Page 96 of How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend

“And I’m not planning to steal your Dodge Charger.”

Mercury huffs as he lowers himself in the wheelchair. “You don’t have to steal it. It’s yours when I die.”

“I told you. I am not accepting your money.”

“You can’t give it back. I’ll be dead.”

I frown. I don’t want Uncle Mercury to die. I need more time with him. But yesterday showed me how fragile he is. I need to cherish every moment I have with him and stop being angry at Mom for keeping his existence a secret. Easier said than done.

“What the hell’s this thing?” Mercury asks when we reach the Hummer.

I high-five him. “Exactly what I thought.”

Gibson chuckles. “You two are like peas in a pod.”

“I don’t eat peas,” Mercury says.

“And we all know what happens when I eat peas.” Gibson winks at me. I don’t think he’s referring to the green vegetables I added to the pasta.

Mercury tries to stand but he’s still weak from being dehydrated. Gibson frowns before scooping him up and placing him in the backseat.

“I don’t need your help,” Mercury shouts after Gibson as he returns the wheelchair to the hospital.

“Sure, you didn’t!” Gibson shouts back.

“I don’t know if I like your young man,” Mercury grumbles.

I know I don’t like him. I love him. The words still scare the hell out of me but I’ve never let fear stop me before. Why start now?

Gibson climbs into the car and smiles over at me. “Ready?”

Yep. I’m ready for whatever happens next. Fingers crossed it’s not a stop at the Heartbreak Hotel. That place has fleas and the sheets are threadbare.

Chapter 27

Phone call – a trigger for the downfall

Gibson

“What are you doing here?” Jett asks when I enter the house we’re renting together.

“I live here or have you forgotten since you hit your head?”

He scowls. “Being injured is boring. I’m supposed to ‘rest’. No parachuting. No rock climbing. No parkouring. No bungee jumping. What am I supposed to do? I’m bored.”

Uh oh. A bored Jett is not good. The last time he was bored he decided to enter a Via Ferrata competition. You’d think traversing a mountain via ladders, cables, and bridges would be right up his alley. It was. As was drinking beer while doing the competition. Ladders and a drunk Jett are not a good combo.

“Why don’t we play Grand Theft Auto?” I suggest.

I don’t have anything better to do than play games with Jett today either. Not when Mercy is working and we have no band obligations.

Jett rubs his hands together. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“You can try.”

My stomach growls a few hours later and I check the clock. “I need a break.”

“Pussy,” Jett mutters but he pauses the game. “What are we going to eat? Fender hasn’t filled our fridge for days.”

---