Rock God (Hearts of Metal Book 3) (8 page)

His expression softened, making her melt. “Is your ex giving you trouble?”

She shook her head, grateful for the change in subject. “No, he’s probably moving in his girlfriend’s stuff as we speak.”

Dante’s eyes widened. “You don’t seem particularly concerned with that.”

“I’m not,” she said softly as the depth of the realization struck her. “I’m really not.”

His continued look of surprised compelled her to explain. “I think the love died in our marriage before the baby—hell, maybe even before we got married.” Emboldened, she continued. “I’m
happy
that it ended. I know it sounds crazy, but I’m really happy about it!”

At first it looked like he was going to say something, but then he gave her that sexy smile, making her heart turn over. He said, “Then I think we should have a drink and celebrate. That is, if you drink.”

Whatever he asked, Shayna couldn’t resist that face. “I haven’t taken my pain pill yet, so okay.”

She followed him to the bar and laughed as he bade her to sit down and grabbed two bottles, attempted to juggle them and failed miserably.

“What’re you having?” he asked with artificial solicitousness.

“I haven’t had a drink since before I was pregnant, so I’m probably a lightweight.” She giggled nervously. “I don’t know if I’m up to drinking with a rock star.”

He laughed. “How about a simple glass of wine?”

They settled comfortably on the bar stools, she with a glass of Chardonnay and he with a beer so dark and thick it looked like he could chew on it. Dante told her about his meeting with the record producer, and the satirical picture he painted of the intricate politics involved had her in stitches. Apparently the producer had told him to sound more like the band Viciöus, who were apparently close friends of his. When Dante called the singer to tell them about it, he’d discovered that Viciöus had been told to sound more like Deity.

Dante chuckled and shook his head. “We’re not even the same type of metal.”

Rosa brought them in some delicious roasted chicken, and Shayna accepted a third glass of wine. Dante offered up several hilarious stories of his mishaps, from being unable to find the stage to goof-ups on the music video sets. Shayna almost couldn’t believe them.

“So, what made you decide to become a musician?” she asked.

“I’ve loved to sing ever since I can remember. I was actually in the choir at the church my parents went to.” He gave her a wicked smile upon seeing her shock. “I took quite a turn, wouldn’t you say?”

Thinking of his dark clothing and often macabre lyrics, she nodded.
A choirboy turned heavy metal?
Who would have thought?

“What led to that turn?”

He stared at her. “A lot of people gravitate towards this music, especially the musicians themselves, because they had a painful childhood. I didn’t—well, except for later on, when my mom had her first bout of cancer.” A cloud of sadness passed over his features. “But I can’t remember a day when heavy metal and rock ’n’ roll didn’t lift my spirits, make me feel more alive. I started out listening to Ritchie Panic. He was really big in the eighties, but to hell with him now.”

Shayna blinked at the sudden flicker of hostility. “Why ‘to hell with him’?”

“He just up and abandoned us all.” Dante said bitterly. “I’d finally gotten tickets to see him—saved up for a year—and my friends and I waited for hours before the venue manager announced that the show was cancelled. Apparently the guy just up and quit that day, deciding he didn’t want to play metal anymore. He took his money and retired to some island in the Florida Keys to drink margaritas and laze around.”

“What if something happened to him?” Shayna asked, thinking of her own reasons for losing her creative spirit.

“I wrote him a letter after I made it big,” Dante said with a frown. “He wrote back that he’d been tired and just wanted to enjoy his money while he was still young. Not even an apology for me and all the rest of those people he let down who’d paid to see him. I get that he has the right to do what he wants, but I still think he’s a selfish asshole. Still, I have a lot to thank him for, I suppose, first for inspiring me to pick up a mic in the first place, and then motivating me to become better than him. I’d been just hooking up with a band, and Panic’s abandonment made me even more determined to become a success—and to never do what he did. We were good enough to get gigs in local clubs when I was sixteen, and the next year we signed our first record contract.”

“Sixteen? Wow.” Shayna couldn’t hide her awe. “Were your parents proud? Or did they disapprove?”

His eyes shone boyish and clear as he smiled. “My parents were great. No matter how much other people in the church complained about the ‘Devil’s music’ that I’d gotten wrapped up in, they were always supportive, even when the touring and recording schedule meant I’d have to drop out of school. They even left the church when their friends wouldn’t lay off. Eventually, the money I brought in from my gigs helped pay for mom’s medical bills, and thankfully her cancer went into remission after a five year battle.”

“So, you saved her life.”

Dante rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I wouldn’t go that far, especially not anymore, but I was thankful that I could at least do something to help. I was afraid my parents would ask me to quit and go back to school after she was better, but they didn’t. They even came to my shows.”

“It’s so wonderful that your mom and dad stood by you and your dream,” Shayna said, thinking of her own mother. Maybe this was why he’d turned out to be so kind and selfless. “So many people have monsters for parents.”

He raised a brow. “Like…?”

“My mother,” she admitted with a shudder. “I barely knew my father.” Then she realized what she was saying, and not wanting to delve deeper into painful memories, she brought the subject back to him. “So, what made you first want to help people?”

People like me,
she didn’t add.

He shrugged and refilled their glasses, hers with wine, his with beer. “Part of it was because of how I was raised. My mom always brought me to help her with coat drives and soup kitchens.” A strange look flickered across his face. “And when I first started singing with bands in high school, so many of my bandmates were living in poverty—and sometimes with abusive parents and drug addictions. I just didn’t think it was fair, you know? They were all so talented, and they had so many things holding them back that weren’t their fault. Just like it wasn’t my fault I was born into a stable, well-off family. I always did what I could to help, even if it was just giving them a place to crash in the basement and food. And some of them even made it, like Brand Kife from Viciöus.” Dante took a big swig of his beer. “I guess I’m still the same. And I guess I do it to honor Mom’s memory too.”

“Wait, she passed away?” Shayna’s heart clenched.

Dante nodded. “The cancer came back with a vengeance two years ago.” The clipped sentence belied the agony in his eyes. “This time it was quick, and nothing could be done to make it go away.”

“I’m so sorry,” Shayna said. She meant it, too. She knew all too well what it was like to lose a loved one.

“Thanks. I’m still torn up about it, but at least I have Dad. He comes to visit twice a year and I go see him in New Mexico.” He took another big gulp of beer. “But enough about me, what about you?”

Shayna took a sip of wine to delay. “There’s really not much to say. I…write.” Her gaze focused on the wood grain of the bar, silently pleading for him not to ask her to elaborate. “I don’t have many friends, and I haven’t traveled much. I haven’t worked any fancy jobs, or really many jobs period. I’m newly divorced, as you know.” A helpless laugh broke from her lips. “I’m really kind of boring.” And bound to become even more so if she didn’t get her life and creative spark back together.

Dante eyed her over the rim of his glass. “I highly doubt that. Boring is the last word I’d use to describe you.”

Shayna’s pulse jolted. Did he mean that he found her interesting? Was he just being polite—or was it a joke referencing how she’d come to be here?

As if sensing her anxiety, he allowed the question to drift away, humming to the music and tapping his foot. Finally, he poured their fifth drink, eyes suddenly serious. “What happened to the baby, Shayna?”

The world tilted for a second, and she pushed her glass away. “I don’t want to talk about it. I mean, I…” She shook her head. “It hurts too much.”

He leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. “I’m not a shrink, but I do know that talking things out is the first step to healing.” He softened the statement with a teasing smile. “Besides, since you spent all day ‘studying’ me, I think it’s only fair that I get to know you better.”

Shayna’s resistance crumbled beneath his intense gaze. “Sudden Infant Death Syndrome,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Dante said after a moment.

“I can’t help thinking it was my fault.” Shayna looked away and fiddled with a drink coaster emblazoned with the Deity logo. “I kept forgetting to take my prenatal vitamins, and if I wasn’t so busy working on my next—”

“Stop!” He cut her off, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes had darkened to a stormy gray. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But—”

“No, we’re done with this topic. I’m sorry I even brought it up.” He gave her a brief squeeze before releasing her, making her oddly dizzy from the contact. “God, Shayna, your husband was a monster for not being there through that.”

Shayna nodded, trying to dispel the burning tears. “He lost interest in me the day my pregnancy began to show. I did some research on it, and I guess it has something to do with the Madonna/Whore complex… Anyway, no, he didn’t care—except to treat me like I was a failure as a wife. Maybe I am. I could never make him happy.”

With a gesture, Dante stopped her again. “Please indulge my curiosity. Although I’m glad to know you’re happy to be free of what sounds like a bastard of a man,
what made you marry him in the first place?
”

Shayna shrugged and grabbed her wine glass, taking a miniscule sip. “There’s not much to say. I was stupid. My dad walked out on us when I was five, and my mom and I weren’t very well-off, so it made sense to marry as soon as I graduated high school. There’d be one less mouth to feed. That and…” She paused before the shameful admission. “Mom and I don’t get along well. College didn’t seem like a realistic option. I didn’t get very good grades in math, and I wasn’t remarkable enough at anything to get a scholarship.”

She sighed, a string of broken and unfulfilled dreams parading before her eyes. “So when I met Shawn, well, it seemed there was no other choice. He was the first guy who took me on actual dates and didn’t try to get me into bed right away.”

Dante nodded when she glanced up at him, and the compassion in his expression made her heart melt.

“How long was it before you figured out that he was a selfish asshole?”

Shayna laughed bitterly. “That’s the thing. I think I knew from day one. He was always ogling other women on our dates, and he was always controlling. Of course, I was used to that. And it’s probably why he wanted to marry me. Because I was so subservient.” A fresh burst of melancholy washed over her. “I was so stupid. I did everything to please that selfish excuse for a man.”

“No, you weren’t stupid,” Dante said, taking another swallow of beer. “You’re human. We all do stupid things. I know I have.”

“Like what?” Shayna asked.

He raised a brow. “I wasn’t there for my wife, either. I know you probably read all about that.”

Her eyes widened at his mention of his ex, and also from shock at the sharp stab of envy in her chest. Shayna knew the alcohol had loosened his tongue, and even though it was wrong, she couldn’t help taking advantage. “What happened?”

Dante sighed and ran a hand through his dark curls. “It was mostly my fault. Although we were both so busy with our careers and tours with our respective bands, I neglected her on the rare occasions when we were home together. So it really was no surprise when she left me for her manager, who, she informed me, had been there for her more than I had.”

“Do you miss her?” Shayna asked softly. Part of her dreaded his response.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, guzzling down the rest of his beer. “But as I said before, it was never meant to be. I still care for her as a friend, but…” He shrugged. “After the initial lust faded, we didn’t really have much in common. So I guess all I miss is the company.”

“The company?” Shayna cringed as the words left her mouth. “But don’t you get lots of offers from women backstage?”

Why’d she say
that
?

Dante shook his head. “I don’t do that. I want a deeper connection, but I don’t have the time because of my work. Or maybe it’s the energy. I’ve tried dating before, but I get itchy if I stay in the same place too long and the women want more attention from me. It’s a catch-22, and the work is more important, so…”

For some reason, the news that he didn’t sleep around made her tremble with desire. Shayna could no longer deny it. She was attracted to this man. Wholly. Heatedly. Unstoppably.

She glanced at him and was struck dumb by the sudden flare in his gaze. His eyes, now a deep dark blue, raked up and down her body, lingering at the modest display of cleavage revealed above her lavender top. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky, promising sinful delights.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Shayna, you know that?”

She blushed. “Th-thank you.”

The world seemed to halt. He leaned forward. Shayna’s lips parted.

Abruptly, he pulled away, shaking his head. “As I said, it’s been a long time. Go to bed, Shayna, while I can still behave myself.”

“But…,” she whispered, not knowing what to say, only aching with longing. “It’s not even eight.”

“Go!” he said firmly. “You need to rest, and I need to sober up. I haven’t drank like this in awhile.”

Despite her body’s protests, Shayna obeyed. It wouldn’t be good for him to kiss her because he was drunk.

Damn him for being such a gentleman.