Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance
Suspended
A BAD BOY ROCKSTAR ROMANCE
Zoey Oliver
Jess Bentley
Copyright © 2018 by Zoey Oliver and Jess Bentley
All rights reserved.
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Thanks a million <3,
Jess and Zoey
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Prologue
Part One
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Part Two
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Part Three
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Pierce
Arie
Part Four
Arie
Epilogue
Forbidden Prince
Rory vs. Rockstar
Chapter 1
Serge
“All right, we’re coming in a little late after that pause. Everyone, remember you wanna take a nice, big deep breath right before the end here so we can hold that note strong. We wanna go out on a good note, right?”
“Maybe then they’ll forget how the rest of it sounds,” Amanda, one of the older kids, says, rolling her eyes.
“Hey,” I say, looking at her intensely. “None of that. We’re here to have a good time. Besides, you guys sound great. I’d say we’re about 90 percent there, so let’s try it one more time from the top of page five.”
I tap out the beat, hit the starting chord on the piano, and then I’m waving my arms, guiding these kids through the end of the song. They range in age from eight to fifteen, which might sound like a big spread, but since I’m the only one at the Community Center that can direct choir, they all get lumped into one group. There’s only so much one guy can do and splitting them into age groups is beyond what I can manage alone.
But it’s not too bad. The older ones look out for the younger ones mostly, both in here and out on the streets where they really need it.
We’re on the second to last measure when Joey walks in, leaning against the door frame, her arms folded across her chest, her lips pursed tight. A fist wraps tight around my heart. What does she want now? I can’t imagine how they could give my budget any more cuts without eliminating the program altogether — which they can’t do if they want Ian’s financial help to keep funneling into the center.
I hate that my best friend’s still bailing me out after all this time. I hate that it’s only his success that’s keeping me from being a complete failure, losing the one thing that’s kept me afloat these last six years, but I’m grateful to have him. I don’t know where I’d be without him.
My hand goes high for the finishing note and I can see the kids lifting to their tiptoes, trying to keep the note going, trying not to run out of breath as their eyes bulge and they look to me with panic-stricken expressions. Finally, just when I think Gabriel’s gonna turn blue and collapse, I drop my hand, all the voices cut off in unison, and there’s a collective breath around the room, before they break into relieved laughter.
“You guys remember to practice that deep breath. We don’t want to run out of air at the very end of the big performance.”
They’re almost all out of the room, Joey still standing off to the side of the door, looking at me like a surgeon coming out of the operating room with bad news.
“Don’t forget your tacos!” I call out after my class. I try at least once a week to bring in enough food to feed the big group. A lot of these kids don’t have a lot going for them at home, and the shitty prison-grade food at school might be the only stuff they get all day. I know I can’t feed them all every day, but I can do my little part where I can.
Joey’s watching me, her face hard and unreadable, and I squirm, knowing something’s up. That isn’t just a ‘hey how are you doing?’ look. That’s an ‘I’m coming to crush your dreams,’ look. I brace myself, realizing she’s not going to break the ice.
“What’s up?”
She sighs, pulling the door closed behind her. The room isn’t much — there are scattered second-hand instruments, some that have been donated, others that I’ve bought with my own money. The tiny desk I’ve got is propped up with old newspapers under one leg, and though I’ve covered the walls with art and cards I’ve been given by the kids over the last few years, it’s not hard to see the discolored paint and water stains peeking through between them.
But what do you expect out of a non-profit? The kids get to come here after school for free. We keep them out of trouble, out of gangs, and out of danger if we can. I had a hell of a lot more going for me than most of these kids do and I still fell into the wrong kinds of shit, so I know how easy it would be for them to screw up their lives without someone looking out for them and steering them the right way.
“You’re not still hyping them up about that competition, are you?” she asks, her lips forming a thin, hard line.
“You’re damn right I am. It’s all they’ve had to look forward to. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Serge…”
“Look, I know it’s not likely they’ll win, but it’s not about winning. They’ve worked really hard for this and they qualified, which is more than a lot of groups do, so why shouldn’t they be rewarded and encouraged for that?”
“Because we can’t afford it,” she sighs. “You had to figure that didn’t you? Between registration fees, transportation, overnight accommodations for thirty-five kids… it’s just not something we have the funds for. We’ve gotta get the A/C fixed before summer’s here in full force. I’m sorry, but there’s no way this is happening.”
There’s no way I’m taking that without a fight. These kids have worked their asses off to qualify for the regional competition and I’m not going to be just another in a long line of adults to disappoint them and take away the one thing they’ve been hoping for.
“How much do we need?”
“Serge—”
“How much, Joey?”
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Probably close to five grand for the two days.”
Shit. That’s way more than I’ve got lying around, that’s for sure.
“But even if you could find the money, if the kids win, there’s no chance they can advance to State. That would be five figures, easy.”
I shake my head. I know she’s right, but I’m not worried about look
ing that far ahead. “One thing at a time,” I say. That’s how I cope with my addiction day after day. It’s how I manage to stay in recovery. I don’t look too far ahead. If I can help it, I don’t look ahead at all. Just look at what’s right in front of me. The problem immediately facing me. Once that’s dealt with, I move on to the next thing.
“I know this means a lot to you, but the sooner you let it go, the sooner you can break the news to the kids.”
My jaw clenches, my teeth gnashing together, filling my head with a grinding sound while my fingers drum absently on my thigh.
“I’m not letting it go. I’ll figure out the money. Just leave it to me.”
Joey sighs and shakes her head, but eventually she shrugs. “Suit yourself. Get it sorted this week if you want me to be able to draft permission slips and release forms.”
She’s out of my little classroom before I can respond, but there’s nothing I want to say anyway. I know what I have to do now to make this happen and the knowledge is twisting in my gut, making my fingers drum faster as I resist reaching for my phone.
I hate asking Ian for help. I hate calling him like this, like we’re back in the old days and I need him to bail me out of another mess of my own making. I hate that I’m not at the point where I can take care of these things on my own, where I can just be friends with Ian without always feeling mildly indebted to him.
But I’m not there yet. That much is as clear as ever. I heave a big sigh and dig my phone out of my pocket, asking Ian for forgiveness before I’ve even dialed his number.
I can’t let those kids down. I just can’t. I think about Amanda and Gabriel and Kamala, how important this is to all of them and all the others too. How singing with the choir makes them feel safe, makes them feel like they have friends and family and a place to get away from all the scary stuff happening out on the streets. I may not be able to fix all their problems, but I can make sure that when they’re in this room with me, there aren’t any new ones. They can be at peace.
The phone rings three times before Ian picks up.
“Hey,” he answers, sounding groggy.
“Shit, where are you? I didn’t even think about the time.” I hear Chelsea mutter sleepily in the background, then the rustling of sheets. When Ian speaks again, he’s echoing like he’s in the bathroom.
“We’re in Rome at the moment, it’s a— almost three.”
“And you’re already fast asleep?” I tease. “Is that the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle I’ve heard so much about?”
“Fuck off,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath and then I freeze. Suddenly, I’ve got cold feet about asking for his assistance.
The hesitation on my end is enough to put him on high alert.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, blowing out the breath. “Yeah, nothing’s wrong, don’t worry. We can talk about it later when you’re not half-asleep. I’m sorry for waking you, man.”
“Knock it off. What’s on your mind? I’ve got time for you. You’ve certainly always had time for me.”
Yeah, but I’m not a big-shot rockstar anymore like you, I think sourly. Not that I exactly miss that life, but I know whose time is more valuable between the two of us and it’s not mine.
“I hate to even ask, man. But the kids have this competition coming up and the director says there’s no way we can pay their way, so they’re going to have to miss out, and you know I can’t—”
“You can’t let them do that!” he interrupts before I even manage to say those exact words.
“Yeah, that’s what I was—”
“Whatever you need, you’ve got it. I’ll cover the whole thing. Can it wait ‘til morning though?”
“Yeah, I’ve got ‘til the end of the week.”
“Perfect, will you be awake in five or six hours?”
I nod, then remember he can’t see me. “Yeah.”
“All right, I’ll call you back and we’ll work out the details.”
I sigh, slumping into the wall behind me, sagging partly with relief, but also with shame. I shouldn’t have to call my friend to bail me out. I can’t keep relying on him for everything when I’m supposed to be running my own damn life.
“Thanks man, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Don’t mention it. But if it’s all right with you, I’d like to get back in bed with my wife.”
“Yeah, go ahead. I wouldn’t want Chelsea mad at me.”
“You can say that again. Take it easy. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You too,” I mutter before the line goes dead.
I almost can’t believe it was that easy. A couple years ago and there wasn’t a person alive who’d loan me a few grand. Not without expecting every cent of it to end up in my veins. But that habit is in my past and Ian knows it better than anyone. And if it weren’t, Ian would know that better than anyone too. That’s just how we are. As close as brothers. Even with his new lady, Chelsea, in the picture. Yeah, she takes up a lot more of his time than I do these days, but we still manage to all get together now and then to catch up. It’ll never be like it was when we were touring and practically living together, but at least neither of us is in danger of OD’ing any time soon, so it seems like a fair trade if you ask me.
I take a minute to myself to shake out all the bad stuff and let the calm back in. It doesn’t take a lot for the calm to start slipping, for me to start heading down that dark spiral that leads my thoughts to places I’d rather not go. But the longer I’m sober, the more I work at it, the better I’m getting at reeling it back in, yanking the calm back to the forefront of my mind and shoving aside the anxiousness, the stress, the jittery feeling in my bones that a little voice promises will go away with a needle. But the calm silences that voice too. So I hold tight to it. I clutch onto the calm like it’s a life raft and I’m a passenger on the Titanic.
And then, I am the calm. I take a deep breath and release it, and my muscles relax, the jitteriness in my bones goes away, and I can think clearly without spinning off on tangents every other word.
With the calm as my ally, I head out of my classroom to Joey’s office to tell her the good news.
Her door’s cracked when I get to it and I can hear right away that she’s not alone. She’s talking to the girl on the opposite side of her desk and all I can see of the stranger is unnaturally bright orange-red hair and bare arms covered in ink. So probably not a kid, then.
“Serge?” Joey calls, seeing me peek through the open door. I push it a little wider and duck my head in.
“Sorry, it can wait, I didn’t realize you were busy—”
“Nonsense, come in! You should meet Tori anyway,” she says, smiling a too-bright smile that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up suspiciously.
“Okay…” I say, stepping into the room, leaving the door open behind me. With the three of us in Joey’s tiny office, we’re practically all pressed together.
And then I get a good look at ‘Tori.’ I know she looks familiar, but I can’t say from where. Besides the neon hair and tattoos, she’s sporting a white tank top, short cut-off shorts, and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look that only tempts me to get closer.
“Tori, this is Serge, he’s the head of our musical program here. I thought that might be a good fit for you if he’s willing to take you on board.” She turns to me with that same painted-on smile. “Tori’s our newest volunteer. I was hoping you’d be willing to take her under your wing and show her how things work around here. I know you’ve got your hands full, so an extra pair will be nice, right?” she says far too brightly.
I shrug. “Uh… yeah, sure I guess.” I’ve never asked for help before, or let on in any way that I couldn’t handle all the kids that want to be part of my program. So I don’t know why she thinks I need a volunteer, or why it has to be this sour-faced, too-good-to-be-here one.
Joey looks pointedly at Tori, her eyebrows raised. “What do you say?”
&n
bsp; Tori sighs and it’s hard not to notice how low her tank top dips over her cleavage, or how flowers inked on her breasts bloom to life when she breathes heavily. “Sure, if that’s the best you can do.”
“Great!” Joey says, clapping her hands together happily. “Great. I’m glad that’s all worked out.”
She turns away from the two of us, back to the mountain of papers on her desk. And I want to say no, it’s not all worked out, and it’s not great. This girl hasn’t known me for two minutes and she’s already insulting everything I do. ‘If that’s the best you can do.’ Hearing her say it again in my head just makes me angrier, my hands balling into fists, the calm all but running away. But I take a deep breath. Maybe she’s just rough around the edges. Maybe she needs to warm up to the place first. It’s clear that Joey has nothing else to say to us, so I might as well make some kind of effort.
“Come on,” I say, jerking my head toward the still-open door. “I’ll show you what we’re working with.”
She sighs and I’m pretty sure I see her trying not to roll her eyes as she stands up and follows me out the door, leaving Joey in our wake. I guess I’ll just have to tell her the good news later.
“So, do you have any musical experience?” I ask, trying to break the ice. Joey seemed to think my program would be a good fit for her, so that’s all I’ve got to go on.