To Cherish and To Hold (Love of a Rockstar #1.5) (16 page)

It had been years since the incident occurred, four to be exact. In our last meeting, my therapist said she thought that we were close to the end. The long road to recovery was finally within arms reach, but that day in the basement wiped my progress clean and it was all because of Matthew Lee.

I’d been searching for Marlene’s wedding dress. Luke said he’d stashed it in the closet, which shouldn’t have been hard to locate, because there was only one closet. But when I opened the doors, nothing hung off the rack besides winter coats. Luke had a talent for hiding things and hiding them well, I’ll give him that much. Throwing the coats on the ground, I’d stared at the empty shell, convinced there was a secret compartment. My hand felt along the wall for any bump or grooves.

“What are you doing?”

That voice.
It sparked a blinding white fear that left me paralyzed but I couldn’t be sure of whom I thought it belonged to. Could it be? Nausea churned violently in my stomach. God, please don’t let me be sick.

“Hey….” his tone seeped with concern. “Are you ok?”

His fingers brushed my elbow. As if he’d burned me, I’d jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Sorry.”

That voice again. It sounded so familiar, yet the kindness didn’t. I had to know if the past chased me to Seattle. Either that or hide in the closet till he left. The former sounded tempting, but as a grown woman, it also sounded childlike. Slowly, my body turned, ready to flee if need be. When we finally faced each other, I nearly screamed in relief.

“Normally, I get a different reaction when I meet a woman,” this stranger said.

My eyes racked over his bow shaped lips, oval jawline and tortoise shell glasses that balanced on the bridge of his crooked nose. Unconventionally handsome. More Marlene’s type than mine, but what mattered was that it wasn’t him. The past had stayed where it belonged. In the past.

I spoke. “What’s the normal reaction?”

“Lot of high pitched squealing.” He laughed at my brow arched in question. “I’m Matthew Lee. The lead singer of Five Guys and Luke’s best man.”

He extended his hand. I let it hang there between us, untouched. Although, Matthew wasn’t him, it was hard to separate my feelings of distrust. Who was I kidding, though? I trusted nobody, not even the postman who wore a permanent smile on his face. I swore he had a pile of dead bodies buried in his backyard. Nobody was that happy.

Matthew dropped his hand. “What’s your name?”

“Camille.”

“Do you have a problem with me, Camille?” His lips quirked into a grin, as if the concept amused him.

“Should I?”

His mouth faltered as an indistinguishable emotion flickered in his gaze but quickly passed and he returned to the fun loving rock star he personified as.

“Luke sent me down here to look for a bottle of twenty-year-old whiskey. Any ideas where it is?”

“It seems like the bride and groom both sent us on a witch hunt,” I grumbled.

“What are you looking for?”

“Marlene’s wedding dress.”

He stepped over the mess of jackets on the floor. Pulling down an old steamer trunk tucked inside the closet, he popped the lock. The scent of mothballs floated in the air.

“Is this it?” Matthew held a plastic coated dress up for me to see.

“What kind of idiot hides a wedding dress in a trunk?” I snatched it out of his grasp and folded the gown over my arm. “Thanks. See ya.”

Spinning around on my heels, I made a beeline for the basement stairs. Matthew’s curious gaze burned a hole in my back and compelled my steps to quicken. It was only when I was safely on the other side of the door, my breathing came easier.

In the days that followed, my anxiety returned like an old jealous lover, which had spurred the nightmares. I hadn’t gotten decent night’s sleep since that day. With final exams coming up, I’d taken advantage of my nocturnal state and cracked open my textbooks. Due to my exhaustion, the words swam on the page. Coffee. I needed coffee. Dragging my ass out of the hard wooden seat, I fixed myself an extra strength dose then returned to my desk. As night turned to dawn, my brain soaked in the information before me as best as it could, while simultaneously ignoring all thoughts of Matthew. My mother always said that everybody has a story and I had a feeling that his ran darker than anybody would guess.

I
swirled the amber liquid in the glass. Taking a deep sip, a pleasant burn cascaded down my throat and into the pit of my stomach. As soon as the empty crystal tumbler hit the bar, it got refilled.

My eyes lifted. “You are my favorite, K.”

K, otherwise known as Katherine, snorted. She’d inherited the Blithering Idiot from her uncle. A weathered old man that praised the ground his niece walked on. According to Katherine, he’d practically shoved the keys into her hand when he retired. More than happy to hand the reins over and experience the world he’d been missing while he tended bar.

“Anything with a vagina is your favorite,” K retorted.

“True. Too bad you bat for the other team.”

“I bat for both teams. You just aren’t on either one of them.”

Her witty barb caused my lips to lift smugly. “Keep telling yourself that. I’ll get you to come around eventually.”

Shaking her head, she moved off to wait on her adoring customers. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but Katherine always knew which nights required a soda and which nights required a double shot. She had that bartender’s instinct. I slammed the rest of the whiskey and signaled for another. Tonight required a triple shot. Fuzziness clouded my brain, but the memories were still getting through. Memories I had tried to bury, literally, between the legs of various women.

Instead of refilling my glass, Katherine swiped it off the bar and gave me a clean glass tumbler. She spritzed tonic water inside. “You’ve had enough.”

“No I haven’t.” My words came out slurred and I winced. “I’m—fine.”

Three sheets to the wind, enunciating didn’t do jack shit, which was exactly where I wanted to be. My brain finally faded to black.

“Do you want something to eat?” Katherine slid a menu over to me. “Toby, our new chef, makes a mean double cheeseburger. I’ll even add bacon jam for no extra cost.”

A greasy staple like a hamburger would derail my drunkenness and I wasn’t ready to be sober. Pushing the menu back to Katherine, she eyed me warily.

“Normally I don’t get into people’s personal business because it’s a downward slope to becoming their therapist. However, this isn’t like you.”

“How do you know? It’s not like we’re friends.”

My cutting remark sailed past her heart, which didn’t surprise me. You had to be a tough cookie to be a bartender.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t matter. I’m good at reading people and my gut is telling me that something happened you are trying to forget.”

“That’s half the people in this place.”

The Blithering Idiot resided in Pioneer Square down a long alleyway and through a wooden unmarked door. A marketing tactic Katherine had implemented before speak easies blew up in Seattle. At night, the place bustled with crowds but at four in the afternoon, only the regulars filled the booths. Who, by the looks of it, had seen their fair share of tragedy.

“You are too young and handsome to become a drunk,” she said, point blank.

Her concern began to grate on my nerves. I didn’t come here for a lecture. I came here for the stiff drinks and maybe the company of a woman.

“I’ve had four drinks, Katherine. That’s not grounds for becoming a drunk. Lay off, will ya?”

She held up her hands. “Fine, but I’m putting in an order for a cheeseburger. You need to eat.”

Having three sisters, I knew when to back down. She wrote my order on a slip of paper and clipped it to the revolving rack. A cold breeze drew my attention to the front door. A young woman stood on the threshold bundled in a trench coat and knee high boots, which were scuffed at the toes. Her honey colored brown hair was tangled at her shoulders, either from the wind or a lack of a comb. Heavy eye makeup drew attention to the insecurity shining in her gaze, as did her body language. She folded her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders forward. She looked like a girl begging to be saved. We locked eyes. A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. I raised my glass in a greeting, which prompted her to approach.

“Hey,” she said in a breezy whisper.

“Hey, yourself. Take a seat.”

Her knee brushed mine as she sat daintily on the vinyl-covered barstool. Close up, I could see her foundation etched into the lines around her mouth. She wasn’t as young as I thought. Nevertheless, she would do for the night.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” I asked.

A heated blush crawled up her cheeks. “Tiffany.”

Of course it was. All the damaged girls were named Tiffany. They should come with a label: Breakable, handle with care.

“It’s lovely to meet you. My name is….”

“Matthew,” she finished for me. “Matthew Lee. The rock star, right?”

“Are you a fan?”

Tiffany bit her bottom lip as her gaze fell to the floor. “You can say that. My friends are going to have a field day when they found out I met you.”

“Would you like an autograph?”

I grabbed a napkin and waited for her to hand me a pen. When she did, I scrawled my perfected signature onto the flimsy material with a line from my latest song.

“Reach for the galaxy, but settle for the moon.”

I handed it back to her. She mouthed the words I had written and beamed. “That’s my favorite song of yours.” The light dimmed from her expression. “Is it really true that you guys are breaking up?”

Luke, the bass player for Five Guys had decided to focus on two new ventures, opening a record label and a restaurant. Without him, the band wouldn’t be half as good, so we’d decided to dissolve. Luke had offered to make me a partner at Winter Blues Record Label. Unfortunately, the business side of music wasn’t my thing. That rush you got from singing in front of a thousand plus audience could only be described as heroin—incredibly addicting.

I went to take a sip from my drink, forgetting it was water. A growl of annoyance ripped from my throat. With Katherine nowhere to be found, my hand reached behind the bar and gripped the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. I emptied the glass and poured three fingers of scotch. Looking at Tiffany, she declined.