Love Rock'ollection: The Brutal Strength Rock Star Trilogy, books 1-3 (73 page)

“I know,” Marcus responded in a monotone voice, turning back to look out the window.

By then, she had moved to the back of the car and was speaking to Ray. No doubt trying to convince him to let her help with the luggage.

Ray shook his head and stepped around her.

Avery stood still for a moment and then gazed up at the plane again. He watched her shoulders go back before she pulled her bangs forward over a conspicuous bandage and started moving resolutely toward the plane.

“Marcus,” Sam acknowledged him curtly, bringing his attention back to the inside the cabin. She took a seat on the sectional, folded her hands in her lap, and glared at him.

Yeah, he was the bad guy. He totally got it.

JR sat down, put his arm around Sam, shaking his head. Ray entered the cabin next, carrying Avery’s guitar and suitcase.

And then she was there, pausing in the doorway. For the first time, he saw up close evidence of his carelessness imprinted on her delicate skin.

Avery stared at him, expressive emerald eyes revealing the turmoil she felt inside.

Guilt consumed him, the words he’d practiced lodged in his throat. Warily, he returned her stare. Everyone else faded into the background. It had been over eighteen hours since he’d last seen her, but it felt as if an eternity had passed. He wanted to hold her so badly that his muscles ached.

“Avery,” he managed voice low, filled with emotion. “I’m sorry.” He glanced down, trying to get a handle on his emotions. He couldn’t do what needed to be done, not yet. A shadow immediately fell across him. A pair of converse shoes with mismatched laces entered his field of vision. He looked up at her.

“Is that all you have to say?” Avery asked him, eyes flashing. Her arms straight and stiff, hands fisted at her sides. “Damn you!” she railed. “Where were you when I was in the hospital? I waited for you, Marcus. Hour after hour.”

“I couldn’t come.”

“What do you mean couldn’t?” she demanded. “If you’re still upset about that stupid dance I…”

“Avery,” he interrupted. “Not now.” He looked at the others who were all watching. “We’ll talk about this later, when you’re feeling better.” Remorse left him as scraped up on the inside as she looked on the outside.

“My head does hurt,” she admitted, closing her eyes for a second. “But we’re gonna talk about it right now,” she insisted.

He knew then that there would be no further reprieve.

“Alright.” He sighed, standing and motioning toward the rear of the plane. “Why don’t we go into the bedroom where we can speak privately?”

“Ok.” Her shoulders visibly sagged as she preceded him.

He opened the door for her, taking in a deep breath when she passed, filling his lungs with the familiar tropical fragrance of her shampoo. At the foot of the bed, she stopped and turned around to face him. “Avery,” he began, but faltered. Her rigid posture had deflated as if she’d completely lost all internal structure.

She knows what I’m about to do.

“Don’t.” She bit down on her trembling lip. “Please. Don’t do this.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “That’s the reason you didn’t come, isn’t it? You didn’t want to break things off while I was still in the hospital.” Her chin dropped to her chest.

“Yes.” His voice lowered. “I’m bad for you, Avery.”

“That’s not true!” Her head lifted, her eyes sparkling.

“It is. I could have killed you. I almost did.”

“It was an accident, Marcus.”

“No. I chose to get behind that wheel.”

“I share part of the blame. I knew you’d been drinking. I shouldn’t have gotten in the car with you.”

“Shit, Avery. Don’t you dare try to say this is somehow your fault. It was totally my fuck up.”

“I already took some responsibility,” she whispered, tears trailing down her cheeks and getting trapped between her full lips.

“What do you mean?” he asked feeling an icy droplet of anxiety slither down his spine.

“I did a couple of phone interviews with the press. I told them we were arguing, and that I’d distracted you while you were driving.”

He pulled a fistful of hair through his hand. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well I did,” she said, lifting her chin.

This was going to be even harder than he’d envisioned. God help him. But he had to do it, and it was best to just get it over with. He shoved his hands deep down into his jean pockets, forcing his gaze back to hers. “Remember what I said before the crash about taking things too fast? I was right, and you know it. If you had any doubts, the events of the past twenty-four hours should have removed them. It’s time we both moved on.”

She sank down on the edge of the bed as if her legs wouldn’t hold her anymore. “No,” she whispered. “No.” Her face was wet and pale. “We’re so good together. How can you just throw that away, Marcus? This, the way you’re acting, the way you’re treating me right now, this isn’t you. You’re better than this.”

“I thought so too,” he returned harshly. “But apparently we were both wrong.”

“COME IN,” AVERY said, lifting dry red rimmed eyes to the door.

“Hey kid.” Trevor stepped inside, a brown lock of his hair falling forward over his glasses.

Her heart sank. She started to tear up again. She’d prayed it was Marcus.

“You ready to go?” Trevor asked, eyeing her carefully. “The others already left.”

Avery knew that. She had heard them, had heard the low concerned whispers through the door during the flight and the solemn procession out of the plane after they landed. All the while she’d lain alone, her throat burning, holding back the sobs that threatened to wrack her body.

Moving to the edge of the bed, Avery forced herself to let go of the comforter. During the flight she had buried her face in it, inhaling the scent of him that still lingered. With a heavy sigh, she swung her legs over the side and put her feet on the plush carpeted floor. Her head hung down for a minute while she gathered her thoughts.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She looked up. Trevor’s glasses magnified the worry that filled his eyes. She shook her head. “Just tell me what my obligations are. Where I need to go and what I have to do.”

“Ok.” He bent over and picked up her suitcase. “But if you change your mind, you let me know.”

Avery got her guitar and followed him off the plane. Ray was waiting, leaning against a dark SUV. No one said a word to break the silence on the thirty minute drive over to the Paramount Theatre, but she felt their speculative glances falling on her several times.

Flanked by her silent supporters, she entered the tiny dressing room that had probably been a storage closet back in the twenties when the place had been a movie palace.

Marcus’ blue eyes met hers briefly before his cold gaze skated away. Grabbing a piece of paper off the narrow counter, he exited the room, passing within inches of her without saying a single word.

So close but so very far away. Her throat tightened painfully. She felt the thin ice of control cracking beneath her. Rubbing chilled arms, Avery stood in the center of the small room, struggling to shoulder the weight of her misery. Less than a week ago, she and Marcus had talked about how much they were looking forward to playing here. Now she found herself wishing that she was anywhere else.

“Avery.” She looked up with glazed eyes to see Nina, one of the tour makeup technicians, scurry inside the room with a tackle box full of cosmetics. “Sit,” she ordered, gesturing to a chair in front of an ornately framed wall mounted mirror. “I’ve only got a couple of minutes to make you beautiful.”

Within a few moments, Avery squinted at her reflection in the mirror and lifted up her bangs. The flesh colored bandage was covered up with makeup. “You’re brilliant,” she told Nina with awe in her voice. “You can barely tell it’s there.”

“Thanks. But an artist is only as good as her canvas,” the diminutively framed woman told her as she smoothed a manicured hand through her short dark hair and unwrapped the apron from around Avery’s shoulders. “You’d better hurry. You still need to get changed. They’re waiting on you.”

After shrugging into her skinny jeans and another Asian inspired top, Avery exited the dressing room, nodding to Ray before accompanying him down the corridor.

Sam, JR, Dwight, and Marcus were waiting for her in the shadows to the right of the stage.

“You look beautiful, Avery.” Sam rushed forward and squeezed her hand.

“Thanks,” she mumbled looking down at her shoes. Converse tonight. She hadn’t the heart to wear the boots Marcus had teased her about just a couple of nights ago. Nor did she know how she was going to be able to stand up on that stage with him and act as if nothing had changed.

JR moved next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder while Dwight lifted his arm around the other. Marcus stepped up to the huddle between the BS drummer and his brother. Heads bowed silently. The strain was palpable. She could feel the weight of Marcus’ gaze on her and knew his body was shifting back and forth, his jeans stretched taut across his long toned legs. She swallowed nervously, lost and disconnected.

“Keep it real,” she whispered, lacing the ritualistic words with fatalism.

Marcus turned away quickly when they broke apart, but not before she’d been able to detect a remnant of concern in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as indifferent as he’d like her to believe. Maybe he would change his mind. A pennant of hope unfurled in her chest.

Avery took her Ibanez from her guitar tech, and fastened the strap. Moving to the edge of the historic stage, she felt the heat of a body close behind her and breathed in the familiar woodsy scent.

Marcus.

Settling, she took another deep breath and ran out from behind the red velvet curtain onto the stage.

Brutal Strength performed much better than they had in Seattle. Maybe the stress had forced each of them to refine their focus. It certainly wasn’t their best effort, but it had been solid. After the encore, she could hear the crowd chanting as they made their way to the dressing room.

“A-ver-y. A-ver-y. A-ver-y.”

Sam hurried up behind them, headset on. She pulled on Avery’s arm. “You need to come back and see this,” she insisted.

Peeking out from behind the curtain, Avery saw that the stage was carpeted in red. Fans continued to file forward, tossing even more red roses on it.

“You need to go out there and say something,” Sam urged, pushing her gently.

“No, I…”

“I’ll go with you,” Marcus volunteered, voice thick with emotion.

“Alright,” she acquiesced.

Marcus took her by the hand and she clung to him, starving for the contact she’d grown so accustomed to having. For the first time since the crash she felt as if she could breathe. Brushing aside the flowers in their path, he led her to center stage and then let go of her hand, backing away to let her address the fans.

She stepped up to the microphone and adjusted the height. “Thank you,” she started, voice catching. She swallowed and tried again. “Thank you, San Francisco. Thank you for showing me your support like this. I’ll never forget it.”

AVERY WOKE UP on the pallet where she’d tossed and turned throughout the long, lonely hours of the night. She hadn’t even contemplated sleeping in the big hotel bed without him.

Getting up off the floor, with a couple of quick finger strokes, she disabled the wakeup alarm function on her cell. Bleary eyed she padded into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and discarded her clothing. She leaned over the counter to look at her reflection in the mirror.

“Shit!” She let out a frustrated breath having forgotten about the stitches. Afraid to get them wet, she needed help this morning washing her hair. Lucky for her, Sam had the room across the hall. Pulling the hotel courtesy robe off the hanger in the closet, she wrapped herself in it before opening the door to the corridor. She flipped the security latch forward so that the door wouldn’t lock behind her.

Barefoot, she crossed the hall and knocked.

“I don’t think she’s in there,” a familiar voice intoned.

“Bryan.” She whirled around, clutching the lapels of the robe to her chest.