Page 47 of Not Another Rockstar
“Where’s Nick?” Phoebe hoped the ice pack would cool her emotions along with her aching hand.
“Still in the studio. You don’t have to worry, I brought him his food.” Axel fidgeted with his crust, clearly annoyed by her deflection.
“Thank you for looking out for them,” she said. He seemed to be the glue in the group.
“I need them as much as they need me,” he confessed, pulling at her heartstrings.
He put aside the boxes once they finished eating, and she considered going back to her room.
“You can stay, if you want,” he said. “The bathroom is just through there, and there’s water in the drawers beside you.”
She considered it, but she didn’t know if he was expecting more from her than she was ready for.
“Nothing will happen, except you might get a goodnight sleep,” he said, as though reading her mind.
She didn’t want to be alone, but… “And if the others find me sleeping in your bed?” She glanced at the stairs.
“The door has a lock, and you can leave whenever you like,” he said, giving her an extra pillow.
“Just for a little while,” she conceded, and the bed dipped a little as she climbed beneath his blue sheets. He snuggled down beside her, and she burrowed under his arm before she even thought about it. He turned off the light beside him, and she felt his chest rising and falling with ease as she rested a hand on him.
“Can you tell me something?” she asked.
“Like what?” He rested his arm behind his head, and she glanced up to see his eyes closed as though already used to having her in his bed.
“How’d you get into drumming?” She picked at the logo on his T-shirt as she rested her head on his chest.
“Making me the main character of a bedtime story? You’ll inflate my ego.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
He squeezed her tightly, and she squealed.
“Where should I begin?” He sighed. “Once upon a time, there was a boy called Axel, who hated school. He struggled to pay attention in class, and his test scores sucked. He loved art and music and skipped class to smoke in the bathrooms. He had a hard time making friends, and this led the boy to get into some fights. His single mum couldn’t afford therapy, and no other school would take him because of the bad grades and fighting. So, his sisters all chipped in what they could and bought him a drum set for Christmas. Having a place to put all his anger, he stopped fighting. However, his grades still sucked, and he left school at seventeen, before doing his final exams, to work in some dodgy bars and play for whoever would let him.”
The steady sound of his heartbeat and the hum of his voice allowed her to drift. The thought of sleep no longer stirred her anxiety, and she tucked his duvet beneath her chin.
“He moved from gig to gig and lived out of a suitcase with his drumsticks in his back pocket. Then one day, he got to join Brothers of Anarchy, and he found his home. What he didn’tknow was that this new home came with a woman who he couldn’t escape. She was everywhere he turned, her smile, her eyes and lavender hair. He always wanted to be around her, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day because her heart belonged to another. He kept his distance, because having her in his life, even if she never knew how much she meant to him, was enough.”
“I like your sisters.” Her words got caught up in a yawn. Half asleep, she struggled to stay awake as he stroked her hair.
“Me too,” was the last she heard of his story before sleep took her.
LENA: Dropped off your mail with the security guy. He’s one hell of a silver fox.
PHOEBE: I’ll tell Olivier you said so. Thank you! I’m sorry to make you do such a minor task, I feel like I’m under house arrest here.
LENA: I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come over more. I’ve been up to my eyes. I do have some good news! I’ve had the new alarms installed in your studio, along with extra cameras that I can see from my phone. I can send you the link so you can keep an eye on it, but no one is getting in, so it’s one less thing for you to worry about. How’s the painting coming along?
PHOEBE: Don’t worry about it, you’ve done more than enough already. It’s different, simple sketching is taking a lot longer. Hopefully with time, it’ll become easier.
LENA: Take all the time you need to heal. My phone has been ringing off the hook with people looking for commissions. Whoever said bad press is still press was right. There is no pressure, I’ve got a waiting list for you a mile long.
Phoebe wanted to be excited, but anxiety crept up her spine.What if I can’t fulfil the commissions? What if I can’t paint like I used to?The thought pestered her. Maybe she could, but certainly not at the same speed.
She tried to twirl a paintbrush around her fingers the way she used to, only to drop it. Its clatter against the tiles reminded her to consider carpeting the pool house turned art studio. At least she didn’t have to worry about the studio being broken into again. One less thing to focus on.
PHOEBE: And they are okay to wait? I can’t even give them an ETA.
