Metal Urge (15 page)

“You can't be serious, Thom.”

“You can't avoid him forever, can you?” Thom shifted uncomfortably and looked away from her.  “I think you should tell him about the baby, Deanna.”

“No way!”  She jerked her hand away and Thom sighed.

“He asks about you every time I see him.  I'm getting tired of telling him to piss off or that it's none of his business.  It
is
his business, yeah?”

Deanna shook her head as tears rolled down her face, unable to believe that Thom was encouraging her to face the bastard who ripped her heart out and crushed it under Maggi's back while he fucked her with joyous abandon.  She could still hear their screams and moans echoing in the flat on Woodsome Road.

It made her want to die.

“I can't believe you...oh, how can you even suggest that, Thom?”  She covered her face and began to sob.

“I think he can help you get through this darlin'.  I know how much you need him, Deanna.  I see it in your eyes,” Thom said, stroking her hair gently.

Deanna clutched his arm, “No Thom, you're wrong.  I don't need Nigel.”  She took a tissue out of her purse and wiped her eyes and nose before leaning close to him, sliding her arms around his neck.  “I need you.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and Thom smiled.  Deanna had passed his test with flying colors.  Poor little thing, he hadn't meant to upset her so much, but he had to know if there was even the slightest chance she would run back to Nigel once she healed.  It was true that the prying wank always asked about her even though he consistently reacted with undisguised hostility and refused to tell Nigel anything.  Still the bastard persisted and pestered.  If his relationship with Deanna worked out as he hoped it would, Nigel would be forced to back off for good.

With the last pieces of shattered plastic and glass swept off of the road the traffic began to move. Thom kissed Deanna's temple and started the car.  Maybe he had a chance to win her love after all.

****

Tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, Thom waited for Deanna to return from her meeting, confident that she would not be expelled if for no other reason than greed.  Students were hard to come by due to Britain's growing economic problems.  No doubt those self-righteous old cows would get their feathers ruffled by the beautiful Yank's naughty behavior but would be forced to keep her as a student for financial reasons.  He would love to be a fly on the wall in that meeting.  He was sorry Deanna had to go through their ridiculous pantomime only to be told that she would be given one more chance to complete her courses and get her degree.  She was a determined lady and he felt proud of her, but he hated to see her suffer indignities at the hands of uptight grannies that had nothing better to do than make a spirited young girl's life a misery.  Deanna would be forced to re-live the worst night of her life and that angered him.  He got out of the car and leaned against the bonnet, breathing in the cool air.  It was chilly for an early August afternoon.  He reckoned it had to do with the Thames River being close by, cooling down the wind as it swept over the cold, choppy waves.  Perhaps he would take Deanna down to the riverbank where they could enjoy a lager or two at one of the riverside pubs.  She would probably need it after meeting with that lot.

Leaning against the imposing stone building, Deanna watched the breeze play through Thom's thick, honey colored hair that fell in glistening waves to the middle of his back.  It was gloriously radiant in the bright sunlight, and he looked more like a golden god than a mere mortal man.  Once again she was struck by his near-perfect looks.  Strong chiseled features, a dimpled smile that made her heart flutter, eyes which glowed brilliant neon blue, and long, dark lashes framing those stunning windows to his soul with absolute perfection, providing an intense contrast to his sun-kissed skin.  The guitarist was absolutely magnificent.  Standing a few inches shorter than Nigel’s six-one frame, Thom had a tight, compact physique with stocky, well-shaped legs, a narrow waistline, and proportioned shoulders lending him a healthy, athletic look.  She had admired his build numerous times since sharing the flat with him. 

It was hard to believe she never really noticed him when she first saw the band perform, but she knew it was because she couldn't bear to take her eyes off of Nigel: the moody, heartless lead singer so beautiful in that pale, flawlessly creamy way that only the English seem to possess.  His vivid hazel eyes created a brilliant contrast to his peaches and cream complexion and tousled shoulder-length tawny brown hair streaked summer blonde by hours of riding his motorbike in the sun.  The sultry front man was definitely not the typical tall, dark, and handsome stereotype that so many women found attractive.  Nigel was wonderfully unique, mysterious, and provocative with a sexy, mouth-watering body that unfortunately still held the power to make her heart pound and her groin ache when picturing him naked and beguiling on her bed in the Kentish Town flat.

Would she ever lose her desire for him?  She desperately wanted to, and it seemed that the more she turned her thoughts to the movie-star handsome Thom McCordy, the easier it was to push her thoughts of Nigel aside.  She sighed, willing to forgive Thom's ridiculous suggestion.  He probably thought he was saying what she wanted to hear.  Her memories of Nigel might haunt her forever, but she knew he definitely wasn't who she needed---he was a user, and a jerk.  He would never be man enough to help her through her grief, and the baby would mean absolutely nothing to him.  So what if he asked about her now and then?  He was probably pissed off because she wasn't following him around, begging him to take her back---the egotistical jerk.

Thom turned when Deanna called out to him.  She ran up and hugged him so tightly he found it hard to breathe for a moment.

“I'm not being expelled.  All I have to do is take a couple of extra classes to make up for the summer classes I didn't finish.”  She squeezed him even tighter and shouted, “I am so stoked!”

He hugged her back, loving the feel of her in his arms.  When she pulled back and looked into his eyes it took all of his restraint not to kiss her.

The wind blew a thick strand of his golden hair into her face and she grabbed it, running the long length of it through her fingers.  She smiled up at him and tucked the strand behind his ear.  “Let's get seriously wasted,” she said, grinning widely.

Thom laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the car.  He suggested they find a pub by the river so they could enjoy the fresh breeze and Deanna said that sounded just like what she needed.  He drove along the river until he found the perfect pub with plenty of outdoor seating overlooking the Thames.  They ordered their first round and Thom listened while Deanna described everything that went on in her meeting with the program director, and her prissy, uptight teacher.  It hadn't been as unpleasant as he imagined, and he was glad for her sake, although the fussy old cows had condemned her promiscuous behavior and lectured her on “proper conduct for young ladies attending their school.”  Deanna made a face and they laughed, spilling some of their lager on the table, making them laugh even harder.  After the third round they were definitely on their way to becoming totally pissed.  One of Thom's last coherent thoughts was to take a cab home and pray that his car didn't get booted by the fuzz.

Chapter 20

“What in bloody hell was that about?”  Nick Ramsay whispered in Nigel’s ear.

Nigel leaned back and crossed his arms, glaring at Trevor Hampton’s retreating form as he fled the rehearsal hall.  “Fucking wanker,” Nigel snarled.  The fool had just announced his resignation as both band’s manager, leaving the ten unsuspecting band members stunned and angry.

“Lads, please!” a boyish looking red-headed man stood up, desperate to get their attention.

Everyone was talking at once, gesturing angrily, and cursing Trevor, threatening to take him to court or better yet, to some dark alley where they could kick his sorry ass for abandoning them just when their careers were taking off in a big way, and they were headed to America for their first important tour.

The young red-haired man waved his arms, his face sweaty and beginning to match the fiery shade of his hair.  “Listen to me please!” he pleaded with them.

Piper Howlen stood up and shouted, “Oi!  Shut your bloody gobs!”  Everyone stopped talking and looked at the raven-haired drummer with surprise.  He turned and gave the red-haired man the once-over before inquiring; “And just who the fuck are you?”

The man wiped his sweaty hands over his suit jacket and squared his narrow shoulders before answering, “I’m Andy Trent, your new manager.”

“This is bollocks!” Brad Bradmon said to enthusiastic shouts of agreement from the other musicians.  “C’mon boys, let’s get our gear and get out of this bloody place.”

Almost everyone followed Brad to an area in front of the mock-stage littered with guitar cases, amplifiers, and drum kits.  Ignoring the other band members, Thom McCordy and Alistair Staley walked up to Trent and shook his hand.

“Give us a minute, yeah?”  Alistair said to Andy before turning to address his angry mates.  “I think we should give Mr. Trent a chance to tell his side of the story.  At least that bloody prat, Hampton didn’t leave us without a manager.”

“He might as well have!” Piper spat.  “I mean, who is this git?  He looks like a spotty-faced English schoolboy.”

There were snickers and bursts of cruel laughter but that didn’t stop Thom from stepping up to defend the hapless Andy Trent.  “Not one of you bloody yobs would be standing here snorting and snickering if someone hadn’t given you the chance to play your music.  Don‘t you think Mr. Trent deserves a chance as well?”  Thom looked around at the guilty faces, satisfied that Andy would get his opportunity to explain.

Once all of the men were settled in their seats, Andy Trent began his story.  To everyone’s amazement, the youthful Mr. Trent had an impressive background in the music business having worked with some of the giants in rock music in the late 1960’s and into the early 1970’s.  He cut his teeth on the most progressive music management agency in Britain as well as a two year stint in the United States working for the record label giant, Capitol Records in Los Angeles.  Tired of the lunatic excesses and debauchery of L.A., he returned to England and decided to freelance, eventually hooking up with none other than the infamous Wild Bill Dennison.  That led to his short business relationship with Trevor Hampton, who would if he kept his promise, be admitting himself into the care of Elysian Fields, a rehabilitation center for hard core drug addicts.  After his presentation, no one said a word prompting Andy to introduce himself to each man individually.  When he had shaken the last man’s hand, he asked Beastrage to take the stage and give him a taste of what Britain’s first recorded heavy metal band had to offer.  They didn’t disappoint, nor did their successors, Metal Urge.  Each band member put their heart and soul into their performances leaving
Andy Trent a very happy man.  Agreeing to step into Trevor’s role as manager was the smartest move he had made since returning to England.  All he could think of after one of the lads invited him for a drink was, “Watch out America.  This is one British invasion you won’t win.  Hell, you won’t even want to!”

The thought made him grin from ear to ear just like a spotty-faced English schoolboy.

Nick Ramsay asked Nigel to stay for a drink after Andy and the others decided to call it a night.  Nigel agreed, seeing that he had nothing better to do but go back to his shoddy flat after Thom refused to tell him where Deanna was staying.  He wanted to talk to her.  No, it was much more than that; he wanted to beg her forgiveness, tell her what a selfish idiot he'd been and ask her for a second chance.  That was probably too much to hope for.  In his heart he knew he didn’t deserve another chance with her.  It was obvious that Thom wanted Deanna for himself, and probably had her staying with him at his new flat in Chelsea.  The thought of her sleeping with Thom made his body go cold.  His mind filled with images of Thom pleasuring Deanna’s beautiful body.  He could hear her soft sighs and moans as Thom moved between her straining thighs, bringing her to the brink again and again.  Nigel clenched his fists, trying to erase the disturbing thought of his Deanna having sex with another man.

His
Deanna?

What right did he have to make any claims on her?  He broke up with her after she admitted her love for him and betrayed her in the cruelest way possible by sleeping with Maggi.  Almost two months had passed since Deanna confronted him at his flat under the most dreadful circumstances imaginable.  He knew he’d hurt her so deeply she might never be able to forgive him.  But he couldn’t forget her no matter how hard he tried.  And he
had
tried with every selfish act he could think of committing.  None of those women had meant a thing to him, especially Maggi---his most reckless lapse in judgment.  Now he didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting near Deanna with Thom standing guard over her like a rabid junkyard dog.  They had grown up as best mates yet Thom was treating him like a hated enemy and had never been this vicious, even after the nightmare of losing his only sister, Chloe.  There was no other explanation for it; Thom was protecting Deanna because he was in love with her.

“Oi mate, where have you been?”  Nick nudged Nigel with his elbow and pointed to his head.