Summer's Hidden Melody - Chapter 4

The ride to Denver is uneventful.  It seems most of the band members are using the long drive to catch up on sleep, Anthony included.  I’m right there with him—my headache never seems to go away completely, and I appreciate the pain-free periods of unconsciousness.

When we arrive at our destination, Em once again joins me for rehearsal at the convention center where the concert’s being held.  We talk music the entire time, and I feel privileged to hear him speak.  Our discussions are just as good, if not better, than those I had with my college seminar professors.

“You said you never went to college, yet you know so much about theory, composition, and history.  Is it all self-taught?”

He nods.  “My aunt understood my anxiety and home-schooled me.  I did mostly independent study during the high school years.  I could go through a lot more material by myself, and you’d be surprised how much free time you have on your hands when you have no friends.”  He chuckles, but there’s sadness underneath.

Anthony and I have a late lunch in his dressing room.   Although I can tell he’s still bothered by Jasper’s news, he tries his best to be attentive and sweet to me.  It’s actually a little strange seeing him so determined to get back in my good graces, so I initiate an “I forgive you” blow job in hopes of sucking the weirdness out of him.  It seems to have some effect—he smirks and slaps my ass in thanks as I leave to take my seat for the concert.

Everything goes well during the first part of the performance.  Seth shows off some of his keyboarding skills, and Tyler manages to play “If I Could” correctly.  I smile when I see Anthony tip his head to the saxophonist.  It’s so cool to know the inside stories.

During intermission, Rosalie turns to me, a serious expression on her face.

“Bella, can I talk to you?”

“Of course. You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Well, it’s just that we’ve been doing our own thing this summer, and I feel like we’ve grown apart.”

I really want to point out that I’ve tried several times to hang out with her, but there’s no way she’d acknowledge her culpability in our estrangement.

Instead, I give her a friendly smile.  “Do you want to talk now or get together after the show? I wouldn’t mind having a girl’s night, in or out.”

“Let’s go to dinner, someplace nice.  You should have enough for that considering all the money you’ve saved since hooking up with Anthony.”

An annoyed frown replaces my grin.  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Rosalie waves her hand dismissively.  “Oh, calm down.  I just mean that you haven’t had to spend nearly as much on this tour as you’d planned with Anthony footing the bills.”

Gee, I can’t imagine why I haven’t missed her company all that much.

We join the guys in the green room after the second act—there’s no meet and greet this time.  I’m glad, not that I would have gone, anyway.  The week after I joined Anthony on tour, I sat in on one.  It was a mistake.  The guests thought I was officially involved and wanted photos with me.  After being asked several inappropriate questions about him and our relationship, I excused myself from the room.  

Anthony’s fine with me ditching him, but Laurent looks as if someone’s taking away his favorite toy.  Actually, that assessment might not be too far from the truth.  He pouts and tries to change her mind.  Rosalie seems annoyed, and I don’t blame her. 

While she’s saying goodbye to him, I notice that Em is staring at her again, an unhappy expression on his face.  I haven’t caught him watching her in a while and wonder if he’s still interested.  Maybe I’ll have to say something in warning to one or both of them.  Now that I consider Em a friend, I couldn’t stand to see him hurt, especially by someone like Rosalie.  He deserves better.

Em’s gaze shifts to Anthony, and his scowl gets deeper.  In fact, his expression is almost frightening, and for the first time, I see a suggestion of the dangerous person inside who is mentioned in his music.  It gives me chills.

I’m still staring when he glances over at me.  Instantly, the menace clears from his face.  He gives me a questioning look.

I shake my head and offer a weak smile. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Rosalie says, breezing by me.

I’m not really dressed for a fancy restaurant, so we stop to change at the trailers.  Rosalie drools over Anthony’s accommodations.

“God, Bella, do you realize how good you have it?  I have to share with Tyler, and that man is high, like, all the time.  At first I thought it was cool scoring free weed and E and shit, but I’m over it.   I don’t know how Laurent has put up with him for so long.  Ty’s either loud and obnoxious or moping around complaining about no one ‘understanding him.’”

She surveys Anthony’s bedroom a final time before we leave.  “Laurent’s room isn’t half the size of this.  I can barely move around in it!”

“That’s not what you said the first night you stayed with him,” I remind her.

“Jesus, Bella! As usual, you’re missing the point.”  She fails to mention exactly what her point is.

Rosalie chooses some swanky restaurant with a French name that I can’t pronounce.  It’s one of those places that doesn’t put prices on their menus.  I sigh at the thought of how much this is going to cost me.  Rosalie was right about one thing, however.  I do have a lot more to my name at this point than I’d expected.  The first time Anthony and I went out, he nearly choked on his after-dinner mint when I offered to pay my share.  I couldn’t get him to stop laughing for several minutes and never tried to give him money again.

“So what’s up?” I ask Rosalie after our orders are taken.

“I just wanted to hang with my girl—you know, catch up on things.”  She gives me a winning smile.

“Okay, then.  How are you doing these days?”

Lunging forward, she grabs my hand over the table, nearly knocking over my water glass.  “Oh, Bella, I don’t know what to do!” she sighs dramatically.  “Laurent is great, but he wants so much right now.  I’m not sure if I’m ready for it all.”

“All of what?”

“He wants me to live with him after the tour, for starters.  That’s not a big deal by itself—New York City was on my short list of places to move—but he’s already hinting at getting engaged!  Christ, the other day, he asked me if I liked kids!”  She scoffs and sits back in her chair.  “Can you imagine me wiping the snot off some little brat’s gooey nose?”

I try to hide my sardonic smile.  I can imagine it, and the scene in my head is hilarious.

“Have you talked to him about slowing down?” I ask.  “Tell him you’re not quite there yet?”

“Well, it’s not just the timing that I’m not sure about.  He’d probably be okay with waiting, but that’s also one of the things I can’t stand about him.  He talks a big game about all this stuff that he wants—more solos in concerts, maybe recording his own album, being a bigger star—but he won’t take steps to make it happen.  He just…waits.  I feel like he’s going to be stuck in the band for the rest of his life.”

“And the problem with that is…?”

Rosalie gives me a pitying look as if she can’t believe my idiocy. 

“Bella, my father is the CEO of the largest insurance company in the U.S.  How does it look for me to settle down with someone like Laurent—a backup performer with no ambition for making a name of his own? “

“Uh—“

“Even in these past few weeks, I’ve gotten so much shit from my friends…my other friends, that is.  And, no offense, Bella, you’ve got to admit that it doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t?” I ask carefully, steeling myself for the insult to come.

She rolls her eyes.  “Oh, come on.  You know that I don’t care about your background or lack of money, but no one else can understand why Anthony picked someone like you—a nobody—over someone like me, a person from a family of stature.”

“A nobody,” I repeat, my voice low and deadly.

She raises her hands up in a gesture of innocence.  “Don’t shoot the messenger, hon!  Haven’t you been reading what everyone’s saying on the internet?”

“No, I haven’t.  I don’t pay attention to shit like that.”

“If you’re planning on staying with Anthony, you’d better.  Maybe you could get yourself a PR person or something…though I don’t know how you’d afford it.  I’d say use one of his, but that could backfire when—um, if—you two split up.”  She takes a sip of her wine.  “How are things going with you and him, anyway?”

I know her far too well to miss the focused interest underlying her casual tone.

“It’s great.  We’re having a lot of fun together.”  There’s no way in hell I’m giving her any details.

“Yeah?  That’s good.  What are you doing after the tour’s over?”

I pick up my own glass of wine.  “We’ve talked about a few things.  Nothing concrete yet, especially since the schedule change happened.”

“Can you believe it?” she says, her eyes bright with excitement.  “The news was trending within minutes.  It’s, like, a devastating scandal, and we’re in the middle of it!”

“How is it a scandal?  Jazz just wants to spend time with his family.”

“But to announce it now?  And then add those extra shows?  Tickets for the rest of the concerts are going for thousands on eBay.  It’s insane.  Didn’t you notice how crazy the audience was tonight?  There was a girl behind us bawling the entire time.”

“Huh.  I don’t know how I missed that.  I guess I was into the music too much.”

Our salads arrive, and we continue talking over dinner.  Rosalie tries to bring up the subject of Anthony and me several times, but I evade like a pro.  I’m even careful to limit my alcohol consumption to two drinks so I don’t accidentally run my mouth.  I can’t tell if she’s up to something or just being her nosy self, but I’m not taking chances with my privacy or Anthony’s.

The caravan leaves first thing the next morning, and it’s another long drive as we head to Chicago.  Anthony sleeps in later than I do, and when he wakes up, he’s in a very quiet mood.  I’m surprised to see him go straight for a glass of bourbon—it’s not even 1 p.m.  He ignores my questioning glances, and I don’t say anything until the third consecutive refill.

When I ask what’s wrong, he shakes his head tiredly and goes back into the bedroom.  By the time I make up my mind to follow him in, he’s already asleep under the covers.

Concerned, I send a text to Em asking if he has any idea what’s bothering his brother.  There’s no reply for a good hour, and then I receive a one-word message.

Chicago

It hits me like a speeding train.  We’re going to Chicago, Anthony and Em’s place of birth, the city they left as children after their parents died.  The place where their mother and father were buried.

I feel a rush of sympathy and helplessness.  I have no idea what, if anything, I can do to support both of them.  Undoubtedly, the next two days are going to be rough.

I send Em one more text.

1:42 p.m.  If you need anything, I’m here for you.

There’s no reply.

Anthony wakes up around five, and I’m able to get food in him.  Hopefully, it will soak up some of the alcohol he’s downing.  With the way he acted in Las Vegas and how detached he is now, I can tell he would rather be left alone.  I do what I can to show him I’m available without being pushy.

He retreats to the bedroom after an hour, taking his glass and the bourbon bottle with him.  I hear the TV turn on and decide to watch something myself, but in the living area.  I sit on the couch for several hours, though my mind is far away from the images flashing on the screen.

At some point, I drift into a fitful sleep.  It’s hard to know whether I’m awake or dreaming when I get the sensation of being picked up and carried.

My body has no trouble identifying reality, however, when I feel a hot sucking pressure on my neck and fingers under my shirt.

“Babe, I need you,” Anthony murmurs into my skin.  He curls his palm around my breast and squeezes, hard.

The sweet pain goes straight to my entrance, and wetness begins to seep.  I rotate my hips, searching for relief from the growing ache.

Lips trail across my collarbone and to my shoulder.  There’s a sharp sting as his teeth take hold.  I moan with pleasure, and he releases me to whisper in my ear.

“I want to fuck you so hard.  I want to make you scream.  Will you let me, babe?  Will you give me what I need?”

“Yes,” I cry out as he rubs his erection over my covered slit.

He jerks down my shorts and lets me wiggle out of them as his hands tug off my shirt.  I’m still in the process of lying back down when his cock slams into me.

He’s hard and thick and relentless. All I can do is brace myself against the force of his thrusts.  The angle his dick enters me is pure torture—it teases me and makes me drip with want, but it doesn’t satisfy.  I try to change my position, but his weight is pinning me down. 

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good,” he rasps, alcohol heavy on his breath.  “I love touching you.  I love being inside you.  I love fucking you.  I fucking love you.”

My gasp is cut off by his tongue sweeping inside my mouth.  I feel pressure everywhere as he continues to pound into me while digging fingers into my flesh to hold me still. 

“Damn, baby, my dick is so fucking hard.  I’m gonna come…come so hard…ah!”

He rams into me, and I feel his cock pulse and shudder as he fills me.

“Anthony!” I whimper as he collapses on top of me.  “Anthony, babe, I need—“

A quiet snore interrupts my plea.  He’s out cold.

“Fuck.” 

Yeah, I want to scream alright, but from a very different reason than he’d implied earlier.  I’m throbbing with need, and what I want to ease the ache is slipping out of me as it softens.  I wiggle out from under his dead weight—thank god he was lying on me at an angle—and head to the bathroom. 

I finish myself off in the shower, but it’s not a very satisfying orgasm.  I’m too busy trying not to think about anything to concentrate on pleasure.  I’m especially trying not to think about what he panted in the midst of fucking me.

My attempt at mindlessness works until I find myself dressed, sitting on the couch, and staring at a wall.  That’s when it hits me.

I squeeze my eyes shut as the familiar stabbing behind my eye returns.  Did Anthony really just confess that he loved me, or was it a mistake made in the throes of desire?  He was drunk and could have easily switched the order of the words up.  I wonder if he even realized what he said.   Will he remember when he wakes up?

Do I want him to remember?

The headache is rapidly getting worse, and I dig through Anthony’s medicine stash.  There’s an old prescription for Tylenol with codeine, and I thankfully gulp one down with a glass of water. 

Lying back down on the couch, I close my eyes and wait for relief to find me.

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A/N: I'm giving in and calling them chapters now because I can't seem to stop writing!  I've got another one or two to post here soon.