Rock God (Hearts of Metal Book 3) (23 page)

For hours Shayna sat in the office, begging for inspiration, alternately staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of her and at the photos of Dante. Explaining the situation would be easy, but after that the unknowns swirled around her so thick she felt like she was drowning. Would he want her to come back? Or would it be better for her to get her own place and see how the relationship progressed from there?

Don’t be silly,
her mother’s voice intruded.
He’s a big-shot rock star. It could never last. You had a nice little fling, but by now he’ll surely be relieved to be rid of you. His sort aren’t the marrying kind, after all.

Still, a thread of hope curled around her heart with wispy warmth. She indulged in a brief fantasy of Dante reading her note, coming up to Portland and punching Shawn in the nose before they drove off together in the sunset.

Then a memory flowed over the daydream with the darkness of thunderclouds.
“I don’t chase.”

Shayna sighed. No, he wouldn’t come riding to her rescue.

Nor should he,
the strong voice in her head countered.
Besides, it’s better this way. You need to stand on your own two feet. Now, quit being a coward and tell him what’s happening. Thank him for all he’s done for you and assure him you’ll contact him when you get the chance.

Squaring her shoulders, Shayna scrawled out the letter as quickly as possible, lest she lose courage. With a quaking heart, she reread it. It sounded rather curt and bland, but at least her fear and desperate heartache weren’t revealed. She picked up the pen and added,
I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, and for all that you are,
then thought that was a little sappy so she scratched out a final line that would at least give Dante an escape if he didn’t want to stay with her. She owed him that and so much more.

Last of all, Shayna pulled out her new checkbook and wrote a draft for four thousand dollars. Hopefully this was enough to cover the things he’d paid for. She wasn’t sure how much he’d spent on her laptop.

After placing the check and the letter on the coffee table in the living room, Shayna spent her last few hours curled up in Dante’s bed, hugging his pillow and savoring his scent as she fought off tears. When she headed out to the waiting cab, struggling with the pillowcases and locking the door behind her, Shayna heard the phone ring from inside. Dante was probably calling from the studio.

For a moment she froze, tempted to run back inside and answer. If she did, she’d be tempted to cry to him and ask him to fix everything. So, no. She had to do this herself.

The cab driver honked his horn impatiently, and Shayna reluctantly carried her bags down the paved drive, the ringing fading away, and she knew the wetness on her cheeks wasn’t from the falling rain.

Chapter Twenty-one

Dante sang as he strolled up to his house, every cell of his being thrumming with anticipation of seeing Shayna again, of holding her in his arms. She’d be so surprised that he’d finished early. He’d tried to call and tell her last night that he’d be coming home, but there had been no answer on his house phone or when he’d tried her cell. Maybe she’d been shopping or too engrossed in her writing to hear….

Fighting back a twinge of unease, Dante focused on his plans for her. He’d take her out to Sal’s, he decided, and shamelessly tease and flirt with her until her cheeks turned crimson. Then he would take her home, lay her on the dining room table and have her for dessert. Then, finally, when she was panting and boneless in his arms, he would present her with his surprise plan for the tour, when she would be helpless to argue.

The front door was locked. Dante smiled and reached for his keys, glad she’d taken his advice seriously. But when he got inside, he frowned. The house was completely dark.

“Shayna?” he called, reaching for the light switch.

Maybe she’d gone out… But where would she go? She didn’t even have a car.

Light flooded the room, and he saw two pieces of paper on the coffee table. The tightness in his chest loosened a little. At least she’d left a note.

Dante headed toward the table and stopped, his heart plummeting when he saw the check. Shayna had left him. He didn’t even have to read the note to know that. With shaking hands, he seized the check and tore it into pieces.

At last he picked up the note:

Dear Dante,

I have to go back to the Portland because Shawn is trying to sue me for half my royalties. He’s actually trying to claim that I was with you when I was still married, among other things. My agent and my new lawyer are pretty sure he has no case, but we’ll see.

I tried to call you at the studio, but I was unable to reach you. I’ll try to call you later when you’re home.

Problem was, she didn’t know he was home
now
. But he’d call her immediately and find out what this was about.

He felt a surge of hope that was quickly dashed away when he read the next lines.

As for what happens after this trial, I don’t know. I know you’re very busy with your new album and the upcoming tour, and I think I became too codependent on you and overstayed my welcome. I hope I wasn’t too much of a burden. I’m going to try to become more independent, starting off by paying you back for all you’ve given me. Please find the attached check.

I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, and for all that you are. If we never see each other again, we’ll know it was fate, and I had my time with a rock god. I will treasure the memories of our time together.

Love, Shayna.

“What the hell?” Dante growled. He strode into his office, grabbed his cell and dialed Shayna’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail. “Shayna, call me. I got your letter and I need you to explain.”

The tone of the letter all but shouted that she wasn’t coming back. But why? Shoving the letter into his pocket, he headed to his bar. His throat was suddenly parched.

Two shots of rum and four beers later, Dante still had no answer for Shayna’s exodus from his life. There had to be more than just dealing with this lawsuit. She would have just written when she was coming back if that were the case. So, he had a few theories. One was that the prospect of facing her ex-husband had brought back memories of his oppression and now she was somehow associating that relationship with theirs.

Good God, he hoped not. His stomach revolted at the thought. His head ached. She’d said she’d been codependent on him. Yes, he’d taken care of everything for her, but was it a bad thing when he’d only wanted to help and make her happy? Apparently some part of her thought so.

His second theory was that she was just like all the other women he’d been with. She couldn’t handle waiting around for him while he was working. But he’d thought her writing would be enough to occupy her. Had a week alone really been so bad?

Dante set down his unfinished beer and stumbled out of the room, his mind still racing. Something was missing in that letter. Something was off.

Clinging to handrail, he made his way back up the stairs and into the guestroom where Shayna kept her clothes. Everything was gone except for the shoes that hadn’t fit. She’d even taken all the pillowcases. Dante suddenly realized that she’d likely used them to carry her stuff, since she didn’t have a suitcase and wouldn’t want to “burden” him further by using his. And no doubt she’d reimbursed him in the check.

For the first time in weeks, Dante laughed. He laughed so hard that he collapsed on the neatly made bed with its denuded pillows. Oh, she’d paid him back all right. She’d abandoned him and gone to throw herself to the wolves of the legal system, scorning the idea of asking him for help as an independent woman should. And she’d left him a check.

The laughter died on his lips. His sides ached, but not as much as his heart. Why had she left him?

The room spun slightly when he stood up, and he cursed himself for drinking on an empty stomach. When he made it to his room, he saw that the bed was rumpled. It gave him a warm thrill of satisfaction to see that the sheets hadn’t been changed. Oh, yes, Rosa was on vacation. Not bothering to take off his shoes, he lay down and grabbed a pillow, his throat tightening as he inhaled Shayna’s scent.

God, he missed her. Again, the question came: Why did she leave?

He reached out to grab the bedside phone. He missed the first try and nearly knocked it to the floor. Once he had it, he dialed Quinn’s number. The phone rang six times, and Dante almost hung up before his friend answered.

“What’s up?” Quinn asked, voice radiating cheerful contentment. Clearly the honeymoon period hadn’t worn off.

“Shayna left me,” he said thickly, closing his eyes against the spinning room.

“What?” Quinn sobered. “Why?”

With a sigh, Dante told him about coming home to find Shayna gone and recited the letter she’d left behind. “I’m starting to think she never cared for me in the first place,” he finished. Was that really true? “Or maybe I’m an idiot because I didn’t tell her I love her.”

Quinn’s voice was suddenly accusing. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“A little,” Dante admitted.

“Dude, she’s head over heels for you, all of us could see that. And yeah, you probably should have brought up the L-word before taking off for the studio. But my guess is that something spooked her. Something besides this stuff with her ex. She was alone the whole time while you were recording the album, except for your maid.”

“Housekeeper,” Dante corrected. “And no, Rosa gets time off when I’m recording. She did offer to stay, but Shayna said she could clean up after herself.” Another drunken chuckle escaped. “But she left the bed a mess. Shayna, not Rosa.”

“So then she was even more alone,” Quinn said. “Maybe one of your other exes called and started some shit. I don’t know. It’s hard enough to have a relationship with someone in the business even when you’re in it. Shayna’s not.” Quinn sighed. “Ask her about it when she calls. That’s the best solution. But whatever it is, you’re not going to be able to figure it out when you’re wasted. Get some sleep, and hopefully you’ll figure everything out in the morning. I gotta go now. We almost got this new song nailed down. Kinley says hi.”

Dante managed a smile. At least love was working for someone. He wondered if Klement had proposed to Kat yet. “Tell her ‘hi’ back.”

He hung up and fell into a drunken doze, and when he woke the morning light from the windows pierced his eyes like rusting nails. His head pounded, but a line from Shayna’s letter was whispering in his mind:

“I tried to call you.”

Slowly he sat up and reached for the phone, dialing the number from memory.

“Thrash Records,” Kevin answered.

Dante’s skull throbbed as he spoke. “Hey, it’s Dante,” he said. “Did my girlfriend try to call while I was there?”

“Shit, I forgot to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“And what did you say to her?” Dante’s voice was low and dangerous. Kevin sounded more bored than apologetic.

“Fuck, man, I told her what I tell all the girls. That this is a business and you were too busy to talk.”

Dante doubted that was all he’d said. “And did she say it was important?”

Kevin sighed. “Fuck, it’s always an emergency with them bitches. And you’re the one who said that you weren’t to be interrupted.”

“Well, in this case, it
was
an emergency, asshole.” Dante’s fist clenched on the receiver. “And if I have my way, you’re going to be looking for work soon.”

He slammed down the phone, barking out a string of curses. He could get Kevin fired if he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that it really was his own fault. If he hadn’t been so militant about not being disturbed when he was working, Shayna’s call might have gotten through. He’d always put his work before his relationships.

For the first time, he regretted it.

The phone rang again. His heart leapt. Maybe it was her.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Is Shayna there?” a woman’s voice demanded.

“No, she went back to Oregon,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t hide his curiosity. “Who is this?”

“Ah, so you’re done with her already,” the woman said smugly, ignoring his question. “I told her so.”

A bitter smirk spread across Dante’s lips. It seemed he’d discovered what else had spooked Shayna. “Who is this?” he repeated, though he had a pretty good guess.

“This is Shayna’s mother,” the woman answered in a petulant voice. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is,” Dante said silkily. “For one thing,
you
called me. For another, I could be calling you ‘Mom’ someday—or did you not take that possibility under consideration?”

Shayna’s mother gasped, whether in surprise or outrage because she didn’t like being wrong, Dante didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He continued before she could speak.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, what exactly did you say to Shayna to imply that I was done with her?”

“Well…” The woman faltered, obviously unused to having a chink in her armor. “I was just trying to keep her head out of the clouds. After all, young man, I do read the tabloids. I know all about your type and I don’t want my little girl to be hurt. She’s just endured a tragedy and a failed marriage, after all, and some fantasy fling with a celebrity cannot be healthy for her, and furthermore…”

Dante sighed as he was subjected to a bilious outpouring of cynicism and thinly veiled insults. How Shayna had survived growing up under such formidable negativity he would never know, but the reasoning behind her exit became clear when Shayna’s mother began sketching a scene of her poor daughter patiently waiting at home while he toured and indulged in orgies with his groupies. What the hell was wrong with this woman? Had she dated a member of Led Zeppelin or something?

He carried the cordless office phone to the kitchen and set it on the counter as the grating voice rambled on. As he brewed some coffee, his mind reeled out an epiphany. When he’d told Shayna about the tour, she must have misunderstood him and thought he was leaving her behind—or worse, that he was possibly hinting that he was done with her, if these snide comments from Mommy Dearest were any indicator.