Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (18 page)

“It’s really crowded…” My mother curved restraining fingers around my wrist. “Why don’t you wait until we get to the restaurant?”

“I’ve really got to…” I coughed, embarrassed to have this conversation in front of Logan. “…I’ve got to now, Mom. If you guys want to get out of here, I’ll find you outside.”

My mother’s hand left mine with a reluctant slide, and she spoke decisively. “We’ll wait here.”

The lavatory was well designed with plenty of stalls and very
un
-crowded. Surprised, I wondered if there had been a rush several minutes ago on toilets and the wave was now over.

After washing my hands, I lingered, tucking stray hairs back into hairclips. Leaning into the mirror, I rimmed my lips with the dramatic shade of lip color I wore this evening. I was dropping the slim tube of makeup into my purse when I exited into the narrow hallway. My chin was down and my eyes were on the zipper of my knock-off Birkin bag—I loved the design, but even with an unlimited flow of money, I wouldn’t pay five figures for a purse.

“Hello, Scarla Smythe! Or is it Scarlette Conterra these days?” The man’s voice was familiar. I felt a sense of having heard it on a phone, or similar, off and on my entire life. Curiously, I lifted my gaze. Automatically, since he’d called me by the name that tended to draw a crowd, I did a sweep of surrounding faces before settling on the one addressing me.

Wayne Ketchum.

Press was limited. A ceremony such as this in Tinsletown was almost a guarantee that someone would be a known name or have a close friend or relative in the audience looking on.

“What are
you
doing here?” Normally, I was friendly with press and paparazzi. But the unwanted attention of this particular one throughout the past months brought out the worst in me.

“We need to talk. Your security team guards your home like the White House. And your mother won’t give me your phone number to set up a meeting, which I realize would be the polite way of doing things.”

“It would,” I agreed coolly, and backed up a step since he was advancing as he spoke. “Give my publicist a ring.” Automatically, I pulled one of the business cards from the pocket of my phone case. But suddenly he was so close, I could feel his breath. The card glided to the floor. “Really, Mr. Ketchum.” Yeah, that surprised him. He blinked upon hearing I knew his name. “Now isn’t the time.”

Double doors to my left led to the balcony of the auditorium. I wasn’t sure if he was familiar with the layout, or if he got lucky when he clamped a hand on my arm, dragging me through them. I jerked away as the doors swung closed behind us. Since everyone had vacated the auditorium—at least this section of it—there was no traffic on the stairs. My heart pounded in fear as a realization settled. We were unlikely to be interrupted, and he was blocking my exit. My neck craned upward as I contemplated escaping up the stairs. I did put the distance of a few steps up between us and decided I would scream if he closed in again.

“Fine.” I forced bravado into my mutter of assent. “I’m listening. You have one minute.”

He smiled and it was then I thought of how many different types of smiles there were. A truly happy smile was only a fraction of his expression. His lips held a sneering curve while he assessed me, as if taking note of something for the first time. And then his mouth thinned into a line and his smug demeanor faltered some.

‘Ghosted’ was my first thought. But he’d observed me for months. He’d had plenty of time to see my father in my face.

“Scarlette Ketchum.” His beady eyes studied my reaction to these puzzling words. “Not nearly as pretty a name as Scarlette Conterra, is it?” And he smiled—an ugly smile—again. “You can keep your pretty Conterra name, though. No worries. I never wanted a kid anyway. Your mother has my banking details. She paid me yearly, but my price has gone up. I expect to be paid the same, but biannually now. I’ll expect the first deposit within thirty days. And I’ll do you a solid, since we’re kin and all. I’ll waive last year.”

His words bounced around my skull making no sense, and I opened my mouth. Whether to question him, scream at him to leave, or simply scream, I didn’t know. Because no sound came out. The alcove was bright, likely so people wouldn’t trip on the stairs, but the light seemed to dim and the walls pressed in around me. When his foot connected with the first step between us, I automatically grasped the rail for support. Before I could haul my weak knees up one more step, one of his arms arched between us, snatching my purse.

Finally, I did scream. The sound came out in one long blood-curdling yell and I backed up two steps while he ransacked the Birkin contents, pulling cash from my wallet. Dropping the bag, he reminded, “Thirty days. Don’t make me find you.”

And he was gone!

Two men burst through the doors. I realized I’d collapsed onto the stairway and shoved to my feet. The younger of the two picked up my purse from the bottom of the stairway as they both inquired of my wellbeing.

“I fell.” I swallowed the words wanting to push out. A man who has been stalking me for months pulled me in here, claimed to be my father, threatened and extorted, and then stole what cash I had! “I just fell.”

By now, a few more people were gawking in the doorway, and the older of the two men inquired of the man they’d seen running out as they ran in.

“I just fell.” I accepted my purse and thanked them both.

“Can you walk?”

I supposed the scream had been louder and scarier than the average I’ve-fallen-down-a-couple-of-stairs scream. “Yeah. Thanks again.”

My mother and Logan burst on the scene. Amid more ‘I fell’ explanations, I was escorted to my car. The initial plan had been for us stop by my house and drop my car off. Then Logan and I would take his car to the restaurant and my mother would meet us there.

However, as we made the twenty-minute drive to my apartment, Logan leading, me in the middle, and Henni driving in the rear, I grilled my mom.

After relating what had really happened, I waited a beat. But when Henni’s voice didn’t come through the car speakers, I pressed on. “He said you’ve been paying him. How long and how much? And
why
?”

“There was a chance he was your father.” Henni’s answer was a reluctant breath of words. “It was complicated. Tyler didn’t want to be tied into a relationship. And since I knew he was getting it on with groupies, I had my fun too. It was only fair.”

“And protection?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. Who had to speak of these things with their mother?

“It was a different time. There weren’t so many diseases. Most women relied on the pill. And I was drinking a lot. Sometimes I guess I threw it up or something. I got pregnant. At first, I thought I wanted money to make the pregnancy disappear, and I went to Wayne. When he refused to take responsibility, I told Tyler. What I didn’t count on was him being thrilled to be a dad.”

Thrilled to be a dad while my own mom was wanting to abort me…

“Tyler said he’d take care of me. Of you, when you were born. And he said he’d stop whoring on the road. That we’d be a family. And we were. Off and on. When we were, those were the best days of my life. And then when he died… Like my whole world wasn’t crashing down enough… Wayne, like the weasel he is, came out of the woodwork. I had to pay him. What if he was the father? Your inheritance was on the line.”

My fingers bit into the steering wheel, and I made the exit from the freeway to suburbia. Henni had grown quiet.

When my mother’s voice filled the car again, it was obvious she’d been crying. “I always saw Tyler in you. Especially your eyes. But I thought ‘what if I was wrong?’ I couldn’t take the chance. Then, this last couple of years… Now that you’re the age he was when… And now that your hair is the same color… That with your eyes… There’s no doubt in my mind. In anyone’s mind. My God, you look just like him. I’d already quit paying him a couple of years back when the money ran out and promised him once the trust got settled we’d talk. But now it’s so clear you’re not his, I told him to fuck off. I’m sorry, baby, that he came at you like that.”

“What are we going to do?” There was no doubt in my own mind of whose child I was—although sometimes I wondered how I could be Henni’s! But Tyler… I felt a connection to Tyler Conterra with every cell in my body. Maybe that surety is why my mind tacked off the main problem to what should have been the miniscule. “I don’t need this kind of publicity after that damn sex video!”

“Scarlette, I want to tell you something. You should know. The sex video. He did it.”

“Ketchum did it?”

“He was following you looking for an opportunity to hit you up for money and took that opportunity instead. Then I guess that was easy enough money, and he turned paparazzi full time.”

“How do you know this?”

“He told me when he came to Belize. He wanted ten thousand dollars to hold him off from asking you for money until you and I talked. I said no, and he bragged how much he made from the video and threatened to do something like that again. So I gave him five to leave you alone. Now I’ve been talking to a friend who is a lawyer. He thinks―”

“Stop!” I knew Logan had to be wondering where I was as I had slowed to barely rolling along my neighborhood streets with Henni behind me. “I can’t believe you’ve fucked this up like this!”

“I’m the victim! And I’m trying to fix it so we never see him again! The lawyer says―”

I jabbed the ‘call end’ button, becoming aware of just how many times my mother had driven me to the breaking point of hanging up. Drawing in deep breaths, I tried to compose myself as I was dangerously near tears. Too much drama had been crammed into a very short time span.

When we reached my house, I waved to Logan who was a shadow inside his car lit by his phone screen. Before I put my own phone away, I texted my mother that I needed some thinking time and asked her to stay at a hotel.

Instead of joining Logan inside his car, I watched my mother drive away and leaned into the window on the driver’s side. “I’m not feeling up to going out after all. Come up and we’ll order pizza or Chinese or something?”

“Sure. If takeout is what you want on your graduation night, takeout you get.”

When the food arrived, I only picked at it while picking at my guitar. The conversation with Ketchum only stopped replaying in my mind when the conversation with my mother went on repeat.

For some reason, the personal confessions Henni had shared niggled at me more than some of the broader ones. The slight change in my mom’s voice tone when she spoke of Tyler being unfaithful on tour began to eat at me more than the enormous sum she must have paid out to a seedy extortionist.

Fuckin’ rock stars. Why were they so fucked up?

To think since the day trip to Dallas I had seriously contemplated the life of a career musician for myself. To think every night before I drifted to sleep I contemplated making up with Gage.

My fingers dwindled and the melody slowed. Logan began stacking the trash and offered to put the leftovers away.

“You want to take them home? I don’t think they’ll hold out until the end of the summer.”

He threw me a sheepish look. “It doesn’t seem real yet that you’ll be gone so long.”

I set the guitar aside and stood. Rounding the sofa table, I moved close. “Doesn’t seem real to me either.” Resting my palms on his shoulders, I tipped my head back, locking gazes. “Will you text me every day?”

“You know I will.” His bottom lip was slightly fuller than his top. I’d always found it sexy, especially when he smiled as he did now.

“Will you sext me?” Going up on my tiptoes, I whispered the inquiry against his lips.

He wasted no time kissing me. I was enjoying the glide of his tongue against mine when I realized he hadn’t answered. No matter. It had been a rhetorical question. A foreplay of words.

I was taking him to bed tonight. ‘No’ was not an option. I wanted my head clear of rock stars, and fathers, and rock star fathers. The kiss progressed into the next few minutes. I tugged the hem of his shirt from his dress pants and tunneled my fingers beneath the fabric to trace his chiseled abs. The continued fusion of our lips soon had us both panting. When his hands heated the skin beneath my shirt and dipped into my bra, I skimmed one of mine down the front of his slacks.

Encouraged by his groan of pleasure, I fumbled with the unfamiliar fly. The moment it parted open, he stilled. “This isn’t a good idea. You’re leaving for a long time.”

“So? That’s why we should. I’ve wanted you a long time. Haven’t you wanted me?”

“Yeah.”

Why did his affirmation sound like an admission of guilt I’d dragged from the depths of his soul?

“I’m not trying to trap you with sex into a long distance relationship, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking that.”

“So?” I clasped my fingers at the nape of his neck and used the traction to lift my lips to his again. “Let’s
do
this.”

Gripping my forearms, he pushed down, breaking my embrace. “I can’t.”

Suddenly only one scenario made sense. “Are you gay?” And yet if he were, why was he responding so heatedly any time we started something?

“No!”

“Married?”

“No!” His expression seemed tormented. “Do you really think I’d string you along if…” And then I saw something suspiciously like guilt glaze his gaze. “I can’t do this. I like you. So much.” So quick, I didn’t have time to turn away—because I would have—he kissed me. “Take care on tour. I’ll see you when you get back.”

Religious?

The speculation came after I’d been staring at the closed door for a minute or two.

Deep down though, I knew. It was Gage. Whether Logan was extremely loyal or he was afraid of losing his job, I was positive it all came down to Gage. I hurled food into the trash and carried it out, washed the last of the laundry and dishes, and packed with a furious fervor.

Before falling into bed, I showered, positioning the spray of the water just so. Closing my eyes tightly, I imagined the fuller bottom lip. But as always happened, whether my illusion was Logan, my hot chemistry partner, or my latest celebrity crush, it was an engaging sexy pout, lengthy layers of tousled hair, inked up skin, and long, strong talented fingers that pervaded while my quiet moans echoed in the closed space.