Page 115 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“Is John still sleeping?” I whispered as Dale carried me down the hall to his bedroom.

“Not here,” he said shortly, kneeing open his bedroom door and kicking it closed, putting me down on the bed. I was still wearing my coat and boots and he took those off, wrapping me up in his arms and his comforter before asking me, “What happened?”

I opened my mouth to tell him, to explain what I’d just done, unable to really comprehend the magnitude of it myself. The words had ebbed away.

“Are you okay? Sara? Look at me. Are you okay?” He searched my face, his simple concern, so genuine, starting my sobs, and he pulled me close with startled concern, trying desperately to comfort me. I clutched him, my flushed cheek resting against his bare shoulder.

I told him about Pete getting fired, about his theft and lies, my voice hitching and low. I told him I’d stood up to him and left. But what I didn’t tell him weighed so much it was like an anvil on my chest, a pain no one could take away, not even Dale.

Still he rocked me and he held me and he loved me.

And it was almost enough.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Sara, will you run back and grab a gallon of milk?” My mother stood next to her cart in the middle of Farmer Jack, looking down at her list.

“Sure.” I went back to get it. She was usually so worried and distracted, she always managed to forget something. When I returned, she was checking things off her list. I put the milk in the cart.

“Has your father said anything to you?” She moved up the aisle, pushing the cart.

“He’s not my father,” I snapped. “And no. Not a fucking word.”

“Nice language.” She frowned. “He may not be your biological father, Sara, but he’s the man who raised you.”

I didn’t say anything, helping her put cans of tomato soup into the cart. I tried to remember a time when the stepbeast had been human. Had he ever loved me? I didn’t really believe it. I didn’t even believe he loved my mother. I was pretty sure he wasn’t capable of that emotion. He seemed driven by animal instincts alone—hunger, sleep, self-preservation, mating. He truly was a beast.

“He’s a good man, Sara.” She moved the cart up the next aisle. “Underneath... you don’t know him like I do.”

I blinked at her. “I don’t think you know him like I do.”

“What does that mean?” She glanced over her shoulder at me, frowning.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“He’s really very generous. He pays your insurance on your car every month. He didn’t even want you to have that car, but he’s willing to pay your insurance. He gives you spending money.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes, but didn’t reply.

“And he’s very loyal. He stays with us. He takes care of us.”

That was too much.

“Oh right,” I snorted. “So loyal, he’d steal from your own brother?”

“He didn’t steal.” She ticked things off her list as she moved up the aisle. “Besides, my brother can’t prove anything …”

“Are you kidding me?” I nearly screamed. An old woman stocking up on pasta glared at us. “My God, Mother, what are you, some sort of robot? He feeds in the information and you spit it right back out? What happened to your ability to think for yourself?”

“What do you mean?” She blinked, looking at me doubtfully.

“Never mind, Mom.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Just… never mind.”

At least the stepbeast had left me completely alone since I went off on him.

The checkouts were packed with people. It was a Saturday afternoon and everybody was out shopping. We had to wait half an hour before we got up to the cashier. I began loading things up onto the conveyer belt. When I was through, I moved the cart to the end so the bagger could load it with groceries.

“That comes to ninety dollars and thirty-sex cents,” the cashier, a short blonde girl who snapped her gum and whose name tag read ‘Tammi,’ said impatiently. I thought I remembered her from high school. She’d been a year behind us, which would make her a senior this year.

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