One Year Ago
IGNORING THE CROWD, MY sticks flying across the drums, the rhythm in my blood, I nailed the solo then brought the song back around for Myles. His vocals cut in, Graham’s bass took over the beat, and I slowed the tempo as Aaron joined in on keyboards.
It was perfect synergy.
Until I looked up, and my heart fucking stopped.
Amber-colored eyes that’d haunted my dreams, dark brown hair—her anguished gaze cut into me and pierced my soul. Standing perfectly still at the front of the stage, tears dripped down her face as the crowd raged around her.
Elyssia.
My Elyssia.
She never came to shows. Ever.
I pounded out the last beat, spun my sticks and pointed them at her. Wait there, I mouthed, before kicking my throne back and tossing my sticks into the audience.
The crowd roared as they rushed the stage and closed in on her.
The lights cut out and I fucking panicked. I yelled to the only person who knew about her. “Myles!”
Our lead singer spun and dropped the million-dollar smile he wore every show. “I saw. Go.”
I jumped over the cables and skirted the speakers, scanning for help.
Graham materialized next to me. “The brunette, front row?”
I didn’t bother denying it. “Something’s wrong. She never comes to shows. I need to get to her. Now.” She hated crowds. She’d hated them since she was a shy fifteen-year-old who smiled at me like I was the damn sun.
Graham nodded once and grabbed a rent-a-cop with his back to us. “Security,” he snapped. “We need to get someone out of the audience up front.”
The security guard looked at Graham like he didn’t give two fucks. “We have to wait until the crowd disperses.”
“Wrong.” Graham snatched the asshole’s walkie-talkie and started barking orders into it.
I wasn’t fucking waiting.
Ignoring the groupies shouting my name and the hands grabbing for any part of me they could reach, I shoved through the crowd pushing in to get backstage. The look in Elyssia’s eyes crushing me, I was ready to destroy anyone in my way.
Rounding the last corner, I burst through the main space and immediately knew why Graham had called for security.
I was instantly mobbed.
BEN! Ben Stark! Oh my God, it’s the drummer! Twenty, fifty, a hundred people, shit I didn’t know how fucking many, but they all shouted at me and rushed forward. The security at the backstage entrance already overwhelmed, I couldn’t pass.
“Back the fuck up!” Graham roared. “Security coming through!” Shaved head, muscled to hell, Graham shoved his way next to me, giving zero fucks about the fans. “Where is she?”
Thankful for my height, I scanned over the crowd, looking for her. When my eyes landed on her in the same place I’d told her to wait, shit kicked at my chest. “Front left of stage.”
Graham nodded as two more security guys pushed their way toward us. “Let’s go.”
Graham moved in front of me. He had a reputation for being an asshole, because he was, but I’d never seen the reach of that reputation until the crowd parted enough for us to pass through.
Two yards before Elyssia, a woman rushed us and threw herself on Graham.
“I love you, Graham Allen!” Her arms wrapped around his neck as her legs went around his waist.
“Motherfucker,” Graham cussed, grabbing her thighs. Shoving her legs down hard, he took a second to glare at me. “You fucking owe me, Stark.” He spun with the chick wrapped around him like a barnacle, and her legs flew out in an arc.
Everyone stepped back, and I got my window.
Sweaty as fuck from the concert, I rushed forward and grabbed Elyssia, wrapping my arms protectively around her.
“Ben.” Her voice broke.
“Shh, I got you, baby.” I held her tight, hating the drenched long-sleeved thermal I was wearing, but she hadn’t seen the ink on my arms yet. No one had except the tattoo artist. “Hold on. I’m getting you out of here.” I nodded at one of the security guards. “Backstage, now.”
The guard started pushing through the crowd. “Coming through. Back up!”
Minus the crazy fan, Graham fell in behind us. “Back the fuck up!”
My arm around Elyssia’s shoulders, I held her head against my chest so her face would be protected from the all the assholes taking pics and video on their phones. Pushing through the crowd, I followed the security guard, and we made it to the backstage area.
The second we cleared the crowd and the guard closed the door to the backstage area, Graham pushed around us. “Hope she’s worth it.”
I was too worried about why Elyssia was here to tell him to fuck off.
“I’m….” Elyssia sucked in a stilted breath. “I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Come on, let’s get you out of here, then we’ll talk.” No way in hell was I taking her to the backstage party. I fucking knew who was waiting there. “Did you drive yourself down?”
She swiped at her face, and her voice turned small and quiet. “Yes.”
Adrenaline, pounding desire, alarm that she was here—I broke the unspoken, cardinal rule between us, and cupped the side of her face, touching her.
Her eyes closed for the briefest of moments.
My pulse took the fuck off and my heart took a hit. I was holding her. Not a casual hug of greeting, not with my arm around her like two fucking seconds ago, but holding her. Dominantly, possessively, like a man holds a woman. Not only was I holding her, for the first time in a year, I was looking at her. Really fucking looking, not staring at stolen pictures I kept hidden on my phone.
But the smiling angel whose picture I’d captured when she was unaware, the happy girl I’d left at home, she was gone. In her place was a woman who looked like she’d fought grief and lost. Red eyes with dark circles under them, her face pale as fuck—the alarm in my veins spread.
“Elyssia.” Fuck. Fuck. I didn’t want to ask. “Is Marcus okay?” Her brother. My best friend. He was deployed in Afghanistan in a Force Recon unit in the Marines.
Gorgeous amber eyes welled with tears. She sucked in a sharp breath and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying, but she nodded.
I exhaled in relief. “Okay, let’s get you out of—”
A hand landed on my back of my neck. “Ben, come on. I’ve been waiting for you. Everyone’s already at the party. Let’s go,” she whined.
Jesus fuck.
Guilt ripped through my veins, and I spun. Pulling Elyssia into my arms like she was mine, I protectively held the back of her head, forcing her face into my chest. Then I glared at the woman who’d been on her knees for me right before the show.
“You’re not waiting for me, and I’m not coming to the party. Leave.” Every word was meant in finality. I didn’t give two fucks about the groupie. She’d been shadowing me for the past three days on the tour. In a moment of weakness before the concert, I’d told her to get on her knees. I’d only been half-serious. I was hoping she’d get a clue and tell me to fuck off. Instead, she’d dropped at my command, and I’d let her suck me off.
Every second her mouth had been on me, I’d been thinking about the woman currently in my arms, wishing it was her. I hated the groupies. They didn’t know me. They didn’t want me. They didn’t give two fucks about anything except the fame I’d never wanted. I’d come from nothing and I’d needed to make money, desperately, but I never imagined the fucking price you paid for being famous.
The second the band took off, my best friend had turned on me. His disdain for the fame was only matched by my own. Worse, the wedge it’d driven between us also cut me off from his sister. He’d warned me if I so much as touched her, he’d rip me limb from limb. I’d been willing to take that chance, until he’d pointed out only a selfish dick would take a shy girl who hated crowds and throw her into the spotlight. So when he’d made me swear to never touch her, I’d given him my word. And I’d kept my promise. Until now.
Now she was in my arms, and it felt so damn good, I was fucking sick about the groupie. The groupie who stood there, glaring at Elyssia like she couldn’t believe what the fuck she was seeing.
“Oh,” the groupie sneered. “I’ve been replaced already?”
Elyssia tensed. Turning her head to face the groupie, she tried to put distance between us. “I’m sorry, I’m not—”
“You’re not apologizing for anything,” I cut her off, holding her firm.
Myles came down the corridor with a fucking harem of chicks behind him. His shrewd gaze took in the situation, then his stage smile spread across his face. He draped an arm around my groupie. “Been looking for you, babe.” He winked at her. “Can’t start a party without you.”
She smirked. “Yeah, right.”
Myles put a hand on his chest, as if he were affronted. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“If the shoe fits.” She shrugged begrudgingly.
Myles laughed like he didn’t give a fuck as he spun her around. Glancing over his shoulder, he tipped his chin at me and reminded me of our next gig. “Night after tomorrow.”
It was our last night in Miami. Tomorrow was a travel day, and the day after was our next tour stop. I nodded in acknowledgment, and Myles and the women disappeared down the corridor.
The second they were out of earshot, Elyssia pushed away from me. “I’m sorry.” Her voice broke. “I didn’t know what else to do.” She inhaled. “I called, but you didn’t answer.”
Confused, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I never ignored calls from her. But right fucking there, on my screen, were two missed calls and a voice mail from her.
Then I noticed the time stamp.
My stomach rolled, and I rubbed a hand over my face. She’d called right before the show. “I’m sorry.” Fuck, I was sorry.
She sucked in a breath and glanced down the hall. “It’s okay, the concert, you’re busy. I get it.”
Her stilted speech made me reach for her again. I grabbed her upper arms. “Tell me what’s wrong,” I demanded.
Her face distorted, and tears welled. “My mom….”
My muscles tensed. “What happened?”
“She, she….” Big, wet tears slid down her face, and she choked on a sob. “She’s dying.”
All the air left my lungs.
Her mother. The single parent who’d unquestioningly taken in the beaten-up foster kid her son had brought home from high school. My substitute mother. The woman who’d cared for me like I was her own.
“Ben,” Elyssia cried.
I pulled her into my arms and useless fucking words came out of my mouth. “Shh, it’s okay. She’ll be okay.” She fucking had to.
“She collapsed last night.” Elyssia sobbed. “I took her to the ER. It’s too late. There’s cancer. It’s everywhere. They can’t fix her. They said….” She cried harder. “They said she won’t last a week.”
My emotions shut down, and I pulled my phone out. Still holding her, I texted Myles.
Elyssia’s mom is dying. She has a week. I need off.
He replied almost instantly.
Fuck, dude. I’m sorry. I’ll call our backup drummer. Go. Take care of her. How much time you need? Week? Two?
Myles was the only other person who knew my background. He knew what Elyssia and her mom meant to me. I fired off a response.
Two. Thanks.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and stroked Elyssia’s back. “Have you called Marcus?”
“I couldn’t get a hold of him. His CO said he would relay the message, but he hasn’t called back.” She looked up at me with utter devastation. “What if he can’t make it home on time for… for….” She burst into tears again.
“It’s okay. I’ll handle it. We’ll get him home as soon as possible.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and turned her toward the exit. “Come on, I’ll drive us back to Ocala.”
Her steps faltered. “But your tour. You have your next concert the day after tomorrow. And all the other shows.”
She knew my schedule? “I’m taking two weeks.”
Her face twisted into alarm. “But the tour and your fans, you’ll get in trouble.”
Under any other circumstances, the trouble comment might’ve made me smile. “Its fine, Elyssia. We always have backup musicians on standby when we’re on tour. Let me grab my bag from the tour bus, then we’ll go.”
She inhaled, but the worry lines between her eyebrows deepened. “It’s okay?”
Her sorrow and grief fucking crushing me, I backed her against the wall and took her face in my hands. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
Her breath hitched, and her hands wrapped around my wrists, but she didn’t say anything.
I gripped her harder. “You’re not alone, you hear me? You will never be alone. I’m always going to be here for you. Always.”
Her grief, her tears, the tension in her muscles—it all stilled.
Then she stood on tiptoe and her lips landed on mine.
First shock, then eight years of blind fucking need surged, and I let loose. Growling with repressed desire and want, so much fucking want, I roared as I slammed my body against hers and shoved my tongue into her mouth.
Sweet fucking Jesus.
My hands tangling in her hair, my tongue dominating, I didn’t kiss her. I fucking took.
I took her kiss.
I took her grief.
And I took her fucking trust.
For one unbelievable moment, I had everything I’d ever wanted.
Everything.
My cock surged, my hips ground into hers, and I kissed her how I’d always wanted to. Then reality hit and I destroyed everything.
Another woman’s DNA on my dick, I ripped my undeserving mouth from hers and stepped the fuck back.
Shattering her illusion of who I was, I rubbed the back of my hand over my mouth and prayed like fuck I didn’t break her worse. “I’m sorry.” Jesus, I was sorry.
Panting, she swallowed. Then with a shaking hand, her fingers touched the lips I’d just assaulted. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” I barked. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “That was me.” Not wanting to touch her, wanting to touch every fucking inch of her, I gritted my teeth and grabbed her hand. “I need a shower,” I muttered, pulling her toward the door.
She pulled out of my grasp. “I can’t….”
“I know.” Selfishly not wanting to hear her finish that sentence, I took her face in my hands again. Then I stomped on her trust all over again as I purposely misconstrued her words. “I’ll get you home. I’ll keep my hands to myself, and we’ll get through this.”
Her face wrecked with grief, she merely nodded, taking the bullshit I fed her.
Swallowing down guilt, I took her hand and her trust, neither of which I deserved, and I pushed through the exit.