The Prince of Punk Rock Page 9

  “No.” He lied. “She wasn’t.” He touched them both on the shoulder. “I really appreciate your concern.” But what he really wanted to say was, Thank God you got that psycho bitch away from me. Don’t ever let her near me again.

  “We know you’re too nice to tell her to leave you alone,” Kira said.

  Damien butted in again. “I was going to tell her to fuck off in two more seconds.”

  The girls laughed. “That’s why we love you, Damien. You’re always blunt and to the point.”

  Interactions with Kendall always made Angel uncomfortable. If she didn’t come on to him every time she spoke to him, they might have been able to have an amicable conversation. As he retreated backstage, he began to wonder if he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to dodge Kendall. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone? Damien caught up to him as he walked down the corridor to the back room.

  “Why don’t you just tell Kendall to fuck off?”

  Angel could never be that rude to someone. “I don’t know. I guess I feel bad.”

  “You shouldn’t. She’s a conniving little bitch.”

  Damien and Kendall were at odds with one another, although it was more one-sided on Damien’s part. “Why do you hate her so much?”

  Damien hesitated. “I didn’t want to tell you, but she tried to blackmail me once.”

  Angel stopped short. “Blackmail you? What the hell for?”

  Damien struggled with his answer.

  “She threatened to tell Alyssa on me if I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “Tell Alyssa what?”

  Damien couldn’t look him in the eye. He dug his chin into his chest and his face grew taut. “That I had a couple of drinks one night and snorted some coke.”

  “Oh, Damien.” It wasn’t just disappointment that sunk into Angel’s chest, it was fear. Damien was a recovered alcoholic and drug addict and substance abuse almost killed him. Angel was devastated for him. He wasn’t just worried about his friend’s recovery. It was Damien’s life that was in jeopardy.

  “It was just one night.” Damien pointed to his throat and the gruesome tattoos that resided there. “These fuckin’ demons don’t go away. They fight me every day. I had a weak moment. I know I fucked up, and I almost lost everything that mattered to me.”

  “Did Alyssa find out?”

  Damien nodded. “I had to tell her. I had no choice. But I never told her that Kendall tried to blackmail me into sleeping with her. You know Alyssa. She would have ripped Kendall’s head off and shoved it up her ass.”

  “What happened?”

  “Alyssa moved out. She threatened to divorce me if I didn’t go to counseling. You know that’s not my thing, but I went. For Alyssa. I’d do anything for her. She came with me. We straightened it out, but it put everything back into perspective for me. It reminded me what I had to loose. My girl.”

  “When the hell did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “A little over a year ago. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to lose your respect.”

  “Damien, I love you like a brother. I stuck with you through all the bullshit, remember? You turned your life around. I’m very proud of you.” Angel didn’t know if he was more shocked about Damien’s relapse or about Kendall trying to blackmail him into sleeping with her. “And Kendall tried to blackmail you?”

  “Yeah.” They started walking again. “Don’t put anything past her. You don’t know how low she’ll stoop to get what she wants.”

  Angel fed off the energy of the audience. The crazier the crowd, the wilder his performance. There were no restrictions on how raunchy or perverse he could get on stage when the crowd provoked him. Tonight, it was pandemonium at The Quadrangle. A hardcore band opened for Immortal Angel and incited the crowd. They were out of control. He hadn’t seen it this crazy in a long time. People were moshing and throwing beer bottles. Crowd surfers were being carried on their back to the front of the stage. A bra sailed threw the air and landed at his feet. He looked out into the audience and a pair of naked breasts bounced in front of him. It took over ten minutes before security was able to break through the crowd and haul her away, resulting in a chorus of disapproving howls from the rowdy fans.

  Every time Angel would get close the edge of the stage, a forest of arms and hands would reach up and tug at his ankles and legs. He got down on his knees and they almost pulled him off stage. There was no barrier. There was nothing between him and the audience. The thrill of it always got him hard. That’s why he was always grabbing his dick when he performed. Hell, he would jerk off up there if he thought he could get away with it.

  It was the last song of the night and a fan sent a round of shots to the band. Angel handed one to Tommy and Jimmy, then gulped down his shot, and Damien’s shot. He wished fans wouldn’t send Damien alcohol, but when they did, he was happy to intercept it.

  Angel was down on his knees again at the front of the stage. Hands were touching him everywhere. If he was an inch closer, they would be grabbing his crotch. It was making him especially horny tonight. A cutie right in front kept smiling at him. The shoulder length blond hair and soft blue eyes reminded him of Tommy. That’s probably why Angel kept gravitating back to him as he sang.

  When the show was over, the blond-haired maven found him as soon as he walked off the stage. They chatted for several minutes, and it became very clear that this fan wanted Angel in his bed, or right there in the vestibule. A gentle swipe down Angel’s arm, a soft touch on his cheek, the pouty lips and breathy laughs, were all chock full of sexual overtones. In seconds, Angel’s nether region was rumbling against his tight leather jeans. He wasn’t sure if it was because this fair-haired imp could easily pass for Tommy in the dim light, or because he was basically living a life of celibacy while he waited for Tommy’s love. At least Tommy had Jessi to relieve him. Angel was relegated to being married to his right hand.

  This hottie wasn’t toying with him or mixing words. He came right out and said, “I want to fuck you, Angel Garcia.”

  The two shots of Jack Daniels that Angel gulped down on stage kicked in. His head was reeling and his hormones were screaming. His erection refused to be quieted. It strained against his too tight leather jeans, demanding release.

  When fleshy lips met Angel’s mouth, he didn’t resist. A delicious wet tongue fed a hunger that went too long without nourishment. Behind Angel’s closed eyes, he saw Tommy’s hands circling his waist, reaching for his belt buckle with one hand, while rubbing his cock with the other. He didn’t care if the whole bar saw Tommy give him a blow job . . . but . . . wait . . . it wasn’t Tommy. It was a stranger. He abruptly pulled away.

  “Getting shy, sweetie? We can duck into the men’s room if you want.”

  “N’no. It’s just . . . there’s someone else. I’m sorry.” Angel ran to the back room to compose himself. After he jerked off in the private bathroom, he washed his face and returned to the front of the bar, hoping not to run into his admiring fan again.

  Tommy bumped into him and pushed roughly past him. Angel thought it was an accident, until Tommy turned and glared at him, harshly.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Tommy balled his hands into fists and let them hang at his side. “You really want to know what’s wrong with me?”

  Angel recoiled a little. “Yeah, what are you so mad about?”

  “What am I so mad about?”

  “Stop repeating my questions and tell me what’s wrong.”

  Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you stick your tongue down that guy’s throat again and see if you can find the answer to your question?”

  Angel froze. He had no idea Tommy witnessed his indiscretion. His cheeks burned red hot and he lowered his gaze to the litter strewn floor of The Quadrangle. He wanted to kick himself for being impulsive and disloyal, but then he realized that Tommy had no right to be mad. What was he supposed to do, commit to a life of abstinence while he wa
ited for Tommy? It wasn’t fair. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You have no right to be mad at me, when—”

  “I have every right to be mad!” Tommy turned and abruptly stomped away.

  For a second Angel stood there, dumbfounded, but then he quickly chased after Tommy. “Stop running away and talk to me!”

  Tommy spun around. “There’s nothing to talk about! You’re right! I have no reason to be mad! You can do whatever you want, with whoever you want!”

  If Tommy wanted to be sarcastic, Angel could be sarcastic too. “So we’re just friends and you don’t care that I was making out with that guy?”

  “No. Why should I care?”

  Now Angel was getting angry. How long was he expected to wait? “So then you won’t have a problem if I take that guy home tonight?”

  Tommy’s mouth hung open in shock for a few brief seconds, and then he cinched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “You can take home whoever the fuck you want.”

  Tommy was calling his bluff, and Angel wasn’t about to back down. “OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Angel’s golden haired make-out buddy was conveniently standing nearby. Angel walked straight up to him, grabbed his face and gave him a hard, closed-mouth kiss. He looked back at Tommy. Tommy was seething. Angel could see his flared nostrils and chest heaving from across the room. It was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. Angel took the guy by the hand and waved Tommy a sarcastic goodbye.

  He could be a real bitch when he wanted to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tommy wouldn’t return Angel’s calls, and Angel was starting to get frantic. It was their first fight, and he regretted the way he handled it. He behaved badly. He shouldn’t have let his feeling escalate out of control. He should have just apologized for making out with that guy, instead of being vindictive. Love makes you do really stupid things sometimes.

  He needed to talk to Jessi.

  “How do you get Tommy to open up and talk to you?”

  “Give him some time.” Jessi was sympathetic, but he knew she was on Tommy’s side. “He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. That’s what Tommy does when he’s upset. He has to think through the problem.”

  “It’s been almost a week.” Angel’s voice was low and sad. He was in a total state of despair. He needed to make things right with Tommy. “I’m miserable knowing he’s mad at me. There has to be something I can do.”

  “Don’t push him. Be patient.” She paused. “He’s just really hurt, Angel.”

  She was judging him. He could hear it in her voice. He was the bad guy. “I didn’t mean to hurt Tommy. I . . . no offense Jessi, but I want to be the one to explain it to him.”

  She nodded. “I agree. You two need to talk things out.”

  Angel was silent for several seconds. He didn’t know what else to say, but he didn’t want Jessi to leave. “Did Tommy say anything about me?”

  “He said he still needed time to sort some things out. I told him to come with me just now. I told him you two needed to straighten things out before the gig tomorrow, but he said that he would see you at the show. I think he’ll be ready to talk.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’ve never seen him this upset before.”

  Tommy was too upset to drive to the show. Plus, he had a million thoughts running through his head. He still didn’t know what to do about Angel. He couldn’t decide if he should abandon his feelings for Angel and move forward and keep their relationship strictly professional, or if he should leave the band altogether. Either way, it was a no win situation for everyone.

  As they pulled into the parking lot of the bar, he caught a glimpse of Angel at the front window. He looked like puppy dog, with his nosed pressed against the glass, and it made Tommy’s heart ache.

  When he walked thought the front door, he couldn’t look at Angel. He walked past him and went straight to the stage to set up his amp and his guitar. He methodically attached cables and power cords. He tuned his guitar with exaggerated precision, tunneled his peripheral vision and blocked out everyone and everything outside its path. He couldn’t see or hear anything around him. The sight of Angel with that other guy stifled his senses.

  Someone was rocking his shoulder, tugging on his arm. He thought it might be Jessi and prayed it wasn’t Angel. It was Damien.

  “What the fuck’s going on? You missed two band practices. You didn’t return my calls. What’s going on with you?”

  “I sent you a text and told you I wasn’t going to make it.”

  “You don’t miss practice. None of us do. And Angel’s all fucked up. Are you two arguing?”

  “Ask him.”

  Tommy refused to look in Angel’s direction, but his eyes betrayed him. Luckily Jessi occupied Angel’s attention and they didn’t make eye contact. Angel’s broad shoulders were slumped and there was no light in his sad, soulful eyes. Tommy began to soften, but then hardened his heart. If Angel was having any regrets, it was his own damn fault.

  Tommy arrived late on purpose. He didn’t want to have personal conversations with anyone before the gig. There was just enough time for him to set up his gear, and by the time Angel was done talking to Jessi, the show was about to start.

  Tommy played with his head down and never looked up from his strings. He watched his fingers furiously glide across the fretboard. He blocked out everything – Jimmy’s explosive drum beats, Damien’s deep bass line and the howls of the crowd. He only saw his guitar. There was only one thing that broke through all the barriers he built – Angel’s voice. The harder he tried to block out Angel’s godlike vocals, the more power and passion flew out of his fingertips. Tommy’s hand moved with the speed of light as he played his guitar solo. It became a game. He played faster and harder, testing his ability, waiting for his fingers to miss a chord, but they never did. He played like a veteran superstar.

  Angel wasn’t channeling his frustration as well. He was off. His voice cracked on several occasions and he flubbed a lyric. If the audience noticed, they didn’t react with anything except the raw vivacious energy they always exhibited.

  When their set was over, Tommy immediately started packing up his equipment. He ignored Angel’s pathetic voice calling his name. He wanted to answer by running into Angel’s arms, wrapping his arms around Angel’s waist and burying his face in the center of Angel’s carved chest. He wanted to shake Angel by the shoulders and ask, how could you sleep with that guy, when I’m right here? But he had no right. He was the one who resisted all of Angel’s attempts at furthering their relationship. But it didn’t ease the burning hole in his heart.

  Tired of being ignored, Angel hooked Tommy by the arm and forced him to turn around. “Please talk to me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I don’t have anything to say.” Without thinking, Tommy threw his guitar down. He didn’t know if Jessi was standing next to him or not, but she dove and caught it before it crashed to the floor. It was his precious Les Paul and he loved it like his first born child. If anything happened to that guitar, he would have been devastated. His stupidity made him angry and he lashed back at Angel. “We’re band mates. That’s it. If you need to talk to me about music or a gig, fine. Otherwise I’d rather not engage in conversation.”

  Angel recoiled at Tommy’s harsh words.

  Serves him right.

  “How can you say that? We’re friends, Tommy. We’re more than friends.”

  He needed to get out of the bar and away from Angel. Pain was stabbing him in the gut and he was bleeding out. He grabbed Jessi by the hand and pulled her toward the front door. She protested and tried to squirm free.

  “Your guitars! Tommy, wait!”

  “I don’t care. I’ll get them tomorrow. We need to go!”

  They weren’t home for more than 15 minutes before Angel was at the door.

  Tommy slung a booted ankle over his knee without making any attempt to rise from the couch. He tried to act indifferent as Angel stood on the other side of the door, but the forlorn look o
n Angel’s face made the corners of his mouth droop down.

  “I brought your equipment.” Tommy’s Les Paul was safely cradled in Angel’s hands, securely tucked away in its case. His Fender and amp sat at Angel’s feet.

  Tommy’s arms remained folded across his chest as he nodded. “Thank you.” He felt like an insensitive ass. Angel packed up his gear and delivered it safely. He was grateful to have his guitars back and all he could do was sit on the couch and utter two callous words.

  He didn’t notice that Angel was stationed in the doorway, hesitant about entering the house, until Jessi pulled him inside. He should have helped her bring in his equipment, but he couldn’t break the emotional trance he shared with Angel.

  “I would never do anything to hurt you, Tommy. I want to explain.”

  “There’s no need to explain.” Tommy held his hand up. He couldn’t bear to hear about Angel’s new lover. The wound was still fresh and raw, and it would be a long time before it healed.

  “But I need to tell you—”

  “No. I don’t want to hear about it.” Tommy rose to his feet and headed for the stairs. “Thanks for taking care of my Les Paul. I’ll see you at practice. I won’t miss it anymore.”

  “Practice? That’s three days away! What about tomorrow? Can I come by so we can talk?”

  Tommy paused on the steps. “Maybe, one day, we can be friends again, but for now, I think we should keep our relationship professional.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Practice was awkward and shows were arduous. Angel’s damaged heart hindered his performance. His execution was lackluster and sloppy. The stage no longer provided an adrenaline rush and songs no longer inspired freedom and recklessness. It only provided a vessel to be near Tommy. The chemistry between the two was gone. Tommy ignored him on stage and rarely looked up from his guitar, but his execution was spotless and on target. While Angel’s voice suffered from their strained relationship, Tommy poured his pain into intricate guitar solos. Musically, the band excelled, but Angel’s vocals deteriorated. The undying loyalty of his fans never diminished, and they expressed their concern. It wasn’t a lie when he explained that he’d been sick for the last few weeks, but there was no medication to provide relief from his broken heart.