Sixx (The Stone Society, #7) (12 page)

D
esi was wiped just like every night after a show. Fronting the band Cyanide Sweetness was a dream come true. It had taken a few years, but they were finally on their way. Their debut album had gone gold, getting them national attention and heavy rotation on most major hard rock radio stations. Their sophomore album hit platinum, and now they were headlining their own tour. He took a few minutes to freshen up before making his appearance at the party for those fans who’d won VIP tickets, along with the local media and journalists. He loved being in the limelight. Loved the roar of the crowd. He ate up all the adoration showered on him night after night. Yep, Desmond Rothchild was an attention whore.

When his best friend, Tyson Moreau, decided to start a garage band in high school, it was never a question of who would join him. Zach O’Neal and Brett Thomas were the other two in their tight little group. Zach played bass, and Brett was a drummer. Between the four of them, they each had a talent that was undeniable. Now, his three friends and bandmates were just as eager for the spotlight as he was.

Before he entered the cordoned off area where their fans were waiting, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Desi left it in the dressing room during the show, but as soon as he was finished entertaining the masses, he always checked it. Just in case.

Not that he was expecting a call or text from his mother, but Desi worried about her being alone all the time. Whatever condition she had that affected the way she aged, or rather the way she
didn’t
age, had taken its toll. Most women would give anything to appear in their early twenties when they were closing in on fifty. Not his Pretty Momma. No, Desirae Rothchild was not vain enough to deal with the snide comments tossed her way over the years. Instead of flaunting her youthful appearance, she hid from the world. It hurt his heart that someone so beautiful on the inside and out had hidden herself away instead of allowing the rest of society to enjoy the bright light that was his mother.

Desi stopped to see who the text was from. The band’s publicist had practically blown up his phone. He didn’t have time to see what the fuss was about. Probably some groupie claiming to be carrying his love child. Not that he ever hooked up with groupies. Desi liked sex, but he was not of the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll mantra. He preferred sex to be meaningful. More meaningful than sating a baser need. He didn’t do drugs. None of the band did. They drank enough to get a buzz, and that was it. For a hard core metal band, the guys were pretty tame. Shoving his phone in his back pocket, Desi put on his best rock star smile and greeted his adoring fans.

A long table was set up where the four members sat and signed autographs and answered questions. Instead of all of them posing for pictures, they alternated nights with only one of them having photos made with the fans. There was some initial backlash for doing it this way, but eventually the fans got used to it and dealt with it with little fuss. Tonight happened to be Desi’s turn with the cameras, thus the reason for freshening up. Even he didn’t like the way he smelled after a show.

By the end of the night, he was getting annoyed at all the questions surrounding his doppelgänger. He had no idea who the people were referring to, and all night he played it off with a shrug and a grin. Since he was unaware there was someone out there who favored him, playing it off mysteriously was the only way to go. When the last fan left and the band headed back to the bus, Tyson asked, “What the fuck is going on? Do you know who they were talking about?”

“No. Let’s hope Cynthia has an idea of who it is and how to stop them.” Desi figured it was either an avid fan just fucking with people, or some wacko wishing he was Desi. Remembering their publicist had texted him, he grabbed his phone and opened the last text instead of the first. Sure enough, someone who looked a lot like Desi had made an appearance the previous night at a restaurant. According to Cynthia, social media was going crazy over a “Desi Rothchild lookalike”. He couldn’t deny the man did favor him, but seriously? He was obviously older and not nearly as handsome. By the time he scrolled through all the texts, he was over it. He listened to the last voicemail from the woman before he called her back.

“Desi?” Cynthia asked.

“Of course, it’s me. Calling from my phone, aren’t I?”

“Smartass. I take it you’ve seen the photos.”

“Yes. Any idea who’s impersonating me?” he asked as he made his way onto the bus.

“From what people are saying, he wasn’t impersonating you. He walked into the restaurant, and as soon as people started snapping photos, he left. He obviously wasn’t looking for the notoriety.”

“Well, he sure as fuck got it. The after party took twice as long because everyone wanted to know if I have a twin brother I’ve been hiding.”

“Do you?” Cynthia asked, her voice smiling.

“You know I’m an only child. They say everyone has a twin somewhere in the world. It would appear mine happens to live in California.”

“Too bad I haven’t seen him before now. Holy shitballs! He’s fine.”

“Cynthia. Focus.”

“Okay. Okay. How do you want me to handle this?”

Desi just wanted the man to go away, back to wherever he’d been hiding. “I don’t want to make a bigger deal out of it than already has been. Let’s give it a few days. See if the hoopla dies down on its own. If not, then we’ll make a statement.”

“You got it. How was the show tonight?” Cynthia wasn’t a big fan of metal music, but she was a huge fan of the guys in the band. Considering she was Tyson’s older sister, she could be a little biased.

“Better than the last,” he answered as he did every time someone asked that question. He wasn’t lying, either. Each set got better as they honed their stage show night after night. They gelled as friends a long time ago. As a band, they were on their way to being one of the biggest in the world.

“What I wanted to hear. Tell the boys hello for me, and I’ll let you know if we need to talk more on your twin.”

“
Not
my fucking
twin
,” he growled.

Cynthia laughed. “You’re right. He’s even more handsome than you are.” She hung up before he could tell her how wrong she was.

The other guys were waiting for him to end the call. “Well? What did my know-it-all sister have to say?” Tyson loved his sister more than life itself, but he also enjoyed giving her a hard time, even if she wasn’t around to hear it.

“She said the guy didn’t seem like he was looking to be noticed. As soon as the cameras started flashing, he turned around and left. We’re gonna hope it dies down. If not, we’ll worry about it later. I need to call my mom and make sure she’s okay.”

Since the four of them had been friends forever, the others knew all about Desirae and her condition. Zach had been stupid enough to comment on how hot she was once, and Desi lost his mind. That was the one and only time any of them had mentioned her looks. Now, they just considered her Desirae, their friend’s mom. If they thought of her in any other way, they kept it to themselves. When Desi looked at the time, he realized it was really too late to call her. He scrolled through his phone, making sure she hadn’t called or texted him earlier. When she hadn’t, he breathed a sigh of relief. Surely if she’d seen all the uproar about the mystery man, she would have said something. Instead of bothering her this late, he opted for a shower and sleep.

D
esirae fell asleep on the sofa staring at the orchid she’d received when she returned from the beach. Her mind was jumbled with the implications of one stupid, purple plant. When she awoke on the sofa shortly after midnight, she didn’t bother looking at her laptop or the television. Normally she checked up on the happenings of the day, but she was too tired to care at that point. If Desi needed her, he would call. Other than that, the world could wait until morning to blow up as far as she was concerned. She changed out of her shorts and t-shirt and pulled on her sleep shorts and tank top. Desirae was too sleepy to worry about anything else like peeing or removing her makeup.

Pounding on her door woke Desirae. When she saw the time, she jumped out of bed and grabbed her robe. It was too early in the morning to have a visitor, so something must have happened to Desi. She ran to the front door and didn’t bother looking through the peephole. Instead, she threw it open and held her breath. Wait, why hadn’t the locks been engaged? She checked them twice before going to bed every night. Before she could think more on it, the person who knocked caught her attention. It wasn’t the police coming to give her bad news about her son. No, it was worse than that.  An older, more stunning – if that were possible – Michael stood on her porch holding a large vase of roses.

That was wrong. She hated roses. “Rae.” She finally moved her eyes away from the flowers to the face she had carved into her memory. The voice was the same one that gave her chills. The eyes were different. Harder. Darker. His eyes had always reminded her of the obsidian glass her father brought home from his mission trip to El Salvador. But now? Now they were bottomless pits. Darker than a basement with no windows in the middle of night.

“Rae,” he spoke again. One word was all he needed to convey ‘W
hy are you standing there staring? You need to let me in.
’ But there was also something in his tone she couldn’t place. Never had he spoken to her in a gruff manner unless they were having sex, and then the gruff had been sexy. This was not sexy. At all. She finally moved back and allowed the father of her child into her home. Something she vowed never to do, even though she was lying to herself.

“What are you doing here, Michael?”

“I’ve come to make amends.” This older version of the only man she’d ever loved moved just as gracefully as the younger one had. Maybe even more so. He stepped farther into the room and placed the roses on the coffee table. The
empty
coffee table. Where was the orchid? She didn’t remember moving it.

She had so many questions she wanted answered, but she was finding it hard to breathe, much less form words. He turned to face her, his eyes searching every inch of her body.

“I want my son, Rae. I want to get to know Desi. Where is he?”

“Desi?”

“Yes. Desi. My son. I’ve missed out on the last twenty-three years. Where is he?”

Rae’s heart was crushed. He wasn’t there for her. Michael only wanted to get to know his son. She swallowed back the tears and whispered, “On tour.” Two words were all she could manage without falling apart. Over the years, she had fooled herself into thinking a reunion with her love would go so differently than it was now. Desirae’s mind had tricked her into believing that seeing him again after all these years would be easy. He would waltz in the door and sweep her off her feet. He wouldn’t care that she didn’t look a day older than the last time he’d seen her. And why hadn’t he mentioned that? Surely he had to have noticed.

“Where on tour, Rae? I don’t have time to track him down. I need to find him. Now.”

“He’s... I... let me check my phone.” At that moment the text notification chimed, and she looked around for her phone. Where was her stupid phone? It chimed again, and she opened her eyes. “Shit!” She rolled over to grab her phone from the nightstand. “Stupid fricking dream,” she mumbled as she checked her messages.

How are you Pretty Momma?
Why was Desi up so early? Desirae wiped underneath her eyes where the mascara was flaking off. Even though she rarely left the house, some days she wore makeup to feel pretty. Seeing the same blah face in the mirror got old.

She sent a short response.
Sleepy

Sorry if I woke you

It’s ok. I need to get up. Work to do. Why are you up early?

She hoped nothing was wrong. Her son never got up before ten, even if they had a show. Desirae sat up and twisted so her legs were hanging off the side of the bed. Desi’s next text came through a few minutes later.

Couldn’t sleep. I’ll call later. Love you

Love you too

While trying to make sense of the dream, Desirae made her way to the bathroom. It wasn’t uncommon for her to dream about Michael, but this one had been different. Normally, her subconscious rendered happy times at the beach. The two of them surfing side by side. Michael was still the same young, breathtakingly handsome man who warmed her from the inside out. This Michael had been different. Older. Cold.

She peed and brushed her teeth then padded barefoot to the kitchen. The coffee pot was empty, and she cursed herself for forgetting to set it the night before. Desirae needed her caffeine first thing. She might look like a spring chicken, but she felt like the oldest hen in the house when she didn’t have her coffee.

While she was waiting, she retrieved her laptop from the coffee table where she’d left it unopened the night before. Sitting next to it was the stupid, purple flower. How many times had she picked it up, ready to toss it in the garbage? How many times had it reminded her of the man she didn’t want to be reminded of? How many times had she sat it back down and thought of Michael anyway? Too many to count. One was too many. It must have been the catalyst for her dream. Ignoring the plant, she took her laptop to the kitchen, where she would work on a couple of projects.