. I found that a little bit amusing, considering the state his apartment
was always in.

“Thanks,” I told him, doing the same with mine. “I
don’t want to be rude, but if you’re really fine, I have to get to my chorus
class. We have a concert coming up.”

“You sing?” he asked me.

“In a group,” I said.

“Are you any good?” he asked.

“I’m okay. Anyways, I need to get there so…”

“I’ll take you,” he said, quickly.

“No, it’s okay. I can drive.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said. “Let me take you. Don’t
you want a ride on the bike?”

“Really, it’s okay….”

“Fine!” he looked pissed again. His moods were hard
to keep up with.

“Okay, don’t get mad. I just didn’t want to put you
out. If it’s not an inconvenience, I’ll take a ride.”

“Good,” he said.

“I’m going to get ready. You can have a seat in the
living room.”

“Okay,” he said. He stayed in the kitchen, though, and
after I got ready and came back out, I was shocked to see that he had cleaned
it up.

“Wow! Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged again and said, “Are you ready?”

He was likely the most frustrating man on earth.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”

On the way to the school, I held onto him for dear
life. He drove like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic. He’d given me the
helmet, but it seemed small in comparison to what the asphalt or a two-ton car
or truck might do to me. I breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled into the
front lot of the university.

“Is this lot close enough?” he asked. “I can drive
you around if you want.”

“No!” I realized I’d answered too quickly and I
said, “No, thank you. This is fine.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips and I
could feel him watching me all the way to the door. As I headed down the hall
towards the music room I thought about my mother telling me to invite him to
the concert and laughed. It wasn’t the sort of thing Tristan and I did
together.

CHAPTER
THREE

TRISTAN

It was time for round seven. There were only four of
us left and here I was, sober and climbing the fucking walls. I had no fucking
clue how I was going to make it through rehab. It had only been a couple of
days and I already felt like I was crawling out of my fucking skin. I guess
that was further proof that I was the “A” word, but I didn’t want to think
about that. All I really needed was one toke, or two, and it would take the
edge off of the anxiety that felt like it was crushing my fucking chest--even a
beer would have worked, or maybe two. I couldn’t sit in that room, listening to
the other three talk about how they were so happy for all of us and at this
point it really didn’t matter who won. Fuck that! Maybe it didn’t matter to
them. Maybe they weren’t nearly thirty years old and about to be homeless. It
fucking mattered to me, but my thoughts were racing and my skin was crawling
and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do that shit without at least a hit of
something.

“Are you okay?” It was
Elly
.
I was out in the hallway, pacing, and she’d stuck her head out the door to
check on me, I guess. There were a group of techies and shit coming towards us
down the hall and they’d heard her ask me that like I was fucking ten years old
and needed a mother. I don’t know why women thought just because you were
fucking them, it gave them the right to put their nose in the rest of your
business.

“I’m fine. I’d be better if you’d shut the fuck up
and leave me alone,” I told her. It sounded ugly when it came out of my mouth
and she looked like she’d been punched right in the face.

The other people in the hall stopped talking all at
once.
Elly
just then realized they were there.
Looking mortified, she went back inside the other room. I looked over at the
little group and they were all staring at me. Finally I threw my arms up and
said,

“What? Fuck!” That got rid of them. I didn’t give a
shit what these people thought of me. They were not living my life. They had no
fucking clue what I’d been going through. When one of them has to stop using
the only thing that makes them sane most days and they are looking at being
locked in a fucking rehab and talked to like they were a twelve-year-old moron,
then they could judge me.

When it was finally my turn,
Elly
sent her little friend out to get me. I guess she was afraid I’d yell at her
again.

“Tristan, you’re up,” she said. She was judging me
too, I’m sure, but I didn’t give a fuck about her, either. I pushed past her
and as I walked into the contestant room; I suddenly felt like everything was
out of focus. I felt exhausted and my whole body was aching. Fuck! I couldn’t
go out on stage like that; I’d never make it through my set. I grabbed a bottle
of water off the table and opened it. Then, I poured it over my head. I knew
they were all looking at me, but I had to get some control before I went out
there. We were live and I was a fucking mess. I smacked my face in my hands,
took a deep breath and ran out on stage. The lights felt like they were beating
down on me, scorching my skin, and the fucking judges were looking at me like
they had something to say about me delaying the show. I signaled to the band to
start up before they could. I wanted to tell them to fuck off in front of
ninety million people.

I tried to let the music guide me. I played to the
audience, bouncing from one side to the other as I sang. The girls were yelling
for me and everyone was clapping along. I felt good—finally. It was all I
needed. I was playing to my audience and rocking out and I felt great! I’d just
needed to get that nervous energy that was bottled up inside of me out. When
the song was over, I went back to center stage and waited for the judges to
have their moment in the spotlight.

Diva went first, “I loved your energy, baby. That
was great….but the vocals tonight, sweetie, not so good.”

I didn’t say anything, but I gave her a look. She thought
she could say whatever she wanted, and as long as she added in a baby or two,
that made it okay. She didn’t know when to quit either. She went on to say, “I’m
being nice, baby. I can tell that what I’m saying upsets you, but I don’t want
you to get eliminated, so I hope you’re taking this all to heart.”

I was going to tell her what I thought, but before I
could open my mouth, the country star had his say. “She’s right, Tristan. The
energy was great and when it was just you and the music, I wanted to get up and
dance. But your vocals were way off. You sounded like you couldn’t get your
breath….”

“Got it!” I said, dismissing him and looking at the
last judge: the asshole that got his rocks off by making people feel like shit.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything different from
me, Tristan. Your dancing and playing to the audience was fine, but that didn’t
disguise the fact that your voice sounded like crap. You didn’t get enough
sleep, or….I don’t know what it is. I do know that a better attitude would also
do you wonders.” I didn’t need this cunt telling me what I needed. That was
where I lost it.

“You all act like you know so fucking much!” I knew
this wasn’t good, but I couldn’t stop myself. “You,” I said, pointing at Diva,
“you were washed up back in the nineties. You think some Botox and a boob job will
make you famous again? You’re wrong. And you,” I said to the country boy, “you’re
a fucking nasal-ass country singer. What the fuck do you know about my kind of
music? Don’t they have some hillbilly show that you can be the judge of?”

I was about to start in on the last son of a bitch when
the host came over and said, “Tristan, you need to stop. We’ve gone to
commercial but they saw most of that live before we did. You need to get it
together.”

“Fuck you! You don’t want to know what I think of
you. Fuck all of you!” I threw down the mike and stormed off the stage.

Everyone’s faces looked like they were in shock.
Just because they went around being all fucking politically correct and kissing
ass, didn’t mean that I had to. I passed
Elly
in the
other room and she said, “Tristan, what are you doing? You’re going to blow
this! I know you don’t want that.”
Fuck
her too!

“Whatever!” I said as I brushed past her.
 

I threw my guitar against the wall in the hallway.
That was a fucking stupid move, but my thoughts weren’t exactly rational at the
moment. I stormed out of the building, climbed on my bike, and drove down to
Sunset Ave. I found my guy, right where I knew he would be and spent
twenty-five of my last hundred dollars on a gram of coke and some weed.

I took it and headed back to my place. When I got
inside the door, I was past noticing how clean it still was. My hands were
shaking as I found the mirror and my blade and tapped out the beautiful white
powder. I sat down and started chopping it. Just one line was all I would need
and then a couple of hits off the bong—that I threw away…fuck! I could find
something to roll it in. If not, an aluminum can would do. I couldn’t feel like
that all the time—and fuck
Elly
and everyone else if
they didn’t get it. I couldn’t even think straight. I’d just had a shit fit in
front of nine million people. How the hell was I supposed to live like that? Everyone
had their vices, right? This was mine. I was an adult, and if that is how I
wanted to relax, it was my own fucking business.