Legendary Rock Star

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Phoenix

I knew three things with absolute certainty. One, I hit my notes perfectly, which was why all three judges wanted me on their team. Two, TV was more about the showmanship and not about the talent, and I’d been born and bred for this forum. No one had a better edge. And three, I was playing to win now.

There would be no more chances if I didn’t.

I was on this show because it was my last chance to be on the stage. I had washed out my first opportunity.

And I sang that song right out of the park tonight. The judges had known. It’s why they voted for me.

Of course, in another life I’d have been on the panel. One of the “celebrity” judges was about my age. But no matter; this was how things were.

And when I won this competition and the recording contract for one new album, I’d get back out there as a single act. No one would dare call me a washout or a loser then.

On stage I was a god again. This was my comeback. And as a solo act, I answered only to myself.

No more heartache.

No more letting friends down.

I used to have great friends in my old band. They were still rocking platinum songs and albums without me.

They deserved it. My friends from my childhood TV show had saved my ass from jail and from actually killing someone. That girl’s unconscious face in my car still haunted my dreams, every night. She was why I joined Alcoholics Anonymous. If not for Luca of Indigo 5, and my agent, Mark, she’d be dead, because of me. I had crashed my car and instead of being a good guy who called for help, I called my agent and my bandmates, the closest I had to family, to get me out before the press arrived.

What I piss head narcissist I’d been. I’d lost control.

Outside, I saw the blonde soprano with a powerhouse of a voice. She had my attention—despite the long skirt that hid her figure and the huge hat only old hippy women would wear in public—strutting in the hallway like she walked on air itself. And fair enough. She’d just won over millions of viewers, so she had the right to have that huge grin on her face and that glow in her skin. She rushed to the family waiting area and hugged the two praying people I’d spotted.

So her story about growing up religious wasn’t a lie.

I held back. That wasn’t my jam. My family had taught me to use each other, until I had enough of them.

But it had been too late for me by then. I had learned drinking straight from the bottle as a coping mechanism.

The blonde’s family insisted she come with them, that she needed to get some sleep and be up at 5 a.m.

No one ever said anything like that to me, even when I was a kid. After a show, it took me hours to unwind.

So I figured I’d lost my chance to meet her and returned to the lounge, grabbed myself a water. The place was empty. Even Finnigan was gone.

My phone rang. It was Mark, my agent. He must have seen the show. The second I answered, he said, “Phoenix, you’re on a comeback.”

“I hope so.”

Unlike everyone else in this competition, having an agent meant I’d be protected in any contracts. Mark Powers, agent to the stars, said quickly, “Just keep in the competition for as long as possible.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I couldn’t say more than that.

“I can launch you as a solo act, and no one will remember you were kicked out of Indigo 5 years ago. But getting your face on TV will ensure we get bigger contracts.”

“You’re why I’m here,” I said, though the face of that blonde floated to my mind for some reason.

I blinked and we said goodbye.

I hung up and tucked the phone in my pocket. It was time to head home, alone. That was my usual state anyhow. Once the high from performing wore off, I’d be on my couch, asleep in front of the TV or laptop.

As I opened the bottle of water, the door to the lounge flew open.

I stood as the pretty blonde came toward me, until she pivoted toward the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

Of course. I should have known.

She gulped down a whole bottle and tossed the empty into the recycle bin. I followed her lead and tossed my own in after it. I moved closer to her and my hair stood on its ends as I said, “Congrats.”

“You’re Phoenix Steel?” she said, as she grabbed my hand and shook it, sending a shockwave through me.

In the next show she’d wear jeans that fit, I thought, and the show after that, a form-fitting dress. She’d slowly come out of her shell like she was growing for the cameras.

And the audience would love her.

My own body was hard, like I wanted her, which was strange. Virginal types weren’t my norm. But no woman gave me trembling skin like this. It was probably still just the adrenaline, I thought, as I simply answered, “Yes.”

I’d heard the announcer say her name, but it wasn’t on the tip of my tongue. I coughed, about to ask, but she just beamed a lightness that came from her soul and I lost the ability to speak for a second, until she said, “Good to meet the competition. You were good tonight.”

Score one for her. Clearly. I took my hand back, but instantly missed the fire that I’d just touched. I shoved my hand in my pocket so I wouldn’t seem like a twelve-year-old boy meeting a girl he liked and hoping he’d get a kiss. I said, “You were better.”

She gulped a second water like she’d been parched. Once she finished, she took a deep breath and I noticed that, underneath the all-black-to-her-toes outfit, her figure might just be curvy.

And I loved curves. The more a girl had, the better I liked her. And a nice backside.

If she had that, I was a complete sucker. But I wasn’t twelve anymore and she wasn’t the first girl I’d ever noticed, so I widened my stance.

She again commanded the room when she said, “Now that’s good to hear. And true.”

“Confident.” I straightened my shoulders, half wondering what she’d do or say next. She was like some sort of goddess right now.

And then she placed her hand on her hip and stuck it out a little as she adjusted her pose.

“Unlike you, I’m not here for a second chance,” she said. “I’m here for my first one, and I’m not going to lose that.”

Direct wasn’t something I was used to anymore. So the challenge was on the table. But I had always found that I had the ability to charm people and make them laugh as a means to get what I wanted. And I might just want this woman.

My skin still had goosebumps from that contact, and I reveled in sensations I’d not had in years. I said, “I get it. I screwed up my life and lost everything once, but I don’t intend to do that again. And I’m not the one looking to break the chains of parental oppression.”

“Your choice of words is extreme.”

“It’s better to live dangerously than to die without ever following your own desires.”

She pivoted on her shoes and her long, dowdy dress swooshed with her as she said, “Well, it was nice talking to you.”

I’d been rude. She clearly had different parents than my own. I probably should apologize. Then, like the sun coming out of the sky on a cloudy day, I remembered and called out, “Carrigan?”

“Yes?” she asked, and moved a little closer. I could smell her perfume that reminded me of early morning dew on roses.

And that smile of hers was brilliant. Seriously. She could melt hearts over her cereal, including mine at the moment. Though mine was broken and still on ice.

I just wanted a few more minutes with her as this was probably our only chance to talk as friends.

Once the competition started, I had to find her weakness, expose it and make myself seem like a good guy in the process.

But that was how reality TV was played. And we’d both agreed to the game. For now, though, it was just us. So I pointed to the door and asked, “Want to get something to eat?”

Her gaze narrowed as she asked, “With you?”

Fair. I wouldn’t trust me either. But I stood in front of the door and said, “Why not? You just told the televised world that you’re single, and you didn’t join your parents at your hotel.”

“In a few hours we report to living right here, on this stage. My parents will bring my bags to me,” she answered quickly, like I’d insulted her. She then coughed and said, “I didn’t want to get in a car, drive all the way to the hotel, and then just have to turn around and come back in a few hours.”

My hunger for her was palpable as I said, “My driver will take us to the local pub and back.”

Her gaze went up. “You have a driver?”

Yes. Songwriting had been my one saving grace, and a decent source of income. I ignored how my muscles were tense from her nearness and said, “It’s faster than walking. And, for the record, I want to be here for the end too.”

She sucked in her bottom lip and let it out as she nodded, “I am hungry.”

I offered my arm like I was some f*****g gentleman and said, “Then let’s go.”

“No touching,” she said, staring at my arm.

I lowered it, but winked as I walked beside her. “Only where you tell me to.”

As I opened the door, she asked, “And you swear you’ll listen?”

I placed my hand on my heart as my car came toward us. “I’ll be a good boy, if that’s what you want.”

“I doubt you know how,” she said, but she slid into the backseat of my car.

I followed her, wondering why I was so intoxicated with her. Women never had me this wound up. But I craved Carrigan tonight. Maybe it was her goodness. I hoped a quick bite and seeing more of her might unwind the desire she stirred in me.