Lucky Girl (Dear Rockstar #2)

Lucky Girl (Dear Rockstar #2) Page 21

“Hey, I want to show you something.” He reached over and opened the glove compartment, pulling out a newspaper. I recognized it immediately. There we were, making out, on the front of the entertainment section. It still made me wince.

At least that hadn’t created the fallout that Greg, Mr.Doom and Gloom, had predicted. He’d mailed us a Teen Beat magazine with that picture of Dale and a poll of his girl fans. Sixty-eight percent said it bothered them that Dale had a girlfriend. That same sixty-eight percent said they would still listen to his music anyway. Ninety percent said if they found he had a girlfriend, it would make them jealous. That same ninety-percent also said it would just make them more determined to win the rocker’s affections.

I told Dale I didn’t like Teen Beat giving his fans ideas.

“Look.” Dale pointed to the picture of him putting the garter on my leg at Aimee’s wedding. “Look at your shoulder.”

I brought the paper closer, holding it tilted toward the sunlight. My dress had a scoop neck and back, revealing cleavage in front and a good expanse of my bare back.

“My birthmark,” I whispered. It was right there for everyone to see.

“It may not mean anything,” Dale murmured, reaching over to touch my shoulder. “That’s why I didn’t show you. I didn’t want to spoil things if he really was your dad…”

Lies. All lies.

He had just wanted money, after all.

“I can have him investigated,” Dale offered. “I mean, he could still be who he says.”

“I don’t care.” I tossed the paper on the floor. “He never wanted me, whoever he is. He only wanted to take advantage of you.”

“I’m sorry, Sara.” He gathered me in and I fit myself against him, soft curves melting into sharp angles.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have listened to you,” I murmured. “Let’s go home. I want a do-over on this day.”

But the worst part of the day was yet to come.

Chrissy was gone with her new found friends to the local mall but John was waiting for us, looking concerned.

“We’re fine.” I assured him, giving him a long, long hug when we got into the door.

“You got a phone call.” He hugged me back. “I told him you’d call back.”

“I don’t want to talk to Ben,” I replied wearily, disengaging myself and heading toward the stairs. “I want to go back to bed.”

“It wasn’t Ben,” John said, glancing over at Dale. He still looked very worried. “It was the prosecutor’s office.”

I froze.

“What did they want?” Dale grabbed my hand.

“Your stepfather…” John met my eyes and I felt everything inside me turn to ice water. “Peter Holmes is getting out of jail. Parolled. Time served for good behavior.”

“Good behavior?” I laughed. The irony was too painful to bear.

“Sara?” John called as I turned, zombie-like, and started up the stairs. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I called back in a little voice. “I’m just going to take a nap.”

Dale followed me up the stairs. He helped me undress. I seemed to have forgotten how to unbutton and unzip things. Then he took off his pants and got in, spooning behind me.

“He’s going to find me,” I whispered to the wall.

“No.” Dale stroked my hair. “The reporters couldn’t even find us, remember?”

“Ben found me.” I closed my eyes, feeling tears slip down onto the pillow.

“I’ll protect you.” His arms tightened, enfolding me. “I promise.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I nodded, but I knew better.

We couldn’t protect each other, not all of the time, even the people we loved the most. Sometimes things happened. Sometimes they were very, very bad things, and nothing we did or said could stop them from happening.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The tour started in Florida. That irony didn’t escape me, since Ben was from Florida. He’d called several times but I told John to tell him I wasn’t home and I had left without saying goodbye. We flew down in the record company’s private jet. I told Dale I didn’t want to be his Yoko, but things had already gotten off to a rocky start. The members of Black Diamond had never liked me. I distracted Dale too much from the band. Which, early on, I had to admit was true, but it wasn’t true anymore. Well, it wasn’t as true.

It was the lead guitarist, Rick—I called him a Dale wannabe when Dale wasn’t around—who was the biggest problem. He said if Dale could bring me, then he could bring his wife and kid. I didn’t even know he had a kid. So Greg had solved the problem by giving me a job on the tour. I was in charge of fashion and style.

“You went to art school, right?” Greg had asked. “Good. Make them into rock gods.”

A tall order. At least for the rest of Black Diamond, which consisted of Rick Baker, a grumpy, bitter lead guitarist with an bowl haircut who like to wear parachute pants, Terry Miller, whose spiky, white-blonde Billy Idol hair was his best and worst feature, and Eddie “Bear” Allen, a two-hundred-and-fifty pound drummer who insisted on wearing sweatbands on his head and wrists while he played and I was pretty sure he hadn’t shaved since 1984.

Of course, when it came to Dale, I didn’t have to do anything. He had his own sense of style, always had. That was part of what drew girls to him. Not the clothes, but that he knew who he was. He had a kind of lazy confidence, a self-assurance. He was comfortable in his own skin. That came across in everything about him, from his smirk of a smile to the dancing light in his eyes. He could have worn anything—or nothing—and the girls would have gone crazy.

When we touched down in Orlando, I finally let go of Dale’s hand—it was red and swollen from my squeezing it—more than ready to get off the plane. It was only the second time I’d been on one and I was still a nervous flyer. The band had complained, but I was glad we’d be on the ground in a bus for the rest of the tour.

“Look at that.” Dale showed me his hand again as we walked down the stairway and onto the tarmac. “I think you left a thumbprint.”

“I’m sorry,” I apologized again. I was so grateful to be on solid ground again I could have kissed it. “I didn’t mean to.”

There was a line of cars parked, waiting for us. Chelsea had taken care of everything. As much as I disliked Greg Richer, I adored Chelsea Caldwell. Chelsea was Dark Wing’s tour manager, and she handled everything. Not only did she juggle transportation for Dark Wing, she juggled the opening act—Black Diamond—plus the entire crew. Dark Wing had taken their own plane, so Black Diamond and the crew traveled together.

Chelsea was constantly in motion, always on the phone—she had one strapped to her belt, a giant, clunky thing with a big antennae—and the only time she wasn’t talking on it was when we were actually in the air. She practically ran down the stairs as soon as the plane was on the ground, barking orders left and right, her frizzy red hair managing to escape its moorings to blow around her freckled cheeks as she directed the crew as they came off the plane,

“That’s yours,” Chelsea put a hand on Dale’s shoulder, pointing to the car in back. It was different from the other ones. It looked like a regular taxi, only white instead of yellow. “Have a great time, you two!”

Then she was off again. I glanced up at Dale, curious.

“It’s a surprise.” He grinned, slipping an arm around my waist and leading me toward the taxi.

The show wasn’t until tomorrow and we’d taken an early morning flight out. Dale hated mornings and had grumbled sleepily until we were on the plane. Black Diamond got to sit up front in what was effectively first class while the crew rode coach. As soon as Dale was buckled in, he leaned back and fell asleep. He could sleep anywhere. In the meantime, I had closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder and pretended to sleep, but he had the marks on his hand to prove I was awake for most of the flight.

“You know where we’re going?” Dale asked the driver as we got in the back.

“Yes, sir.” The driver was a scruffy old guy with white hair and a southern accent. It was weird to hear him calling Dale sir.

“He gets to know where we’re going and I don’t?” I pouted.

“Sur-priiiiise,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around me, pulling my head to his chest. “Be a good girl and close your eyes—don’t peek or I’ll have to get the blindfold.”

“The blindfold!” I gasped, starting to raise my head

“I said, don’t peek!” Dale put his hand over my eyes. “Bad girl.”

I stuck my tongue out at him but I don’t know if he saw me. The cabbie had the air conditioner on—it was August in Florida at nine a.m. and already ninety degrees. I think I started sweating the minute I stepped off the plane.

“Can I at least guess?” I asked. I was trying to think of what it might be but was drawing a blank.

“Shh.” Dale kissed the top of my head. “Take a nap. You were strung so tight on the plane I thought you were going to snap in two.”

“How do you know? You were sleeping!”

“I just know.” He peeked under his hand and I blinked up at him. “Close those pretty eyes and go to sleep.”

I was tired—he was right, I’d been so tense on the plane I practically jumped out of my seat every time we hit a little bump. I knew, statistically, I had been safer in the plane than I was now in the taxi, but for some reason my body didn’t like that logic. I relaxed against Dale, leaving my eyes closed, and did just what he told me.

I drifted off.

“Sara?”

Dale’s voice woke me. He sat up fully, taking me with him as I opened my eyes, stretching and yawning before I remembered.

“Where are we?”

“I wanted you to see.” He pointed out the cabbie’s front window and I blinked, clearing my still-fuzzy vision.

I looked up at the sign spanning the freeway just as we passed underneath it.

“Walt Disney World?” I blinked at him, a half-smile already on my lips. “You’re kidding me? Walt Disney World?”

“I know it’s for kids, but you never got to go.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I thought we could go be kids for the day.”

“Walt Disney World!” I squealed, throwing my arms around him and bursting into tears at the same time.

“Hey!” Dale looked alarmed, pulling back to look at me. “Are you okay?”

“I just…” I was crying so hard, my voice was halted and hitched in my chest. “Never… thought… I never… got… to go…”

“I told you I was going to give you everything you ever wanted.” Dale cupped my wet teary face in his hands, kissing each cheek “And I meant it.”

I threw my arms around him again, still crying, but they were happy tears.