Page 138 of Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar 1)

“Is this my father?” He pointed to a shadowy figure. I nodded.

“Everything is here. Even you, over here in the corner right?”

I nodded again.

“Why in the corner?”

I shrugged.

He pulled me back onto the bed, tucking me easily beneath him. “You should be right in the middle.” He kissed my forehead, pressing my hand over his heart. “Right here.”

I smiled.

“Well, I’ve never had anyone do a painting of me before.” He nuzzled my ear. “I’m more than a little flattered.”

I shrugged again, embarrassed. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

“Thank you.” He pulled back to look at me, tracing the outline of my face gently with his finger. His eyes were soft as he touched my lips and whispered, “Sara, sometimes I don’t think you’ll ever know how much you mean to me.”

I kissed him, letting my mouth tell him what I felt, what I wanted. He kissed me back, the feel of him a relief as he let his weight press me into the bed.

His hands moved up under my t-shirt, sliding up my sides, making me squirm.

“Ohhh, ticklish?” he inquired, his fingers finding his way up under my arms. I squealed and writhed and tried desperately to get away.

“Stop, stop, stop!” I cried, laughing too hard to get the words out in anything but a gasp.

But he went on, persistent, tenacious, until I was howling with laughter, trying to buck him off me, off the bed, but having no luck at all.

That’s when my door flew open.

My stepfather’s voice boomed above our heads. “Get the fuck off her!”

I didn’t have the breath to scream, but that’s what my body wanted to do. Instead, I gasped, and Dale was up, protecting me with his body, standing between me and the stepbeast faster than I thought humanly possible.

What is he doing here?

My stepfather loomed, glaring at me over Dale’s shoulder.

“We’re going.” Dale reached back for my hand, not moving out of my stepfather’s path, keeping his body between me and the stepbeast. I stretched out to take his offered hand, my fingers brushing his, when my stepfather shoved Dale aside with enough force to throw him against the desk, knocking the chair over on its side and spilling apple juice onto the floor.

Then the stepbeast gave me a shove, the force of it pushing me back onto the bed, my head hitting the wall so hard the edges of my vision went black, all the breath gone from my lungs. My body was paralyzed, my brain sending all sorts of signals but none of them getting through.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

I couldn’t see what was happening, not at first. My vision was still too blurry. Dale was bent over as if in pain, gasping, my stepfather standing over him, fists clenched. I found my voice and screamed. No words, just a scream, as loud and long as I could. The sound got Dale moving and he charged forward like a bull, hitting the stepbeast in the midsection with his head, knocking him backward toward the doorway, where I first noticed my mother standing, frozen in place. Dale simultaneously grabbed the backs of the bigger man’s legs and the stepbeast fell like a tree. Then Dale was on him, pounding him with his fists. I couldn’t see anything but Dale’s back, arms flying, hearing the sound of them both panting like animals as they fought, my stepfather getting his legs up and pushing Dale off.

There was blood on my stepfather’s face, and a look of rage darker than I’d ever seen before. He knocked my mother out of the way and I heard a loud thud and then her scream. Dale was after him again, both of them tussling down the hallway. My mother appeared around the corner, looking into my bedroom from the doorway of their room, her cheek bloody.

“Call 911,” I croaked, flying down the hallway after them, passing her. “Mom! Call 911!”

The stepbeast hit Dale with a hard right cross, hard enough I heard the hit, a sick, meaty, crunchy sound, and it knocked him backward. Dale’s hands wheeled out to catch himself, but the bathroom door behind him was open and he tumbled through it.

“Dale!” I cried, reaching out for him, but my stepfather was there, quickly grabbing the door and locking it from the outside. Those doors weren’t supposed to lock that way, but he’d switched the doorknob around years ago, so he could lock her in whenever he felt it was necessary.

My door and the bathroom worked the same way. You could lock someone in, but you couldn’t lock anyone out.

Dale pounded on the bathroom door, rattling the knob, calling for me, but I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of my stepfather’s footsteps as he raged down the hallway, eyes red and bleary with anger.

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