Wasted: A Single Daddy Rockstar Romance Read online

  It wasn’t going to happen, though. “I gotta get going,” I announced.

  Her smile faded. “I better get dressed. Katie should be here any minute,” she said, placing her coffee mug in the sink and brushing past me, her hand rubbed my backside as she did. She walked back down the hallway towards my bedroom, and finally, it hit me.

  Katie?

  Katie.

  Fuck! Was the Katie she referred to as her sister in law, the same Katie who Ace Coulter was married to? If so, that meant my one-nighter was Ace’s sister?

  My head pounded even harder at the implication. Just as that thought invaded my mind, I heard the sound of a car horn outside and quickly peeked out between the mini blinds of my front window that faced the drive in the trailer park where I lived.

  Shit! It was indeed Ace’s beater car, a ‘98 Camaro in dire need of new wheels and a paint job.

  Fuck me.

  I was relieved that Katie didn’t get out of the car to come up to the door. What the hell would I say? What the hell could I say?

  “Katie’s here!” I hollered down the hallway. My one-nighter came out of the bathroom, fully dressed, still wearing my Wasted T-shirt.

  “On my way,” she chirped, tossing a sweet smile my way. “Hope you don’t mind, but I really love this tee. It smells like you, Emmett. Can I keep it?”

  I had several more, so it was no big deal except that I still held out hope that Ace wasn’t aware of my tryst with his, what I could only guess, was a younger sister. Not sure of her age, but Ace was twenty-one, and I was sure she was a few years younger, hopefully not too many years or I could be in trouble with the law over shit like this, and that, I didn’t need.

  “Sure, babe,” I said, opening the door so she could hurry on out.

  She stopped and tossed her arms around my neck, standing on her tiptoes, and laying a lip lock on me as if we were committed lovers who hated being apart even for a minute.

  Good God.

  “Last night was the best,” she murmured. “I hope we do it again soon, Emmett. By the way, your vocals totally knock me out. You are like the best front man since Bret Michaels! I mean, he’s always been my crush. You remind me of him so much. You are so fucking talented. Of course, Ace thinks so, too. See ya.”

  “Thanks, babe,” I replied. I then tossed in, “It was a slice of heaven,” so I didn’t feel like a complete shit for not knowing her name, or even remembering what had transpired between us.

  She smiled, giving me one last peck on the lips, and then scurried out to catch her ride.

  I’ll repeat it, this time with even more meaning: Fuck. My. Life.

  Chapter 2

  “You seriously did Ace’s little sister?” Coop blurted out, as he was driving me to pick up my truck. As it turned out, I’d left it at the club where we’d played last night. But we’d partied at another club down the street. Coop was happy to fill me in on the parts I didn’t recall.

  “Yeah, I guess I did, but hell if I remember it,” I said with a chuckle. “What the hell did I do last night?”

  Coop smirked. “The better question would be, what didn’t you do last night?”

  I cocked a brow at him. “That bad, huh?”

  He nodded. “There was some blow involved for sure, booze and some kick-ass weed. Of course, Ace wasn’t involved in the after-party. He went on home with the wife like a responsible husband and daddy right after we wrapped.”

  Now I was extremely puzzled. “Dude, how did I hook up with--?”

  “You don’t even remember her fuckin’ name, do you?” Coop said, laughing like a hyena. “Oh man, now that’s so fucking harsh.”

  “Well, what the fuck is her name?” I growled, “And stop fucking around here, Coop. This isn’t funny - like at all, dude.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, “Her name is Stacie. And she’s around seventeen, I think. Jail bait.”

  Suddenly I wondered if there was gonna be an ass-kicking in my immediate future. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked Coop, knowing that he wouldn’t even joke about something like that, though I wished right now he was the type of friend to do just that.

  “Nope,” he replied. “Stacie’s a junior at Franklin High. Dude, was she a virgin?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  The question did not amuse me. I wasn’t sure exactly how many times I had to tell Coop I didn’t remember a fucking thing about last night after snorting that last line of coke. Hell, maybe the chick roofied my ass!

  We reached my truck, and without a word, I got out and headed towards it. There was no way I was going to practice this afternoon. And it wasn’t because of Ace. It was because, with all of the hooking-up I’d done, this was the first time I’d done so without remembering a damn thing. And that part of it shook me up.

  “Hey, man!” Coop called after me, “Look, it’s no big deal, man. The chick was hanging all over you if it makes you feel better. She popped into the party after she snuck out of Ace’s place. She’d been babysitting the kid while Ace and Katie had been at the gig. I’m sure she’s been around the block. Hell, maybe Ace doesn’t even know she was out.”

  I turned and looked over at him before opening the door to my truck. “Not possible,” I snapped, “She called Katie to pick her up.”

  Cooper threw his hands up in the air. “Hey, that doesn’t mean shit, Emmett. Katie’s cool. She’s not the type to narc her sister-in-law and main babysitter out. It wouldn’t serve a purpose.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t blame him. I’m going home. I’ll see you tonight at the gig.”

  “You blowing off practice, dude?”

  “Yep.”

  The whole way home, I mentally chewed my own ass out for being so fucking careless. What kind of a star trip had I been on? Maybe the better question was, what kind of a drug trip had I been on? I’d seen what that shit could do, and there I’d been, once again partying and obviously making toxic choices, which could only put my dreams at risk.

  Once inside my trailer, I went into the bedroom and pulled back the covers to check the sheets for blood. Thank fuck, there was nothing to indicate Stacie had been a virgin. For some reason, that gave me a little relief. How fucked up would that have been to pop a cherry and not even remember doing it? I looked around on the carpet. Nothing there. Not even a condom wrapper.

  Fuck!

  I took the few steps over to the trash can next to my dresser. It was empty. No used condom, no condom wrappers. Double fuck!

  At that moment, I made a promise to myself to focus only on the music. Not the partying, not the drugs, and not the pussy.

  Chapter 3

  The weeks following the Night of the Blackout, as I referred to it in my mind, rolled by with no major disasters. Ace was cool, meaning he probably hadn’t been clued in on his younger sister’s shenanigans and, for that, I was grateful.

  But Stacie Coulter was relentless. She’d been blowing up my phone, which I’d ignored, and over the past week, she managed to show up for our practice sessions. Since Ace was her brother, I couldn’t very well ban his family from watching us play. The problem was, Stacie had eyes only for me. It had become evident to Wayne and Coop, but Slade and Ace on percussion seemed oblivious to it, thank fuck. Coop knew better than to bring the subject up and obviously, he’d clued in Wayne, because other than shoot me a couple of shit-eating grins after practice they remained silent on the subject.

  We were just finishing up, putting our equipment away, when Stacie approached me. “Hey Emmett,” she said quietly, “You haven’t been taking my calls or answering my texts. What’s up with that?”

  Was she serious? Wasn’t it obvious why I’d been ignoring her? Couldn’t she take a goddamn hint? Hell, I wasn’t even sure how in the fuck she’d gotten my cell phone number in the first place—just one more mystery of the Night of the Blackout. I glanced over to
see if Ace was waiting for her, but he’d stepped outside to grab a smoke with Slade.

  “Hey, Stacie,” I said, looking directly at her. I needed my next words to sink in so she’d have no doubts as to where I stood. “Look, I apologize if I gave you the wrong impression a couple of weeks back. To be honest, I don’t remember any of it, which is my fault, not yours. But at the risk of sounding like a total asshole, let’s just say that whatever happened that night won’t be happening again. It was a mistake that I don’t care to repeat. You’re only seventeen and, besides that obvious fact, I’m not into focusing on anything other than getting this group more gigs. I have plans, and I don’t want anything to fuck them up. Do you understand where I’m coming from here?” I asked.

  She was staring blankly at me, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face. And then a tear rolled down a cheek as if I’d just told her I killed her puppy. On purpose.

  She sniffled, quickly wiping away the tear with the back of her hand. “I can’t believe you’re just… dumping me,” she hissed, the anger now creeping in to replace the sadness. “You told me you loved me that night. What? Do you think I was just one more easy piece for you to bang? You were my first, Emmett. I thought that meant something, even to somebody like you.”

  She kept her voice low, but she definitely was heating up.

  “You’re delusional,” I snapped at her, “Not sure what kind of game you’re playing here, but no matter how fucked-up I was that night, I’m pretty damn sure there were no ‘I love you’s’ said. And seriously? Dumped you?” I grabbed my guitar, putting it into the case and flipping the latches shut. “Sorry Stacie, not buying any of this shit. Now you need to go home and lose my number. I don’t play games with kids.”

  And with that, I walked outside to my car, got in and left knowing that Stacie Coulter was one mistake I was determined not to repeat.

  What was the worst thing that could happen? Hell, she might confide in Ace, in which case, I’d deal with him one on one. I wasn’t proud of what I’d apparently done, but I wasn’t going to go all pussy-like if he wanted to call me out on it. I’m sure Ace was no angel in getting strange. It was probably the reason Katie went to every gig, to make sure he didn’t stray. All of us had our issues. None of us judged one another on them.

  Chapter 4

  Wasted was about to get their first big break. I couldn’t believe we’d finally landed a gig that paid well, and would demand recognition for the group.

  I’d been sending audio and video clips to the manager at The Studio Theater in downtown Indianapolis, where a Mecca of live band hotspots generated hundreds of patrons on weekends. This was what I’d been waiting for; what we’d all been waiting for, and I was proud that my perseverance had finally paid off. Well, that and dumb luck.

  Apparently, a group that had been booked for several months had suddenly split up over some drama, the band members going their separate ways. Their booking agent in Chicago hadn’t known about it until a week prior to their scheduled gig in Indy. According to Stan Winston, the manager at The Studio Theater, Wasted fit the same musical profile, and he tossed in a ‘this might be your lucky day kid,’ after that. I couldn’t disagree. It was about damn time! I assured him the band would be there, thanking him profusely for thinking of us.

  “It’s hard to forget you, kid,” he said with a laugh, “You pester me every damn week. We’ll see you here next Saturday. Good luck.”

  Luck had already arrived. It was our talent that would do the work now.

  I was sitting in a lawn chair, out on the deck in front, letting the sunshine invigorate me to finish the last verse of the song we’d been working on forever. I wanted to debut it at The Studio Theater, and we had the music down pat. I just needed to find the words for the final verse. I hoped the sun would radiate the inspiration I needed.

  With my guitar resting on my lap, I started strumming the chords to the song, and then an idea presented itself to me. Something had been missing. I needed a bridge to offer some melodic contrast before heading into the final verse.

  I grabbed the tablet of paper from beside me and started plucking some additional new chords, which would need to be added. I finally settled on some that brought the emotional shift needed before going into the final verse. I scribbled the notes down, and then put some words to the bridge:

  This light, this rain,

  This life, this pain.

  The final verse followed in my head, as if it had been waiting all this time for the bridge before materializing.

  I took it from the top:

  Put your ear close to the ground;

  Do you hear the fading sound?

  If it’s lost or being found,

  Turning off and spinning round.

  A vagabond with no address

  A fire in the wilderness;

  The patient loses consciousness

  The blackened sky hides emptiness.

  This light, this rain,

  This life, this pain.

  Torn between what I just see,

  This picture that you have of me.

  It isn’t much to look at, we agree,

  Yet it is my destiny.

  Let me walk down that road,

  Cause you know, I have to go.

  You won’t be there but even so,

  Everyone goes down that road.

  This light, this rain,

  This life, this pain.

  And you know I have to go.

  You won’t be there even so,

  Everyone goes…

  We had four days to practice the now finished song, and I was determined it would be debut perfection.

  Chapter 5

  Life didn’t get any better than this, I thought to myself as I jumped on my bike and headed over to the garage for practice, making sure the letter I’d received this afternoon was tucked safely in the pocket of my leather jacket.

  It had been a little over a month since Wasted had debuted at The Studio Theater in Indianapolis to rave reviews, and nothing but good shit had gone down since then.

  We’d been approached by a booking agent by the name of Harvey Eggleston, eager to see if the band already had representation. We’d wasted little time in accepting his proposal to be our agent.

  Harvey had booked us for gigs every Friday and Saturday night since then, in venues in larger cities than Fort Wayne. We’d played in Detroit, Toledo, and Cleveland, and the band was getting booked out in the future, with a gig next month in Chicago. The money was flowing, and the reviews were good. We even got a mention in The Deli Mag as an upcoming band to watch.

  But today’s news topped all of that, and it was another portion of my dream coming true.

  The rest of my bandmates were already tuning up when I got there.

  “Glad you could find the time, bro,” Coop scolded me as I entered the garage.

  “It was worth the wait asshole,” I replied, pulling the letter from my pocket and waving it around so they all could see.

  “What’s that?” Wayne asked, tightening a string on his guitar.

  Slade had stopped wiping off his cymbals and looked over at me. “You gonna tell us or what?” he asked.

  I looked around. “Hold up,” I replied, “This is big news, where’s Ace?”

  Loud silence blanketed the garage, and it was then I noticed his equipment was gone. There were no signs anywhere of the keyboard and synthesizer. I looked back to the center stage, where the rest of the band members stared at me as if I’d sprouted another fucking head. “What?” I asked, “What the hell is going on?”

  Coop shook his head, clearly frustrated about something. “Man,” he started, running a hand through his long dark locks, “Ace is lit up. His little sister is saying she’s knocked up. She’s pointing the finger at you, brother. He quit the band. Says his old man is blaming him and Katie for letting Stacie run wild and all while she spent weekends with them.
Lucky for you that you were late this afternoon. He’s ready to rip you from limb to limb, Emmett.”

  “Yeah,” Slade echoed, “He’s fired up. Dude, didn’t you think to use protection? Fuck, she’s only seventeen. You could fucking go to jail for this.”

  “Shut the hell up, Slade,” Wayne interjected. “Age of consent is sixteen in this state. Ain’t nobody going to jail.”

  My mind went blank. What? What the hell were they talking about? Was Stacie really knocked up? Or was this another game she was playing? No way. No fucking way. I was not responsible for this. There is no way in hell I could be responsible for this. It was a fucking lie. The little bitch was trying to get revenge because she thought I’d led her on, when the truth was, I had no fucking recollection of anything from that night!

  “That’s fucking bullshit!” I shouted, my eyes sweeping the room to make sure each of them caught my next words. “This is the first I’ve heard any of this. Yeah, maybe she spent the night a while back, but one night a pregnancy does not make! Especially when I don’t even remember that fucking night!”

  Silence followed. What was Stacie Coulter’s deal? It didn’t matter. I needed to calm my shit down. I needed to consider the possibility. The truth was, a one night stand could indeed make a pregnancy, regardless if I remembered it or not. There were undoubtedly tests that could prove paternity, I just wasn’t sure if they could be done before the kid arrived. I would make damn sure I got a handle on this because right now, the band couldn’t afford to lose Ace.

  Finally, Coop broke the silence. “What are you planning on doing, Emmett?” he asked.

  “I’m going over to Ace’s. I’ll make this right. Here,” I said, handing the envelope over. “Check this out. Harvey got us a tour starting next month.”

  And then I left. I would make this right. There was no way Wasted would not be touring. The money was fantastic. The venues were high profile, in the tri-state area, and we’d be opening for The Hand of Blood at their Indianapolis, Chicago, and Milwaukee tour dates in August and September.