Page 70 of Dead Rockstar

I smiled despite myself and turned to Phillip, running a hand over the warm skin of his belly. “Shall we go down?”

“I’m not hungry.” His eyes were faraway, his face haunted.

“Phillip…” I pressed, wishing he’d look at me. “I know you’re upset, but we need to eat. All that talk about getting our strength back, that applies to you, too. And Jason’s waiting.”

“I want you all to myself,” he said, starting to get his old self back. He was trying, anyway.

“Too bad,” I said with a laugh, rising to dress. I knew we’d have to talk, but for now, I was starving. “I want that spaghetti. And anyway, I never said I was opposed to two guys, one groupie. Jason has always been my second favorite.”

The house was very quiet and still when I woke up the next morning, the sun streaming through one tiny window over by the desk, a beam of light hitting me right in the eyes.

I was tucked into Phillip's large arms, my skin coated with a light sheen of sweat, the result of our mingling warmth. I reluctantly pulled myself from him and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and the hair from my face, looking down at his sleeping form.

I had already fallen in love with the way his lips formed a pout when he slept, the way he always had one impossibly long leg bent beneath him, the way he held himself so still. I stared down at him, memorizing the lines in his face, the beautiful, strong bone structure, the inky black impossibility of his eyelashes. When he woke up, he might no longer feel the same way about me now that I had released him.

I didn't regret it. It seemed wrong, to be tied to a person in such a way. If that was black magic, I didn't want it. I loved Phillip. I didn't want to manipulate him, control him, or tie him to me by wayward means. I wanted him to be happy, not running around trying to save my neck, or trying find his way out of a mess I caused. If he woke up and saw me differently, so be it. I'd go back home to my trailer and try to resume my life without any regrets, because when you loved someone you gave them the opportunity to fly.

After a spaghetti dinner with wine and soft, fresh rolls, and a dessert of chocolate cake and more cups of tea, a novelty that I’d never get used to as long as I lived, Phillip and I finally talked about what I’d done. I explained as best as I could, fighting back a slew of embarrassing tears, trying to convince him that I’d done it as a kindness, out of love. “I can’t bear the thought that you’re tied to me through the spell,” I’d explained as we sat out by the firepit in the backyard, watching the bright-orange embers crackle and burn. “I wanted you to have a choice, to be in control of your own destiny. And if you still love me in the morning,” I’d said, swallowing the lump in my throat, “then I’ll know this is real.”

At that, Phillip had leaned over, his puffy black coat – apparently it had been his, many moons ago, and was still hanging in the coat closet- soft against my cheek and pulled me into his arms. I wanted to weep at the sweet, poignant nostalgia Jason obviously had carried for his old friend. I knew he was scared; scared about what this meant for not only us, but me specifically. Would I be in more danger without him rummaging around in my head, sensing danger? “What if we no longer love each other,” he’d said sadly, his dark eyes meeting mine, “Now that the magic is gone?”

“That’s what I worry, too,” I’d said against his shoulder, squeezing him with all my might. “But fear isn’t a reason to hold onto someone.”

He had considered this, then slowly nodded in agreement. “I’ll still love you,” he said, tucking a stray bit of hair behind my ear. “I will.”

I knew I’d done the right thing. Phillip knew it, too. I just hoped that I wouldn’t end up regretting it.

Phillip stirred. His eyes flickered under the lids and he sighed and rolled over, his arm moving in his sleep to try and find me. It rested on my thigh and he settled back into sleep. My breath caught in my throat.

After a time, I stopped staring at him and gingerly lay back down, slowly, trying to be quiet so as not to wake him. He needed his rest, and I was afraid of what might be different, or how different things might be when he woke up. I nestled into him, resting my head below his chin, into the crook of his neck, feeling his pulse there, steady and strong. His skin was like a furnace. I tucked myself into him, small and quiet, waiting.

His breath was slow and steady, and I was almost asleep again myself when his low voice murmured in my ear, “I told you I'd still love you in the morning.”

I was in the small, cozy kitchen later that morning, making myself toast and coffee, trying to get up the motivation to do the dishes, when Phillip strode in. All the tension had come back into his shoulders, and his large, strong body was as jumpy as a cat’s. I sighed, wishing the peaceful warmth we'd felt earlier could have lasted longer. Yesterday had been perfect, almost, even with the fight between him and Jason, which they'd managed to bury over plates of spaghetti and lots of laughter. They were like brothers and it did me good to see them together. “What's happened now?”

He leaned over the table and placed a long, lingering kiss on my lips. “You taste like bread,” he said with a smile. “Don't worry, baby, it's not you.” I smiled; he'd never called me baby before. “But…”

“What is it?” I passed him the plate and he took a slice absently, taking all but a corner of the toast in one bite.

“I know you’re in a hurry to get back but…” He chewed thoughtfully, looking at me. “Jason and I’ve been talking, and Stormy…I think I need to go back and talk to Lydia one more time.”

“Really?” I gave an involuntary shudder. The woman’s house was a dust-filled study in terror; after all, I’d been bound and kidnapped from there.

He sighed. “Yeah. I want her to answer some questions. Namely, why her son is stalking us, trying to snag you in broad daylight. Where the hell Guthrie is. What your powers truly are.” He fixed his green eyes on me. “I have to know these things before I can pack up and go back to Jekyll. I hope you understand.”

The toast was dry in my mouth. “Yes,” I said, finally.

“You don’t have to go with me,” he said. “I completely understand why you wouldn’t want to go back there.”

“I don't mind,” I said, pushing the plate away and standing up. “Actually, I do mind. I’d rather eat glass than go back to that woman’s house. But I’m damned if I’m letting you go without me.”

“Are you sure, Stormy?” His brow furrowed. “I don’t like the idea of you setting foot there, honestly.”

“Of course I’m coming with you,” I said, drinking my last dreg of coffee, relishing the undissolved sugar granules on my tongue. “When do we go? Now?”

“Later today,” he said, also standing up and coming over to me, his face full of unease. I looked up at him. He was so tall that I had to stand on tip toe just to reach him for a kiss. I was surprised to feel he was trembling, and when I touched his arm he jumped. He touched the side of my face, his expression softening. “We don’t have to go right this minute. I have plans for you this morning, and all of them involve my bedroom.”

“Mr. Deville, how scandalous,” I purred, rising to meet his mouth with my own. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me upwards, and I caught his long black hair in my hands. He carried me all the way upstairs despite my laughing protests. How long were we going to put off going home, I wondered absently, as he transported me upstairs. A small, nagging voice in my head that I couldn’t silence said, if you make it back at all.