LOW: A Rockstar Romance (2 page)

Chapter 1

Zoe

I stood up and moved to the couch. Picked up a book, scanned two lines and flung it down. Clicked refresh on my inbox for the millionth time this hour.

Still nothing.

I stood back up again, filled with the need to do something, but completely oblivious of what that something was. Went back to the loveseat. Stepped out onto the back patio. Wandered into the kitchen.

I was saved from a slow descent into insanity by the sound of Jason's ring tone on my cell.

"Hooker!" I exhaled, in abject relief.

"Hey bitch," Jason said affectionately. "You picked up quickly."

"If I didn't answer right then, I was going to start chewing off my all my cuticles out of sheer boredom."

"Over my dead body," Jason growled. "You are not mutilating yourself on my watch." Then his fierce tone softened. "So, um, I take it the job search is going well?"

"That's sarcasm, right?"

"Do I speak any other language?"

I flopped onto the couch, which seemed to already be molded to my body. "Well, last week I found some new places to ineffectually fling my resume at and subsequently have them ignore. So
that's
good." I sighed, hating how bitter I sounded. "But today has yielded a fat wad of nothing, Jase. It's three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, my hair is unwashed, and I'm about ready to watch daytime television.”

"Oh honey," Jason murmured sympathetically. "We have got to get you out of that house."

"I'm too broke to get out of this house, Jase," I complained. "I went to a coffee place yesterday just to feel human again, and now I'm flat fucking broke." My voice was rising. "I've gotta save my money for a fucking
interview outfit
just in case I ever get a
fucking interview
anywhere, and
oh!
Maybe
also
save a few leftover pennies to help my parents as they continue to support my unemployed ass
well
into my mid-twenties." I sighed heavily. "Maybe something will come up today?"

Jason tutted. "Don't just take anything," he warned.

"Yes, honey, you've told me this before," I reminded him gently.

After we had both been laid off from our positions as music writers for the now-defunct
Grip
magazine, Jason - whose shitty parents had kicked him out five years ago for being gay - was forced to take the first thing that came along. He now had a job at a vanity press, with a terrible, maniacal boss who expected him to both write articles and take her small, yippy rat dog to the groomers.

He had been bitten four different times over the course of his six-month employment.

"You have the luxury of a free place to live," Jason reminded me.

"I know," I said. "Believe me, I am acutely aware of how lucky I am. But, really. I'm twenty-four years old. I've never
not
lived at home. My parents have been supporting my ass continually for all of this time, and they've got other shit on their plate right now. There's that, plus the very small and insignificant matter of my own self-respect."

Just then, I heard my mother's van pull up in the driveway. "Hey, I've gotta go. Mom just got home with Max."

"How's he doing?" Jason asked.

"Two steps forward, two steps back," I said grimly, hauling myself off of the couch and raking my fingers through my hair in an effort to make it look like I had bothered to brush it today. "He seems to like his new occupational therapist, and she's been doing some really interesting stuff with like, I don't know, brushing his skin or something."

"Oh, the Wilbarger brushing protocol?" Ever since Max's diagnosis, Jason had taken it upon himself to read every autism article on the Internet.

"Yeah, that sounds right.  Let me let you go, honey. Thank you for calling and keeping me company."

"That's what I'm here for," Jason said. "Love you, bitch."

"Love you, hooker," I smiled, and ended the call, just as Max burst through the door.

"Hey buddy!" I exclaimed, opening my arms wide to fold my little brother into an embrace.

But he blew past me, arms flapping, and catapulted himself into the couch where he buried his head.

I guess he had had a bad day at school.

I knew what to do when he smashed himself into the furniture like this. I grabbed a cushion from the back of the loveseat and laid it on top of him, leaning over on top of that to give him the deep pressure he craved.

Over my shoulder, I saw my mother walk slowly through the door, looking shell-shocked.

"Bad day?" I mouthed to her.

She shrugged, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Well? Not completely. I mean, it started out okay," she sighed.

I waved at her to go. "I'll sit with him a bit," I said.

She looked relieved. "Thanks, Zo."

I smiled at her. My mother had me when she was only twenty years old, and we moved through the world together as a mother-daughter team. That didn't change when she married my stepdad, Greg, it didn't change when he legally adopted me, and it certainly hadn't changed when she had my little brother Max at nearly forty years old.

I loved being such a big sister. It was like being a mom without the guilt. When he was born, he was my buddy, my little doll to dress up and dote on. I had so many plans for what we'd do together, what I'd teach him....

Right up until things started going sideways.

Now he was five, and the recent diagnosis was really just all formality at this point. We had known for years that something was different about Max. Now that we knew, it was almost a relief to give it a name.  Autism. It felt shitty as hell to label him like that, but that label had opened up so many doors for him. A special-ed classroom with his own aide. A host of new therapies to try. He'd made so much progress in the past year.

But some days...well they just sucked.

"Drink wine!" I called to my mother as she opened the refrigerator.

"Yes, doctor!" she called back to me.

My phone rang again. I looked over at Max, who had his head still buried in the couch. He seemed to have calmed down a bit.

"Hey, buddy," I said, poking him gently in the ribs. "Want the tablet?"

His head popped out of the pillow, and he reached out his hand. "Use your words," I reminded him.

"Want the tablet," he repeated.

"Good enough," I sighed. Reluctantly, I pulled the iPad down from the high shelf where it was hidden out of sight and out of reach. I always felt guilty doing this, fobbing him off on electronic devices instead of actually interacting with him, but on days like today, it was the only way I could get a phone call in.

I answered seconds before my voicemail picked up. "Scarlett!" I exclaimed. Max folded himself into the space between the cushions and the back of the couch. The noise of his game started up.

"Hey, baby, how you holding up?" she asked by way of greeting.

I slumped back on the couch. "That's the question for today, isn't it?"

"Oh shit, did I hit a sore spot?"

"It's been sore for so long I don't even remember what normal feels like," I sighed dramatically. "Tell me something good."

"Well… I might actually have a few chapters for you coming up." Scarlett's memoir of her relationship with Keir Wilder - the lead singer of the rock-band Ruthless - had spent several weeks on the bestseller lists. Now she ran a brisk business ghostwriting rockstar memoirs. She had been throwing some ghostwriting my way out of friendship rather than pity. At least I hoped there was no pity.

"Really?" I sat forward eagerly. "That'd be great."

"I'm under a really tight deadline for this one right now," she mused. "But I'm doing background research on one for Jaxson Blue…"

"Oh my God, I absolutely love him," I announced. "You can think me uncool all you want, Missus Rock Goddess. I love that pop shit."

"Jaxson Blue is actually really nice," Scarlett said diplomatically. "And his wife is a total sweetheart, and so tiny and round from being pregnant that she looks like a beach ball."

I giggled. "Of course you've met them," I shook my head.

"I can send you some outlines next week," Scarlett said. "But that's actually not why I called."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, actually I was wondering what you were doing Friday night," she said.

"Are you asking me out on a date? I didn't know you swung that way. Does Keir know?"

She laughed. "Actually yes, he does know I'm asking you, and he's really excited to see you."

"Why? What am I doing Friday night? Besides watching DVRed episodes of The Bachelor with my mom?"

Scarlett sighed. "So… Somehow... - and I don't exactly know how this happened, - my fiancé’s band got roped into creating a
'Signature Fragrance Experience.'
"

I burst out laughing. "Oh my God! Sellouts! Keir should be ashamed of himself!"

"I know, it's totally mortifying, but it's also totally a means to an end. Keir is calling it a blatant cash grab with the biggest smile on his face. Like,
total relief
. They're all exhausted from recording and touring, and this was a quick way to keep the cash flow going while the take a well-earned break."

"Capitalism at its finest," I pointed out.

"Yeah, I guess so," Scarlett sighed. "So much for rock 'n' roll and not being sellouts, I guess. Just because I know why they're doing it doesn't make it any less cheesy."

I muffled my mocking laugh behind my hand. "You realize I'm going to give you shit for this for the next fifty years, right?"

"Oh, I'm prepared," Scarlett said. "But before you do, will you please do me a favor and come to the wrap party with me?"

"Wrap party?"

"Yeah, or maybe it's the launch party. I don't even know. It's all just one big excuse to throw a party and make the sponsors pay for it. Whatever, free booze. Come on," she wheedled. "Come with me. You need to get out. Have some fun. Be my moral support. You need to stop being sad and depressing for a night."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips together. A year ago, the roles would be totally reversed here. With me teasing and badgering Scarlett into coming out with me and Jason, to have some fun and stop being so serious all the time. How had things changed so much? "I am completely ashamed of myself that you just said that to me," I sighed.

Scarlett's voice softened. "Come on honey. You've always taken care of me. Let me take care of you now."

I had to grin. "Take care of me? By taking me to a drunken rockstar bacchanal?" I paused and considered. "You are the best friend a girl could ask for."

Chapter 2

Low

"That's me?"

"That's you."

I squinted at the man in the picture... because he definitely looked like a man and not the boy I still thought of myself as being. He shared my same jawline, the stubborn set at the cheekbones I shared with my mother and with Pepper. He had my same big hands and feet, the same long arms and legs, but in the picture, placed like he was, occupying the space like he owned it, there was none of that gangliness I knew was mine. I tripped over my own goddamned feet. This guy would never be such a klutz.

"I mean, yeah, I guess it is," I hesitated.

"You look fucking hot, Twitch." Rane's fiancée, the drop-dead gorgeous movie star Madeline Cole, peered closer at the proof and then back up at me with an expression I had never seen her wear before. Ar least not when it came to
me
. Was it...admiration?

"Uh, thanks, Maddie," I said, ducking away from Rane's jealous glare. "But, it's weird. It doesn't feel like that's me."

"Makeup and good lighting will do that," Maddie explained. She'd know. Sitting here in our manager Keith's office, she looked like a fresh-faced, pretty girl. But I had seen her movies, been a big fan of hers back when she had her own TV show. I knew that she could fucking
smolder
onscreen. "But it's still you. Don't lose sight of that."

"Fuck, man," Rane crowed, laughing as he rested his head on Maddie's shoulder. "Do I have to start watching you 'round my girl? Maddie, stop staring at Twitch's picture, you're giving me a complex."

She smacked his shoulder without turning from the proof. "It's a good picture, Twitch," she said again, a little softer. Then she seemed to collect herself and turned away to wrap her arms around Rane's neck. "All right, jealous boy, calm down."

Rane planted a possessive kiss on her lips and I looked away, feeling guilty.

Balzac pulled out his reading glasses. "You look pretty-like-a-girl," he grunted. "Better you than me, dude."

Pepper shot him a death glare and our hulking bassist immediately threw up his hands in surrender. "There is nothing wrong with looking like a girl. I apologize for my blatant sexism."

Pepper looked slightly mollified and I hid my laughter behind a mock-choking fit.

"Well, at least now I know what I'd have looked like if we were identical, huh Pep?"

My sister rolled her eyes. The question of whether male / female twins could be identical had plagued us both since we could remember. Yeah, we shared the same straight dark hair, the same long frames, even the same slightly upturned eyes. But identical? That was physically impossible. We'd shared the bath up 'til we were three. We knew we weren't identical. But somehow others still made that same stupid mistake.

Our manager finally blustered in from whatever phone call had kept him. "Fucking pop stars," he swore, mopping his brow. "I need a fucking drink."

"Got you covered, bossman," Keir called, shaking his flask invitingly.

"This is why you guys are my favorite clients," Keith sighed, allowing Keir to pour him one, and then another healthy shot. I settled back in my chair, and drummed out a quick riff on my knees. This business talk never concerned me. I was just along for the ride, like always. The Wilder Brothers, they were the ones who ran this show, and that was perfectly fine with me. I just wanted to play drums and have fun and hang out with this group of misfits that had become my family. Ruthless wasn't my show. Drummers are in the background.  And I chose drums as my instrument very deliberately.

I tapped out another solo as my mind wandered.

Then Keith snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Lowell, this concerns you."

I shook my head. "What? Why?" I said, blinking and pretending to be woozy to general laughter.

Keith rolled his eyes. "This?" he tapped the screen where the proofs were on a slideshow. "This is going to make you all ridiculously rich."

"We already are," Rane pointed out smugly. Maddie socked him hard in the shoulder.

"What you've done in music is a drop in the bucket compared with what you can make in licensing. And this?" He tapped the screen and then pointed right at me. "This ad campaign is going to go viral as fuck in about twenty-four hours."

"I'll say," Maddie piped up. Rane frowned at her. "What? I'm saying, in my
professional
opinion."

"Your professional opinion as a female with functioning hormones," Keir interjected. "
I
see you giving Twitch the eye."

"I'm doing nothing of the sort!" Maddie protested. "I'm just saying, the copy is good, the pose is spot-on and he looks like a million fucking bucks. This "fragrance experience" idea you guys came up with might actually be a runaway success."

"What does it even smell like?" Balzac wondered.

Maddie shook her head. "Take my word for it. It doesn't even matter. The Princess Paisley perfume that had my name on it? It smelled like cheap cotton candy and air freshener, but it sold like crazy because it had a great ad."

"I remember that one," Pepper said, and the whole room turned to look at her in shock. "What? I do." She cast her eyes down. "I watched your show growing up, Maddie, and that ad made me want to smell like you." My sister blushed like mad and stared at her fingers.

Maddie was unfazed. "See? That's what I'm saying. I think more people knew about the perfume than they did the TV show."

"Exactly. Your music might not be everyone's taste," Keith huffed. "But everyone wants to smell like a fucking rock star."

"Smell like Twitch?" Keir grinned.

"That's just it, he's not Twitch anymore." Keith interjected, folding his arms. "He's the face of the fragrance that's supposed to be all about sex and
Twitch
is not a sexy name."

"Wait," I interrupted. Everyone was talking about me like I wasn't even in the room. "You're changing my fucking name now?"

"Not changing it. Going back to what it was.

"Lowell?" I snorted.

"Low," Keith intoned. "Get fucking used to it.
Low."

"Low?"
I repeated, looking around the room. Rane's mouth quirked up. Keir cocked his head to the side, considering.

But when I looked at my sister, she was nodding vigorously. "Like when we were kids!" she exclaimed.

Maybe it was the fact that she sounded so happy that made me nod back. Making my sister happy had been my job for as long as I could remember. Because I was the only one who could.

I nodded back. "Okay, sure. What the fuck. I'll be Low again. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Sure."

Keith made a mark on his paper, like he'd just crossed an item off his list. "Well get used to it quickly.
Because your name is only the first step. A lot is going to fucking change for you, Twi- . I mean, Low."

"Oh," I deadpanned. "Awesome."

But inside I was panicking.
What's going to change?
I didn't want things to change from the way things were right now. Right now, things were pretty damn good. I'd had enough change to last me a lifetime in the past six years.  Going from a teenaged garage band to the biggest fucking name in rock 'n' roll was the biggest and best change, of course. But along with that was the change in my general fucking happiness.

I had a family now. My band. We weren't related by blood. But the best families sometimes aren't.

"So we've got a fucking cover model as a drummer now," Keir mused as we walked down the hallway out of Keith's office. "I have no idea how I feel about this, to be honest."

"A fucking cover model with a new name," Rane clarified. "Which is going to mess with me, hardcore."

"Low?" I repeated for the millionth time as we pushed open the doors into the bright California sunshine. "That's a sexy name?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Keir said, grinning. "I'll ask Scarlett to weigh in, she's the writer."

"There he is!"
The high pitched squeal of crazed female fans was familiar enough that I reacted on instinct and stepped behind Keir and Rane so that they could go sign autographs unimpeded. Balzac, Pepper and I continued on towards the rented car.

Perks of being in the background.

But then, shouted over the sound of whining and disappointment, came a confused voice. "Uh, Twi - er -Low?" Rane called.

I turned, and the squeals got louder.

"Dude," my bandmate smiled. "They want
you.
"