Chapter 12
I need to tone it down with the others. Otherwise, they will start to suspect something’s not right. The last thing I need them to know is my fear of this stalker who made it clear last night that they are still around and have been watching me all these years.
Once upon a time, I considered disappearing altogether to live in another country. But returning to LA is the only way to regain my strength and face all my fears head-on. I’ve come to realize I can’t erase myself.
So, I’m determined to pursue this music venture. It’s an opportunity to erase the past, not myself, and move forward.
“Hey, girlie,” I turn to see the white Cayenne pull up on the curve outside the vet practice where I just dropped Storm off. The dark window’s down, and Brittney’s leaning her body towards the passenger side.
I smile at her, stroll over, open the door, and hop in.
She leans in for a quick hug and drives off down the road.
“There’s a quiet café just a couple of blocks away. We can grab a coffee and catch up until Storm’s done with his appointment,” she says, taking a quick glance at me before focusing back on the road. “You’re looking good. Your knuckles aren’t raw. I take it the Sonic boys are behaving themselves.”
I chuckle, and she grins with amusement.
“Don’t call them Sonic; they won’t appreciate it. They’re looking for a new band name, considering they want to start fresh. The name was the first to go.”
“Are they serious about it, or is this some whimsical bullshit?”
“I think they believe it’s serious. But the reality is, it’s been ten years, we’re closer to thirty than twenty, and even if we release an album, it’s not like any of our old fans would be interested. We were a pretty pop rock band, and that sweet shit is now gone. It’s been replaced with an older, tougher, grittier version playing alternative and hard rock.”
“I’ve only seen Jagger and Callum, so I’m basing my opinion on them, but they still look pretty, maybe older. Actually, they still look hot as fuck,” she pauses and gives me a side glance. “You, on the other hand, transformed into another human. You’re darker in all levels of character and style. Even your skin is like ten shades darker, embodying the look and lifestyle of this sexy, sultry rocker chick who wears tight, ripped denims and leathers and moves with a confident swagger that every man would love to fuck but is too afraid you might eat them alive. I’m surprised those Brits haven’t made a move on you yet.”
I huff a long laugh.
“I don’t think they see me that way. I’m just someone they need for whatever publicity stunt they plan for their comeback.”
She raises a brow.
“You really think that?”
“They didn’t want me then. What could I offer them now?”
Brittney glances at me, disapproving.
“Your talent. Your lyrics. Your fucking voice! No one matches your phenomenal vocal range, even though I do consider myself pretty close,” she chuckles. “But you have the ability to effortlessly transition from sultry, whiskey-soaked lows to electrifying, glass-shattering highs. People literally cry when you sing soulful ballads because the emotion you are able to emit is that freaking powerful. So don’t you dare put yourself in some worthless position.”
I take in her words, but I still remain unsure about the band’s intention with me.
“Jagger has some powerful vocals, too,” she adds as an afterthought. “But when you both sing, it’s nothing short of extraordinary.”
“Jagger has an amazing voice,” I admit, and just thinking of it gets my panties wet. Although I can only imagine how many teenage girls had the same reaction back in the day. Callum and Haze have strong voices, too, and sometimes lend that additional vocal, but Jagger could hold his own as lead vocals in the band.
We park and walk across the street towards the small café Brittney recommended.
“Inside or out?” she asks as we observe some of the tables already occupied.
“It’s up to you,” I say, pulling on my shades. “You’re the famous one here.”
Then again, I have a second thought, thinking about that text message from last night.
“Inside,” I quickly add, suspiciously looking around the area like a cautious bodyguard would.
“I’d think you suggested that for my benefit, but the way your head has turned towards both ends of the street, I’ll take it at face value for now and ask questions later.”
Not waiting for my reply, she walks ahead and pushes the door to the restaurant open. The soft chime of the door signals a waitress to greet us as soon as we step into the warm and inviting space as the cozy aroma of freshly ground coffee beans envelops my senses.
More customers are sitting outside than in here, but there’s still that hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of cups to confirm the place isn’t completely void of people inside. We make our way to a corner table, the sunlight streaming through the window casting a golden glow on the wooden surface.
I sit opposite my friend, and we both remove our sunglasses. She removes her cap, allowing her shoulder-length hair to cascade down. Already knowing what we want, we give our order to the waitress, handing her back the menus.
“When was the last time you were in LA?” Brittney asks, dropping her sunglasses case into her bag and setting it down.
I shrug my shoulders. “Around eight years, maybe?” I say, not really missing this city in the slightest.
“Damn,” she says, drawing out the word. “And you still think he’s here.”
I know exactly who she’s referring to. She barely knows anything; she thinks it was a stalker and doesn’t know about the kidnapping and all the other stuff I was forced into doing. I feared for her life, so I kept my mouth shut and made up some story about why I was always on the run and in hiding. Whether she suspects more she never elaborated but comprehends my fear was powerful enough to grasp that my silence was for her safety.
“I got a weird message last night,” I take out my phone and show her the message.
She nods in understanding but then quirks a brow.
“It could be anyone. Maybe someone playing a prank. Maybe someone from the media saw you driving? Maybe one of the guys, while trying to create a small buzz, alerted the media that the old band is back together…. Honestly, it could be a million things, but not necessarily the creeper you suspect.”
I purse my lips together and pocket my phone.
“Honestly, Eden, why on earth would this stalker wait for ten years to contact you again?”
“I don’t know, maybe finding out I’m back here stirred up some shit in the sick fuck’s mind?”
Our coffees arrive, and the steam rising from the cups seems to momentarily diffuse the current conversation.
“I have to go back to San Francisco tomorrow,” Brittney announces as the waitress leaves our table.
She passes me a set of keys.
“You’re welcome to stay at my place. Considering it’s a condominium with a doorman, the security is decent, but I think you should remain at Hazes.”
I stare at her wide-eyed, like a deer caught in unexpected headlights. She can’t be serious with that suggestion.
“Look,” she says upon seeing my surprise. “Keep the keys if you need to escape from those dickheads. But if you want my opinion. Living with those four big dudes is safer than living on your own at mine. The parking is in the basement of my building and while it’s secure, so was your home in Bel Air.”
She knows about the night I fled, about the three men who broke in. She doesn’t know the details or understand why I couldn’t report it to the police. But she’s supported me in not demanding details even though it’s obvious something much more sinister happened to me.
“But living with them isn’t an ideal situation.”
She holds her hands up in submission. “I admit my wrongdoing. Back then, I encouraged you to make a go for it with all four of them. But now I’m the last person who would advise such, but living with four men in a house is stalker-safe. I’ve seen the two boys who have grown into beasts of men, and if the remaining two are just as massive, then who the fuck is going to mess with them? And then there’s Jagger’s army training, and I’m pretty sure he knows how to use a fist and a gun, for that matter.”
“Army?” I stare at her, confused.
“Oh shit,” she says open-mouthed. “When you said they were dead to you and that you didn’t ever want to hear their names again. I literally kept you out of the loop.”
“Go on.” I’m now curious because there’s no point pretending they’re dead when it seems I might end up having to live with them.
At least I should know what the heck I’m getting into.
Brittney leans closer and begins to tell me, one by one, what they’ve been up to the last five years. What shocks me the most is Callum’s drug problem. He used to smoke the odd joint now and again, but who hadn’t? Yet, the hard drugs, cocaine, and ecstasy addiction seem to throw me through a spiral loop of confusion.
Then there’s the falling out between the two brothers. They were the closest thing ever to an unbreakable bond, their relationship a testament to the profound connection that once defined them.
“I’m not sure what shocks me more, Callum’s drug problem or the brothers’ fallout. Haze was always so protective of Callum. I did get a sense recently that there might be some animosity between them.”
“I only know what the media says. I saw him, and he seemed clean. But you can never tell. Callum has two looks, stoned or angry.”
I blush, thinking of his third look. The one he used to give me when he orgasmed. It was always fucking hot.
“No, you’re fucking not!” Brittney blurts out rather loudly, attracting nearby tables to turn.
“What?” I say softly, reminding her to keep her voice down.
“I know you like a sister, you weird freak. You still fancy him.”
“No, I don’t,” although I have doubts about what my mouth is saying.
“You’re fucking blushing, you slut!” she looks at me in shock. “I mean, I don’t blame you. He’s fucking gorgeous. So is Jagger. But that’s beside the point. You can’t get involved with those four fuckers!”
I bite my top lip.
“I know that Brit. For fuck’s sake. Calm the fuck down. I’m not falling for their looks or charms. I just thought…” my voice tails off to empty silence.
She tilts her head with curiosity. “What?”
“Callum had this freakishly sexy look when he used to orgasm. It just popped into my mind. That’s all.”
“I’d love to say I witnessed it. But honestly, I don’t even remember sleeping with him. It was at a time when I was still dating Harry Skillet. Jagger and Callum were just…I don’t know…without disrespecting you, they were just drunken fucks.”
Brittney and I hold no secrets with each other. I knew she had a fling with both guys before I got with them. And I fully believed her when she said her heart held no strings attached to them. I had my own share of flings when we first started out in the industry, although I was much more careful about casual sex with random guys. Brit, on the other hand, fucked whatever dick moved in her direction.
Wrapping the keys she gave me in my fist, I open my palm and look at them.
“Keep the keys,” she says. “I expect some asshole to piss you off, and you’ll need somewhere to cool down. But in the meantime, you might find comfort in knowing that you’re not alone in the house at night while at Haze’s. I’ll be back in two weeks, and we can talk over the phone. I can be your agony aunt because I’m sure they’ll grate on your nerves eventually. But if this stalker is still around…” she stops abruptly and seriously looks at me. “Do they know?”
“About the stalker?” I ask; she nods her head. “Fuck no. And I don’t intend to tell them either. I never told them about it, even when we were still together. Back then, it was because I knew they’d go ape shit. Now I don’t need them to think I’m making shit up to dramatize my life.”
“I’m not sure they would think that. It would make more sense to them why you fled like you did.”
I shrug. It’s the past, and I’ve moved on.
At least I need to keep telling myself so.
“I need to pick up Storm,” I check my watch.
She nods and calls the waitress over to settle the bill.
“It’s on me, babe. Next time, you can treat me.”
I smirk at her.
“Daytime soap paying you well,” I tease.
She rolls her eyes playfully.
“I miss you. I can’t believe you have finally come here after all these years, and I have to film out of town.”
I smile, always feeling the familiar comfort whenever I’m in Brittney’s presence. We swore best friends back when we were thirteen and competed for a final place in Tone Wars. She’s the sister I never had.
Just before we step outside, she secures her hat and shades. I do the same with mine.
As soon as I swing the door open, we’re met with three photographers standing on the curb.
Shit.
“Hello, Rob.” I hear Brit say as she protectively emerges in front of me to shield me from being photographed.
“Hey, Brittney,” the paparazzi and the other two continue a couple of snaps with their cameras. “Having coffee with a friend?” he asks as they follow us, crossing the street.
“Come on, Rob. There’s nothing to report. Can’t a girl have a decent cup of coffee in her free time?”
“Who’s your friend?” another asks, and I continue walking with my head down.
This is nothing like how it used to be years ago. At the height of our fame, we couldn’t leave our homes without an entourage of photographers waiting to get their photo opportunity.
At least they don’t recognize me, but I’ll breathe a sigh of relief when I’m inside the vehicle.
“No one you’d know,” she replies and clicks the key fob to the SUV. I quickly dash to the passenger side, and I’m met by an unexpected figure who appears from nowhere with an awkward gait, causing me to gasp loudly.
Their eyes are wide and slightly too intense looking, fixated on me with an unsettling focus. My heart skips a beat, and a sudden surge of unease overwhelms me. The stranger draws in closer, a wide grin stretching across their face as they clutch a tattered scrapbook in their hands.
Fear builds up quickly, and a shiver runs down my spine. I step back against the vehicle as they reach out to me.
“What do you want?” I say in a shaky voice.
“Eden Rivers,” they say and continue to grin wide, but there’s something ominous about them.
“Wrong person,” I manage to stammer and push them aside to open the door.
“I know it’s you,” they say, and I quickly get in and slam the door shut.
“It’s you!” they bang on the window.
“Fucking drive off!” I yell at my friend, who’s doing her best to start the car.
“Who was that?” she asks, ignoring my obvious irritation towards her a few seconds ago.
I’m still wrestling with an unsettling feeling that my stalker might be closer than I had ever feared.
“An old fan, I guess. I don’t know how anyone knows I’d be here.”
“Sometimes restaurant staff will phone in tips. If they get the venue in the news, it’s free publicity.”
“This person doesn’t seem to be part of the media.”
“It’s amazing how obsessed fans will know your every move. It’s scary, but I stopped trying to figure it out. Back when we were underage pop stars, we had adults around us in public places, so we avoided mobs or ignored them. As an adult, you either fork out the cost of having several bodyguards around you or learn to deal with it yourself.”
“I’m so out of the damn loop of how this works,” I mutter.
I stare out the window, wondering if this is the life I want again. A hand suddenly grips my thigh, and I turn to find my friend’s face warming up to me. She turns for a moment and gives me a reassuring smile.
Except this intrusive lifestyle comes with the territory of what I want to do. How can I perform in sold-out arenas without crazed fans and photographers trailing me everywhere?
Even the killers and kidnappers might find me.
But this time, I won’t be caught off-guard.
Strong women never give up.
I took a breather for ten years. Took time out. But now I’m back.
I’ve returned stronger than ever.