His Prisoner by Jesse Jordan (33)

Rocky

I wake up to the sound of someone knocking on my door, and I'm jolted awake, wondering who the hell it is. Probably the Jehovah's Witnesses. They came by about a month ago. I turn over on the couch where I slept, pulling the cushion over my head. “Fuck off, I don't want none!”

The knock comes again, this time louder, and I get up, momentarily thinking I should have slept in something besides my underwear. I was too tired and screwed up last night after the freezing shower to do much more than to grab my underwear off the floor and then collapse on the couch, and right now I look particularly grungy. To hell with it, if some door to door salesman, JW, or whoever else wants to disturb me at.... okay, 8:23 in the morning isn't too bad, but still... if they want to wake me up, they can look at me in just my day-old briefs.

“What the hell do you want, can't you hear that I don't...” I start to rant as I open my front door, only to see Martha standing there in probably the most casual outfit I've ever seen her in, jeans and a sleeveless blouse. “You're dressed down.”

“Still more dressed than you,” she replies, pointing to my undies. “By the way, your lead guitarist is hanging out a little.”

I look down and see that after last night's cold shower, and not changing into fresh clothes afterward, I do seem to have slid out the side of my briefs a little, and I tuck myself back in. “Yeah well, what are you doing here anyway?”

“I know where you live Rocky, even if I've never been invited here before,” Martha says, following me in uninvited as I turn and go inside. To hell with it, she's already seen my cock, she can see my ass too as I head into the bedroom, dropping my briefs and kicking them towards my hamper. Thankfully, she at least stays in the hallway while I grab a fresh pair of undies and some shorts from my dresser. “You know, if you want to keep yourself out of the tabloids, I'd advise you to take an extra minute to start sleeping in a full set of clothes.”

“Not with the heating and air in this place, I'd bake to death in July,” I gripe. Looking in my dresser drawer, I grab a workout tank and pull it on as well, I might as well use my time today to do something useful. “What brings you here this fucking early anyway? I figured that I'd be paying you back on Monday.”

“Well, I did stick my neck out for you, Rocky. I'd like to get a first-hand account of all that went down, you know,” Martha says. I come out of my bedroom and see her leaning against the wall in my short hallway, a smile on her face. “Come on Rock, did you guys click?”

“Yeah, we clicked,” I reply, pushing past Martha and going into the kitchen. “You want a coffee?”

“Sure, why not?” Martha asks. Her expression changes when I grab the instant coffee from the cupboard and drop two spoonfuls of the crystals into a big mug for her before taking double that amount and putting it in my blender. “Oh… instant. And just what the hell are you making?”

“Healthy wake-up smoothie,” I grumble as I take out the rest of the ingredients. “Chocolate protein powder, coffee, and vitamin mix. I just don't feel like cooking this morning.”

Martha watches silently as I blend the concoction before mixing her coffee and microwaving it to warm it up, handing her the sugar and milk. “Not sure how you take it.”

“Black is fine for me,” she says, hopping up on the counter, sipping the coffee. “Well, I've had worse. Not trying to bitch, I'm guessing you bought the stuff to drop in that shake you've got going.”

“You want me with a six pack, this is the way I get it done,” I reply, drinking directly from the blender cup, draining the whole mix quickly in order to minimize the agony. Finishing it off, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and burp, wincing at the rumbling sensation in my stomach. Whatever else Martha has to say, she's on about a thirty-minute timer before the unavoidable, malodorous side effects of the protein powder come out. “Ugh.”

“I figured the chocolate would help,” Martha says, and I shake my head. “Really?”

“Non-fat, no sugar chocolate flavor,” I reply, passing over the tub. I rinse out my mouth and then the blender, then put it in the drying rack. “It's why I use full milk. Maybe some psycho bodybuilder lies to themselves into believing that this is really chocolate flavored and be able to mix it with skim milk or water, but I've had dog biscuits that taste better.”

Martha reads the ingredients, then shakes her head. “I probably don't want to know where you ate dog biscuits, or why. But back to the subject at hand. You enjoyed yourself with Cora?”

I nod, smiling for the first time. “Yeah, I did. Maybe I was an idiot for all those years back in high school, because the two of us... well, let me ask you, Martha, have you ever kissed a guy and just had everything sort of click all at once? No second kiss needed, no hesitancy, just... bam, and things sort of fall into place?”

“Yeah... about two months before I found out the guy was cheating on me with a backup dancer for Miley Cyrus,” Martha says with a sarcastic sneer. “To top it off, it wasn't a female dancer.”

“Ouch,” I comment, but I'm feeling better now that I'm up. “Sorry to hear that. At least I don't have to worry about that with Cora.”

“No... but you might have something else to worry about,” Martha says sadly, taking out her phone and passing it to me. “Seems you made the scandal sheets again.”

I look at the screen, reading the headline and seeing the three photos before I start shaking my head in rejection of what it says. “Fuck. Fuck… FUCK!”

I'm angry, and it takes a force of will to not throw the phone across my kitchen so I hand it back to Martha, who tucks the phone safely away before I can break it. I stomp out of the kitchen, running my hands through my hair. “Goddammit, Martha, they went too far this time! I wasn't causing any trouble, there's nothing there that can even be considered raising hell. I went out to dinner, we had a walk on the beach, and we kissed! That's it!”

“That's it?” Martha asks, and I nod. “Really?”

“I invited her back here for a nightcap, and sure, I wanted to make a move, but she shut me down,” I protest. “She said that she wanted to, but last night wasn't the right time. So, I called her a cab, and she left by eleven fifteen. I took a half hour long freezing cold shower, pulled my undies back on, and you saw me thirty seconds after I woke up. Do I look like someone who got up to shenanigans last night?”

“Left you with blue balls, huh? Was that before or after the cold shower?” Martha asks lightly, holding up her hands when I growl in reply. “Chill, Rocky. Chill. I'm just trying to inject some humor into the whole scenario.”

I shake my head, sighing. “Dammit Martha, that was why I was so happy when you scored me a res at Zimzala. It's far enough off the celeb route that there shouldn't have been anyone there. And I behaved myself in the restaurant, one hundred percent. Fuck, there's nothing wrong with kissing a woman like Cora on the beach, is there?”

“Kissing on the beach? Not at all, I wish I could get a few of those,” Martha replies wistfully. “Honestly, I don't know what happened. I didn't give your name when I made the res, as you know. It was under Gashouse's name, and you left Cora's name with the front of the house.”

“I know!” I protest. “So, how the hell did they find out? Why is my name on the front page of CelebWatch?”

Martha sighs, shaking her head. “I don't want to say it, from everything you've said you really like this girl, and you've been friends in the past...”

“What?” I ask, turning. “I hope you're not saying Cora did this.”

“I'm saying I don't know,” Martha replies. “You're right. I did everything I could to make sure that the paparazzi didn't have a clue as to where you were last night. But someone knew. Those are pro level pictures; not someone snapping quickly from their iPhone. Especially the beach one, that's a far away shot made in low light, that needs real equipment to get. I'm guessing the only reason they didn't put pics of you two in full tonsil hockey mode is because of the way she's turned. You're a public figure, you can't expect to have privacy, sadly enough. But Cora... Well, there's a few reasons why her face might not be there. Either the photog didn't have any good ones of her in that kiss, which I doubt. Or they got a case of the conscience and decided to not publish the ones of a normal woman.”

“Ha!” I laugh bitterly, sitting down on the couch. “Those assholes don't have a conscience. I think they chop that off the day you take a job with these fucking companies.”

Martha nods in agreement but doesn't smile. “Which brings me to the possibility that I don't want to say, but have to. Rocky, Cora's not the same dewy-eyed girl that may or may not have had a crush on you back in high school. She's twenty-three, and she's been busting her ass trying to get her way up the ladder in this town for three years. But a lot of people have seen the fact that nowadays, it doesn't take talent to get your fifteen minutes of fame. With enough attention, they figure that is when the money starts to come in. And Cora knows that you're tabloid fodder, Rock. So, what if she decided to shortcut her way to that fifteen minutes? Make a little cash on the side, a couple hundred bucks for a couple of pictures. You said she took off early, right? Well, this story was posted around midnight, according to the timestamp. That's enough time to verify the story so that the site can't be sued, drop a few details like what you guys ate, and collect her cash in time to enjoy the weekend.”

I shake my head, anger clouding my thoughts. “No... no way, Martha.”

“I hope not Rocky, but I'm just saying... it could be. And if she sold you out for a couple hundred bucks for a kiss, what else could she be trying to do with the information she has at her fingertips?” Martha asks. “Just think about it. But if it were up to me, I'd take her out of the booth. She's working magic with you guys, but you guys don't need her, Rock. The magic's happening because of the Fragments, not because of the producer.”

“And if she's innocent?” I ask, upset. “I just snatch away a huge opportunity from a good woman, a good producer, and someone that I care about? That's really cold shit, Martha.”

“I know. That, unfortunately, is why band managers are often the most hated people in show biz,” Martha says gravely, making me immediately regret my anger at her. “Just... you think about it. Gimme a call tonight or tomorrow. If we have to, we can shut down recording for a few days to bring in someone new, or at least someone to tag team the booth with her. We wanna make sure she's not stabbing you in the back. I'm just trying to look out for your best interests, Rocky.”

Martha leaves, and in the silence that follows, I stew. I want to call Cora, but I realize that in all the weeks that we've worked together, I don't know her cell phone number. I don't even know where she lives.

The fact is, Martha has a point. While the Cora I knew five years ago, wouldn't have ever gone behind my back, even then she was trying to use the media to get attention. Mainly for me, but also building her resume with social media and YouTube. I'm sure some of the same videos that helped Ian reach out to me, also helped her get her foot in the door with some of her internships. And she has been out of school for only three years. The odds of a three-year producer being teamed up with an up and coming act, it's nearly unheard of unless the act already has a relationship with the producer. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the 'overnight success' in the music business is actually guys and girls busting their asses for years. Or shortcutting the system, whether fairly through things like The Voice and other shows, or through more scandalous ways. Like seduction.

I want to trust Cora. I want to believe in her, in the way she touched me, the way we kissed… but it's not just me that I have to think about either. And there's always been that part of her that she's not talking about. Why is she leaving the studio so early each day? When we worked with the folks at Oceanside, we were there until eight, nine, sometimes even midnight. We played until we couldn't play anymore and then picked up the next day to ride the next wave. She's always leaving early, both from work and then last night. What is going on with her? And with that question, can I trust her?

I gotta talk with my brothers. They'll be able to help.

* * *

“So, Martha thinks that the leak was Cora?” Joey asks as we carry the kettlebells over to the empty space on the floor, both of us dripping with sweat. I've used the space in between sets of our workout to voice my worries with Joey, who's been his normal self, thinking quietly before offering advice. “You know, man, I don't know.”

We start our first set of timed kettlebell swings, one minute where we pass the bell from hand to hand. When Joey's watch goes off, we stop, setting them down gratefully. “Yeah, I'm having problems with that too. If I were solo, Joey, I'd say to hell with it. I'm a big boy, I can cover my own ass, you know what I'm saying?”

“She made that big of an impact on you?” Joey asks, and his watch beeps again, the two of us starting the next timed interval. When we set it down, I have to take a few seconds to catch my breath before I can answer.

“For what she did for me back in high school, I'd give her the benefit of the doubt. But it's not just me, you know. I don't want to risk your happiness or Ian’s. Neither can I leave your asses hanging out in the breeze.”

Setting his kettlebell down, Joey hums. “I see what you mean. But you forget something. Ian and I are big boys too. And some of us are bigger than others.”

I chuckle a little, Joey's trying to keep the mood light, which I can appreciate. We finish our last set with the kettlebells and take them back to the rack, putting them away. “I guess if I make too big a mistake, you can always have a future as a gigolo.”

Joey laughs, and we move on to the last movement of our workout, ankles to the bar. Sure, it’s mostly for our stomachs, but it works the back too. It's painful, but it's a great finisher, especially as we can go from super-strict form, holding our legs out straight, until by the end we can practically just roll our bodies up in little balls to get the movement completed. We don't talk much, it just hurts too much to focus. Thank God we only do two sets.

Dropping down from the pull-up bar, Joey shakes out his hands. “Why do we put ourselves through that hell?”

“Because we know that it'll pay off when someone actually makes a music video, they're going to want us with our shirts off,” I answer, only half joking. “You know how it is.”

“I don't think Iggy Pop ever did this,” Joey says as we head over to the rowing ergometers. Sitting down side by side, we grab the handles and start pulling at a casual pace. The idea today is endurance and working off my frustration. “So... you made a decision?”

“Why's it gotta be my decision?” I gripe, pulling on the handle. “And why the hell did we pick the ergometer instead of something slightly less painful, like full contact bare knuckle kickboxing?”

“The choice is yours because you're the one who knows Cora best,” Joey says, breathing hard and ignoring my bitching about the rowing. “You went to school with her, and you're the one who's kissed her. You've never kissed me, by the way.”

“You're cute, but not that kind of cute,” I joke, and Joey laughs. “We're a band though.”

“And Ian and I will back you one hundred percent on this, regardless. This is your thing, Rocky. Do you trust your feelings for Cora or the history we've got with Martha?” Joey replies. We keep rowing, focusing during the quick fifteen minutes to finish off our workouts, and when the final beep goes off, I'm bathed in sweat.

Thankfully, the gym has an outdoors hot tub. It’s perfect for recovery, and my next stop. “Thanks for listening to what’s on my mind, Joey.”

“Thanks for getting me out of having to visit my cousin who lives in Inglewood,” Joey replies with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “I still gotta figure out how to deal with distantly related family members who think that just because I'm putting out records that it's an open invitation to hit me up for money for every project they can think of.”

I shake my head, both amused and frustrated. “Well, at least I don't have that particular problem on my hands. I think I'm going to hit up the hot tub, or else I'm going to feel like hell tomorrow when I come back.”

“You're doing all this again tomorrow?” Joey asks, incredulous. “Damn dude, you must have frustrations. All right then, I'm going to go find a place to chill out a little bit. Maybe I'll go hang on the beach for a while to make sure my cousin doesn't think that I can still drag my ass over to his house today. Glad I don't have relationship problems. Since I'm a hundred percent single, I think I will see if there’re any good-looking girls out on the sand. So, you made a decision?”

“Yeah, I think I have. I'll give Martha a call, then I'll be in touch with you and Ian. We might get a long weekend out of it, but we'll have to see.”

Cora

Bella can see that I'm happy and excited when I drop her off at daycare today, and I have to admit that I'm practically skipping heading back to the car and sitting down behind the wheel. Today's the day. After the great date Friday, and a weekend that was one of the most relaxing and fun that I can remember in recent memory, I woke up this morning knowing that today, during one of the breaks in recording maybe, I'm going to tell the guys about Bella. All the guys need to understand why I've been insistent on skipping out by six o'clock, but more importantly, Rocky needs to understand what he's getting himself into. If he still wants me after that, I'm more than ready to go to his bed or have him come to mine. I fully, one hundred percent, think that he can be a good man in Bella's life. I even decided that today, instead of spending the lunch hour in the booth, I'd go out with the guys. It'd be easier to tell them over tacos than it would over a sound mixer.

I don't see any of the guys' cars when I park, but I didn't expect them anyway. Rocky's been showing up a little earlier than Ian or Joey, so I've gotten to know his Nissan, but still, I always get ready before they get here, it saves time that many waste with morning chatter. I get out of my car and grab my bag, heading into the Gashouse Studios. I'm barely in the door when I see something strange. At the front reception area, there's a studio booking list, and for the past few weeks, Studio B has had the 'Fragments' written in next to it. Today though, it's just listed as 'Open.' What's going on?

I take my stuff down to the studio and open the booth door, surprised to see Martha sitting inside, dressed in her most severe pantsuit. “Good morning Martha, you're here early. Is everything okay? I saw that the studio's listed as open. Is someone sick?”

Martha shakes her head, standing up. “Nope, actually the studio decided to give the guys a few days off. We're bringing in a new producer for the rest of the album.”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and I stand there, dumbfounded. Wait, what? “But... but why? The sessions have been going really well. Did Larry not like the dailies I've been turning in?”

Martha shakes her head and gives me a raised eyebrow. “Actually, he's loved your work, but there's a bigger problem. A matter of trust.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, still confused. “Martha, if this is about the date that I had with Rocky Friday, you're the one who called me on it. In fact, I trusted you guys to not be setting me up with a crazy man. So, what's the issue?”

“The issue is that Rocky doesn't like is the fact that you've portrayed yourself as being single the whole time,” Martha says, and I feel my temples start to throb in anger.

“I am single, Martha. I'm not seeing anyone, and going on that date with Rocky was the first time I've been out in months,” I tell her, still trying to catch my balance. “What sort of bullshit have you guys heard about me?”

Martha sits forward and shows me a Facebook page, and I take a deep breath, calming myself. It's a slightly older photo, posted on the daycare center's Facebook page from the St. Patrick's Day party, Bella sitting next to me, both of us with green frosting on our face from the cake. “Bella. Now, I can understand why you would want to hide a daughter from the music industry in general. I mean, there's a ton of vampires in this town, and she's a cute kid. Rocky and the guys though, especially Rocky, were pissed that you would try and get into a relationship with Rocky without telling him up front about her.”

“But... but...” I stammer, not sure what to say. “But I was going to tell them.”

“I guess the right time to do that would have been a few weeks ago,” Martha says, then shakes her head regretfully. “Listen… like I said, I understand. I'll talk with Larry. Maybe he'll bring you back for another group, another artist. And I'll make sure you keep producer credit for all the songs that make the album.”

At the mention of producer credits, more immediate issues come to my mind, pushing away the hurt of being rejected by Rocky. “Uh, thanks. About that Martha... well, like I said, I'm not exactly living well...”

“I've already cut you a check at the base rate for your studio time,” Martha says, pulling an envelope out of the inner pocket of her suit jacket and handing it to me. “I know it's not great, but as soon as the album drops you'll start getting your royalties too. You know most of that's going to depend on which tracks get chosen for singles, sales, stuff like that… but that's music.”

“Yeah... okay. Thanks, Martha. Uhm, well, I guess I should get out of here. Uhm, what's going to happen to the guys?” I ask, wondering why I should even care. They dumped me, and I'm asking about them? Why?

Martha leads me out of the studio, towards the front door. “I'm going to talk with Larry today, he'll get in contact with some contract producers. Don't worry, the people he normally brings in are good. They've made good albums before. The guys will be okay.”

I nod, sighing when I reach the door. “Okay. Well, it's been good working with you Martha, and please tell the guys… tell them I'm sorry. I never meant to lie to them.”

My professional composure holds until I reach my car and pull out of the parking lot, getting a whole quarter of a mile down the road before my emotions get the best of me and I have to pull into a gas station to cry. The storm is short but fiercer than I expected it would be. I've been fired from jobs before but for reasons that had nothing to do with me. A guy wants to bring in his buddy to do producing, or an artist suddenly wants to because he screwed around on their home computer. But in every situation, I've never felt like I did anything wrong.

This time though, I do. Not guilty enough that I should have lost the job, but I understand it at least. I lied to the guys, and more importantly, I lied to Rocky. What the hell was I thinking? Protecting my daughter is one thing, but all I had to say was Yeah, I changed to the two-year program when I got pregnant unexpectedly and had to go to work right away. Sure, it might have led to a lot of questions, but Rocky's been respectful of my privacy, so have Ian and Joey. They never asked why I was leaving so early, they just cared that we were getting dynamite work done. It wasn't until I kept my secrets even in a personal situation that I hurt Rocky's trust in me.

The crying jag leaves me eventually, and I go into the gas station, buying a guilty pleasure of a cream soda. It helps me calm down, and as I burp afterward, a very unladylike, but wholly satisfying act, I get back in my car and go to pick up Bella. If I get there by nine, I only have to pay a third of the daily fee, and if I get a few lucky green lights, I should be able to be there just in time.

* * *

I'm determined to not waste this day on regret, so after getting Bella from daycare, the two of us have spent the day just being together. First, we went to the bank, where I deposited the check from Gashouse, I might as well get something out of it. After that, I stopped at our apartment and we made sandwiches together, PB&J for me, PB&R (peanut butter and raisins) for Bella. Her lunch bag we put in the fridge, the leftovers will keep.

After making sandwiches, the two of us rode my bike to the library, where Bella got to watch a free community storytelling in both English and Spanish, which was kinda cool.

When story time was finished, we checked out a few books, one for me and two for Bella, walking next door to the park where the two of us sat down and enjoyed our sandwiches.

Now, wrapping up our lunch, Bella's starting to get a little tired. “Mommy, can we read one of the books we just got?” she asks, smiling sweetly. “I like when you read to me.”

“Sure, sweetie,” I reply, folding up our brown paper bag and putting it in my back pocket. It's an old habit and one that maybe, someday, I'll be able to break. Maybe when I can afford to not have to worry about it anymore, and don't look at each and every piece of paper, jelly jar, or container as a potential wasted opportunity to save money somewhere else. “Which one do you want to read?”

“Can we read Kitty in The City?” Bella asks. Kitty isn't a cat, but actually a little girl, and is one of Bella's favorite book characters. There's about a dozen Kitty in The... titles total, and we've read them all. I pull the book out and we find a spot underneath a tree and I open the book.

“Kitty in the city....” I begin, letting Bella turn the page. “One day, Kitty got a phone call from her Uncle Harry...”

The story is kinda cute and pretty simple. Heading to the city from her small town, Kitty gets to spend the summer with her aunt and uncle in their apartment. Along the way, she meets the neighborhood kids, including the bully who ends up making Kitty cry. It's at this part, always, that Bella looks at me with usually the same question. “Mommy, why is the bully being mean to Kitty?”

I shrug, ruffling her hair. “Honey, the world is, unfortunately, full of lots of people who are mean to others. When we're being mean, it could be because we're not happy. It could be because we think the other person is dangerous. There could be a lot of different reasons.”

Bella thinks carefully, then shakes her head. “I don't like when people are mean to each other. If the bully just listened to Kitty, they wouldn't have fought and they would be friends.”

“Well, let's see what happens,” I tell Bella, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “Go ahead and turn the page. When Kitty got home...”

The story continues through to its conclusion, it's a little more confrontational than I'd like a three-year-old to be reading, but I didn't know about the book until Bella had already read three others in the series and we had it at home. Still, I guess it helps for Bella to understand the power of friendship, and in standing up for herself. I know that some of the Hollyweird kids have already tried picking on her. Actually, one of them was jealous the day that Bella brought in a chicken wrap with mayo and cheese for lunch, as apparently, the little boy's mother was on a vegan kick and had sent her son to daycare with sprouts and hummus on a vegan, gluten-free piece of flat bread. Score one for leftovers and government food stamps.

After the story, Bella gives me a big yawn and we head home, where I put her down for her nap. Kissing my daughter's forehead, I head out to the living room to start sending out e-mails and making calls. Maybe those horror and action movie guys have another project in their pipeline that I can start working on.

I reach out to a few of my connections, mostly through text messages and e-mail, then sit back, glancing at the clock. It's only four fifteen, I'll let Bella sleep another fifteen or twenty minutes before waking her up, she can help me with making her dinner. It kind of hurts to look at my desk, it's so bare, with a lot of reminders of exactly how I'm living right now. I see the WIC card that I thought I wouldn't have to use again in the cup next to where I keep my computer.

“Guess it's time to pull you out again,” I whisper, fishing it out and taking a look at it. In neighborhoods like mine, there's a clear division between people who have it and people who don't. I hate using it, but… “Fuck it, I'm taking care of my daughter. That's worth my pride.”

I slide the card into my wallet, and get up, going over to the kitchen to see what's even on tap for dinner anyway. Hmm… a little ground beef, there's some macaroni in here, a can of fresh tomatoes, maybe we can afford for me to eat the same as her today. As I think about it, the word pride keeps popping into my head, and what Bella said in the park, that Kitty and the bully wouldn't have fought if the bully had just listened to Kitty.

Sadly, listening is also a two-way street, and I spare a few moments of self-pity to feel like a damn fool. I don't know what they were, but Rocky must have been giving off signals, little things that said he wanted me to tell him about Bella. He must have found out even before our date, and it was his chance to try and let me tell him about everything. Maybe that's why he didn't push harder for me to stay the night, he was upset. I know he wanted me, you can't fake that much of an erection.

Still, I will protect Bella. Even if I am head over heels for Rocky, Bella has and always will come first in my life. But deep in my gut, I know that Rocky would adore her, and there's a little voice that keeps saying that maybe even love her at first sight too. I do know that he's going to make a great father someday, I can tell that much about him.

“If I get a chance,” I whisper to an empty fridge before closing the door, “I'm going to make things right. I'll apologize to Rocky, tell him about Bella, and let him know how I feel about him.”

Rocky

“You really want to?” I ask Ian incredulously as we sip beers at the bar. We're leaning back against the classic wood and brass rail that stretches a decent length, watching the action going on. There's a small crowd in the place, along with a live band on a stage that's barely bigger than a king-sized bed, but they're playing hard, if not particularly well. “Come on man, just because they've got a live band tonight doesn't mean that this place isn't a dive.”

“Which means that nobody's going to say shit if the three of us ask to play some,” Ian says, finishing off his fourth Corona of the night, cool as a cucumber. The man just is one of those who can naturally down alcohol when he wants and not be effected. If there's any change in Ian, it's that he speaks more freely when he's got a few beers in him. “Seriously, Rock, in the week off that we've had, you've been moping every damn time I've seen you. So, let's just jam, have a little bit of fun.”

I look over at Joey, who cocks an eyebrow. He's not in full-on 'Joey Rivera of the Fragments' mode, but he's certainly looking a little rock n' roll in his black denim jacket. “Hey, the lead guitarist is playing a Gibson Flying V, I've always wanted to shred on one of those. And it'd be fun. Besides, the frontman is playing a Stratocaster, just like you play.”

It's enough to convince me and I nod, bumping fists with the guys. It was Ian's idea to go out tonight, and I'm glad he did. He's right, I've been too serious the past few days, and going out like we used to just to have some fun is helping pull me out of the attitude nose dive that I've been in. Still, I'm not going overboard, I'm only on my second beer. “All right, let's see what we can do. Yo! Barkeep!”

The barkeeper comes over, and Ian talks with him for a minute. I see the barkeeper grin as Ian finishes and he disappears for a little while. The manager comes out a minute later, his jaw still being picked up off the floor. “Hi, I'm Tony, the manager. You guys really are the Fragments?”

“That's what the union card says,” I joke, smiling. “Rocky Blake. Nice to meet you. So, we were wondering if your house guys would be too upset if we kinda jammed one or two songs?”

“For free?” Tony asks, still not believing it. “Uh, I don't wanna be a dick, guys, just that we don't exactly clear a lot on a nightly basis. Those guys are playing for beer and fifty bucks each.”

“Let's work a barter then,” I reply casually. “Your kitchen's supposed to okay, so how about you let us each put in an order for a burger of our choice and an order of those cheese tots, we'll play. And if you can get a picture of the set printed out on your office computer before we finish, we'll sign it for you.”

“Hell, I'm down with that any day of the week!” Tony says. “Give Richie here your orders from the menu and I'll make sure that it's all hot and ready as soon as you come off stage. When would you like to play?”

“Check with your band, see when they'd like to take a break. Any time after that is good for us,” Ian advises, and Tony scampers off. We turn around, I don't want to put any sort of pressure on the house band, and if Tony's being a dick, I don't want to have them feel bad about it. Ian looks back over his shoulder while Joey checks the menu, ordering a chorizo burger before handing it to me. “Okay, looks like the band is cool with it.”

“Good. Chicken chipotle burger,” I tell the barkeeper and hand the menu to Ian, who orders a double patty melt after just a glance. “Damn Ian, you plan on dropping bombs on the toilet later? A double patty melt in a dive bar? Risk-taking.”

“I've been here before, man. You were right, the food's good,” Ian says with a chuckle. Just then, one of the patrons recognizes us and comes over. She's your typical bar girl, bottle blond, her breasts shoved into a push-up bra that's probably actually a little too small just to make them seem bigger in her V-neck top, skinny jeans that look like they've been painted on, and high heels that fit the décor, in this case a set of boot-like wedges. Ian notices her and smiles. “Well now, hello.”

“Hi,” the girl titters, immediately latching onto Ian, giving him a hungry, but still saucy smile. I'm glad about that, I'm totally not in the mood for groupies right now. “My name's Cindy. Are you really Ian Ivory?”

“That's what my license says. My mom calls me just Ian, though,” Ian says. “Guess you like the Fragments?”

“I've been to like, three of your local concerts,” Cindy says, putting her hand on Ian's arm. Forward, isn't she? Then again, Ian does rock some pretty impressive biceps, and he's not wearing sleeves tonight. Ian notices her attention, and I can see it in his eyes. I'm glad that I've got my own place tonight, I wouldn't be getting any sleep if I didn't. “So, like, are you guys just out having a good time?”

“Actually,” Ian replies, taking her hand off his arm and patting her hand affectionately, “you're just about to see your fourth mini-concert. But... after that, I might be willing to talk about hanging out and having a good time. What do you say, think you can stick around for a half hour or so?”

Cindy doesn't have time to answer because at that moment the lead singer of the house band gets on the mic. “Hey guys, you've been a great audience. Tony, the manager here, just told us though that we've got some guests in the crowd that would like to do a little jam session for you. Now, I'd like to say I'm professionally jealous, but I like 'em too. So, without further ado, Rocky Blake, Joey Rivera, and Ian Ivory... the Fragments!”

There's a buzz in the crowd as we climb onto the stage, and I shake hands with the lead singer of the other group. “Thanks, man. We're really not trying to horn in on your action, I just really could use a little let-off of steam, you know?”

“It's all good, bro,” the singer replies, patting me on the shoulder. “Just don't take too many of the girls home with you, okay?”

“You get all the 9.5s,” I joke, and we're cool. The house band leaves the stage, and I look out on the crowd, smiling. “Well guys, bet you didn't expect this tonight?”

“WE LOVE YOU!” some girl in the audience yells, and I give a smirk back, looking over at Joey who's fiddling with the guitar.

“Hey, Joey looks like you got some fans here,” I joke to the crowd's ripple of laughter, playing around until Ian and Joey are ready. It doesn't take long, Joey's a good player who could probably make a garage sale POS sound good, and Ian's able to adjust himself to the drum set quickly enough, so I turn around, lowering my voice so they can't hear me. “Suggestions?”

“Gimme Danger,” Ian says. “Call it a preview.”

It's a good idea, and Joey gives us a thumb’s up, so I turn back. “Okay, guys here's a little sneak preview slash world premiere of some stuff we're working on now, it's called Gimme Danger.”

The crowd hums as Joey starts his opening riffs, Ian joining in, and as I start singing, I'm feeling it. Sure, Cora maybe might have sold us out, but her arrangement and producing have given us a solid start to the album, and as we rip through the song, the crowd's on fire. It's tiny, it's intimate, and it's the sort of group that I got into music to play for. When we finish, the group of less than a hundred people roars, and the new guests in the bar are caught off guard at the wall of sound that greets them. I'm grinning from ear to ear, and we quickly go through two more songs, an older one of ours, PlayerRed, and then our own little studio remix of a rock classic, Light My Fire by The Doors. I see a few folks with their phones out, but that's okay, we knew that it was probably going to happen. We wrap, and the house band is some of the first to applaud us as we hand over the instruments and leave the stage, where our food is waiting for us, and Cindy's waiting for Ian. Somewhere, she's found a couple of friends too, and Joey gives me an elbow in the side, grinning. “More fun.”

“Maybe for you guys,” I reply, patting Joey on the shoulder. “No offense, just I'm not quite feeling like cleaning the pipe tonight. You boys have some fun with it though.”

The manager is true to his word, and the now six of us chat and relax, Ian downing another two beers while Joey and I sip at one each. Ian picks up the tab for the girls, and while Cindy's friends, especially the redhead, are disappointed that I'm not up for some fun, they're more than willing to share Ian and Joey between the three of them. They'll figure it out I guess.

“Okay fellas, I think I'm going to bounce,” I tell Ian and Joey when Mindy, Cindy's redheaded friend, climbs into Joey's lap, her tight backside firmly planted in between his legs. “You guys be safe, okay?”

“Sure you don't wanna stick around?” the currently unoccupied girl, Kylie, asks as she bats her eyes. “Even if you just want to talk?”

“No, I'm good. But thanks,” I reply, trying to be polite “I think I'm gonna head home. You guys take care.”

* * *

“Dude, that was like, so awesome!” the new corporate producer, I think his name is Gerry (with a G, cuz' he's certified) exclaims in his coked-out surfer dude accent. He's even wearing a Hawaiian shirt, and even though we're in late fall, he's got a fake tan. “Like... totally bitchin'!”

“It was dog shit,” I grumble, pulling my headphones off. “The balance was all off, you jacked my vocals all the way up while making Joey sound like a fucking whisper, and what the fuck was that with adding reverb to Ian's drums? We didn't record or practice it that way.”

“We were just thinking of trying something cutting edge,” Gerry whines in that same surfer dude voice. “You know, to keep you guys fresh.”

“Stop fucking with a formula that works!” I yell, storming out towards the door. I've had enough of this shit. “Ian... talk with this asshole, because... FUCK!”

I nearly tear the door off its hinges leaving the studio and heading out into the parking lot, trying to calm down. Two weeks with Gerry and his team of corporate assholes, and I'm about ready to lose my shit. We haven't gotten even one new track laid in the whole two weeks, and today Gerry came in with the retarded idea to rework the stuff we'd already laid down. So now, instead of having two and a half tracks laid, we've got a giant puddle of piss on tape.

I'm pacing back and forth in the parking lot when Martha approaches, a half worried, half pissed off look on her face. “Gerry's crying.”

“Better be glad that's all he's doing,” I fume, turning to her. “Where the fuck did you find this team of happy assholes, Martha? They can't produce their way out of a wet dream.”

“They've produced three platinum albums,” Martha counters, but I can hear in her voice, she agrees with me. “They've worked with plenty of good artists.”

“They've sold albums of shit then,” I shoot back. “What the fuck is Gerry in there doing sounding like he's spent most of the past six months listening to the Beach Boys somewhere off the North Shore? And what the fuck is this bringing in the overly Auto-Tuned shit?”

Martha shrugs her shoulders, looking back at the studio entrance. “They know what they're doing, Rocky. You knew that recording could be good days, it could be bad days. So, you're moving through a bad patch with some new producers. They're trying to make your sound more appealing to a wider audience, to make sure you guys crack the Billboard Top 100 in general and not just the rock sub-chart.”

“They're trying to make corporate cliché puke,” I growl back.

“It works, and every group they've done albums for has made a lot of money,” Martha says. “You can't deny that.”

“They know how to make bubblegum girl group pop, maybe,” I reply. “Jesus, they certainly don't know shit about rock. They're fucking around with things that shouldn't be fucked with, Martha. We need a real rock producer in there. Why can't we just bring Cora back?”

Martha starts shaking her head, her bob waving back and forth like an ebony ripple of negation. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Rocky? She leaked to the press! She betrayed your trust! And you want to bring her back, to bring her in closer?”

“We don't know if she sold out our date,” I protest, and Martha rolls her eyes, pissing me off some. “Goddammit Martha, we don't know! You can assume all you want, you can make educated guesses, and I'm not saying that you don't have reason to suspect her, but you don't know!”

“What I know is that you're letting an attachment to a high school friend and one date get in the way of your music and your career, Rocky,” Martha half yells in my face. She takes a deep breath and holds up her hand before I can protest or say anything back. “Wait right here, I'm going to go tell everyone we're taking an early lunch break, and then you and I can go for a walk. Help clear your head some, calm down so we can discuss this like professionals.”

Martha turns and goes back inside the building before I can reply, coming out two minutes later, her purse on her shoulder. She's also looking calmer, and I feel a bit bad about yelling earlier. “Come on, walk with me Rock.”

I don't really want to, but it's better than stewing with Gerry, the crying producer, and his team, so I follow Martha as we start down the sidewalk. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

Martha looks over, giving me a little half smile. “First I just wanted to get you some time to vent. Exercise helps me when you guys piss me off, I don't think you know how many miles of jogging you've caused me to do the past few weeks.”

“It's good for your legs,” I reply. “Still... Martha, this session is going to hell very quickly. Forget an album, we're going to be lucky we don't kill this guy.”

“I understand that, but it's part of the growth process, Rocky. Think about it, if U2 hadn't evolved, if they'd just stayed in their little Irish roots-rock style and playing what they started out with, they wouldn't be making the money they are today.”

I nod, turning with her when we reach the corner just to keep up momentum. “Yeah, but then they got too commercial and pretentious. And don't even start on me with Bono, that guy is letting his preaching about social issues get in the way of his music.”

“Yeah well, a hundred and seventy million albums sold can get you a shitload of preaching,” Martha counters. “I'm not saying that you don't have a point, but what I'm saying is that acts have to evolve. You can't just be the same three guys out there jamming rock for the next thirty years. Hell, can you imagine yourself out there at forty-five or fifty still trying to grind away in the jeans and jacket? You wanna be still singing at forty and looking like a pathetic loser doing it?”

“No,” I admit. “But Martha, that's the point. Mass produced pop-rock isn't going to give me a career in thirty years. Yeah, we've got to evolve, but first, we have to have a starting point. And right now, what Gerry and the Idiot Brigade are doing isn't even giving us that. We don't have a solid foundation, we've got a gigantic pile of shit. He even took the good work that we did before and has more or less wrecked it with his digital fuckery. You saw what that little bar performance of Gimme Danger did. Is that anything at all like what Gerry has it sounding like now?”

Martha sighs, shaking her head. The video was uploaded to Facebook by someone in the audience, and so far, it's one of the trending videos in the music category even a week and a half after it hit the ‘Net, getting shared and liked thousands of times. “He's just seeing if he can add to it, that's all Rocky.”

“Bullshit,” I fume, trying to explain myself. “Listen, do you like cookies?”

“Of course, I do. Who the fuck doesn't?” Martha asks curiously, then chuckles. “Never mind, this is California. Gotta watch my girlish figure.”

“My Mom, back when I was in elementary school, she went through a phase where she really wanted to get into that whole at-home chef thing,” I explain, stopping to think about how I exactly want to make my point. “And one of the recipes she latched onto was a basic cookie dough. Now, by itself, it was a little plain, kinda sweet, a little bit of butter flavor. Got what I'm saying?”

“Not yet, but go on,” Martha says, stopping and crossing her arms.

“Well, the first thing Mom did was what anyone would, she dropped some chocolate chips in the mix. Holy hell, were those cookies good. Me, then my buddies tried them, and by the end of the week I was the most popular kid in third grade for a while with Mom cranking out batches of those chocolate chip cookies for my lunches and for my friends.”

“I bet,” Martha comments, rubbing her stomach. “Speaking of which, fuck it, you owe me some Mrs. Fields' after this.”

I nod, pointing down the block. I know where the nearest cookie place is, it's not that far away. “Deal. Anyway, after the chocolate chips got boring for Mom, she added some peanut butter. I can seriously say that it was as good an experience as my first couple of orgasms, but then, Mom went a little wonky. Instead of trying different kinds of doughs, different combinations, she just kept adding more and more. Dried fruits, nuts, herbs, spices. At one point, she tried to bake a chocolate chip cookie with almond chunks and a bunch of other shit in it. The fucking dough wouldn't even hold together there was so much that was taking away from the basic cookie, it had to be turned into a crumble for ice cream topping. My friends learned to stay as far away from my lunch box cookies as possible. Mom finally figured it out when she took a tray of that shit into the office and literally not a single cookie was eaten, and she found a note that just said Can we get the plain peanut butter back? The home chef thing kinda petered out after that, but she still makes a kick-ass chocolate chip or peanut butter chip cookie.”

“So, you're comparing Gerry to your Mom,” Martha says, and I nod. “But Gerry's a pro.”

“Who's throwing shit at the wall and hoping it sticks, forgetting that the goddamn wall isn't even finished yet,” I retort hotly. “Martha, what I'm saying is... get rid of Gerry. Get rid of the team, get rid of the corporate bullshit. Cora knows how to get the most out of us. Let's build the foundation before we start fucking up the main ingredients of our success. Let's put out that basic chocolate chip cookie first, then we can see about trying out peanut butter and more. But we can't do that with Gerry.”

Martha turns pink, I know she's pissed. “What is it with Cora? Fuck, Rocky, she betrayed you!”

“Personally, yeah,” I shoot back, my voice going up a notch, “but she never, ever fucked with the music the way Gerry is! You keep Gerry in the booth, and I'm going to have a nervous fucking breakdown or slam his head through the fucking amp! I'm fucking serious, Martha! Dump Gerry, and get Cora back NOW!”

I don't think I've ever yelled at Martha before, not like this. I'm not yelling to be heard, or in excitement, I'm pissed. I'm pissed that she won't listen to me, that she's willing to sacrifice the good of the album and the group for some reason. “Goddammit Rocky, what the fuck is it with you and her?!” Martha yells back. “She's all in your fucking head, and you're screwing the team on this because of it.”

“Fuck that!” I yell back, stomping my foot. Holy shit, I'm in the middle of my first diva tantrum, and to be honest I don't give a fuck. I want Cora back. “I'm doing this for the team! I can keep my distance from Cora, I don't have to let her in this time! I can deal with that side without a problem, but what I can't deal with is a goddamn studio session where I'm about ready to kill the fucking production team because we can't even lay a single track in two goddamn weeks! This is the music business, seventy-five percent of us are assholes! But we get shit done!”

I'm panting, my breath whistling in and out of my nose as I stare a hole into Martha, who stares back, just as pissed. Finally, she throws her hands up, turning on a heel. “Fine, fuck it. You guys are costing Gashouse a shitload of money already as it is. You're going to need to do like, at least two more concert dates just to pay the company back for this shit as it is. Fine, you wanna be a bitch and have a piss party, you got it. I'll contact Cora and see if she's available. It's been three weeks since she was let go though, Rocky. She may have gotten another gig, you know.”

“She'll drop it if we invite her back,” I reply confidently, and Martha starts to storm away. I run after her and get in front, taking her by the arms and stopping her. I don't want Martha to be angry at me, I do like her most of the time. She's bossy, she's worried more about my bank account than about my artistry, and she's definitely got a sharp tongue on her... but she's been looking out for us for years, and I do like her, kind of. I let go of her shoulders to take her hands, giving her my most charming smile. “Come on Martha... look, I'm sorry I yelled at you. Just, this album means a lot to me, and you guys all mean a lot to me. Still friends?”

Martha looks up, sighing, then nods, giving my hands a squeeze. “You are a major pain in the ass, Rocky Blake. And just for that outburst, you owe me cookies tomorrow too.”

I grin and give Martha a quick pat on the back. “I'll give my mom a call, you can have some of her homemade goodness tomorrow.”

Cora

“Guys... thanks for giving me another chance,” I shyly tell Rocky, Ian, and Joey when they come into the studio. The call from Martha couldn't have come at a better time, Duane's child support payment is a few days late, and the paid production work has been barely enough to call it work. The fact is, I'm not making ends meet this month, and I really don't know when I'm going to be able to pay for Bella's daycare for the rest of this session, the center needs payment Friday.

“It's good to have you back, Cora,” Joey says warmly, while Ian just gives me his normal surly grunt before he takes off his jacket and sits down behind his drums, checking his seat height.

Rocky doesn't say much but gives me a little nod, and I feel a twist in my chest. He's obviously still mad, but hey, they brought me back, right? “Okay... well, I went over the stuff that Martha forwarded to me, and not to sound like a jerk but... well, in my opinion, most of it is crap.”

Rocky finally smiles, giving me a short, sarcastic laugh. “You mean it's total dogshit. Did you find anything that is usable out of it?”

“Well, I was thinking we could take that reverbed drum track of Ian's, mix it with a tweaked guitar riff from Joey, and sell it to a horror movie soundtrack,” I joke, and the ice at least partially breaks, everyone's smiling. The expression on their faces when they came in had me worried that it'd take longer to get them in a good mode. “But no, Rock, I figured I'd ditch about ninety-nine percent of what Gerry and the team did. If it's okay with you guys, how about we start with the base tracks we had before, and we can start laying the instrumentals for Not the Time?”

We start work, and while it takes me most of an hour to get the guys back into the mode they were a month ago when we last worked together, we still get a solid three hours of work in. Ian's drums are as always powerful, and Joey's guitar wants to peel the paint off the walls, it's so hot. By the time that I call a lunch break, I have both of their tracks down perfect, I don't even think I'm going to need to do any tweaking at all to them, I just need to lay them together along with the backup guitar that Rocky's going to lay down this afternoon.

“Okay guys, that's a morning wrap!” I call, giving them all a thumb’s up. “Joey, Holy God boy, you got the angels shredding along with you by the end there!”

Joey blushes and rubs his head, smiling. “Thanks, Cora. Hey, what're you doing for lunch?”

“Same as I always do,” I reply, holding up my plastic bag with a PB&J. “You want some?”

“Nah, I think I'll check out the burrito truck,” Joey says. “Check you after lunch.”

Ian leaves with Joey, leaving just me and Rocky, who's looking over his stuff for the afternoon session. I grab my bag and head into the studio, feeling shy. Now's the time. “Uh, Rock, can we talk?”

“What about?” Rocky asks his voice level and professional. “The session this morning was good. It's good to have you back.”

“Thanks, but well... I feel like I owe you a personal apology too. I know there were things that got so screwed up last time and...”

“Cora, wait,” Rocky says, cutting me off. “Listen, stuff happened. And maybe we both made mistakes. I get that. Five years ago, we were friends. But that's behind us, Cora. So... while I'm not saying that we can't be friends, right now, I just want to get this album done. I demanded that you come back for that reason only. Not because of the date or anything like that. We can talk about that after the album's done and put to bed. For now, though, this is business only. Okay?”

I can see the hurt still in Rocky's eyes, and the anger that's still there too. My heart aches, but I nod, I know there's no way that I'll get him to understand my point of view right now. “Okay, Rocky. Just... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

I turn to leave the studio, and as I have the door open, I hear Rocky reply, almost too soft for me to hear him at all. “Yeah... me too.”

* * *

Unlike the previous month of frustration and not getting anything done, within three weeks we've gotten eight tracks finished for the new album. I finished polishing up the two done before being fired, so that gives us ten, plus the remastered three that they had left over from old EP studio sessions. Thirteen tracks, a good LP.

But we're looking for one more. Call Larry superstitious, but he doesn't like releasing albums with thirteen tracks. “I don't care if the Beatles released three albums with thirteen tracks or not,” he says as he sits in the production booth. “I want there to be fourteen on this release.”

“What do you have in mind, Larry?” I ask. “We're out of material. Rocky's written his ass off, but even the corporate writers are dry right now. All the good stuff's taken, all that's left is movie soundtrack or pro wrestling level.”

Larry nods, sighing as he rubs at his temples, something that makes me know he's thinking. He's gotten more and more excited about the Fragments’ album as he's listened to each completed track, and I can tell he really wants to sink his shoulder behind this thing and push it to the top. If we can get past this superstition of his, I think we can do it. “Well, what about a cover? I've always liked Eternal Flame.”

“You want the guys to cover The Bangles biggest ballad?” I ask. “That's a total throw away Larry, there's no way you can top those girls on that song.”

Larry nods, then stands up. “I know, but it's a good song, and since the girls aren't touring as much anymore, maybe we can appeal to some of that Gen X audience. Rocky's got the voice to do that sort of searching soulful mix. And the album's missing a love ballad. Plenty of dance stuff, plenty of hard rock, plenty of party rock. It should have a love ballad in there too. Think of it for the teenybopper crowd.”

Larry gives me a wink and leaves the booth, and I sigh, turning back to the guys. Joey finishes his guitar playing, and I give him a thumb’s up. “Okay, Joey, that was good. Listen, guys, Larry just came in, he wants another track for the album.”

“By the look on your face, that's not a good thing,” Rocky comments. His attitude towards me has thawed some since I tried to apologize, but there's still that gap between us, and it hurts. We were so close, so close to that happiness that I've wanted my whole life and now it feels like we're still farther apart than ever, and I don't know how to close that distance anymore. They say that time heals all wounds, and maybe that's just what Rocky needs, but in the meantime, I'm hurting.

“Well, you guys might feel the same when you find out what Larry wants,” I say, putting my hurt out of my mind for the moment. “Hold on, let me come in there, I'll bring my laptop.”

I get up out of my chair and go into the recording studio, taking the folding chair that Joey offers and sitting down, putting my laptop on top of one of the amps that the band uses when they're just practicing. “Larry says you guys need a love ballad on the track list. He's proposing a cover song.”

Rocky laughs, while Joey groans and Ian grunts. It's Ian who speaks up first. “A fucking love ballad? Why?”

“Well, part of it is that, apparently, Larry won't release an album with thirteen tracks. So, it's either twelve or fourteen, and in my opinion, if we cut it down to twelve you're going to be running a bit too short for the type of album you want,” I comment. “Rocky, you said it yourself last week, you're looking for a solid hour of good rock, right?”

“That's the goal,” Rocky confirms. “What's our time hack right now?”

“Well,” I say, turning around and looking at my quick spreadsheet that I've been keeping to help me with my mixing work ever since Rocky's comment, “with twelve tracks and no remixing, the longest we can get is thirty-nine minutes. That's not bad, I knew we'd have to come back for some work, but there's no way I can stretch that out to a full hour unless Joey's willing to play some Metallica's One level guitar solos for almost every track, or we bring in some guest verses.”

Joey cocks an eyebrow. “So, we need another track. What's Larry got in mind? Because we're pretty much tapped out.”

I nod, then sigh. “He happens to like the Bangles.”

“Eternal Flame?” Ian explodes. “Is he out of his fucking mind? He does realize that track's written for multiple women, a shitload of piano-synth, and to top it off, if he's superstitious, it was the last song they released before they broke up the first time?”

I sigh, nodding. “I didn't know that last bit, but yeah, I kinda mentioned that to him, in short form. But I could read his eyes, he's vibing off it until he can be convinced otherwise. So... if you guys have a better idea, I'm all ears.”

“A female love ballad,” Joey hisses, shaking his head. “What the hell?”

“Rocky and I have done it before,” I remind Joey. I look up at Rock, giving him a smile. He's sat silent the whole time, chewing his lip as he considers everything. “What do you say, Rocky? It's that or we can do My Immortal again.”

“No way would we get the rights to it, it's too new,” Rocky says. “Besides, who does own the rights to that?”

I do a quick search, and check it out. Not good, and I tell the guys.

“Shit,” Ian mutters. “We're not in either group.”

“Yep... and Eternal Flame is old enough that Larry can pick up the rights on the cheap,” I comment. “Since this is going to be a throwaway anyway, let's just do it, jam the thing with a little bit of your style, and I can get it remixed and ready to go by the end of the week. Then it's nothing but stretching and remixing, calling you guys in for extra bits. What do you say?”

The guys nod, and I stand up, taking my laptop back into the studio. I find song lyrics and sheet music for the guys to use as a takeoff point and sit back, listening as they try to work an arrangement. Ian's quickly bored out of his mind, I can understand, the percussion of the original mix is tame, and while Joey can pick out a lead guitar relatively quickly, there are parts that are going to need re-work. Frustration builds, Rocky's trying his best as well, but there's little progress made by five thirty.

“Okay guys, let's just call it a day,” I call into the booth. “I've got the materials on the other thirteen tracks, we can keep practicing on Flame tomorrow. Joey, that lead guitar sounded okay, maybe we can get that laid down.”

My prediction is way off though, as by Friday afternoon we've got exactly jack and squat on tape for Eternal Flame, and the guys are not feeling good about it. I expect today to go late so I arranged for Mom to pick up Bella from daycare, and now, at seven o'clock, I'm glad I did.

“Ian?” I ask from the booth as he rubs at his temples. “You okay?”

“Fuck no,” Ian grumps, then stands up. “Cora, I'm sorry, maybe it's the whole only going until six or so like we've done working together, but I've got a migraine right now. I'm calling it a night for me.”

“Yeah... I guess me too,” Joey says. “I'll keep working on the guitar stuff over the weekend, but I'm gonna call it myself.”

Joey and Ian leave, and I look in at Rocky, who's still sitting down, thinking. I get up and go into the studio, taking a seat in a chair. “Talk to me Rock. You're looking like you're about ready to chew glass.”

Rocky looks up into my eyes and chuckles darkly. “I'm not feeling it, Cora. I don't know if it's the song or if it's the subject or even if it's trying to get it to change over from pop to rock, but I'm not feeling it. And every day this is getting worse and worse for me.”

“Have you been trying to think of something to replace it?” I ask, taking a guess. “I know you, you're pretty creative when it comes to alternatives.”

Rocky nods, and passes over a tablet of paper. I open it up and see page after page of scribbled out junk, and behind Rocky, I can see a trash basket full of wadded up pages. “As you can see... I'm dry.”

“What's the issue?” I ask, leaning back. “The ballad part?”

Rocky shakes his head, letting it sag until his chin's nearly in his chest, and I can barely hear his next words. “I guess I just don't know how to sing about love. Or maybe I just don't know how to write about it. I don't really know it, maybe.”

My heart breaks, and I know that I have to take a chance. Maybe Rocky rejects me, maybe he understands. Maybe this is the last day that I'll ever get a chance to produce for him, maybe he'll realize what I'm trying to tell him. “Wait here. There's something that I wrote, something that you need to see.”

I go back into the booth and grab my backpack. It's still there, inside the inner pocket where I always keep it, ever since the night five years ago when I wrote it. I carefully open the book to the right place and read it over, swallowing my fear. Rocky has to understand. If he doesn't… well, maybe it's never been meant to be.

He's looking up when I come back into the studio, holding the book to my chest. “What's that?” Rocky asks as I hold the book out to him. “A comp book?”

“It's the book that I used to write our ideas down in,” I explain softly. “I wrote something in it that I've never had the guts to show you before. But.... please.”

Rocky takes the book from me, and I'm too nervous to say anything, so I turn around and look into the window that separates the studio from the production booth, and wait with my heart in my throat.

“The light is so bright, but still you can't see, the glare has blinded you, it's kept you from the truth...” Rocky says softly as he reads, and I close my eyes, unable to bear it anymore. Without even realizing it I begin to sing, the tune the one that I worked out in my head over the years as I thought about the song again and again.

“Cora...” Rocky whispers and I hear him drop the book. I turn around, the tears already threatening to stream down my face. “Cora… this is about me?”

“I've loved you for so long, Rocky. I can't... I love you,” I whisper as Rocky comes closer. “Every time you called me your buddy or your friend, it tore my heart out. It still does. And I've never meant to hurt you, ever.”

Rocky's eyes burn with a fire that I've never thought I would see as he steps closer, pushing me against the soundproof padding on the wall of the booth, and his lips find mine. We kiss passionately, my heart racing with the joy of his accepting me. I pour my love into the kiss, our bodies pressing close together as we tug and pull at each other's clothes. I'm just wearing simple shorts and a t-shirt today, and when Rocky gets my shirt untucked, he lifts it, his lips hungrily devouring my neck and leaving stars shooting across my vision from how good it feels. “Rocky... oh my God…”

“You're beautiful,” Rocky says, lifting me up and pulling me away from the wall enough to pull my shirt over my head. Lifting me higher, he keeps standing but brings my breasts to his head level, kissing and sucking outside the cups of my bra until he realizes that I'm wearing a front closure today, and with a chuckle he pins me against the wall, freeing his hands. “And don't you dare say that you need to leave.”

“I'm all yours,” I laugh, putting my hands on his powerful shoulders while he undoes my bra. The cups fall to the side and suddenly I'm engulfed in a wave of electric white pleasure as he nibbles and sucks on my right nipple, his tongue causing me to moan deliriously. Rocky's mouth brings me higher and higher, my pussy throbbing with my pulse as I'm thrilled more than I ever have in my life.

I feel tightness roiling in my stomach, I'm close to coming and Rocky hasn't even gotten my shorts off yet, my mind is overloading with emotion and electricity. “Rocky... please Rocky, I need you...”

“You have me,” Rocky growls, his hand reaching between my legs and rubbing me through my shorts. Rocky switches breasts, and I'm lost, the shocks from my pussy joining the heat that's coming from my nipples and crashing, exploding through me. My legs straighten and stiffen as I come, my head is thrown back as my arms clutch at Rocky's head, not wanting him to ever leave me.

This is happiness. This is what I've always wanted. The love of this man, the pleasure that only Rocky can bring me, my mind whispers as I come down, Rocky lowering me carefully to the ground. I keep my hands around his neck and kiss him tenderly, grateful. “My love...”

I feel his cock pressing against my thigh, and I smile, reaching down with my right hand to cup him. Rocky gasps and I tug at his shirt, unbuttoning it as I go. I peel his shirt away from his ripped torso, kissing the swells of his chest muscles before biting his left nipple tenderly until he groans and pulls my head tighter against his skin, and I can feel his heartbeat trough my lips. I pull back and take him by the hand. I see exactly what I want, the high seated chair that Rocky's used for sitting down in between takes when recording. I reach it and unbutton my shorts, pushing them down my legs with my panties and stepping out, glad I wore easy to take off casual shorts today. “Rocky... I'm on the pill. Please?”

Rocky growls and nods and I smile, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling him out. He's even better than my fantasies, long and thick and oh so hard, the velvety soft skin warm and throbbing in my hand as I sit down and spread my legs, letting him look at my pussy. I've always kept myself shaved, more for the fact that I like to wear sports style bikinis when I take Bella to the pool than for the look, but the fire that flares in Rocky's eyes makes me feel sexier than ever. Rocky clears his throat and takes his cock in his hand, his free hand cupping the back of my neck. “Cora....”

“It's okay, Rocky. I love you,” I whisper, and he nods, understanding. He slides the head of his cock inside me, and I'm shocked again. He feels even thicker than I thought, and it's barely an inch before I feel like I'm being torn open. Rocky stops though and pulls back before thrusting in again, his eyes fixed intently on my face. I grab his muscular forearm, the cords of guitar-playing muscle giving me plenty to grip as he stretches me open slowly, taking his time, his stomach muscles rippling with every thrust. I can feel him trembling like a race horse, the tight, steely bands of strength and sinew nearly vibrating with the restraint he's forcing on himself. With a final long, slow thrust I feel him slide deep, deep, deeper than anyone's ever been. Then he's all the way inside me, both of our mouths falling open it's so overwhelming. “Holy fuck... yes...”

“Yes...” Rocky groans, his hips pulling back before he thrusts again, hard. His hips smack sharply into my ass, jolting me as his eyes go dark with intensity. He's searching my face for any sign of discomfort, of pain, but all I want is him, and I want him as deep and as hard as he wants. Instead of wincing, I smile and pull him in for another kiss, our lips meeting as Rocky begins to thrust in and out, hard and deep, his cock opening me up more and more. Thunder crashes through my body with each hard, deep stroke of his cock, the head rubbing against my g-spot every time he pulls back and thrusts again.

I hold on to Rocky, my will to resist obliterated. My body, my soul is taken by him thoroughly, unrelentingly, as his cock strokes in and out relentlessly, his powerful hips driving him deep into me over and over. I've never felt this before and I'm caught up, helpless against his power and his passion.

I thought that this would be like with my other lovers, but Rocky's different. He's passionate, each stroke lighting the nerves in my pussy up with lights, sounds, and an energy that doesn't stop. He keeps going, his cock never giving me a chance to breathe as I realize that I'm getting ready to come again, trembling on the edge.

“Rocky... oh fuck Rocky... yes, yes, yes...” I repeat over and over, my pussy squeezing around his thick, veiny cock, wanting to please him and to feel him give himself fully to me. “Please Rocky... love me...”

“Cora!” Rocky suddenly grunts, and I can feel his cock swell, my body clamping down as my second orgasm crashes through me, wave after wave of release. Rocky cries out wordlessly, his groan coming from deep inside him, from his heart as he explodes inside me, filling my pussy with his precious come. I'm crying out as well, clutching him to me as he spurts, again and again, the warmth mixing with the heat of my body. My body is racked with spasms, and I'm sobbing, not in sadness but in joy and happiness, the warmth completing me and making me realize that maybe I had to wait, but Rocky's been worth it.

Rocky holds me tightly as we come down from our climaxes, and I feel wetness on the skin of my shoulder. Lifting his head, I see that Rocky's crying too, and I wipe his tears away, kissing him tenderly. “Rocky, never, ever think that you aren't loved,” I whisper, brushing his hair out of his face. “I will always love you.”

Rocky can't speak, but he nods and holds me closer, his body saying what his voice can't. In his arms, I can feel him start to cry again, but it's okay. I understand, and I hold him close, the two of us sinking to the floor and comforting each other until we're able to stand up and get dressed a long time later, so late I'm shocked we haven't had someone discover us.

Not that it matters to me.

Rocky

“Hey Rocky, you okay today?” Joey asks as he gets out from under the squat bar. We decided to do legs today for our Sunday workout. Joey just finished his set with two fifty, about the most he goes to and helps me put another ten-pound plate on each side, we’re going for endurance. “You're looking out of it today, man.”

“Sorry,” I reply, getting under the bar. I go to lift it, but for some reason, I'm off balance, and I quickly set it back down in the hooks, I don't want to throw out my back. “Fuck.”

“All right man, I'm calling a Code Red. Strip the bar,” Joey says, injecting the hard and fast rule that the two of us have had ever since we started working out together. A Code Red means that regardless of feelings, regardless of whatever the other person says, we're shutting down the workout, no questions asked. “Come on, strip the bar.”

It's been a year since one of us had to call a Code Red on the other, the last time being when Joey tried to show off a little too much to a cutie in pink shorts and tweaked a shoulder, but his ego didn't want to let him admit it. This time it's my turn to look foolish as I help him strip the bar down and we head towards the locker room less than twenty minutes after we walk in the door. “Fuck. Sorry, Joey. I just can't seem to focus today.”

“Well then, let's talk it out,” Joey says, pointing towards the hot tub. “Come on, you know it'll help you relax. And I promise to keep my hands and feet to myself.”

I chuckle and nod, following Joey out to the hot tub, which is by some miracle empty. I guess coming to work out at eight thirty on a Sunday night as winter approaches is a good time to get the tub to yourself. We settle in after stripping off our shirts, the water quickly soaking through my shorts, but I don't really care, I've got a spare set in the locker room. “Ah, this does feel good.”

“So, what's up, Rocky?” Joey asks as he leans back against the tiles, his arms resting on the edge of the tub. “You still bummed about Eternal Flame?”

“No... actually, we might have something better on our hands,” I admit. “You see after you guys left, Cora and I started talking.”

“That's dangerous,” Joey jokes, then sobers. “You two patch things up between you?”

“Maybe…” I reply, then sigh.

My voice trails off, and Joey looks at me for a moment before realization dawns on his face, and he blinks. “You two... did the nasty?”

“It sure as hell wasn't nasty,” I reply with a wistful grin before sighing again. “Fact is Jose, it was the most meaningful experience of my life. Makes all those girls that we used to screw around with, the girlfriends that I tried after that... makes them look like just empty fumbling around. I can't believe it, but for the first time in my life I want to say that I actually made love.”

“Holy shit,” Joey says softly, sitting back and looking up at the sky. “You realize that you and I have been friends for five years now and I think this is one of the few times you've called me Jose instead of Joey?”

“What's your point?” I ask.

Joey shrugs. “Just that it must really mean something to you. So, you two didn't just do the nasty, you did something more. What's the problem with that? You still have problems trusting her?”

“No... actually, she dropped the L-bomb on me,” I continue. “You see, she and I were talking about the song. I told her that part of the reason I wasn't feeling it was because I honestly didn't feel like I've ever really been in love. Fuck man, I'm twenty-three, and I've spent the past ten years of my life with my head so far up my ass trying to be a rock star that I never made time for real relationships. Oh sure, I was out there dating, I mean, I barely remember their names. Probably because I never, ever had that emotional connection that I had the very first time I kissed Cora.”

“We're young, man, what do we know what real love feels like?” Joey asks. “That's what the songwriters are for. I know, I know, you're a songwriter too. I just handle the licks on my guitar, sometimes helping out by putting together a melody. But go ahead. So, you told her you didn't think you've ever been in love. And?”

“And she went to her backpack and showed me lyrics she had written when we were in high school about me. I started reading it, and Joey... holy hell, man, it was like reading the purest, most painful outpouring of love on a page that I've ever read. I had to go up to the top and started re-reading it, and I started reading it aloud. Cora picked it up and started singing, man. Singing. Have you ever heard Cora sing?” I ask, and Joey shakes his head. “She's got pipes, man. Is she the best singer in the world, no, but you know how it is when emotion and voice and lyrics all come together, it was magical. And from there, I had to stand up and go to her... and well I'll leave the details out. But afterward, as we were leaving the studio, she tells me that she wants us to have the song. Not sell us the song, she just fucking gave it to me. Seriously, in the parking lot next to my car she just hands me the book, telling me that it's mine.”

“So, what's the problem? I take it it's a good song,” Joey says, then stops. “I get it. You feel guilty.”

“I do,” I admit. “I spent all day thinking about it, not sure what to do. I mean Joey, that song. It's Cora's heart on paper. We'd have to re-work the lyrics a little in order to make it fit our relative positions, but we record that, the whole world knows how Cora feels. And there's a part of me that wonders if I did seduce her just to get the song.”

“Did you?” Joey asks. “I'm not trying to be a dick, Rocky. I'm just asking when you made your move to her, what were you thinking? Were you thinking about Cora or about scoring the song?”

“I was thinking that at that moment, I had to show her that I understood, that... that I feel for her too,” I admit. Joey watches me for a moment, and I sigh. “Fact is Joey... she's special to me. Very special.”

“You love her, don't you?” Joey asks, and I shrug. “What's wrong?”

“I guess I just need time to come to grips with that word, that's all. We throw it around all the time, love. I love burgers, I'd love to go to the Super Bowl, I love watching TV on a Sunday night, whatever. But in this case... this isn't exactly the type of love you just throw around like it doesn't mean anything, you know? I just need time to come to grips with how I feel,” I say quietly. Joey nods, and we sit in the hot tub for a while, saying nothing until I laugh softly. “God, I sound like a sappy song myself.”

“There's always a time for sappy songs, man. You know that. Can I offer a piece of advice though?”

I nod, and Joey looks over. “Use the time that we're reworking and recording this to figure your heart out. Lay it out in the way you sing, in the words you use. You do that and at the end of the recording, you'll know what you feel.”

“Wise words, man. All right, let's try it that way. I'll tell you one thing I know for sure.”

“What's that?” Joey asks, looking up when I boost myself out of the hot tub.

“I'm going to feel like a fucking idiot trying to explain all this to Ian before we start work on this tomorrow morning. I've boiled myself enough, I'm going inside.”

* * *

I don't tell Joey or Ian about the other thing that's still running around my head as the four of us sit down to work out the changes that we're going to need for Four Letters, as I've decided to call it. The other thing is that there's something that Cora still hasn't told me, something that I don't think is vital, but still something that she's holding back like she's afraid that it will affect how I think about her. Sitting in the studio, I look across the little quad of folding chairs, where Cora's smiling shyly. “Okay guys, so I guess Rocky's told you I had a song.”

“Yeah, I looked it over,” Ian says, and Cora looks into his face nervously, awaiting his judgment. She didn't need to worry. “It's fucking awesome. Rocky said that you had a tune to it. Can you sing it for us? The original lyrics, I mean? Or at least hum them?”

Cora's smile of relief warms my heart, and she bites her lip, nodding. “Uh... I can hum them. Maybe you guys can make a tune from that?”

“Don't worry, I can create something,” Joey reassures Cora. “I'm not just a dumb guitar player.”

Cora closes her eyes and starts to hum her song. It's slow, a lot slower than most of the stuff we play, and in listening to it I can tell it's not supposed to be a power ballad. It's a straight ballad, none of the over the top guitars or beats that are normal in rock, and Ian's part is going to be reduced to a simple cymbal intro and a slow beat on the back end to keep time for Joey who's going to be carrying most of the notes. It's stripped, it's raw, but that is what lends it the power to move me to tears even as I listen to her hum, knowing the passion in the melody. It's haunting and moving, and even Ian is silent when she finishes and looks around bashfully. “So, can we work with that?”

“Oh yeah, we can work with that,” Joey says after a moment, his throat husky. “And it's going to kick the shit out of Eternal Flame.”

Joey's words are more than prophetic, as we spend the rest of the morning with Joey and Ian working on the tunes, while Cora and I sit in the booth side by side, our heads practically touching as we talk quietly about the changes we need to make to the lyrics. We actually end up with three versions, and Cora shakes her head in amazement as we finish. “You really want a duet version?”

“I'm not saying you ever have to perform it,” I reply, taking her hand and squeezing. “I'm not saying that it even has to be recorded. But I'd like to know that we made it, at least on paper. And it doesn't need to change the music any, it just means that we adjust the bridge a little, stretch out the playing a little bit longer to adapt to the extra verses. Besides... you deserve to have a love song written about you.”

In a total change of pace, we work through lunch, the creative juices flowing so hard and fast that we decide to ride the wave. First, Joey lays down his initial guitar track that I'll use for my singing later on. We're about halfway through that when Larry comes into the main studio, an interested smile on his face. “Hi, guys. I was walking down the hallway when I heard this on the speaker outside. What is it?”

“We're calling it Four Letters, we're going to use it for the last track,” I say before Larry can object. “Cora wrote it.”

Larry listens to Joey's run-through of the melody, nodding. “It's stripped and raw.”

“It's going to stay that way,” Cora adds. “The whole idea is that this is stripped and raw, just pure guitar and lyrics. It'll tap into the emotions that we want better.”

Larry gives Cora a suspicious look, unconvinced. “Cora, I know that everyone and their brother wants to be a songwriter in this industry, but are you sure?”

“Hold on,” Cora says, standing her ground. She looks at me, her eyes beseeching. “Rocky, can you and the guys do a live version of the full song, the version we worked up for the album?”

I smile, saying with my eyes what I won't say with my voice in Larry's presence, not yet. We don't need to say it out loud that we need to keep our relationship under wraps for a while longer, the guys being the only ones who know for now. Cora's warm blue eyes follow me as I go into the booth and I sit down on the bar stool next to the microphone. “Okay guys, what do you say?”

Ian gives me a thumb’s up while Joey adjusts his guitar a little, Cora hitting the monitor switch to let us hear on internal speakers what Larry and she are hearing in the booth. Cora comes over the intercom, her rich warm voice letting me set aside any fears. “Whenever you're ready, Rocky.”

From the first note of Joey's guitar, I'm lost in the song, putting my heart and soul into the reworked lyrics which are handwritten on a piece of paper in front of me. It's not perfect, there are a few places where even as I sing I recognize spots that we can change my delivery to better fit Joey's playing, but when the final note fades away, I can see the tears of happiness in Cora's eyes. That's worth any price, to hell with the rest of the album.

The silence stretches out, Larry's just looking through the glass at us, and because of the shine of the studio lights I can't get a good read on his expression, he's standing up too far out of the range of Cora's board lights. He's barely more than an outline against the grayish back wall of the board room, and I glance over at Joey, who also looks worried. Does he hate it? Does he think it's dogshit? Are we going to be stuck playing Eternal Flame for the final track?

Finally, Larry leans forward. “You guys have two days.”

“Two days for what?” I ask, confused. “What's in two days?”

“In two days, I'm bringing in executives from headquarters to listen to you guys play that again. I don't give a fuck, that's going to be the lead single from your album. That was… that was one of the best songs I've heard in the past decade,” Larry says into the microphone, then he turns and leaves the booth, disappearing into the hallway. His declaration hangs in the air, and I look through the glass at Cora, who is openly weeping and wiping at her eyes before she comes out of the booth and into the studio. The first person she goes to is Ian, who she hugs and plants a kiss on his cheek, making the big man blush for perhaps the first time in the five years I've known him before she wraps Joey in a tight hug, his guitar sandwiched between them painfully.

“Thank you both,” she says softly when she lets Joey go before coming over to me and putting her hands on both sides of my face, stroking my cheek and looking into my eyes. “And thank you... I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper back, stroking her hair and leaning in. We kiss, it's sweet and tender, with an undercurrent of passion that I know we can channel into what has to come. It's burning in Cora's eyes when she sits back, her face set as we nod. I look around at the guys and grin. “Okay... let's make magic.”

We get started, and it's not practice. It's a collaboration, a jam session. Each time we play through it, Joey's making little adjustments, Ian's picking up new wrinkles, but each change we make to it creates new layers and depth in the music. We drop changes, pick them back up later, but never do we grow tired of it until lunch. The whole time, Cora's grinning, recording every feed, gathering enough that she can spend hours reworking the master if she wants.

Finally, at five forty-five, Cora puts her hands up. “All right guys, let's call it a day. We can get this in the morning, and kick some ass for the suits.”

Joey and Ian quickly get their stuff together and leave, letting me trail behind, walking out with Cora. “So, that was almost too easy.”

Cora grins, adjusting her backpack. “Rocky... you remember the promise we made each other, about making millions in the studio together?”

“Of course, I do,” I reply, opening the front door for her. I see Martha coming down the hallway but ignore her, she can wait a few minutes. “You're feeling that too?”

Cora blushes and nods, smiling up at me. “Yeah, I do. Listen, I know we're kinda rushing things, and I can see in your eyes you've got questions right now about why I'm leaving so early again. But I promise you, more than ever, I'm going to answer all your questions. Just... give me one more day? This isn't the place.”

I nod, and Cora puts her hand on my chest, smiling. “Rocky, there's so many things I want to say, so much I want to get off my chest. That's why I want to do it somewhere special. Not a parking lot. Just know that... well, I love you.”

Cora gets in her car and drives off, and I watch her turn left until her taillights disappear into the traffic going by, smiling to myself. I'm interrupted by a cough behind me, and I turn to see Martha glaring at me. “What?”

“You just couldn't help yourself, could you?” she hisses, anger flashing in her eyes. “Even after all that we talked about, about trust and all that, you go and get lovey-dovey with her. And don't try to deny you didn't, I overheard her, and I can see it in your eyes.”

“And?” I ask, turning to face her. “Martha, you act like a jilted girlfriend. What the fuck's your problem with me and Cora getting together?”

“My problem?” Martha asks, shocked. “Where can I begin? First off, the fact that you're letting yourself get involved with someone publicly again. When it was some celeb girl or someone who the dirt sheets could cover as 'aww, don't they look cute together,' I could spin this, and you didn't piss off your fan base. She's a girl from Simi Valley who's on food stamps, Rocky!”

“And who the fuck cares what her income is? And I'm sick and tired of you worrying about a fan base that is into me because of their goddamn fantasies of maybe someday in their dreams fucking me instead of liking my music. The fans understand that we're people. Hell, when I was a kid knowing that the Pussycat Dolls were seeing people didn't stop me from spanking the monkey over them and their asses!” I fume. “So back the fuck off on that!”

Martha purses her lips and takes a deep breath, her eyes filling with tears. “Rocky... don't you trust me anymore? Am I really that demanding of you, that you can't listen to my advice? I care about you too, you know.”

My anger evaporates, and I sigh. “Martha, I know that. I know you care about us as a band, and personally. I'm sorry, okay? And I know you have trust issues with Cora. I got that. But you and I, we trust each other, and I'm asking you to trust me on this one. You'll see, tomorrow. You're going to be blown away, it's going to be one of those songs people are going to be playing at their weddings, proms, and every other event for the next twenty years.”

Martha blinks again, wiping at her eyes. “Goddammit, Rocky,” she whispers huskily before taking a deep breath, calming herself. “All right. I gotta be there tomorrow for the session with the suits anyway, so we'll see how it goes. Regardless, I hope it goes well tomorrow for you guys. Really.”

“I know that,” I reply, patting her on the arm. “Don't worry, we're going to rock.”

Cora

The recording booth has never been more crowded, with seven people crammed into an area that really should only have two or three people at the most. With Larry, Martha, and the four executives from the corporate group all wearing business suits, I feel out of place in my jeans and blouse, but I can deal with that. Hell, this is music, where people show up for work dressed in all kinds of weird shit.

I'm more worried about the guys. I'm exhausted, we've been going at it with Four Letters since eight fifteen this morning, the guys beating me to the studio, waiting for me when I get in. We laid the tracks in the morning session, Joey's guitar and Ian's drums done before ten thirty, with Joey and Rocky laying their vocal tracks by lunch. I've still got the feeds ready to pick this time up as well, just in case, but I'm happy with what we've got. We've talked about making magic, but I think with what I have, I can do more than make magic. I think with this, the Fragments can make history.

Now we just must convince the suits. One of them is a very big player, and when Larry introduces him I realize the enormity of this. George T has been making and breaking people in the music industry since before I was born, and right now he's sitting next to me at the boards, looking at me levelly, the way a doctor looks at a particularly interesting rash perhaps. “So, Larry tells me that you're the songwriter for this?”

I swallow my nerves and nod, forcing myself to look him in the eyes. I'm not as shy as I was as a kid, but still, George T makes and breaks careers with a snap of his fingers. “Yes, sir. I wrote the lyrics back in high school, and the tune sort of worked itself out over the past five years. But really, it's been a team effort, the band took what I did and made it their own. Joey wrote down the actual melody with Ian, while Rocky and I reworked the lyrics to fit the guys. The original tune was more... well, it was more from the girl's point of view.”

George chuckles, nodding. “Not a problem. Considering that Larry was telling me you guys were working on a cover of Eternal Flame, I'd say turning girl tunes into good rock might be a specialty of yours. Just let's not get out of control and start looking at doing Poppa Don't Preach for the next CD. Shall we?”

I nod and turn back to the guys in the booth. I know George T was trying to make a joke to break my tension, but I'm too hopped up to laugh right now. I want the guys to reach George the way they reached me all morning, and my guts are churning from the combination of nervousness and having my heart torn open a dozen times this morning listening to the track. “Okay guys, we're ready. Tracks are rolling in three... two... one... hot mics.”

Rocky's sitting down for this performance and all three of them wearing headphones. Ian's normal drums have been pulled out and replaced with an electronic set, making the background noise in the studio itself nearly nothing. The guys have the hot feeds in their headphones, while in the booth we're getting surround sound.

Joey's guitar starts the song, his intro slow and plaintive, the sound nearly acoustic but not quite, we still want this to be a rock song. He goes for twenty-three seconds, just like we planned, and Rocky comes in with his opening verse. I'm caught up in the song, this is the best version he's done yet, his voice slightly husky, filled with want and sadness. It's the emotions I felt that night when I wrote the original piece on the trunk of my car, and as Rocky fades out to Joey's guitar solo, I'm finally able to tear my eyes away from the performance to look around at the suits. Everyone is rapt, with one of George's assistants closing her eyes and raising her face to the ceiling, just listening.

Rocky's voice takes over again, and I'm caught up again, listening as the man I love sings with all the soul that I could never produce. He sings his final verse, then the outro, Joey's guitar fading as Rocky finishes the last line of the song, and quiet reigns over the whole group. Finally, Rocky opens his eyes and looks at the booth. “Well guys, what did you think?”

I reach forward and hit the buttons to cut off the recording feed, unable to look at George or anyone else I'm so nervous. Finally, George leans forward and hit the intercom button. “Rocky... that's going to be a billion view video. Hell, that could be a two billion view video. And platinum is a given.”

I want to get up and cheer, to throw my hands up in excitement, but the power of Rocky's singing still makes everyone quiet, amazed at what they just listened to. Larry leans down and whispers in my ear. “Tell me you got that vocal track recorded.”

“Yeah,” I whisper back. “I can loop that onto the master no problem.”

My words break the almost reverent mood, and suddenly everyone's talking, praising the song and praising the guys. This isn't the normal industry back-slapping crap, almost everyone is heartfelt. “We've got to lead with this,” George's female assistant says, wiping at her eyes. “This is... this is a Grammy winner.”

“I don't know,” Martha interrupts, her face saying she's not pleased. “I mean, it's a good song, and I know that, but to be the lead single? This is going to be the band's first big LP release. If they get labeled as a ballad singing group, it could hurt their long-term success. I think it'd be better for the group to have a more rock lead single, then this can be a follow up later.”

George considers it, then shakes his head. “No. We go with this. Cora, I want a fully ready single by Tuesday, we can list it on iTunes and Spotify within a week.”

Martha shakes her head, shocked, and I feel the same way. A week? Albums are put together over the course of months, not a week. “Wait, why George?” she says, then realizes who she's talking to. “I'm just saying sir, should we rush? What about a video?”

George nods. “This is the sort of song we want ready for Valentine's Day, for prom season, for June brides and things like that. And the video is going to be easy, a classic performance video. We get a darkened auditorium or outdoor shoot, the guys performing it after a concert sort of thing. I'm thinking something a little like Bon Jovi's Dead or Alive sort of vibe. Black and white, limited color, let the song carry the whole thing. Come on guys, let's talk details in the meeting room.”

Larry and the other executives nod, and I lean closer to my intercom mic, looking into the studio. “You guys get all that?”

“Damn skippy,” Joey says, grinning ear to ear. “We're gonna be making a video.”

Meetings and other things take up the rest of the afternoon, and when I get ready to leave work, it's nearly eight o'clock. Thankfully, I'd thought this might happen and called Dad during a quick break to pick up Bella from daycare. Walking through the dark parking lot, I lean back, looking up at the full moon, a smile on my face of pure achievement.

“You did it,” I hear behind me, and I turn, seeing Rocky's loving face. “You did it.”

“No, we did it,” I reply, coming closer and hugging him. “We did it. You gave voice to my heart.”

“Yeah well... it's going to be a hell of the next two weeks,” Rocky says apologetically. “George is so over the top with this, it's insane. He wants us to film the video this weekend, then to take your digital download copy and have someone in the film division splice them together Monday or Tuesday. But we're already going to be on the road, he says. He's got the publicists working for booking spots on MTV, The Tonight Show again, whatever we can get. His plan is to drop a teaser video by Thursday, with a 'premiere concert' to be a week from this Saturday night, the full video debuting just after that. I have no idea how he's going to book a big venue and get the word out in a week, but he plans on it.”

I shake my head, amazed. “Rocky. We’ve made it.”

“Not yet, Muse, but we're halfway there,” Rocky teases. “Still livin' on a prayer though.”

I laugh and hug him again.

* * *

I bust my ass through the weekend, working twelve hours a day while Bella spends time with her grandparents, taking my work with me back home. It’s a labor of love though, and each moment is stamped with how I feel for Rocky.

Rocky's so busy that we can't get together, but it isn't until Saturday night that I realize we still haven't exchanged cell phone numbers. I give Gashouse a call though and ask them to pass along my phone number to Rocky because supposedly I have a question for him on the mix.

Finally, at six-thirty Sunday night, I finish the digital downloadable copy of Four Letters and send it via e-mail attachment and a high-quality data copy that I drive over to the Gashouse Studios offices. Larry already has the e-mail open when I get there, listening.

“You used the vocals from the demonstration for George,” Larry notes when I hand him the thumb drive with the file. “Nice choice. The instruments are different though. Oh, by the way, here's Rocky's phone number, although I guess you won't be needing it anymore.”

“Thanks, but you never know, I like the guys, maybe I'll call them up for a beer sometime when they're in town. As for the tracks, Joey's playing was sharper on the bridge in what I used. What did you think?” I ask, and Larry grins. “You like it.”

“I think you improved on perfection, which is a damn hard talent to do. I'll get this over to George's people in the morning, from what I understand they're getting the last bits of filming for the video tonight. You did good work, Cora.”

“Thanks,” I reply, getting ready to go. “If you don't mind though, I'm going to bounce. Family time, you know.”

“I understand. We'll be in touch,” Larry says, and I leave his office, going out to the parking lot. It's still early enough in the evening that I stop and pull out my phone, hoping to catch Rocky on a break before they start filming. I dial, remembering to put the phone number in my memory for later usage.

“Hello?” Rocky says when he picks up, and I can't help it, my heart skips a beat.

“Hello, I'm looking for the hottest, sexiest rock singer on the planet right now. Do I have the right number? It's his love slave calling,” I tease, getting in my car. I close the door and sit down, trying not to laugh. It's hard, I feel bubbly, lifted by the emotions that I've been running on, and I'm flying so high I don't think I'll ever have to come down.

Rocky is amused, but he keeps his deadpan voice calm as he replies. “Hold on, I think Joey's getting some Coke, but I'll see if he can talk.”

“Wise ass,” I laugh, unable to hold back. “How's filming?”

“Good,” Rocky says. “I guess the studio gave you my number?”

“Yep. Larry handed it to me himself, I told him I had to discuss a music matter with you. So, you wanna make some more music together?” I ask, purring at the end. “I was thinking something slow and sensual, maybe a duet?”

Rocky's chuckling hum sends ripples through my stomach, and I know that I must tell him the details about Bella, and soon. Yeah, Martha said he knows, but still, he deserves to be introduced to her by me, straight from my mouth. “I think that sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than what we've got planned for the night. I swear the video director is one of Gerry's buddies. Thank God George put this guy on a leash, a budget, and a timeline, or else we'd be up here doing shit all night. As it is, I think we're going to be here until two in the morning.”

“Poor baby,” I tut, truly feeling bad for him. “Well, I have an offer for you. I know you're busting your butt for the next week, but what about dinner Friday night? Uhm, just us, to clear up things between us, just to put it all on the table?”

“I'd love that,” Rocky says, his voice immediately perking up. “Where?”

“My place?” I ask. “I know it's not a five-star restaurant, but there's a very special reason I think you'd want to come.”

“I think that's great,” Rocky says. “Okay... oh, that's the key grip. We actually have key grips on this shoot. It's bonkers. Anyway, looks like I gotta go. Filming and stuff. I'll talk with you later. 'Bye.”

Rocky hangs up before I can reply, but a moment later my phone buzzes, and I see he's sent me a text message. Sry, not used to saying this. I love you.

His words warm me the whole drive to pick up Bella, and I decide to sleep over at Mom and Dad's house. If anything, it's a good bed, and when I wake up in the morning, I feel happier than I've ever been in my life. I roll over in bed, but Bella's still asleep, and I let her sleep, going out to the living room where Mom and Dad are already up, Dad watching the morning news before he heads off to work. “Good morning, guys.”

“Good morning, sweetie,” Mom says. “How did you two sleep?”

“Better than I have in months,” I answer, going over and giving Mom a hug. “Thanks again for being so patient with my craziness and watching Bella.”

“You asked us to watch our granddaughter. Of course, we're going to,” Dad says, finishing off his coffee. “I'm just glad you got a few days off now. Please tell me you are taking a late weekend?”

“Of course, Daddy,” I tell him, going and giving him a hug too. “I plan on taking this whole week off, and after Saturday's concert, which by the way, thank you for agreeing to watch Bella then too, I'll evaluate from there. The check for the base session rate from Gashouse came in, they paid me ten thousand dollars. Can you believe it?”

“I hope that's not all they're paying you,” Dad comments. “Ten grand for an album that you say is going to set sales records is hardly fair in my opinion.”

“No, I've got residuals in my contract,” I say as I sit down on the couch. “It's not great, superstar producers make a lot more, but I will get residuals. Plus, I get more if any song is chosen for use in a movie or TV show, paid per annum.”

Dad blinks, he doesn't really work with contracts and raises an eyebrow. I love him, he never even batted an eye when I went to him as a high school freshman and asked for the money to get a laptop that would allow me to do music and video editing. Instead of haggling about price, or telling me that I was being stupid, the very next weekend he took me to the store and got the staff to help me pick out exactly what I needed. When I offered to start paying him back with some of the money I was making from YouTube for the videos of The Shattered Dreams, Dad refused, and instead made me put it into savings for college. He's the best dad in the world, but he's terrible with understanding business contracts. “Huh?”

“Dad, what I mean is that I'm going to make money off the albums and singles too. I ran the numbers, if they go platinum with the album, I'll get nearly twenty grand in residuals this year on album sales alone. I'm not going to be on easy street, but it'll help,” I reassure him. “It's a start, but the big thing is building my rep.”

Dad nods, understanding that at least, and gets out of his chair. “Well, I need to get into the office, I have a video meeting with the Miami office at nine. Take care, honey.”

Dad gives me and Mom a kiss, heading out while Mom relaxes with her book and her morning coffee. I relish the silence, but I can feel Mom's eyes glancing over from time to time. “Okay, Mom, what do you want to know?”

“You haven't told me about your plans for Friday,” Mom says, grinning. “Do I need to bring out the tickle torture like when you were five?”

I laugh, flopping down on the couch and putting my arm over my eyes. “You're terrible, Mom. The world's worst mother, you know that?”

“I know. Doesn't mean I'm not going to tickle you if you don't tell me,” Mom says laughingly. “So, spill it, what are you hoping for?”

“Happily ever after,” I say simply, sighing happily. “Mom, the time in the booth with Rocky and the guys, it was the best time I've ever had, even more than hanging out in the garage back in high school. I know I never said anything about Bella, but Mom, he apparently knows and... he said he loves me. Now, before you get started, I know that I can't keep this relationship going with Bella staying a stranger to Rocky, but Mom... that's what Friday night's for. Bella's going to be there, and we're going to introduce her to Rocky then. I know he's going to love her, Mom, I just know it.”

Mom hums then comes over and sits down in the empty spot on the couch, looking me over. “Honey, I really hope so. I'm worried, the way this has developed is so out of order that I can't help but worry. I mean... Well, it doesn't matter. I hope that your love and his can smooth this out. In the meantime, let's relax, and when Bella wakes up, I was thinking of taking the two of you out for lunch before I have to start getting ready for work this evening.”

“What about sleep, Mom?” I ask, and Mom laughs. “What?”

“I've gotten past that whole idea of having to sleep before work anymore. I've got enough years in the system to be able to work just first and second shift now, so I sleep from midnight to seven right now. So, I've gotten plenty of sleep, and Bella is like a shot of energy anyway,” Mom says, finishing off her coffee. “Come on, let's get some breakfast in you, and we can look at getting Bella up after that if she's not already.”

* * *

It's hard not being able to do much more than exchange text messages with Rocky for the next few days. They're so busy with appearances and getting things hyped for the debut of Four Letters. However, George's connections come through and they've gotten the Starlight Bowl for Saturday night. It's not the biggest arena in Los Angeles, but with a great vista with an old fashioned real amphitheater look, and the money that George is putting behind this, it's going to be big. My ticket was delivered to me via signed courier and looking at it, I'm excited.

“Mommy, what's that?” Bella asks, and I show her the ticket. She can't read, but she's seen enough ticket stubs from things I've gone to, she knows what it is, and she can point to the band name on the tickets. “Who are they?”

“These are Mommy's friends,” I tell Bella, picking her up and putting her in my lap. “Actually Bella, the singer, Rocky- he and Mommy want to start dating. I've told you about Rocky before, right?”

“You went to high school with him. Mommy, what's high school?” Bella asks, and I smile, she's got a million questions.

“You'll see. But my point is Bella, Rocky doesn't know you yet. So, tomorrow I invited him to dinner. I want to introduce him to you, to let him get to know you. Mommy thinks he's really a special person, and I want him to get to know the most special person in my life... you.”

“That sounds like fun, Mommy,” Bella says. “Does Rocky like Kitty?”

I laugh, ruffling Bella's hair. “I don't know honey, I've never asked. Now, Mommy's got a little bit to do to get ready for all this, so can you play with your coloring books while I get that done? After that, we'll start getting dinner ready.”

Bella's a great little girl, and she happily starts working with her crayons, while I get the laundry together.

I check on Bella, and she knows not to play with anything in the kitchen, so I head down to the laundry room, locking the apartment door behind me and putting the key in my pocket. I'm just getting the laundry soap poured in the washer and the load started when my phone rings, and I see that it's Martha.

“Oh, hi Martha, how's it going? You guys looked great on Ellen yesterday.”

Martha's voice is like cold water on my good mood when she replies. “You two fucked in the studio.”

I gulp, going back upstairs and back into the apartment, where Bella is still contentedly coloring her sheets, and for some strange reason I notice that she's using green. I go into the kitchen area, trying to keep my voice level. “Martha, I know that's probably not in the rule book, but we didn't mean to break any rules it just kind of wait... how did you know about that?”

“You're on the front page of the news!” Martha yells, making my blood run cold. “You mean you really don't know? Haven't you checked online today? Watched TV? Done anything?”

“I... I've been doing laundry,” I lamely reply, too shocked to say anything else. “But... how did this happen?”

“That's what I'd like to know,” Martha yells, then taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay. Listen, just tell me you had nothing to do with leaking this?”

“No! Of course not! I mean... there's no reason for me to do something like that!” I exclaim. “Martha, my daughter's in the room, so I gotta edit myself, but… well, what's been leaked?”

“Try about fifteen minutes of action that is already on the front search page of PornHub,” Martha replies. “It's edited, but you see plenty. You didn't know the studios had cameras?”

“They what?” I ask, again shocked. “Why would they be?”

“A punk band walked off with about ten grand in equipment one time about eight years ago,” Martha said. “Larry had every studio get security cameras in three corners. Whoever leaked it had access to all the feeds, it's... well, let's just say I now know about that little birthmark on the inside of your left thigh.”

“No, no, no, no...” I moan, and Bella looks up, worried. “Martha, I don't need this. I have a date with Rocky tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, about that,” Martha says, her voice unapologetic. “Listen, when Rocky found out, he told me about your date. While I understand why, I didn't tell him the reason I suspect it's at your house, there's no way I can advise you two getting together tomorrow. I talked with Rocky, and he said that maybe after the concert, but for now he can't take another scandal. I'm really sorry, Cora.”

“No... I guess I understand,” I reply, depression washing over me. “Listen, is Rocky available?”

“Sorry, but he's got an MTV interview, and then we've got to jump on a flight back to Los Angeles,” Martha says. “I can ask him to call you when he gets a chance though if that's okay?”

“Yeah... I guess. Thanks for the phone call, Martha. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Martha says, and there's something in her voice that sounds almost vicious as she hangs up. I look at my phone for a moment, worry crossing my face, but before I can do anything Bella's tugging on my sleeve.

“Mommy, what's wrong?” she asks, and I look into her precious face, making up my mind.

“Nothing, honey. That was Rocky's manager, something's come up for tomorrow and he won't be able to make it. Maybe after his concert on Saturday or something though. How's that sound?” I ask, trying to be cheerful. Bella doesn't need to know that her mother is getting slut-shamed all over the Internet. Oh God, what am I going to do when she gets old enough to actually use the Internet? And... oh God, Mom and Dad.... oh hell...

“Mommy? Mommy?” Bella asks, and I shake my head, looking at her. “I said okay.”

“Okay, honey. In the meantime, tomorrow you and I can still go out and get something special for dinner. How's fried chicken sound?” I ask. “Or even better, how about that for tonight?”

“Can we get Krispy Bites?” Bella asks, referring to her favorite dish off the menu at the local fried chicken take-out place, a boneless chunk that isn't quite a nugget but can't be called a real piece either. They're just the right size for a three-year-old's hand though, and they're easy to chew.

“Sure, sweetie. As soon as the laundry's done, we'll go get some chicken,” I tell her. “In the meantime, show me what you've been coloring.”

* * *

The restaurant isn't one of the big chains, but it is popular in the neighborhood. Started back in the sixties by the father of the current owner, the look hasn't changed much since the nineties, and a lot of it is retro, looking more like it was put together in the fifties and sixties. It doesn't have a drive-through, but does do take out, which was our original plan. When we park though, I change my mind, and instead of doing take out I look inside, seeing an empty table. “What do you say we stay, honey? We can watch a movie on Mommy's computer when we get home.”

“Yay!” Bella cheers, smiling. The restaurant has little paper place mats that have coloring and other kids’ activities on them, and I'll admit to snatching one or two to bring home to Bella when I've stopped by and done take out before. It helps me smile too, and we get out of the car, heading for the front door. Inside, I see a few glances, but I'm pretty inconspicuous, I mean you can't throw a rock in Los Angeles without hitting a blond, and I took a moment to at least look at highlights of the scandal video, it's not so hi-def that I look unique.

Bella and I place our orders, and she's tracing her finger through the maze on the placemat when one of the men who's been glancing at me comes over, a leer on his face. “It's you, isn't it?”

“I'm sorry? I don't know you,” I reply, trying to get him to back off. Still, I'm a horrible liar, and I must be blushing because the man laughs.

“Yeah, I thought so. Phew, he rode you like a horse. Hey kid, your mom's famous, you know that?” he asks, and I smell the wave of alcohol off him. Sadly, there's a liquor shop in the strip mall next to the chicken restaurant, he must have gotten himself a forty before filling his gut.

“That's enough!” I growl, standing up. Sure, I'm barely over a buck twenty, but nobody talks that sort of trash in front of my daughter. “Back off, and leave us alone!”

Bella's getting scared, this guy is drunk and not backing down, but instead shoves me, grabbing his crotch. “Bet if I pulled this out you'd be on your knees in an instant,” he growls before turning to walk away. Looking back over his shoulder, he winks at Bella. “You should ask your Mom about how good Rocky Blake's cock was.”

I lunge at him, but he scampers out the door, and I lose my balance on something, maybe just my own shoelaces, sending me tumbling to my knees, shame flooding me even as pain lances up my right leg. I get up, looking around at the other patrons, all of whom are looking at us like we're in the zoo or something. “What the fuck are you looking at?”

“Mommy,” Bella says with a tiny voice, and I see that she's crying, afraid and upset about what just happened. She doesn't even know what a lot of the words the man used are, but she understands that I'm angry and that someone was being mean to me and to her. I take her by the hand and pull her into a hug as she starts to sob. The manager, who's finally reacting to the crap in the dining room, comes out, an apologetic look on his face.

“Miss... I'm so sorry. Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, anger still flashing through my blood. “No... just our feelings.”

“I understand,” the manager says, he does look sympathetic. “Uhm, I know I can't do much about that guy, but I'd like to comp you your order. Here or take out, however you'd like it.”

I nod and give him a grateful nod. Not everyone's a fucking jerk in this world yet, it seems. “Thanks. I think... maybe it'd be best to try and do take out. Thank you.”

“I'll bring it to your car, which one is yours?” he asks, going to the back after I give him the plate number. I take the still crying Bella out to the car, where she sobs in my arms while I comfort her. As I do, I feel my anger subside and the pain that's been threatening to break through all day start to come to the forefront. I try to blink back the tears, but it's no good, they burn my cheeks as they tumble down my cheeks and into Bella's hair.

“I'm sorry baby, Mommy's so sorry,” I whisper, kissing her forehead. “Mommy made such a big mistake, and I'm so sorry.”

“Mommy... why were they mean?” Bella asks.

“They... some people are just mean, I guess. It's not like your books, is it?” I ask, sniffling back my tears and regaining control for a little while. I can cry later, I must take care of my daughter right now. “It's a lot harder in real life.”

“I wish it was like Kitty's book, where people could just talk and make things better,” Bella says, sniffing. “That's better than crying.”

“I agree,” I whisper, kissing Bella's forehead again. “I agree.”

The manager brings the food and we go home, and while Bella tries to cheer back up, I can tell she's just as down about the whole thing as I am. After she goes to sleep, I finally have my cry. It's not fair, and I feel like shit. I know what they say, that only I can give other people permission to make me feel bad, but that doesn't take away the pain.

I must make this up with Rocky. I should explain to him, to explain that I didn't do it, and about Bella. I need to have a heart to heart with him, to let him know that I do love him and that I don't care about the scandals, I care about him. I want him to understand that while I hid Bella from him, it's not because I don't love him, I was just being overly cautious. I want him to know that for the past few nights, I've dreamed of him being more than the man of my life, but I can see him being the father that Bella so desperately needs. I see the ticket on the table, and I pick it up… okay. I can do this. I can try and talk to him Saturday night.

It still doesn't help with the tears when I go to sleep, but at least it's better than nothing.