Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance (15 page)

~ TWENTY ~

Laurel

Another
episode in the day-long marathon of
Seinfeld
came on and made me realize
I was running late. After I got off the phone with Domino, I told Steve we were
ready to get home, and he could not get on the airport’s website fast enough.
Every day we had been in Seattle, his bitching about missing New York had grown
exponentially. And now, every ten minutes he was texting me, asking me if I was
getting packed, and every time I answered “yes, God!”

As I looked over the clothes still strewn on the bed,
I realized maybe I should have been a little less snarky with Steve this time.
And maybe a few other times. And maybe that Steve was right about me being
horrible to fly with.

Hell, that was nothing a few mimosas couldn’t fix. I
saw my phone on the nightstand light up with a message and ignored it, instead
pulling up my suitcase onto the bed to begin packing in earnest.

The trip had been so chaotic that I hadn’t even kept
track of what needed to be washed, so everything got stuffed with equal
disregard into the square black bag as efficiently as possible. As I threw in
garment after garment, my hand grabbed one that still felt unfamiliar. It was
Noah’s heavy, soft sweatshirt—the one he’d gotten on The Rising End’s first
tour ever, and kept safe and close since. The one he’d gifted me that day on
the beach.

It was all I had left of him. It was strange to
acknowledge how quickly everything had happened, despite how deeply I could
still feel him in my bones. I wished I had left something of mine with him,
something he could see now and remember me by. But something like that might
just cause him pain, and that was the last thing I wanted.

Seeing his sweatshirt caused me pain. But it was
nothing like the bolt of agony that overcame me when I put the soft thing up to
my face and inhaled Noah’s scent mixed with wetness and earth. I hadn’t been
around him in days, and yet the scent was so strong, so recognizable, that I
collapsed into sobs on the edge of the hotel bed, because it felt like he was
in the room with me. I wept into Noah’s sweatshirt until I didn’t have any
tears left, and my eyes were swollen and tender.

Slowly, I tried to compose myself. I stuffed the
borrowed top into the suitcase with a bit of anger and got up. But I only made
it a few steps before my hands were back, pulling the sweatshirt out again and
yanking it over my head. Warmth rushed over my body, and Noah’s scent was all
around me now. I didn’t care if it hurt.

Out of the corner of my eye, the screen of my phone
lit up again. It was a call this time. I slid over and, expecting Steve, was
surprised instead to see Domino’s face looking back at me.

“What’s up?” I answered with only the slightest
sniffles.

“Was I right to assume you are running late for your
flight?” she said with a smile in her voice.

“I, uh…” My brain was too fogged from crying to even
come up with a quick white lie.

Domino just laughed. “I’ve told you before, fate puts
together pieces in ways you wouldn’t expect. Today, my girl, your seemingly
rebellious aversion to being on time has worked in your favor, so find some god
to thank.”

“Who
is
this?” I asked, only half-kidding. “You
congratulating me for being irresponsible has made me feel like I missed a cut
scene, here. What’s going on?”

“Are you ready for this?”

“Ready for
what?
”

I could practically see Domino squirming in her seat
like she always did when she got excited. She could never hide her passion. “I
just got off the phone with Gavin Jones.”

“Gavin Jo…” My memory kicked in before I could finish
my question. My heart stopped beating for a moment.

“Gavin Jones, manager of Cut Up Angels. He asked to
speak to me personally.”

Legs heavy and shaking, I sat down on the bed. All I
could think was Noah had told Gavin what I was, and Gavin, ever the guard dog
he was for Noah and the boys, was calling Domino to chew me to bits and
blacklist me from ever working in the industry again. But I couldn’t reconcile
that theory with how happy and excited Domino sounded. Would she really be so
thrilled to have me gone?

“W-What did he want?” I asked.

“Noah Hardy has requested us to conduct his first
interview to the press about the festival. He says he has developments that the
public hasn’t heard, and he wants us to be the ones to present it to them—exclusively.
Every single fucking news outlet that wants to talk about Noah Hardy is going
to be running your byline.”

Time stopped. The breath in my chest was all I could
hear. “He… he
what?”

“Specifically, Laurel, Noah Hardy has asked to speak
to
you.
And only you. Those were the conditions of his interview.”

Heart racing, Domino’s words were difficult to wrap my
head around. “This is a joke, right? Noah wants to talk to me—wants to give me
an interview?”

“If you’re still in town to take it. He wants to give
it today.”

“Yes, I’m still in town,” I said. “I… I’ll do it. Of
course I’ll do it.”

“Of course you’ll do it,” she repeated, “I don’t
remember offering you a choice. You ready to write down these instructions?”

~ TWENTY-ONE ~

Noah

I
was already waiting on the beach by the time Laurel arrived. Actually, I had
been on the beach for hours, ever since I left the label’s office in Seattle. Gavin
took my instructions to call the
Slipstream Magazine
offices in New York
and speak with Laurel’s editor. The tactic felt a little dramatic, but part of
me knew that Laurel was swimming in an ocean of guilt right now, and just like
I needed Quinn and Gavin, she was going to need her best allies to convince her
to get back up and fight.

Still, there was no guarantee she would take the
invitation. She had no idea what state I was in. And I wouldn’t have blamed her
if she passed it off to some other writer after everything that had happened.
But I knew I had to try—both for her, and myself. Laurel always seemed to
reward my effort.

She came down the hill toward me, sitting on the
driftwood log by the river. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her
face looked like she hadn’t had a very good few nights. It had the unmistakable
puffiness of someone who had been crying, and my heart ached at the thought. It
ached even more when I saw she was again wearing my sweatshirt, too big for her
frame, wrapping her halfway down her thighs and almost over her hands.

I stood up as she approached, hands in my pockets. She
looked almost afraid as she approached, like she thought I was going to
announce this was all a fucked-up prank to hurt her. I didn’t move; I let her
come to me. Laurel was a shark, like me, and I knew what people had to do to
get me to listen; so that was what I did for her. I let her get her bearings
and approach on her terms. The rush of the river overlaid our silence.

“Hey,” she said, stepping to the driftwood.

“Hi,” I replied. We stared at each other with wet,
unsure eyes.

Laurel swallowed and looked around. “Domino asked me
to meet you here…”

I nodded. “It’s for real. I asked for you.”

“Okay,” she said. “So, what do you want to…”

“Why don’t you sit down, and we can just start the
interview?” I said, waving a hand over half of the driftwood log. “Did you
bring your recorder?”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and followed
me. I straddled the giant log to face her, while she hiked one thigh up
side-saddle and turned toward me. Wispy strands of pale blonde hair drifted
around her face in the light wind.

Laurel activated the recording app and held the phone
out in her hand between us. She stared at me and took a few breaths before she
began.

“Noah… tell me what happened that day at the festival.”

Even though I was ready for it—I had
asked
for
it—a stone still sat in my gut at the thought of talking about that day. But I
looked in Laurel’s face and it became easier. “Our set started late afternoon.
I’d had a few beers with some of the other bands backstage, but I wasn’t
plastered like some of the reports are saying. People don’t understand how much
booze it takes for a guy my size to get drunk. Anyway…” I cleared my throat.
“The set started out fine, everything was normal. We had a few lady fans brought
up on stage during ‘Locusta,’ like we always did—they were local contest
winners, if I remember right. Security got them on and off without a problem.
But it was a few songs later when I saw somebody in the pit.”

Laurel’s face crinkled with worry. She hadn’t heard
the story this complete. No one had.

“The photographers had already cleared out, and nobody
had started crowd-surfing yet, so I thought it was off to have someone that
close to the stage. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that.
Suddenly he wasn’t near the stage, he was crawling up and onto it. He didn’t
look happy, or excited, or drunk. He was just staring at Quinn.”

I had to take a pause and a breath. The sound of the
river rushing helped to soothe my anxiety.

“I was already moving to confront the guy when I saw
the knife in his hand, and that just made me move faster. Quinn wasn’t even
paying attention. I just hit the guy with all the strength I had to knock him
off his feet and make him lose his weapon. Security could deal with him after
that. But when I hit him, he just kept falling. The sound of his head hitting
that beam, even through the sound of the music… I still hear it in my sleep.”

Tears dripped down Laurel’s face. Her chest rose and
fell with her ragged breathing.

“Then it was just chaos. They rushed us offstage,
cancelled the rest of the main stage sets. We were stuck on our bus with no
information until the head of security and a police detective came to tell us
the man had died. And… that was the moment everything just started to fall
apart.”

Laurel asked in a shaking voice, “Did you tell the
police about what you saw?”

“I told the police. I told security. I told my manager
and my band,” I said. “But no one else had seen the knife, and the police
couldn’t find any evidence that it existed. Only my manager and Quinn believed
me, in the end.” After a pause, I said. “And you, Laurel. You believed me.”

Her face got sad, and she held back tears. She looked
down a minute to gain her composure and continued. “Why did your bandmates
abandon you?”

Hearing it said so starkly made my heart hurt. “I
don’t know,” I said. “Tensions were high after the festival, obviously. I’m not
an idiot. I know what my reputation is, and those boys had dealt with missing
shows because I couldn’t get out of a jail cell fast enough, or being too
hungover, or whatever. Me fucking things up isn’t that rare a happening, if you
catch my drift.”

“But this time, you hadn’t.”

“This time, I hadn’t. This time, I was in the right.
And I thought they would be able to see the truth of that. But Jeff, Ash… they
didn’t.”

“What about Duke Rogers?”

I couldn’t wait until I never had to hear his name
again. “Duke, well… Duke has goals. And he’s not going to let anyone stand in
the way of those goals. In this case, it fit his goals to believe I was an
animal capable of murdering an innocent man for no reason.”

“So you’re not upset with Duke for what he did?”

“I was,” I admitted. “Very upset. But the last few
days have been very… eye-opening for me.”

Laurel flushed.

“I feel like I’m seeing things more clearly now. And
as strange as it sounds, I don’t think what Duke did was personal. I don’t
think he ever cared about me enough to make this personal. I think he only ever
saw me as a ladder to a better place—a ladder he’s all too happy to kick out
when he’s done using it. I’m not mad at Duke, but I pity him. I look at the
relationships I’ve found because of my love of music, relationships that exist
because of vulnerability… of willingness to be human. Duke may love music as
much as me, but he will never have that. I feel sorry for him.”

Laurel wiped the tears on her face with the sleeve of
my sweatshirt. The gesture made me smile.

“What happens to you now, Noah? What happens to the
band?” she asked.

“Cut Up Angels is done,” I said. “This was a hit we
can’t survive. I’m putting it out of its misery. The legal shit will get worked
out, and Quinn and I will find another project to work on.”

Laurel paused and swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “Bands break up all the time, and
new ones get formed. I’ll find something different to do. Maybe it’s time I
head back to my hardcore roots.”

She smiled, still teary. After a second she got her
bearing and cleared her throat. “I, uh… is there anything else you want to
include or say? Anything you want the public to know?”

“Yeah. I want to publically apologize to my band…
well, mostly
ex
-bandmates… and our loyal manager, Gavin Jones, for them
having to go through this. They may not have stood by me, but they did in earlier
years, when I did stupid shit just for the hell of it. They still made music
with me, anyway. And if I’d had my way, this wouldn’t be how we ended. So I’m
sorry for that.

“And I want to thank the people who believed me
through this ordeal when everyone else had thrown me to the wolves. Quinn, who
has never let me down and never let me fight on my own; Kevin, an old friend
and mentor; Gavin, who has done some of the finest work for this band and
always looked out for us; and you, Laurel. I want to thank you for believing
me.”

Laurel’s eyes widened, her body tensing.

“You had no reason to believe me,” I said. “You didn’t
know me. You had heard the same bullshit stories everyone else has. But you
came here, and you met me… and you believed me. And then you went out and saved
my fucking life. And I owe you everything. That’s why I wanted to give this to
you. You earned your success.”

Laurel’s mouth dropped open as her cheeks flushed
pink. No doubt she hadn’t expected how much thinking I had been doing about
what had happened. After the fury passed, and after the confrontation with Duke
and the band was finally over, the impending charges wiped away from my future,
my mind was able to focus on Laurel. Really, though, my mind never stopped
focusing on Laurel. Even after what she had done, every bone in my body ached
for her touch again.

“I… I was just doing my job,” said Laurel, but the way
she frowned, it was like she didn’t believe her own words—like she was reciting
some script.

“Were you?” I asked.

She looked at my expression and searched it with her
gaze. With a glance down at the recording phone in her hand, she couldn’t help
herself. “Am I the one giving the interview, here, or are you?” The ghost of a
smirk appeared in the corner of her mouth, and warmth spread through my body at
the sight of it.

“Make it one of my conditions,” I said. “Quid pro
quo.”

“Does that make you Hannibal Lecter?” she joked,
sniffling as she did.

“Will your magazine print a joke as dirty as the one I
want to make right now about eating you?” I said with a grin.

Laurel laughed, a real, full laugh, her eyes bright.
“Ask me whatever you want.”

I slid a little closer to her on the driftwood trunk.
“What made you want to come do this story on me?”

She licked her lips. “Timing,” she said. “I’d fucked
up pretty hard on my last one. I wanted something big to get me out of the
proverbial ditch I’d fallen into… and then Sun Fest happened. With the press
moratorium, this was my only play, but I had to try, so...”

“So if you had been a hardcore guitarist instead of a
journalist, you’d be the dude who climbs up on the highest cabs to stage dive
from, is that what you’re saying? Go big, or go home?”

The comparison made her laugh and blush. “Well, when
you put it that way, I sound insufferable.”

“You want the big prizes,” I said. “I can relate.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” she said. “And your story was the
biggest prize.”

I took a beat, and a breath. “Did you come here thinking
I was guilty?”

Laurel looked sad. “Well… yeah. Everyone did. The
videos were… they were pretty hard to fight. But, even that first night in the
Graveyard Club, I had already started to question the narrative that was
playing out. There was something about you, Noah… even talking to you, the real
you, for just a few moments, made it perfectly clear that you were not the man
everyone thought you were.”

My chest welled up with emotion and ache for her. I’d
never heard a woman talk about me like that. None of them ever seemed to see
past the surface. But it hadn’t fooled Laurel for even a moment, once she got
close enough. She really was flawless.

“Every day I spent with you just made it clearer,” she
said softly.

I slid closer to her, close enough to wrap her legs in
mine. Laurel’s eyes welled up with tears the closer I came, and when we touched
began to cry in earnest. I took her free hand in both of mine.

“Did you tell the truth when you were with me?” I
asked. “Is the Laurel I’ve fallen in love with the real woman?”

Laurel looked up into my eyes, amazed. I lifted a hand
to wipe the tears from under cheek.

“Yes,” she said in a desperate exhale. “Yes, Noah. You
didn’t know me from Eve. I had no reason to lie about all of that. And from the
second you sat down next to me at the bar and complimented my shirt, I wanted
you to know everything about me. I don’t know why… but I did.” She placed her
hand over mine as I caressed her face. “I never lied about any of it. And I
never lied about how much I care about you.”

“After you told me who you were, I was so afraid I had
trusted the wrong woman again,” I said, pressing my forehead against hers. “But
then all I could think about was… was that you had given up your story for me.
This was huge for you, and you just walked away from it. I tried to imagine a
single time in my life I’ve ever done that for someone, and I couldn’t fucking
do it. You’re an incredible woman, Laurel.”

“Noah…” she whimpered, tearing up again.