Page 33 of Rock Star

If only Mom was well enough…

“I’ll ask Thea, the lead singer of our support act, to video part of the Parc des Princes gig for you both,” I offered.

“We’d love that,” Dad’s smile lit up his whole face.

“I’ll call ya tomorrow,” I promised before signing off.

My eyes prickled. I missed my parents so much. It had been over a week since I’d seen them in the flesh… the longest we’d ever been apart.

A tear ran down my cheek, followed by another.

I stumbled into my room as a knock rapped at the door, and I went to open it.

Axel was standing there, a Martin D-18 acoustic guitar slung across his chest. His gaze raked over my face. “What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

I sniffed, feeling like such a doofus.

Twenty-two-year-old women don’t cry because they are missing their parents.

“I’m being silly,” I sniffed again. “But I miss my parents.”

He lifted off his guitar, put it down on the beautiful antique chair in the corner of the suite, and put his arms around me. “Shh, it’s to be expected with your mum so ill.” He kissed the top of my head.

I buried my face in his chest. “I’m worried they aren’t telling me the truth about how bad she is. That they’re keeping something from me so as not to ruin my chances.”

“Hey,” he raised my chin and looked me deep in the eyes. “I totally get it that you’re concerned. Is there anyone in your family or a friend you trust who can go see your parents and find out the score?”

I shook my head. “There’s just the three of us. Mom and Dad are both only children like me. We left all our close friends behind when we moved from Pasadena. My parents were too embarrassed at our change in lifestyle to keep up with them. And I was working so hard to put food on the table that I didn’t have time to socialize.”

He chewed at his lip. “I’ll ask someone in our management team at CM to organize a visit to them, if you like. Put your mind at ease.”

I teared up yet again, this time from gratitude. Underneath his bad boy rock star image, Axel was a good man and I truly loved him.

Not that I would tell him.

He’d freak.

Instead, I stroked his beard. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“No need,” he said, brushing away my tears with his thumbs. “I’d do anything for you…”

I nearly spoke the words in my heart but held back in time. “What’s the plan for today?” My voice trembled.

He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “The others have gone to pay their respects to Jim Morrison.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Yeah. Here in Paris. They went to put flowers on his grave.” Axel’s dark eyes glowed. “He’s kind of like an inspiration to us… the lizard king.”

I took a step back from him. “Didn’t you wanna go with them?”

He shook his head. “Went there years ago, so I managed to persuade them that I needed time out to work on a song with you.”

I stared at his acoustic guitar on the chair, heat radiating through my chest. “Awesome.”

Wow. It was really gonna happen. Me and Axel working on a song together.

“But before we do that, baby, I’ve got to have something to eat. Mind if I order some food from room service?” he winked.

“Go ahead,” I laughed. “I’m kinda hungry too.”

Then, it occurred to me that maybe going to a cemetery to pay his respects to an icon who, by all accounts had probably died from an overdose, was a little too close to what had happened to Ella, and Axel had used the excuse of writing music with me in order to get out of it.We ordered ham omelets followed by fresh fruit salad, and, while we ate, Axel told me about his family.

“I guess you’ve heard my parents aren’t in a conventional relationship.” He wiped his close-cropped beard with a starched white napkin. “Motherfucking journos dug deep when we had our first hit in the US.”

I remembered the shitstorm in the rag press. Axel’s mom was in a poly partnership with his dad, Blake Wainwright and another dude, Declan Lombardi. “Yeah,” I said, waiting for him to continue.

He stared at the far wall and I stared at him. I longed to reach across the space between us, run my fingers through his tousled hair and kiss the crease that had appeared on his forehead. “Please, tell me what’s wrong,” I finally asked.

He stuck his jaw out, hiding his obvious pain. “My dad won’t talk to me. Blames me for what happened to Ella…”

“I’m so sorry.” My eyes blurred and fresh tears clung to my lower lashes. “I wish I could help.”

He jumped up from the chair where he was sitting, lowered himself next to me, and kissed the tears from my cheeks. “You’re so sweet, Phoenix. Don’t be upset for me. I’ll work things out with him when we’re in the UK.”

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