The Complete Rockstar Series

“Fuck!” I clutch at my chest, nearly dropping the beer. “Christ, give a man a head’s up.” I scowl way up at who must be one of my new babysitters. Jesus, the man has got to be almost seven feet tall and three hundred pounds. He’s fucking enormous. “Is your job to hide out here all the time?”

  “One of us will monitor the back and front of the house at all times, yes,” he replies with about as much personality as a rock.

  “Of course,” I mutter.

  After the severed human finger was found backstage, the label upped my security detail and decided to let me stay at my own house. Funny how none of the extra security kept Mitch from being attacked. If I had insisted on going with him to his parents house, the bodyguards would have been with us and maybe he wouldn’t have been shot.

  Sighing, I pull out a beer and uncap it, taking a long swallow. Playing Monday morning quarterback won’t change what happened, so I force myself to think of something else.

  “Well, I’m going to sit on the beach and drink all of these beers,” I announce to Bigfoot as I unlock the back fence. “You coming with me?”

  “I’ll be wherever you are, Mr. Walker.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

  Lucky me to get stuck with enormous Agent Uptight. Thank god I’m going to be drunk very, very soon. God I’m itching for a fight. I glance back over at Bigfoot and decide it’s probably not a good idea.

  Three beers in, with a gentle buzz beginning to wash over me, and my phone rings. As much as I want to ignore it so I can continue drinking, it could be news about Mitch. Sasha didn’t agree with me leaving the hospital how I did, but she did promise to keep me up to date on Mitch’s condition.

  “Hello?”

  “Gavin? Are you home?”

  “Ross,” I huff. “I just fucking got back from the tour an hour and a half ago, same as you. Where else would I be?” I can fight with Ross.

  “Well I’m standing on your front step with the investigators assigned to your case and you’re not answering the door,” he snaps, clearly just as tired and sick of this shit as I am. “Security says you’re here, so what the hell?”

  “Fuck. I’m on the beach. Hold tight. Me and Sasquatch here will let you in.” I glance over at my tall companion. He does nothing to indicate my nickname bothers him.

  “Gavin,” Ross says when I open the front door. “These are Agents Halifax and Van Zandt from the FBI.”

  Ross enters the house with two men in serious suits. They definitely give off the Fed vibe with their holier than thou attitude. Too exhausted to be polite I simply grunt and flop down on the couch, not bothering to shake hands or offer them a drink.

  “We’re here because—”

  “I fucking know why you’re here,” I growl. “A sick fuck left a goddamn human finger in my dressing room! Then he tried to kill who he thought was my boyfriend because of some misplaced delusional jealousy!”

  Neither agent reacts to my outburst. Son of a bitch! What’s it take to get someone to fight with me? I picked on my bodyguard and couldn’t get a response, now these stupid suits won’t rise to the bait either. I need to get it out—have a big old fistfight to unleash my frustration—and no one wants to be my opponent.

  “That’s correct,” Agent Halifax replies. “But also because the finger matches a victim in one of our cases.”

  I blanch. “What case?”

  Agent Van Zandt takes a seat across from me, still looking every bit the uptight government suit. “We’ve been following a serial killer. There are victims spread out across the country, several in L.A. and a few in other states.”

  “Your finger matches one of the killer’s victims,” Halifax confirms.

  I blink stupidly. “This guy was just supposed to be an overzealous fan,” I whisper, holding my head in my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “We’ll be working with your manager to review the evidence your previous investigator has compiled so far.” Halifax sits in a chair next to me, his green eyes studying my reaction.

  Damn, he’s kind of hot, tall with sandy brown hair and an athletic build.

  No. I won’t get involved with another employee. I made that mistake once and all I got was a broken heart. Forcing myself to stand, I head for the stairs. Fuck this. They ruined my buzz and now I’m crashing.

  “Sorry gentlemen, I’ve just gotten home after a very trying tour. I’m going to bed. Ross,” I look over at Hawke’s uncle. “I’m sure you can show the agents out? We can talk another time.”

  Without waiting for a response, I climb the stairs, feeling the weight of the last few months in every single one of my joints. I strip naked and flop onto the bed, asleep before the front door closes.

  Mitch

  “Mom, I’m fine. You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot,” I grumble as my mother fluffs my pillows and sets a glass of water next to the couch.

  “Mitchell, stop it. I’m your mother. This is what mothers do. We take care of our children,” she tutts, continuing to adjust my blanket. “Would you like the telly on, love?”

  “Mom. Stop. Can you sit? Can we just talk?”

  It’s been two days since I was released from the hospital, a week and a half since the shooting. The doctors cleared me to leave, but only if I didn’t go home alone. Since I don’t know anyone in California—anyone who would want me there, I think bitterly—I ended up at my parents’ house.

  “I was going to make you a bite to eat, Mitchell.”

  “Mom!” She flinches at my raised voice, but bloody hell, she just won’t listen. “Please sit.”

  Gingerly, my mother takes the wingback chair next to the couch. I’ve been spending my days in the family room and my nights in the bedroom that used to be mine.

  “Thanks, mom.” I close my eyes. The painkillers they sent me home with make it difficult to stay awake. I tried stopping them and nearly cried the pain was so intense. Needless to say, I’ve been taking them as directed ever since that failed experiment.

  “Mitchell,” she says without meeting my eyes.

  “Mom…” I reach out and put my hand over hers. “Is it really so bad? For me to be,” I swallow, “to be gay?”

  “Oh love, no. It’s just… I guess for me it’s a surprise. You never seemed…” she lets her words taper off.

  “I dated girls, you mean?” She nods. “Yeah, I tried. I didn’t want to be gay. But this is who I am, mom. I’m sorry if it’s disappointing.”

  My mom clasps my hand. “Listen to me, Mitchell. I am not disappointed. You’re a wonderful man and a good son.” Her voice cracks. “I met your young man at the hospital. He’s lovely, Mitchell.”

  “Thanks, but we’re not together anymore. You know that,” I whisper, my eyes burning. “What about Dad?” I change the subject, not able to discuss Gavin yet.

  My father has been scarce since I woke up in the hospital. Only stopping by for a few minutes each day. Even at home he manages to avoid me somehow.

  “Your father loves you, Mitchell. He’s having a harder go at this, yes. But almost losing you…” she sniffs. “Just give him some time, love.”

  “I can do that.” Hell, it’s better than the cold shoulder he gave me the night I came over to tell them. I guess me almost dying made him rethink cutting his only child out of his life.

  My mom pats my hand and stands up. “I’ll go make a snack.” She pauses in the doorway. “Don’t give up on Gavin, son. He loves you, mark my words.” Then she’s gone.

  I lean back into the soft pillows and stare at the ceiling, my mind spinning. Never in my life has there been someone like Gavin. I’ve never known the pain of heartbreak. Not even that asshole Grant made me feel so broken, so lost, so utterly fucking hopeless.

  Is mom right? Does Gavin love me?

  Shit, I don’t know. Maybe I had the right idea, not getting close to anyone, minding my own business. Work and more work, that was all I had for a long time. Yeah, it was lonely sometimes, but fuck if it didn’t feel better t
han this.

  But hell, I wouldn’t give up my memories of Gavin for anything, not even to take away the pain. I close my eyes and imagine the feel of his tan skin under my hands, the scent that surrounded me when I buried my nose in the crook of his neck, the look in his eyes as he came deep inside me. Shivering, I let the memories overwhelm me, replaying every last minute in my head, savoring them like fine wine.

  For a while it works and the pain stays away, allowing me a few minutes of happiness in my lifetime of self-imposed misery. Then reality bleeds back in and I’m right back where I started. Alone.

  * * *

  A week later, I step out of the cab in front of my townhouse in Huntington Park. It feels as if I haven’t been here in years, not three months. I wince as I slide the key into the front door, my chest still tender, especially now that I’m off the painkillers.

  I shuffle down the hall, dropping my bag at the foot of the stairs. The air is muggy and stale from the house being sealed up for so long. When I step into the living room and glance around, I remember that I don’t have any furniture to speak of except a bed and a kitchen table.

  Shit.

  The last thing I feel like doing is shopping. I scan my fingerprint and enter my office. The temperature control system has recirculated the air in here so it’s much less hot and humid than the rest of the townhouse. I turn on the systems and wait for them to boot up.

  I had let my phone die while I was in the hospital and never bothered to charge it back up. What’s the point? I have no one to call, no one I want to hear from, and after that damn article, I don’t want to field questions from reporters either.

  That means I’ve been off the grid for two entire weeks, which is a lifetime in the age of technology. When I pull up my email, it’s overflowing with messages. Sadly, I realize that this is it. This is my life. Back to sitting in this room, working with clients on tracking down criminals who threaten corporate bigwigs, and working out in my basement.

  Jesus. I don’t know what’s worse, that I feel so pathetic now that I’ve had a life or that I didn’t realize how pathetic I was before.

  I plug in my phone and start answering emails. There are quite a few from Sasha, which I childishly delete without reading. I don’t need her butting in and reminding me that Gavin fell on his sword for me by giving that interview. Then he up and vanished while I was recovering from a gunshot wound! How she can defend that, I have no clue.

  I sort the rest of the emails into current clients and future clients and delete all of the garbage ones. As I’m reading a message from the office of a high profile investment banker who has a potential disgruntled ex-employee threatening him, my phone chirps to life.

  Dozens of text messages flood the screen, each one accompanied by an electronic beep. The voicemail icon pops up, letting me know I have fifteen unheard messages. Again, I delete everything from Sasha. I’ll deal with her later—maybe in a week or ten, when I’m not still pissed off at her for taking Gavin’s side.

  The only thing that catches my eye is a voicemail from two weeks ago. It says it’s from Gavin.

  My chest squeezes painfully and I suddenly feel nauseous. Despite knowing that listening will most likely drive the knife in deeper, I can’t resist.

  Mitch…

  Gavin’s seductive voice floats up from the speaker, but it’s not smooth and clear like it usually is. His voice cracks and wavers as he stumbles through the recording.

  I-I’m so sorry for dragging you into my shit. And… for what happened. I’ll fix it, baby. I just… I’ll do my best to get this asshole off of you.

  There’s a long pause. The silence filled with Gavin’s staccato breaths.

  Don’t worry about me. Just… get better, okay? I-I should go.

  A loud announcement blares in the background.

  They’re calling my flight. So… I guess this is it. I’ll miss you and thanks… shit.

  The phone fumbles and disconnects. I play it again, listening to the tortured sound of his words, the despair conveyed with every painful silence. Now I can see why Sasha defended him. He’s just as torn up about this as me, maybe more.

  Then why did he leave?

  The answer is so obvious, even an idiot like me can figure it out.

  Gavin Walker cares. Maybe, he even loves me.

  Gavin

  “Sadie! Don’t eat the sand, love!”

  Ellie laughs at her husband, Adam, as he hustles over to their fifteen-month old daughter right as she shoves another handful of sand in her mouth.

  I grin at her antics. “She’s walking,” I comment from my beach chair next to Ellie.

  “She is. Started a month ago. It’s horrible,” Ellie giggles. “It’s exhausting keeping up with her.”

  “Adam seems to do okay,” I point out.

  “He does,” she agrees. Ellie shades her eyes to watch Adam rinse off their daughter in the low surf. Memories of playing on the beach a few miles from here with Sydney Tannen while our parents watched flick through my brain. I shake my head—that seems like a lifetime ago.

  I take a moment to glance at all the familiar faces. After hiding in my house for the past two weeks, Hawke insisted I throw a post-tour beach party. I resisted, but he was a persistent ass who wouldn’t give up.

  In retrospect, I’m glad he did. It’s nice to get outside, see my friends having fun, but any joy I feel is fleeting and false. I still feel as if my insides have been removed, shredded, and put back together incorrectly. Everything that used to make me happy does nothing for me now.

  Ellie sighs. “It’s not too late, you know.”

  “What?” I take a sip of my drink and watch our friends play volleyball. Dax growls after Hawke spikes the ball at Kate, who is four months pregnant and radiant in her lime green bikini.

  “To get Mitch back. It’s not too late,” Ellie repeats.

  “They still haven’t caught the stalker.” I point my glass at the bodyguards surrounding our party. They’re wearing casual clothing but stick out like a bunch of gorillas in a petting zoo.

  “Hmmm,” she hums.

  “Don’t do that, El. I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap, slugging back the rest of my cocktail.

  The pain is too raw to discuss. I’ve never been in love before. Had I known it would hurt this much, would I still have made the sacrifice?

  Yes, I think sadly. I would.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I jerk my head up at the sound of Hawke’s angry snarl.

  “I need to see my son.”

  No fucking way.

  I leap to my feet. “Dad?”

  Ellie grabs my hand. “Gavin, this isn’t the time or place. You’re still too broken up and emotional to deal with him.”

  Two bodyguards have stopped my dad from entering our section of the beach. Dax and Hawke are hurrying over to help, and probably give a piece of their mind. Adam jogs over and deposits Sadie on Ellie’s lap.

  “Do you want him to leave?” Adam asks, the enraged expression on his normally smiling face is shocking.

  Stunned, it takes me a minute to respond. My dad looks older. Much older, his blonde hair thinned some, his frame less bulky and more slender, but I guess that’s what ten years will do to a person.

  Bitter and angry over breaking up with Mitch and my life in general, I’m volatile. I’ve been dying for a good fight. Maybe this is exactly what I need.

  “No. I’ll handle it.” I swallow down my nerves and let the resentment take over. “Tell them to escort Colonel Walker to the house,” I hiss. “I’ll wait inside.”

  I head up to the house, taking the back steps two at a time. My blood is pounding through my veins, a flood of adrenaline getting my body primed for whatever might come during a confrontation with my father.

  Pacing the kitchen, I shove my hair back with a sweaty palm.

  I will not let that bastard get to me.

  The back door opens and one of the massive guards enters, my dad following behind.
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  “Mr. Walker,” he nods. “I’ll be in the next room.”

  “You can wait on the deck,” I insist. The big man is about to argue. I hold out a hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  He scowls, but steps outside, remaining a few feet from the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I maintain a calm façade, not wanting to let my dad know he still gets to me after all these years.

  I take a good look at the man who raised me and am taken aback. Where I once felt small and meek compared to him, I now stand an inch or two taller. Flashing blue eyes that used to intimidate me are crinkled with crow’s feet. His powerful frame, once strong enough to frighten me into submission seems insubstantial and ordinary.

  The power has flipped, from father to son. Something I don’t think my dad thought about before coming here to spew whatever hate he has to say.

  Fisting my hands, I stand up tall, letting my body take up space in the kitchen. I keep my chin up high, showing Dennis Walker that I won’t cow to his demands.

  Hesitation flickers behind those stubborn blue eyes, but he’s steadfast in his decision, so he plows forward.

  “What’s the meaning of all this in the news?” he spits, his shoulders heaving with anger at whatever crime it is that I’ve perpetrated to disappoint him this time.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, remaining unruffled. On the outside, anyway. Inside, I’m a powder keg waiting for a match.

  “Don’t bullshit me, Gavin. All this…” he grimaces, waving his hands around in distaste. “This talk about being gay. You need to fix it and tell them it’s not true!”

  The man is completely delusional. I can’t believe I ever let him control me. I can’t believe I let his pathetic opinion drive me to attempt suicide.

  “I will not tell them anything of the sort. You have no say in my life. In case the ten year silence was too vague for you, here’s me being clear…” I take a step towards my dad. His eyes flick down to my hands, curled up at my sides, before returning to my face. “I’m gay, dad. A fag. I suck dick and I like it. I’m not ashamed and I don’t give a fuck what you think!”