Song for Me (Rock Me Book 4) Read online

  “Precisely.”

  Drake leans back, considering me.

  I want to take him by the shoulders and shake him. I want to thrash him forward and back until he realizes the damage he’s done. “You’ve got a fucked-up sense of morality, you know that?”

  Silent, he watches me.

  “I thought Uncle Ray drinking away the money I borrowed was bad.” Shaking my head, I curse the slight tremble that betrays the hurt intent on choking me. “But it was nothing, nothing compared to what you’ve done.”

  Drake blinks.

  “I put everything I had into that speaker. I spent months designing it, weeks building it, days testing it, and hours upon fucking hours perfecting every component. It was my one chance to make a better life for myself.” Closing my eyes, I block out the face of the man I foolishly offered my heart to. “I even made a deal with the devil to fund it. I put my life on the line because I knew the payoff would be worth the potential downfall.” My laughter is devoid of humor. “And you gave my idea to someone else.”

  “To help you.”

  Snapping them open, I narrow my gaze. “Do you honestly think a man like Zeke would ask a nobody like me to go into partnership with him?”

  Silence.

  “It’s ridiculous. I mean, why would he? He’s got everything he needs already. There’s nothing to stop him from taking on the project and making serious bank. Alone.”

  Silence.

  I lean in until our lips brush. A spark of energy zaps my skin from the contact. “I’m gonna give you some advice.” My tongue peeks out, wetting my mouth.

  Since we’re touching, it dampens his too. Drake inhales a sharp breath, his pupils dilating. But he doesn’t move.

  “Save yourself.”

  His eyebrows raise.

  “I mean it. Save yourself from me.” My eyes dart between his. “You once told me you knew darkness, that you lived in it for twelve years.” My whisper caresses his soft lips. “You’ve brought out the darkness in me, Drake. And trust me when I say you’ve never seen darkness like mine. Not in this lifetime.” After pulling away, I level him with a direct stare. No mean feat since his hold on me tightens with my deliberate shift. “Get your fucking hands off me. I want nothing to do with you.”

  Chapter Two

  “Harper.”

  Internally, I groan. Quick footsteps crunch the gravel behind me as I stalk to my RV.

  After Drake finally released me, I stormed from the music venue, intent on locking myself inside my van until the gig starts. I want to crank heavy-ass rock music while taking apart some equipment and making improvements. It’s the only activity that’ll keep me out of trouble. If I don’t, something will get broken—probably my fist as it connects with someone’s face. Preferably Drake’s.

  “Wait up.” Soft puffs of breath grow louder with each exhalation.

  Throwing my head back, I curse the cloudy sky. It’s not that I hate the person behind me. Out of everyone on tour, Willow is the least likely to piss me off. However, I’m tired, my heart hurts, and I want to be left alone.

  Sadly, her pace quickens. Who would have thought the lead guitarist is actually an Olympic sprinter in disguise?

  Willow has been nothing but nice to me. Unlike many of the other spineless jerks on tour, she’s gone out of her way to say hi and strike up conversation. Even knowing I’m not great at the whole socializing thing hasn’t stopped her from initiating a friendship of sorts. Her persistence and genuine kindheartedness mean that the times we’ve spoken, I’ve actually felt like she cares. So, her unaffected sincerity is the only reason I don’t flip her the bird and continue on my merry way. It’s also the reason I slow my pace and then stop.

  After taking a steadying breath, I face her.

  Willow’s cheeks are pink, the freckles dusting her nose made all the more noticeable by the heightened color in her otherwise pale skin. Sparkling jade irises are fringed with thick, dark lashes, and wavy hair the color of a campfire at dusk tumbles about her shoulders. Wearing beat-up Converse high tops, denim cutoffs, and a cropped T-shirt, she has an understated beauty unlike any woman I’ve ever seen. And when she smiles….

  “Hey,” she grins.

  She’s stunning.

  “Hi.” I swallow and flick my gaze this way and that, wishing I was better at being normal.

  Willow tips her head to one side, considering me. Her intelligent gaze has the uncanny ability to look behind the wall I’ve erected and see the turmoil I’m trying to hide. After a moment, she nods. “Thought so. Come with me.” Without waiting for an answer, she spins on her heel and advances toward the tour bus on the other side of the parking lot.

  “What? Why?” I call to her retreating back. My questions are whipped up by the salty breeze and tossed toward the ocean.

  She ignores me and instead disappears inside the sleek vehicle.

  I don’t want to follow her. In fact, the last thing I want to do is enter the space where the two-faced, backstabbing lead singer’s been living this past week. The bus will probably smell like him, the lingering scent of sandalwood and sex making the pain beneath my ribs that much more excruciating. However, I owe it to Willow to at least talk to her, if only to say thanks, but no thanks, to whatever it is that she wants.

  Resigned, I let out a low sigh and tread toward the bus. At least Drake won’t be there. He’s sorting out the vocals mix with the sound engineer. With any luck, Benji will fuck up the sound levels, and he’ll be stuck trying to sort them out for the next few hours. I shake my head at the resident douche nugget posing as my superior who wouldn’t know a bass note from a time signature if it bit him in the balls. I could do a better job drunk.

  Once I make my way up the steps, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dimness of the tour bus. However, when they do, they widen in shock. “Whoa.” Everywhere I look is maple, chrome, and leather. It’s a stunning combination, no doubt crafted by an interior designer who charges more than my annual salary for a fifteen-minute consultation.

  A state-of-the-art kitchen lines one side of the living area. My shocked face stares back at me from every shiny surface and top-of-the-line appliance. Opposite is a booth with lush leather seats nestled around a rectangular table the size of my RV. There’s a huge flat-screen TV and gaming console mounted on the wall just past it. I picture the band passing time between shows eating popcorn and watching awesome movies or having epic zombie battles.

  Beyond an open doorway is a narrow corridor with a fully equipped bathroom on the right. I shake my head at the plush towels and fancy soaps lining the sizable space. Pretty sure there’s more than one showerhead behind the spotless glass door. Probably heated towel rails too.

  Beyond that are bedrooms. As in, plural. I scrunch my eyes together and then open them again, but the image remains the same. An entryway to one of the rooms showcases a king-sized bed with luxurious white linens and plump pillows. I have the sudden urge to take a running leap before launching myself onto the downy bedding. I bet it would feel like sleeping on cotton candy.

  “Crazy, huh?”

  Blinking, I nod in agreement.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she continues. “It’s a beautiful place, and the bed is beyond comfortable.”

  “Thought so,” I mumble.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.”

  After considering me, she looks away. Green eyes take in the surroundings, and her forehead creases in concentration. It’s as though she’s trying to find the answer to a riddle. “I dunno. There’s something about it….” Willow shrugs. “It doesn’t feel like home.”

  I don’t reply because I’ve got nothing to base it on. I mean, how would I know what having a home feels like? I’ve never had one. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. I’ve been on the road since I was a child, so I wouldn’t have the first clue about it.

  Willow doesn’t seem to mind my silence. With a gentle smile, she gestures for me to take a seat in the dark leather bo
oth. I do as she asks, and as soon as I’m settled, prop my chin in my hand. “What’s up?”

  It takes several attempts at opening and closing cupboards before the guitarist locates a small container. It’s rectangular in shape with delicate yellow and white sunflowers hand-painted on the sides. Even from where I’m sitting, it seems old, like a family heirloom or something. Opening it, Willow ducks her head and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of whatever is inside. Her eyes close as a small smile plays about her lips. I’m guessing she likes it.

  Upon opening them again, she looks at me. “Tea?”

  “Not really a tea kinda girl.”

  Her grin widens. “You will be after this one. Trust me.”

  Trust.

  I hate the word.

  Willow must notice the way my expression darkens, because the light in her eyes dims and concern replaces it. I stare down at the tabletop, not wanting to see the questions in the firm line of her lips or the deep grooves bracketing them.

  Minutes later, a cup is placed before me. Steam uncurls from the hot liquid inside, the faint aroma of sweetened lemon teasing my nostrils. I sniff. “What’s this?”

  Willow sits on the opposite side of the booth. I’m thankful for the space since I’m not a people person and all. “It’s homemade lemon balm tea.” She indicates the mug. “Try it.”

  Without meaning to, I scrunch my nose. The guitarist notices and throws her head back, laughing. “It won’t kill you, I promise. Lemon balm is good for the soul. Your body will thank you for it too.”

  “My body survives on PB&J sandwiches and Pop-Tarts. It’s not picky.”

  She nods to the cup nestled in my hands. “All the more reason to try something new. Go on, live a little.”

  Rolling my eyes, I lift the cup and take a small sip. It’s hot, causing my eyes to water. The gentle flavor of honeyed lemon bursts on my tongue, and even though I don’t love it, I don’t hate it either. Placing it back on the wooden tabletop, I lick my lips.

  “What do you think?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “It’s okay.”

  “It’ll grow on you.”

  “Maybe.”

  Willow grins before drinking from her own cup. “I added some honey; makes it sweeter.” With a contented sigh, she replaces it on the table and relaxes into her seat. “Chairs are comfy too,” she murmurs, referring to her earlier statement about the comfortable beds.

  “Sure are.” I wiggle into the soft leather and marvel at the way it molds to my body.

  We’re both quiet for a moment.

  Willow gazes out the window. “Mom and I used to make lemon balm tea together. We grew it in our backyard.” With a wry smile, she shakes her head. “Damn thing almost took over our herb garden and the veggie patch next to it.” Her melodic chuckle is the equivalent of windchimes in a gentle breeze. “One year, we had so many leaves to turn into tea that Mom swore she never wanted to see another lemon balm plant again.”

  The corner of my lip twitches.

  “She ripped out what was left and planted mint instead.” Red tendrils fall about her face as she shakes her head, chuckling. “Only, mint is just as bad. That plant actually did take over our herb garden. And I swear the carrots tasted weird that season.”

  Her story makes me wonder what it would have been like growing up in a home. One with a parent who didn’t abandon their child on their brother’s doorstep before disappearing from their life. I wonder what it would have been like to have a set address, a house with a front and backyard to play in as a kid. A home that would forever be in the same place regardless of where I went or how long I was gone.

  I tuck some hair behind my ear, determined to think of something else.

  Willow clears her throat. “Missed you these last couple days.”

  Here we go. I give her a direct stare.

  “What?”

  “Why don’t you come out and say it?”

  “Say what, exactly?” Eyebrows raised, expression clear, she’s the poster girl for innocence. But if there’s one thing I know about Willow, it’s that she’s clever. She knows exactly what she’s doing, even if she looks guileless doing it.

  “Obviously, you have a question, so ask it already.”

  Green eyes pierce mine. It’s then I notice something other than determination lacing her perceptive gaze. There’s hurt swirling within it too. It makes me regret what I said, and, as the silence builds, I wish I could take it back. Only, I don’t. As much as I hate offending the kind guitarist, a small part of me knows that behind the genuine concern is a desire for answers. Answers to questions I’m not ready to share.

  Willow glances away, her voice low. “You might not think so, but I did miss you.” Standing, she takes her now empty cup to the sink and washes it. “Not everyone is out to get you, you know. Some of us care.” Reaching into the cupboard, she puts it away.

  I stay where I am, feeling like a complete jerk. “Sorry.”

  She sighs. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.” I groan; it’s long and low. Then I lift my cup and take another sip of herbal tea. Seems I’m hating it less and less. “Look, I’m not good at the whole….” Lost for what to say next, I leave my statement unfinished.

  “I know.” Turning, Willow faces me. She leans against the kitchen bench, hands braced on either side of her lithe body. “And because of that, I want to tell you something. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I’m going to say it anyway because it’s important.”

  My entire body tenses. It’s as though I’m preparing to be tackled to the ground before being repeatedly punched in the face.

  “I wasn’t the only one who missed you.” There’s an echo in my chest where my heart used to beat. “Drake did too.” Damn her and her earnest expression. It means Drake fooled her as well. Clearly, the guy is a master of subterfuge.

  Scrubbing one hand down the side of my face, I exhale a loud breath. “Gonna have to disagree with you there.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  There’s that word again, truth. And it means just as little the third time as it did the first. “Drake didn’t miss me, Wil. He might have pretended to, but he didn’t. Not really.”

  “You’re wrong. You weren’t here, so you didn’t see his reaction. But I’m telling you, the guy turned crazy. He searched the place from top to bottom for you, and when he noticed your RV gone….” She shakes her head, eyes wide. “I’ve never seen anything like it. His face turned pale, it was like he’d been told someone died, and then he….” Pause. “He was so angry. I swear, if he’d given me permission to read his aura, it would have been a clouded red color, he was that mad.” She walks back over to the booth and sits down again. Leaning forward, she speaks in a hushed whisper. “Drake stormed over to security demanding answers, and when they couldn’t give him any information, he hunted down Ray.”

  My hands clench around the warm cup. The knowledge that Drake used my uncle’s drinking addiction to get my phone number still makes me furious.

  “Reid and I went with him because we were worried he’d do something stupid. He was acting so erratically.” Pause. “I’ve known him a long time, and he’s never been so crazed. It was as if he had nothing to lose, you know?” Her eyes glaze over. “It was scary.” She is quiet for a long moment, the sounds of the crew bustling around outside my only distraction from an otherwise heavy silence.

  Willow meets my eyes, her voice low. “I never thought of Drake as dangerous before. I mean, I’ve known him since we were teenagers. Even though he’s been in some scrapes, he’s usually the negotiator, you know? He can talk his way out of anything.”

  I snort.

  “And you might not think it, but he’d never hurt a soul, not on purpose.” Swallowing, she continues. “But right then, in that moment?” Awe mixed with fear overtakes her features. “He was capable of murder.”

  I glance down at my cup, not wanting to see the contradiction in her expression. As much as I’d love
to think Drake was genuinely concerned for my welfare when I left, the realist in me knows that’s not the case. He’s a selfish, egotistical asshole. Arrogance like that is enough to turn even the kindest person to the dark side.

  I shake my head, resigned. “You’ve got it all wrong, Wil.”

  There’s a tightness to her jaw when I glance up again. “How so?”

  “Look….” Exhaling a loud breath, I rub my forehead. “You just do.”

  “That’s a rubbish reason and you know it.” Tipping her head to one side, she watches me. Her inquisitive gaze searches my features for any signs that I’m hiding something. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  My mouth clamps shut.

  “We’re friends, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?” Pursing her lips, she leans back and crosses her arms. “Ouch.”

  Pushing the cup away, I stand. “Look, you’re a nice person and all, and the tea doesn’t taste half as bad as I expected, but I’m not gonna spill my secrets. I’ve had enough purging for one day.” Treading past her, I reach for the door handle.

  “He cares for you.” Her words are gunshots fired at point-blank range. Each one obliterates my insides until nothing but gaping wounds remain.

  My grip on the handle tightens until my knuckles turn a ghostly white.

  “We all do, but him especially.”

  “He’s got a shitty way of showing it.” Yanking the door open, I glare into the evening.

  I can sense Willow’s sad smile. “Whatever he’s done, and it must have been terrible if your stranglehold on the door handle is any indication, I’m sure his heart was in the right place.”

  “You’re assuming he has one.”

  “He does. It’s big and true. He’s never given it away before, which is why his actions over the past two days were so out of character. He’s never cared enough about a girl to go to the effort of chasing her down. He’s usually trying to make them leave, for Hera’s sake. So before you cut him from your life like I have a feeling you’re trying to do, remember that he cares. More than you know.”