Page 2 of Rocker

"Okay, so hear me out." I hurry after Phillip, my arms laden with a laptop, iPad, two phones, and an advance copy of Rocked Magazine. I'm running on four hours of sleep and six shots of espresso. If I don't keep moving, the hair is going to vibrate off my body.

My boss glances back at me, slowing his long-legged stride so I can catch up with him. We're somewhere in the labyrinthine backstage of the San Francisco Civic Center. It's an absolutely massive venue, and every single seat is sold out. I've been to hundreds of these shows now, and Ialwaysknow what to do, but I have to admit this day has pushed my formidable capabilities to the limit. Because my boss, the lead guitarist in the band that's about to go on, went missing all day and came back with swollen, bruised knuckles and the news he put his fist into his best friend's face only hours ago.

I'm good but not good enough to handlethissituation without panicking. The fact that I only cried in the bathroom three times today feels like a victory.

In the distance, I can hear the opening band playing to a hyped-up crowd. All around us, people are scurrying around carrying rolls of wires or pushing black cases. There's a restless excitement humming in the air, something is building, and I'm the last person in the world who wants to poop on the party. Hell, I've been in love with the party for years now, but sometimes, said party probably shouldn't be going on stage in front of thousands of people.

"He's fucking Daisy.My fucking daughter," Phillip snarls, cutting me off before I can even catch my breath. He's so much taller than me, and I have to take three steps to every one of his just to keep up. Now, when he's got his pre-show jitters and is seriously pissed off, I almost have to sprint. "That fucking piece of shit-"

"I know!" I say quickly, grabbing his arm to tug him out of the way as three guys walk past, carrying a long roll of black material. "But Phillip, you need to ice your hand-"

Phillip scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I'm fine, Jules."

"You're acting like a child." I grab his wrist, pulling it toward me so I can examine the obvious swelling and blotchy purple bruises blooming out from his knuckles. I keep an eye on his face, watching for signs of discomfort as I slowly flex his fingers. My fingers look so delicate and pale compared to his, which are rough and older and scattered with tattoos.

These hands belong to one of the most well-known and brilliant musicians in the world, they're the keys to his success, and it makes my chest swell with pride that he trusts me with them.

Phillip's chest heaves. "I can't fucking wrap my head around it, Juliet. She's half his age."

My heart sinks. I've always known Phillip was spectacularly out of my league, but hearing the disgust in his voice….I'm half his age.Just over, actually. I'm a year younger than his daughter, the same daughter he's insisting is far too young to be involved with a man his own age.

I let Phillip's hand fall and step back, forcing my expression to remain carefully blank. I have four years of practice perfecting my poker face, but I'm not confident I can look unruffled right now. "You'll, um. You'll be okay, I think. I'm going to let Tom know we need to keep it short tonight, and I'll have a doctor on call to shoot your hand up with painkillers or whatever if things go south." I babble, staring at the cinderblock wall just over Phillip's ear.

He's gone still, and I can feel the weight of his eyes on my face, but I don't dare meet them. "I fucked up, Jules. I don't think she's ever going to talk to me again."

I'm the worst. Here I am, worrying whether my non-existent relationship will keep being non-existent, and Phillip is having an actual life crisis. He needs me. I look up to meet his bright blue eyes. "She will," I promise him. "Daisy loves you, Phillip. I won't pretend her anger isn't unjustified, though. You guys are going to have some stuff to work out, but it will make your relationship stronger in the long run."

His face relaxes just a little. "Yeah?"

I nod. "Yeah." Unable to help myself, I reach out and squeeze his non-injured hand. "You all need some space to breathe, too. This tour is coming at exactly the right time. In a few months, maybe you can all sit down and talk, and start to move forward? You need to communicate with her. She doesn't know you're sober. I know you wanted to wait a year, but I think it's important she knows you'retrying. Also, you know, maybe consider apologizing for beating up Penn."

Phillip's shoulders sag, and he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, those beautiful eyes never leaving my face.

It's moments like this that make it so hard to think about walking away. That would be the smart thing to do, the best way to stop myself from loving this man from afar for the rest of my life. Most of the time, when we're sitting side by side on a yacht or talking about work in the most beautiful hotels in the world, it's easy to remember exactly who Phillip Lowell is and why I never stand a chance of attracting his attention. My life didn't involve any of that kind of glamour until that day in the parking lot. But quiet, ordinary, intimate moments like this? They're all I need to feed that tiny ember of hope that's been glowing since the first days I laid eyes on this man.

Just enough to keep it alive. Not enough to let it grow.

Story of my life.

"Lip! You're on in ten," Enlamme's stage manager Tom crows as he strides past, smacking the back of Phillip's head as he goes and shoots me a wink. "Lookinggoooood, Juliet."

Phillip snorts when I flip Tom off wordlessly but waits until the younger man is out of sight before asking, "He doesn't give you trouble, does he? I'll fire his ass."

He would, too. A roadie grabbed my ass once, and Phillip got him blacklisted. The rumor is he works part-time at a gas station in Reno now.

"Tom isn't a problem." He really isn't, and even if he were, I could handle it. If I went crying to my boss every time someone from the crew hit on me, Enflamme would have a tough time keeping help. Most of them are genuinely really cool, nice guys. Some of them are age appropriate. If I had even an ounce of self-respect, I would agree to go out with one of them.

This show is the tour's official kick-off, which means once we're done with the West Coast, it'll be three months of sleeping in hotels and traveling in the early hours of the morning with over a hundred other people, most of them men. My schedule is different from most of the crew's since I travel with the band members, but we still spend a lot of time together.' When I stop working, it gets lonely. Hey, I'm human. I get horny just like anyone else. Is it so much to ask for to have a boyfriend? Apparently, and even if Ididmanage to work up the heart to give up on Phillip, the protective asshole would probably have anyone I started seeing fired before I could manage to have sex.

I'm sure some priests out there would beg to differ, but there's only so long you can hold onto your virginity before it just gets annoying.

"I should go," Phillip grunts, shifting restlessly. In the distance, the crowd is applauding the opener's final song.

"I'll be waiting off stage left with the doctor. Just in case."

We stand there for a moment, lingering, until there's an announcement through the speaker system summoning Lip and his bandmate. We know our jobs, and it's time to do them. Some things never change.

Chapter Two

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