Bad for Me (Rock Me Book 6) Page 2

  I’m not a fan of either.

  Before I can figure out what I’m going to do, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Hoping it’s not who I think it is, I fish it out. “Fuck.”

  Jerry’s name lights up the screen.

  If I don’t answer, he’s going to keep calling. Journalists don’t call him the Shark for nothing. The man can smell the blood of innocent victims from miles away. It’s probably why he phoned.

  Heart in my throat, my finger hovers above the accept call button. “Screw it.” I press down. Forcing the phone to my ear, I adopt an upbeat tone. “Jerry, hi. How are you doing?” Terrified he’s going to sense my inner turmoil from hundreds of miles away, I carefully tread the plush carpet to the door opposite Tobias’s.

  “Mae.” My boss’s raspy voice pauses as he inhales from his cigarette. “It’s been seventy-two hours. Give me an update, kid.”

  Kid. I hate when he calls me that.

  At twenty-three, I might be one of the youngest journalists on the team, but I’ve earned my spot. I write better than the senior assistant editor, take amazing photographs, and know good music when I hear it.

  Only, it’ll all count for nothing after he learns what I’ve done.

  If he finds out.

  Inserting the room key into the lock, I use my body to push the door open and walk inside.

  “Well?” Jerry exhales.

  If Tobias or I admit what happened, Jerry will send me back to Seattle. He’ll tell me to pack up my desk and go home. Only, I won’t have a home to return to. With an unfinished, unpaid magazine article, there’s no way I’ll be able to afford what’s left of the mortgage before the bank seizes the townhouse. And they won’t exactly offer another loan to someone who couldn’t repay the first one.

  I’ll be fucked.

  But if neither of us say anything….

  Determination strengthens my resolve. “I’m interviewing the band that came runner-up in Rising Star. You know, the talent quest that aired a couple of months ago?”

  “You’ve told me this already. I wouldn’t have signed off on the business trip if I didn’t know who you were writing about.”

  Okay, then. “Anyway, I’m partway through collecting primary background information on each of the band members. They’ve got an interesting story, but I have a feeling they’re hiding something. Something big. I want to know what it is. Not so I can exploit it, of course. You know I’m not that kind of journalist. I want to know what I’m working with so I can figure out my angle.”

  He snorts. “The angle won’t matter if you don’t get all the interviews. Why’s it taking so long?”

  Images of Tobias’s naked body flood my memory.

  I bite my lip. “They’ve got hectic schedules. Between recording, band practice, and planning the release of their debut album, it’s hard tracking them down.” And coercing the stupidly gorgeous drummer to open his damn mouth.

  “Try harder.”

  I walk through the hotel room and beeline straight for the balcony. “Sure. I’ll get right on that.”

  Jerry exhales. “You know what? You’re wasting your time. At this rate, you won’t have an article written by the submission date.”

  I pause midstep. “But—”

  “It’s been three days, kid. If you can’t get foundation information in that time, what hope have you got for the rest of the write-up?”

  With furrowed brows, I move into the afternoon sunshine. “I’ll figure it out, Jerry. You know I’m good for it. I just need more time.”

  “Kid, I know you fronted the cash for this story. It’s a personal thing, I get it. No one will think any worse of you for admitting you screwed up. This story is a dead end.”

  I clench my free hand into a fist, my nails digging deep into my palm. The pain that follows is a necessary reminder that what’s worth fighting for is never easy.

  Hurt comes first.

  My boss continues, oblivious. “If you can’t find a way to get the band to talk to you, the story’s over.”

  Forcing my fingers to relax, I press them flat against the glass that separates the balcony from the ocean sixteen stories below. The heat from the smooth surface warms my chilled skin, giving me the strength I need. “Jerry, like I told you in our last briefing, I believe in these guys. Bradley Reading signed them to his label, remember? Bootleg Records doesn’t contract just anyone. When their album releases, this band’s going to explode on the music scene.”

  He snorts.

  “And Riff Online will be right alongside them.”

  Silence falls on the other end of the line. I picture Jerry watching the ashes tumble from his cigarette, deep in thought.

  Sensing his weakening resolve, I go in for the kill. “Think of the exposure. Our website will be the first to report on their rise to fame as it’s actually happening. The timing will be perfect. It’ll be a Riff exclusive.”

  Jerry inhales more smoke.

  Taking his reserve as a positive sign, I continue. “I’ll get stories, anecdotes, and interviews. I’ll get the kind of information no one else can and turn it into amazing posts for fans to fawn over while I’m putting it all together. It’s what I’m good at, you know this.”

  Until Tobias.

  Shaking my head, I push away all thoughts of his dark looks and godlike physique.

  After a long pause, Jerry exhales. “Fine. But you’d better come up with something soon, or I’m canning the article.”

  The line goes dead.

  I lean against the glass, relief turning my muscles weak. “Thank fuck.”

  Slipping the phone away, I tip my chin, willing the waning panic away. The sea blows chocolate strands of hair into my face. It oversensitizes my skin until it prickles. But I don’t push them away. Instead, I remain exactly where I am as a test of resilience.

  I’m going to need it.

  4

  Tobias

  “Dude, where are you?” my bandmate, Jasper, asks.

  My long strides eat up the hallway. “Out.” I’m not. Not anymore. After paying an obligatory visit to Mom, I got out of there as fast as I could.

  “That’s code for pussy, right?”

  I face my hotel room door. “No.”

  I picture the guitarist shaking his head. “You disappoint me, man.”

  “Deal with it.”

  Jasper exhales. “Bro, I’m telling you, you need to get laid. You’ve been acting like an asshole since the accident. I get it, okay? We all do. You fucked up. Sure, I wanted to throat punch you for the whole Rising Star thing, but—”

  “Save it.” Pushing the door open, I stalk inside. I know I’m being a dick. But every time Jasper opens his damn mouth, he reminds me of what I’ve lost.

  I’m fucking aware.

  Goddamn Rising Star, where I screwed up a million-dollar recording contract, fell for the wrong woman, and then was shafted by my parents.

  It’s not something I’ll forget.

  It doesn’t matter if I drink a bottle of bourbon and wrap my car around a tree. It doesn’t matter if I tell Dad to shove his job offer up his ass. It doesn’t matter if I say ad-fucking-nauseum that this time will be different because I’m going to come out on top.

  I never do.

  I push myself to the brink, only to be dragged back and punched in the face. Jasper doesn’t understand what it’s like. He’s happy with the smaller contract from Bootleg Records, and he loves getting his dick wet by random chicks. The guy’s fucking invincible because he never lets shit get to him.

  I do.

  I gave my heart to my best friend. She had it for years and never knew. But when she found out, she didn’t want it and gave it back again.

  I’m in love with someone else.

  Fuck.

  A heart can’t be shoved back into place. The only time I forget is when I drown the silence with my drums. And even that comes with a price.

  Every band meeting, jam session, and gig is a lie.

  It fucking hurts.


  Seeing her, picking up my sticks, pounding the skins—all of it is torture. My injuries won’t let me forget what went down. My mind won’t push the dark thoughts back. They’re always there. Daring me to push myself to the brink and hoping to fucking God that this time, I’ll end it for good.

  Jasper clears his throat. “So, where’d you go?”

  Brought back to the present, I agitatedly shove my fingers through my hair, gripping the ends.

  Putting the phone on speaker, I chuck it on the bed and swap my jeans for shorts. “Mom called. She wanted to meet up.”

  I picture him slowly nodding. “Gotcha. How’s mommy dearest?”

  Yanking the laces of my running shoes, I grit my teeth. “The fucking same. She’s acting the victim while playing the slut.”

  Jasper snorts. “Dude.”

  “What? She fucked her PA in my bed to get back at Dad. I don’t give a shit if he screwed his secretary at their place, Mom didn’t have to drag me into it.” Straightening, I grit my teeth. “I never should have given her the house keys.”

  “For sure.” Jasper pauses. “How’s your old man?”

  “The same as always. He doesn’t give a shit. Not enough to stop chasing jailbait or file for a divorce.” I pause. “He won’t shut up about me taking over the business either. Says drumming is a waste of time and I should give it up before I make even more of a dick of myself.”

  “Damn. That sucks, bro.”

  A familiar burn fuels its way up my legs. The fire spreads through my muscles, warning me to find an outlet and fast. Since my drums are in the studio, I’ll settle for a workout at the gym.

  “So, what did your mom want?”

  I stride into the closet, grab a clean T-shirt, and yank it over my head. “A bigger pool. Mine’s not doing it for her.”

  Jasper coughs. “Remind me why she’s living at your place again?”

  I glare at the hotel room. The scent of cherries lingers in the air, making my scowl deepen. I opened the windows, but it won’t go away. That journalist is doing my damn head in.

  Grabbing my workout bag and phone, I head for the door. “Who the fuck knows. I need a new place. This one isn’t working for me anymore.”

  “Your plans need to wait, because we’ve got a band meeting. Get your ass to the studio, we’re starting in fifteen.”

  I stop. Curse.

  If I go to the band meeting now, I’ll either say something I can’t take back, or end up punching a hole in the wall.

  Or both.

  Leaving my room, I stride past Mae’s, hoping like fuck she doesn’t appear from nowhere like the last fifty times I’ve walked this corridor. “I’ll be a while yet. Got shit to do.”

  “Sis is getting impatient. You know how she is.”

  “Shiloh can wait.”

  5

  Mae

  Black’s Studio looms before me.

  The monolith of brick and steel is out of place in the coastal landscape. It makes no sense why it’s here, but I ignore my journalistic instinct in wanting to find out why and roll with it. Since this is my first opportunity to have all band members in one place at the same time, I need to stay focused on what’s important.

  Getting the story.

  As I’m about to step from my rental car, my phone lights up. I smile before accepting the call. “Maggie, hi. How are you?”

  “I’m good, baby girl.” My aunt’s warm voice filters down the line.

  It reminds me of the many nights I spent sleeping over at her place when I needed a reminder of what Mom looked like.

  “How are you doing, lovely?” she asks.

  “Oh, you know. Living the dream,” I lie, as images of Tobias flicker before me. “I’m working on an amazing story at the moment. I told you about it, right?”

  “You sure did. I’m proud of you for taking a leap of faith like this. It’s brave putting it all on the line.”

  The reminder settles at the base of my spine. Trying to appear upbeat while trepidation pricks my nape, I inject cheeriness in my tone. “So, what’s up? Don’t tell me you’ve found a potential buyer already?”

  “Well, I would, but the townhouse would have to be on the market first.” She pauses.

  It has me sinking in my seat. “Yeah, about that.” The weight of her statement sits heavy on my shoulders. I stare unseeing out the window. “I know you think it’s time to sell, and you’re amazing at your job so it’d be done super fast, but… I don’t know if I can.”

  “Baby girl, we’ve been having this conversation for a while now. No matter how many times it comes up, my opinion is always the same. Your home is with those you love, not the rooms they lived in. It might sound contradictory coming from a real estate agent but trust me on this. I’ve been in this industry a long time. Home is about people, not places. Family and friends turn a house into a home, not the other way around.” I picture her shaking her head, her brown eyes sad yet soft. “You’re holding on to the past, love. It’s time to let it go and move on.”

  Tears threaten and blink them away. “What if I can’t do that?”

  Now it’s her time to sigh. “At some point, you’ll have to. That’s just the way life is.”

  I hold back my comment that life can kiss my ass, because childishness won’t help me.

  Achieving my goal will.

  With renewed determination, I push back the sadness. Checking my makeup in the rearview mirror, I give a quick nod, satisfied with the way I look. “Yeah, I hear you. Can you hold off on advertising the townhouse for a bit longer, though? I’m hoping to have this story finished by the end of the week. If everything goes to plan, the cash will be in my bank account by the middle of next week and the townhouse won’t have to go on the market.”

  “Baby girl—”

  “Please, Maggie. For me?”

  She sighs, though it’s more resigned than anything. “You know I can’t say no to you. Okay, fine. We’ll hold off for a few more days. But I’m telling you, the market is hot right now. If you want me to sell the townhouse at above market price, we have to act soon.”

  Relieved I don’t have to sell yet, I step from the car, then shut and lock the door. “Sure thing. I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’m meeting a client.”

  “No problem, lovely.”

  Hitching my bag over my shoulder, I glance around the parking lot. “I love you. Chat soon, okay?”

  “Love you too, Mae. Bye.”

  Anticipation mixed with fear curdles in my stomach. With each step, my breath hitches. Strangely, rather than slow me down, it increases my pace until I’m striding toward the entrance.

  Shiloh steps into the afternoon sunlight. The tiny lead singer glances at the cloudless sky, squints, then lowers her gaze. After a series of blinks, a warm smile lights up her face as she sees me. “Mae, hi.” In a practiced move, she slips her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “I was just about to call you.”

  I pause. “We’re still on for today, right?”

  She gives a sheepish smile.

  Jerry’s warning about needing more information echoes in my ears. I force my expression to remain calm despite the anxiety turning my stomach into a series of knots.

  Thankfully, Shiloh waves my question away. “Don’t stress, everything’s fine. We’re still having a band meeting, and it’s no problem for you to sit in on it. We’re waiting on Tobias, that’s all. He’s not here yet. Bradley asked me to come outside to see if he’s rocked up.”

  Tension eases, and in its place sparks disappointment. Wanting to distract myself from that potential minefield, I channel my professional curiosity. “Now that I think of it, I didn’t hear him leave earlier. Usually, he’s up before me.”

  “Before you?” Shiloh’s eyebrows dart skyward.

  Heat spreads across my cheeks. “We’re staying at the same hotel. I didn’t mean for it to sound like we’re together or anything. Our rooms are across from each other, that’s all.” I pause, licking suddenly
dry lips. “What are the chances, huh?” My laughter is forced.

  She stares for a long moment. Her perceptive gaze flicks between my face, the whites of my knuckles where I grip the leather straps, and back again. “I see.”

  I hope not.

  Her silence is unnerving. Without realizing what’s happening, justifications tumble from my mouth. “Just so you know, I didn’t ask to have a room opposite him or anything. The first time Tobias and I stepped out of the elevator and onto the same floor, it was as much a shock to me as it was for him.”

  Maybe more.

  My heart skips at the memory. It mirrors the erratic flutters that teased my ribs the first day. The simmering energy coming from the tall, talented musician as he followed me along the carpeted hallway burned the back of my neck. I tried to throw him a small smile over my shoulder to reassure him that I didn’t ask for a room opposite, but it withered and died at the cynicism hurled back.

  Tearing my thoughts back to the present, I continue. “I knew who he was when I saw him. But when I introduced myself, Tobias seemed....”

  Cold.

  Indifferent.

  Gorgeous.

  I clear my throat. “He wasn’t like his online presence.”

  Shiloh looks past me. “Yeah, there’s a reason why Tobias keeps to himself. Several, actually.”

  I’m about to ask what they are, but she shakes her head. “It’s not my story to tell. I’m happy to chat about him in a musical sense, but it’s not my place to talk about his personal life. If he wants to open up to you, that’s his call.” She pauses. “Has he said much to you yet?”

  Tobias’s deep, husky voice echoes in my mind. “Get the fuck out.” The first words he’d spoken to me scorched from the inside out.

  I craved the burn.

  I’ve recounted his words over and over again. I’ve tracked the nuances of his inflection, the intensity of his tone, and the threat in his stare. But no matter how many times I tell myself I’m unaffected, desire pools in my stomach.

  I need to get my shit together.