Page 51 of Heart of a Rebel

Adrian walks over to the couch, where he’s turned that corner of my tour bus into his makeshift bedroom this past week. At least he’s settling in because if he’s going to continue crashing with me, he needs some space that’s his. And from the way things are going, it doesn’t seem like he’s going back to the crew bus anytime soon. Between the tense conversations I’ve overheard him share with my brother, and the lack of leads from the police back in Spokane, he’ll be on my bus for the foreseeable future.

Deep down, I’m relieved he’s here. His presence has always made me feel calm and safe. Add in the fact that he’s discreet and knows better than to tell my brother about me waking up screaming on a nightly basis from reoccurring nightmares, and I’m thankful it’s him instead of a random bodyguard.

It took two years after the incident for my nightmares to fade. But with enough therapy and pre-bed meditation rituals, I made it happen. I was finally sleeping in peace. Except now they’re back, and no amount of measured breathing or positive podcasts have done shit to stop them.

Adrian sits down on the couch and pulls his phone out, flipping through it. His phone is constantly pinging like windchimes in a storm, and I’m not sure how he keeps up with it.

Frowning, he tips his head back and takes a deep breath, making me wonder what he just saw that stressed him out.

I pretend not to notice as he sits like that for a moment, but it’s hard not to, and I find myself peeking at the length of his thick neck through my curtain of hair. My gaze moves over the muscles that peek through the neckline of his T-shirt, and I can’t help but appreciate how his heavy breathing stretches the fabric.

I used to be better at not noticing. After the assault, I honestly thought I’d never look at a man this way again. The idea of dating someone, much less touching them had my skin crawling. So while the guys made fun of the fact that I never showed interest in men, I let them think what they wanted. It was easier to be the born-again virgin in their eyes than to let them know the truth.

But the fact is, as the years passed, and I started healing from that night, it was less about fearing sex and more about fearing everything else. Celibacy became more about closing myself off than being physically intimate. It was about control.

For years it worked so well I actually believed it.

If only Adrian with his rock-hard body and warm cinnamon eyes didn’t have this magical ability to remind me of exactly what I’m missing. And with him single and sitting on my bus, my resolve is wearing thin.

“You okay?” Adrian’s voice snaps me out of my head, and I realize I’m sitting here staring at him.

I’m so pathetic sometimes. No matter what a badass rock princess the rest of the world thinks I am, I’ll always be that twenty-one-year-old girl with hearts in her eyes when it comes to this man.

“Fine. Thinking.” Turning back to my notebook, I pretend to scribble down something but immediately cross it out because it’s gibberish.

A knock on the door to the tour bus makes me flinch, and I don’t miss that Adrian notices. But he doesn’t say anything, which I appreciate. He makes his way to the door to check who it is, and I know there’s no way we’re paying him enough for this. He’s our manager, our friend, our mediator, and now my pseudo-bodyguard. I’m not sure how we haven’t worn him out yet.

After briefly talking with someone outside, he comes back in, locking the door right behind him.

“The crew is ready.”

I let out a sigh and hope my annoyance doesn’t show. It’s not Adrian’s fault we signed up for this documentary, but it’s making an already busy tour feel downright claustrophobic.

Nodding, I close my notebook and stand. Adrian’s gaze drags down my body, pausing on the short hemline of my black leather skirt, before he turns his face away like it never happened, opening the door to the bus when I approach.

“The rest of the band is already at the hotel.” Adrian holds the door open, and I slip sunglasses over my face before stepping out.

He follows me outside, and it’s hot for early June, which I should expect from Phoenix. I’m just thankful we’ll be here a few days, so I’ll have a break from the tour bus. Because this much time around Adrian in a T-shirt and sweats is going to be the end of me.

The documentary crew is set up and already filming as we make our way across the parking lot. I try to pretend they don’t exist, even if it’s impossible. And more importantly, I remember to wear the fake smile the world expects because they don’t actually want the real me.

While the world will stream this from the comfort of their living rooms and feel like they’re getting some kind of inside glimpse into what it’s like behind the scenes with Eloise Kane, in reality, it’s still all staged. So while they’ll see me on myday offhanging with the band and relaxing, this is just another photo op with scripted conversation.

A couple of actual bodyguards flank us as we make our way to the hotel, tightening in when they spot a group of fans crowding the entrance.

But it’s Adrian who stays directly at my side, taking my hand like a secret when there are too many bodies to see what’s really going on. He holds me close and even among a mass of people, I trust him not to let me go.

I try not to think about how safe he makes me feel, about how I wish his hand in mine meant as much to him as it means to me. But as we step inside the cool lobby and he breaks his grip on my fingers, I know I’m just a job to him.

“What up, El.” Rome slides into the space beside me and wraps a tattooed arm around my shoulders. He hugs me close to his side, and to anyone else watching it probably seems like any other day with these guys treating me like a sister but coming from Rome it’s especially comforting.

All of the guys in the band have been looking out for me in their own individual way this past week. They rotate check-ins and try to seem nonchalant about it. But while I expect it from Sebastian and Noah, Rome has been the one to surprise me the most because he rarely likes obligations that cut into his party time.

Rome hasn’t brought up the incident once, and I appreciate it. While I know all of the guys care, Rome has a different understanding of physical abuse than Sebastian and Noah. He’s been a victim himself, and even if he doesn’t talk about it, I sense the impact it’s had on him. He understands violation and pain without needing me to explain it to him.

Instead, he’s just there for me, checking in more frequently and spending occasional nights on the bus playing cards with me and Adrian instead of going out with random women. For the first time in years, Rome reminds me of the teenage boy who crashed on our couch when his own world fell apart. Someone I didn’t realize I missed so much.

“We’re all ready,” Rome says, and I can’t help but smile for what feels like the first time today, as I remember what we’ve been planning.

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