Finding Emotion (The Last Shot Tavern Series)

Chapter 1

Skylar Reece held the last note until her already aching throat began to burn. The screams of her fans made it worth it. She doubted any of them would believe she hugged a toilet before every performance. It wasn’t nerves; she didn’t have those. It was more a ritual her body made her go through that she’d given up on changing.

The chants for more filled her ears. Skylar held a hand out to the nearest guitarist. He’d been on tour with her for a while—hell, they’d probably fucked at least once—and even though he rolled his eyes, he handed her his instrument. Having it in hand wasn’t as good as having her own, but the riff she strummed made the screams return. She was going to get in trouble again, but she didn’t give a shit. The crowd loved the chorus she repeated for them without all the backup music. Sweat dripped down the sides of her face as they sang it with her. She kept it brief, handed the guitar back, and raised her hands to more cheers of her name as she exited the stage.

Skylar always left them wanting more. That was the best ego stroke she could get.

The next band gave her dirty looks for taking more than her allotted time, and she grinned back. They were big at the moment, but their moment wouldn’t last. She was so sure of it, she hadn’t bothered to learn their names… though the shortest guitarist had a look that might be worth a quick fuck before the tour was over.

She didn’t normally link up with so many bands on a tour. Her grunge sound didn’t meld well with others, especially since she’d gone solo a few years before. Thinking about the band she’d left behind was a waste of time, so she distracted herself by seeking out the eye candy she knew would be waiting in the wings.

Damon Lynch was an odd one. His name was the biggest at the moment, so he’d go on last, but there he waited like usual, blending into the background behind the curtain instead of focusing on himself in his dressing room. He was a cutie with his white-blond hair and lithe figure clad in tight, ripped-up jeans, a white tank, and a black leather jacket. Even looking at the getup made her sweat more in her up-the-ass cropped shorts and midriff-showing off-the-shoulder top. The clomp of the clunky, black boots she was known for was drowned out by the new band’s opening strains.

That tight body of Damon’s tempted her, but the pleasant expression he sported wasn’t for her. The fans liked how serious he was about his music, and his boy-next-door attitude seemed to inspire their panty-wetting. It was all a little too goody-goody for her.

No, the scowl his manager wore behind him was more her typical thing, though the expression faded quickly enough as the manager began talking to the rock star, probably to encourage him to focus on his upcoming performance. The manager had more of the hot vibe. His outfits always had a certain style. He would never be caught dead in the comfy jeans Damon often wore when he wasn’t performing.

Skylar turned away and frowned as she tried to recall why Damon Lynch was recently in the news, but she let it go when no details were forthcoming, just something about being a whiner. She apparently hadn’t cared enough to take specific note of what he was complaining about. Probably something sickeningly sweet, like when he’d talked about his dead mother being the inspiration for a lot of his lyrics. A momma’s boy was so not for her, not when she’d despised her own mother and was glad both she and her father were dead. If her sister hadn’t looked so sad at their father’s funeral, Skylar would have spit on both their graves.

Speaking of Jami, she owed her a call. With the tour winding down, she’d be able to get in a real visit. Her sister had finally shed the shell of a life she’d been living and felt like a real person again. Skylar hoped it would stick. She’d wanted nothing to do with the hollow husk her sister had become, not needing a reminder of what their mother had been like. Living for a man, especially the waste-of-space kind of man their father had been, was the worst life choice.

The words, ‘worst kind of choice,’ slid into a beat in her head, and Skylar stomped to her dressing room to jot down the flow that took over her mind.

Damon Lynch hesitated as the fan held out her shirt for him to autograph over her breasts. He hoped the exertion from his performance still had his color up so that his blush wasn’t obvious. Over a dozen years as a rock star, and he still got flustered. He used the marker to sign the taut cloth she held out well away from her breasts.

“Thanks for coming,” he murmured, staring into the fan’s eyes and adding a wink. Her eyes shined, and the question of whether his crazed fan could be her had his nerves skittering. He needed quiet soon.

He gave in to all the picture requests from the backstage pass holders, and each touch made the coil inside him tighten further. Which was ridiculous. He’d added a rule that prevented repeat special pass holders. Each of the girls was someone new who wanted a piece of him, not anyone he’d seen before. His manager, Jimmy Cornell, even compared the newest crowd to prior videos, but no one stood out. No, the crazed fan he’d been dealing with wouldn’t be so obvious.

“C-can I hug you for the pic?” one woman asked, her cheeks flaming as she stared at his taut belly through the shirt. Jimmy had been right about his outfit again, even though it had seemed too tight.

Damon smiled and held out his arms. “Come on over.”

She made that squealing sound that he appreciated and hated at the same time, and clamped onto him. Damon was careful not to touch her in return. Early on, he’d studied pictures of some of the best regarded male stars and noticed one that was never in the gossip columns except in stories about how sweet he was. In the pictures, the actor’s hands were always close enough to appear intimate without touching skin. Damon had taken on some of the same poses, and for the most part he’d escaped the worst of the articles so far.

The woman seemed happy as she drew away, whirling around to grab her friend. “I touched him!”

The friend was dressed in black, with heavy eye makeup and an indulgent half smile as she patted her companion’s head. “Yeah? Good for you.” She looked past Damon, her frown returning. “This was stupid. I should have known Skylar wouldn’t be part of this shit.”

“Oh, you’re a Skylar fan?” Damon asked. He kept his tone neutral. Just because he didn’t understand the appeal of the angry, shouted lyrics didn’t mean it wasn’t music. He’d studied Skylar’s performance the entire tour, just as he did everyone he toured with. Even if her music did nothing for him, he had to admit she had a unique energy, one that drew the eye. And a unique voice, with a constant huskiness to it.

Damon’s friend Malcolm was in love with Skylar’s sister. He was looking forward to meeting the woman who had finally made his buddy fall.

The goth shrugged as she folded her arms. “Skylar is kind of okay.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Stop acting cool. You’d absolutely die if you could see her.”

Damon caught Jimmy’s eye, raising an eyebrow in question. His manager had been gushing over Skylar since they started the tour. It was almost embarrassing how big of a fan he was, and that had made Damon study her even more. Jimmy always tried to keep his cool and didn’t normally fanboy out to that extent.

An excitement lit Jimmy’s eyes even as his hands tightened on his phone. “Let me check,” he mouthed, texting someone.

Questions continued to bombard Damon, and he did his best to address each fan. His eyes returned to the goth girl before he scanned the group. “Have you seen most everyone else you were hoping for?” he asked.

Some blinked at him, as if not expecting him to talk to them directly. Most of their heads bobbed. A couple of girls glanced at the goth girl and agreed that Skylar was the only one they hadn’t seen.

“Someone looking for me?”

The husky voice slid over Damon, and his body’s reaction surprised him. Luckily, the crowd’s attention had shifted from him to Skylar.

She’d changed out of her skimpy performing outfit and had on a large, worn T-shirt instead, so big it bared one shoulder. A see-through black robe clung midway down her arms but didn’t cover much, and Damon realized he could see exactly where her nipples were through the sheer, white shirt, which didn’t dissuade his erection.

Skylar’s lips lifted in a sexy smile as she signed autographs for her fans. She ignored Damon, but her eyes kept flitting toward the goth girl, who had frozen with a stunned look on her face and failed to approach the punk rock star at all.

Half the fans had turned back to Damon, and he tried to focus on them, but his eyes kept drifting to Skylar. Her presence really was something. Despite the edge of rage her music and performance had, she seemed completely comfortable in her own skin and maintained a smile any time she was onstage.

She waved over the girl that had still failed to approach her when the backstage handlers led the other special pass holders away. Damon threw his own smiles and winks after the fans even as he watched her study the girl.

“Your outfit rocks. You got a favorite song of mine?” Skylar asked the fan.

“‘Tell Me When It Hurts,’” the goth girl blurted out.

“Shit, and I didn’t even sing that one tonight.” Skylar tilted her head. “Tell you what. Here you go.”

The other fans down the hall froze as Skylar began to sing.

“You don’t have to do it

Dying alone inside

Tell me when it hurts

I’ll be your death bride.”

The lyrics in a cappella held an emotion that Damon had missed when he studied her performances.

To his shock, the goth girl began to cry. “I love you,” she managed to say to Skylar despite being so choked up.

Skylar moved in close, kissing the girl on the cheek. “That’s sweet. It’s fans like you I sing for.” She stepped back again, searching behind her and waving her manager forward. “Mandy, take care of this one for me.”

The woman that stepped forward was all business, the complete opposite of Skylar, with her hair in a tight bun and glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Of course. Come with me. Skylar has something special for her true fans.”

The goth girl’s eyes darted from Skylar to her friend and then back. She swallowed and then gave the gentlest smile that Damon had ever seen. “Thank you,” the fan said.

Skylar nodded before turning away and disappearing back toward her dressing room.

Jimmy moved to Damon’s side, and they both watched the fan until she was out of sight. “And I thought your fans were intense,” Jimmy said. “See now why Skylar rocks?”

“I didn’t expect that,” Damon admitted.

Jimmy clapped him on the back before they began walking to Damon’s dressing room. “Don’t even try your puppy-dog eyes on that one. I saw you talking to her earlier too. Remember, I’ve got dibs.”

Damon laughed, though he didn’t remember talking to her like his manager said. It must have been a quick encounter. Before seeing Skylar with her fan, he really hadn’t liked her as a fellow performer despite Jimmy having raved about her all tour. The rage she spewed, or so he had thought, wasn’t his thing.

He didn’t bother to respond to his manager’s jest in calling dibs. Jimmy had been with him since the beginning and knew all there was to know about his rock star sex life, or the lack thereof. Well, he knew almost everything. Not even his manager realized how inexperienced Damon was. Quick encounters had never been his thing, though he indulged in them occasionally. Damon enjoyed learning a woman’s body and was very giving when he did hook up. Oral sex was the farthest he would go, though. The press would have had a field day if they ever realized he wasn’t much better than a virgin. There’d only been two girlfriends in his past. The first was before he joined his initial band on tour and left her behind. They’d lost their virginity together. She’d been about to break up with him anyway, on her way to college, so he hadn’t felt guilty about it.

He”d gotten a big break in his music career early on, and the quick jump to rock star fame had added a pressure to excel, especially at sex, that he hadn’t been able to break free of. He’d managed only one more relationship after joining the band. His second ever girlfriend had done everything she could to tear down his confidence. It hadn’t taken much. He’d always felt like an imposter. Just remembering her sneer made him want to flinch. It had been quite a few years since they’d been together, he realized with a frown. Well before he’d struck out on his own.

Damon was more than ready to take a long overdue break to visit his now married sister, Erin. He hadn’t yet met her new husband. He was looking forward to being with his friends and family in person for the first time in nearly a year. A lot had changed in that time.

Jimmy hesitated as they paused outside Damon’s dressing room. “How about I go in and get rid of it this time?”

His manager offered every time, but Damon shook his head like he always did. “I’ve got it.”

Jimmy glanced down the hall in both directions, lowering his voice. “The press caught whiff of the investigators we have on it. You freaking out again won’t help things die down.”

Damon’s lips pressed together. “I didn’t freak out.”

“Right, right,” Jimmy muttered, not meeting his gaze. “I just don’t think you need more of this shit at the moment. I can go in first.”

“No,” Damon said, reaching for the door.

“Stubborn like usual.” Jimmy squeezed his shoulder. “I’m still coming with you.”

Damon waited for his manager’s hand to drop before shoving his way inside. The gift was taped to the broken mirror this time. Shards of glass were scattered around the dressing table. The signature was written in red lipstick like usual. Crimson Petals was the shade’s name, or so he’d been told. The letters and gift tags had degenerated to the point where the signature was often written directly on whatever furniture was handy. This time it was written over the cracked mirror, almost appearing like blood.

‘Your Match.’

Above it was a picture of him from backstage. Damon was smiling the peaceful smile he often wore when he was watching others perform. There was something about music that always calmed him.

He wasn’t calm now.

“I’ll take pictures for the private investigators,” Jimmy said, taking out his phone. Glass crunched under his foot. “Shit, watch your step. They don’t normally break things. Maybe this’ll get more attention.”

Damon doubted it. Despite Trenton trying to help, the authorities had waved off most of the incidents. With the evidence being fan letters and gifts, they had said his career brought that on and that fan mail wasn’t criminal. Damon was pretty sure they had leaked the crazed fan news to the press during what his manager called his ‘freak-out’ episode. Finding something new in his hotel room after he’d come out of the shower had panicked him a little. Whoever it was had been nearby while he was vulnerable. The hotel should have had cameras, so he’d made the cops come out, but the crazed fan was good. Somehow the security system had been turned off, and the personnel on duty had admitted to leaving their posts to check out an anonymous tip.

The gift at that time hadn’t been exactly threatening, a basket of fossilized primeval rocks to commemorate the Primal Rock Tour, which had kicked off his career and which he still participated in each year. The nerd in him would have thought the gesture was epic if the delivery method hadn’t caused him to panic.

Jimmy stepped back from taking pictures of the shattered dressing room mirror. “There’s damage this time. We should probably report it to the police.”

“No,” Damon said, swallowing. Even the hints of a stalker had hurt his record sales. Fans found the idea that he was concerned by the attention emasculating. “I can afford to pay for the damages.” Glass crunched under his feet as he crossed to the mirror and removed the picture. He stared down at himself. The image perfectly captured how he continued to see himself, lacking the rock star aura the fans saw. “Just tell whoever that I did it. Make something up.”

Jimmy studied him. “Sure,” he agreed. It didn’t surprise Damon when he didn’t argue.

His manager had tried to wave off his concern early on, warning Damon that being seen as a victim would hurt his image. Jimmy had managed not to say ‘I told you so’ when the article came out, and they’d both been relieved when it was buried under more titillating gossip.

Damon had chosen to be a rock star, and that image was all that mattered. He was living the dream. If it had become a little empty and lonely, that was only for him to know.