Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Read online

  Okay. One down. One to go. I told him that Serge is playing with us without actually confirming that he can…

  But Serge won’t turn me down. I’m pretty sure.

  He’s too busy with preparations for the competition to actually have time for me, but when I call him to tell him about the swapped show dates, he agrees.

  It’s not even noon by the time I’ve accomplished all of this and I lay back in bed with a happy sigh. Things are going so well lately. Even if the record label’s not quite ready to forgive me yet, I know it’s coming. It’s on its way and then I’ll be back on top of my game like nothing ever happened.

  We meet up early Thursday afternoon to practice since Serge still hasn’t gotten a full practice in with us. We’re running through warm-ups, waiting for everyone to show up, but Rock’s nowhere to be seen and I’m looking at the clock on the wall every few minutes, then looking at my phone to see if there’s any news from him.

  “Anything?” I ask Onyx and he shrugs.

  “I haven’t heard from him since Sunday, to be honest,” he says. “Sam?”

  Sam shakes his head. “Been spending time with the family.”

  “Fuck,” I grunt. First Tad, now Rock. Is my whole band going to fall apart before I can get us back on track?

  “We can do it without the back-up guitar,” Onyx suggests.

  I shake my head. “There’s at least three songs that won’t work without it.”

  “We could cut them?” Sam offers. I hate that, because Serge really only knows a specific portion of our catalog and cutting out some of the songs he does know for ones he doesn’t hours before the show seems foolish.

  “I might have an idea,” Serge says, but his face is uncertain, his brows knitted together, his forehead wrinkled in a way that clearly says he’s wrestling with himself.

  “Let’s hear it,” I say, my heart in my throat, waiting and hopeful.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not saying it’s a good idea.”

  “Spit it out,” Onyx says.

  “I don’t even know if he’s available…”

  “Serge,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

  “I could call Luke,” he says.

  “Luke?” I frown, not following. Should I know Luke?

  But Sam whistles, laughing to himself. “No shit? Luke Bassett the pussy hound?”

  Serge scowls, but gives a reticent nod. “That’s the one.”

  The penny drops and my eyes go wide. Luke Bassett was in Nuclear Kool-aid with Serge and Ian. He was the wild one of the group, the one that was always in tabloids for being with one starlet or another. Until the band fell apart with Serge’s OD. As far as I know, they haven’t really been in touch since he and Ian got clean. Luke never did, from what I’ve heard, though it’s been years since he’s been in the spotlight, so who knows really.

  “Is he still playing?” I ask, my voice kind of hushed, awed. Luke’s another one of these guys that’s just insanely talented. The whole of Nuclear Kool-aid was, that’s what made their dissolution so damn heartbreaking.

  “I don’t know, to be honest. Haven’t talked to him in ages.”

  “Well, call him up. We’re wasting time,” Onyx says, fiddling with his bass even though there’s nothing to do.

  Serge hesitates.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s just that… Luke can be difficult. And he doesn’t exactly have a reputation for keeping his nose out of trouble.” He sends a meaningful look my way and I know I’m supposed to care about that. I know I should consider how playing with Luke will effect the changes to my image I’m trying to make, but it’s Luke fucking Bassett. How can I say no to playing with him?

  “We don’t have much of a choice here,” I say, trying to inject some remorse into my voice, though I’m pretty sure it’s just pure excitement.

  Serge sighs and shakes his head. I think he’s probably regretting even bringing it up. Maybe he thought we’d all balk at the idea instead of jumping at it. He gets up and walks out of the room with his phone to his ear.

  “What’s the plan if this doesn’t work out?” Onyx asks, an eye on the door.

  I shrug. “We’ll do what we always do: wing it.”

  Sam laughs from the back of the room, but Onyx doesn’t look amused at all. He just purses his lips and goes back to fiddling with his bass.

  Serge comes back in a few minutes later and by the look on his face, I can’t tell if he failed or succeeded.

  “Well?” I ask.

  He nods. “He says he’ll do it. He knows your stuff and he’ll meet us at sound check.”

  “He’s not even coming to practice?” Onyx scoffs.

  Serge gives him an apologetic look. “Told you he’s difficult.”

  “That’s fine,” I say. “If he knows our stuff, I believe in him. I’m sure he’ll be able to pick it up no problem.”

  Serge nods with me and I let out a relieved sigh. Another crisis averted.

  We run through what we can a couple more times before heading to the club. And we’re twenty minutes into sound check when Luke appears.

  Serge introduces him to everyone, and when he comes to me to shake my hand, I can smell whiskey on his breath. It makes me hold his hand a little tighter, my jaw clenching with the need for a drink. But I never drink before shows, even when they’re a clusterfuck like this one.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say to Luke. “Serge says you know our stuff?”

  “’Course,” he slurs. “Who doesn’t know DCoy gotta get up to get down down down,” he sings a line from one of our chart-toppers, bopping his head.

  “Cool, let’s run through the set,” I say, trying to ignore the look Onyx is giving me. Because I know the look he’s giving me. And I know the look is ‘who the hell did you invite to play with us?’

  Serge and Luke exchange a few terse words I can’t hear, but I’m not here for old band drama or for them to catch up or anything else. I strum a chord on my guitar and everyone’s attention turns to me.

  “Battered and Broken,” I say, and no one says anything. They just all take up their instruments and their positions on stage and we run through the song.

  Luke hits a couple of snags, but for the most part they’re things we’re able to iron out now, before the show. And by the time we’re getting ready for the curtain call, I’m pretty sure it’s all going to be fine.

  Never mind that we advertised for Serge and got Luke as a package deal. I know Bobby’s pissed at me for making him change the schedule, but this should more than make up for it.

  Then the curtain’s going up, the crowd’s going nuts, and the rest of it’s a blur. I know it goes well, that’s all I’ve got. There’s electricity in the air and the music is flowing, it’s sounding great, the audience is loving it, everything’s right with the world. Luke and Serge fill the missing spots in our band perfectly and they have a familiarity together that adds another layer. Even Onyx is getting into it. I see him send looks my way a couple of times. Looks that tell me how much he’s enjoying himself. Looks that say ‘are you believing this shit?’ in a good way.

  We get called back on stage twice, which is kind of unheard of at a shitty hole in the wall like this, but people are crammed in, trying to shove in through the doors. I guess word got out about who’s on stage. I’m just surprised the Fire Marshal hasn’t shown up to break up the party yet.

  Finally, sweaty and exhausted, we stumble off stage. Before I can even give him a clap on the back Luke’s got a flask to his lips and then he holds it out to me. My mouth waters and goes dry at the same time, all my awareness focused to a pinprick on the neck of the flask. Then, from the corner of my eye I see Onyx watching me. And further in the shadows, I see Serge too.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I say, shoving the flask away. “Great job out there tonight. You really saved our ass.”

  Luke shrugs. “Felt good to be in front of a crowd again. Now, if you don’t mind, there’s a crowd of girls gathering outside my dress
ing room and I’d hate to keep them waiting.”

  I try not to grimace as I nod at his retreating back. So Luke’s not the type to hang out after the show. Fair enough.

  “Well, you did it again!” I say cheerfully to Serge, wrapping him in a hug, resisting the urge to kiss him because I know Onyx is hovering around here somewhere.

  “I did,” Serge says nodding.

  “Pretty sure that was even better than last time,” I gush.

  “Well I’d hope so, since he actually got time to practice with us this time,” Onyx butts in.

  “Listen,” I say, rocking on my heels a little, nervousness bubbling up inside me. “I was thinking once the label lifts my suspension… Maybe you could join us on the road?”

  “Tor, shouldn’t the whole band be in on this?” Onyx asks, but I wave him off.

  “They’ll be fine.”

  “Besides, we have a drummer. What about Tad?”

  “As flattering as the offer is, I’m steering clear of that lifestyle, remember?” Serge says, stopping the argument between me and Onyx before it can start.

  “Don’t overthink it,” I say, trying to put my persuasive voice on even though it’s not working because I’m still irritated with Onyx ruining my plans. “You have a good time playing with us. We like having you. It’s a good fit.”

  Onyx and Serge are both giving me the same look. The same hard-faced look that says they’re not going to budge and they’re not going to see my side of things. I don’t really want to ruin the good mood after the show, so I just shrug.

  “Fine. Just think about it,” I say. “Gino’s? It’s not Friday this time.”

  Onyx and Serge exchange a look, but both of them shrug and then we’re off for pizza. I’ll just have to keep working on the Serge joining us full-time thing.

  Chapter 9

  Serge

  It’s Friday afternoon and the bus arrives right on time. The guy comes in with a clipboard for me to sign, and I’m so happy that this is all taken care of — it’s here, it’s paid for, and I don’t have to let the kids down.

  “Are you going to be the driver?” I ask, handing the clipboard back to him.

  The guy looks at me like he doesn’t speak English.

  “What?”

  “The bus? Driving it? You?”

  He scowls at me. “Nah, man. We just provide the bus. No driver.”

  My heart stops. “Are you serious? You’re fucking with me, right?”

  The guy just shrugs and drops the keys in my hand, leaving.

  What kind of rental place gives you a bus without a driver? I should cancel the whole thing now. There’s no money to hire a driver and I’m pretty sure the center’s insurance isn’t going to cover someone else driving it, but I can’t let them down. I just can’t. And I’ve driven a tour bus before. I can handle this. I might not have the right endorsements on my license, but as long as nothing goes wrong, we’ll be fine. Right?

  Fuck, I hate this. But there’s nothing that I can do about it now. The kids are going to be showing up any minute with suitcases in hand.

  Sure enough, as soon as I go outside, there’s a small group of kids gathering around the bus. Tori’s there too, already helping them load their luggage into the compartments under the bus.

  “Hey you,” she says brightly. “Excited for the big day?” Her smile fades quickly and she jogs over to me, concern in her features. “What’s wrong?”

  I tell her the whole situation with the bus driver and she sighs.

  “I think our best bet is to just have you drive?” she says, nibbling her bottom lip.

  I nod. “I know, I was thinking that too. I just hate it.”

  She shrugs. “Sometimes you’ve gotta break eggs to make an omelet?”

  “I don’t think that’s what that saying means.”

  She laughs and rests a hand on my arm, the simple touch sending warm comfort all the way to my bones. “It’ll be okay. You’re doing the right thing for the right reasons. You don’t get punished for that.”

  “Maybe you don’t,” I grumble.

  “And I’ll be with you,” she says brightly. “Now cheer up before the kids figure out what’s wrong.”

  She’s right of course. Which surprises me. Not that she’s right, but that she’s thinking about the kids and what they’re able to perceive. Kids see a lot more than people give them credit for. And, when you’ve got teenagers in the mix, they’re too smart for their own damn good. So I plaster on a smile and help load in luggage.

  “No one gets on the bus without giving me a permission slip,” I shout to the crowd, taking up post at the door. One by one they hand me their slips and board the bus, excitement buzzing in the air.

  We’re just closing up the compartments when a beat-up Acura squeals to a stop on the curb.

  “We’ve got one more for the trip!” Ava shouts, jumping out of the car.

  I’m instantly grinning from ear to ear, and the passenger door opens. “Commander!”

  She doesn’t run up to me like usual and her skin is still paler than I’m used to, an ashy kind of toffee color instead of the rich deep caramel I’m used to. She smiles and waves and it’s me that does the running, going right up to her and scooping her into a big bear hug.

  “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

  Ava smiles. “She’s been doing pretty well and I convinced the doctors to let her out for the weekend. But no staying up late, no piles of junk food, no overexertion. Here’s a list of phone numbers for doctors and social workers in the area that I know. And here,” she says, pulling out a thick binder from the backseat, “is everything you need to know about her medications and stuff. Her foster parents put this together for overnight trips, but there’s never been one until now. If anything happens—”

  “Ava,” I say gently, settling a hand on her shoulder. I know that she’s overworked. I know she’s got a hundred more cases like Kamala’s on her plate, and yet I’ve never seen her give less than everything. I’ve never seen her try to shirk her duties. I’ve never seen her neglect Kamala. I know she cares about her as much as I do, even if she doesn’t have as much time to devote to her as she’d like.

  “It’s going to be fine. I’m going to take good care of her, I promise.”

  Ava slumps forward with a sigh and laughs at herself. “I know you will. Anyone else and I might not be so willing to let her go away, but I know you’ll always look out for her, Serge.”

  “Aaaaava,” Kamala whines from the front of the bus. “Tori says I can’t get on without a permission slip.”

  Tori’s grinning and holds up her hands innocently. “Those are the rules.”

  “Oh, I’ve got that right…” Ava digs in her bag, and while I’m waiting I start rifling through the binder, overwhelmed with the amount of stuff there is to know about Kamala’s condition.

  “Where is it?” Ava mutters, and I flip back to the front of the binder.

  “Looks like they put it in here. We’re good. Try to have a relaxing weekend for me, will you?” I say, smiling. Ava sighs and laughs at herself again.

  “I’ll try. No promises.”

  “Thanks for bringing her!” I toss over my shoulder, jogging up to the bus where Tori’s still giggling and blocking Kamala’s playful attempts to get past her.

  “I think you might want this,” I whisper to Kamala, handing her the permission slip. She beams at me and straightens her spine before handing it to Tori.

  “My ticket. I think you’ll find it all in order,” she says primly.

  Tori looks at it studiously, making a lot of ‘hmms’ and ‘ahhs’ before saying, “Yes, it all appears to be here. Please, board the vessel.”

  I shake my head at her, following them both on board the bus.

  Inside is chaos, kids standing on seats, leaning in aisles, tossing things from the back to the front. I whistle to get their attention, but it does no good, so I grab the intercom and try again.

  The kids all stop and
shriek, covering their ears and scowling at me.

  “Who’s ready to kick some ass?” I say, and they cheer.

  “All right, ground rules. I’m driving, so Tori’s in charge if you need anything between here and where we’re going. There’s a bathroom in the back and if you make it a mess, you have to clean it. I want everyone to stay in their seats and stay sitting down the whole ride. It should only be a couple of hours, but the bus has got a DVD player, so if you want a movie—”

  “Yeah!” a few of the younger kids cheer.

  “—your choices are Frozen or The Lego Movie.” Tori arches a brow and I shrug. So I had a couple of kids movies laying around. I like a little lightness and humor sometimes. And it’s not like I don’t have cause. It’s pretty rare that I’m not feeling normal music class, but when it happens, movies come in handy.

  “Those movies are old,” Eddie says.

  “That’s what you get. And if you can’t agree on one of them, then there won’t be a movie at all and you’ll just have to listen to me singing the whole way.”

  “I vote Lego Movie!” Eddie shouts quickly. Some of the girls argue for Frozen, but it’s quickly decided and Tori’s popping in the DVD as I get settled in the driver’s seat.

  Kamala and Tori are sharing the front seats right behind me and I like being able to look into the mirror and see them both there safe and sound.

  “I’m so glad you could come with us,” Tori says, slinking down into the seat next to Kamala.

  Kamala grins. “Me too. I didn’t think they were going to let me.”

  “I know Serge would’ve been bummed if you didn’t make it.”

  I try not to listen to every word of their conversation while I make my way to the highway. Thankfully, the kids are mostly behaving. I don’t expect them to be perfect little angels or anything, but they’re my kids, they respect me, and I like to think that they’ll behave better for me than most people. But every time I tune back into the conversation behind me, they’re talking about me again. I don’t know if it’s Tori or Kamala directing the conversation, but my hands tighten on the wheel.

  “Every time I’m in the hospital, he gets me a new friend,” Kamala says, digging in her backpack. She pulls out a stuffed rabbit that’s looking worse for wear, kind of a dingy gray instead of white, the fabric rubbed off its nose from eskimo kisses, all the stuffing gone from its joints from too many tight hugs.