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One drunken rockstar, high and out of his mind. A man my father trusted more than anything. My father caught the bastard cornering me. His bandmate didn’t get far before Dad arrived at the studio and the following argument turned into a fight that killed him.
Famed musician Devan Johnson was shot by his own bandmate while protecting his teenage daughter.
It wasn’t the attempt on me that scarred my soul and mind; it was the aftermath. The trauma of seeing a man I’d grown up around go into a crazed state and shoot my father had haunted me for the past ten years.
Devan Johnson was buried, and his name went into the Hall of Fame. The former bandmate went to prison. That year, I’d stopped singing entirely and vowed I never would again.
Only after a year of therapy and convincing from Damien did I consider dipping my toes back into that world. I agreed to take work, but only under a false name. Maintaining anonymity and avoiding the world to preserve my sanity.
Leaving the safety of writing as a faceless lyricist was a mistake. Damien was wrong when he assumed enough time had passed that I could collaborate with an artist in person again. I was a naïve fool for agreeing.
“I shouldn’t be here.” I lurched to my feet.
Levi reacted instantly when I rushed for the exit. He stopped in front of me, blocking the door. Chest heaving, his voice dipped as he spoke. “I’m not like him, Diana. I’d never hurt you.”
“I can’t do this.” I swallowed the apology that danced on the tip of my tongue. “The man that killed my father is on that poster you have so proudly displayed. I’ve heard enough about you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just like them.”
“I won’t lay a hand on you, Diana,” he insisted.
Unless you want me to.
The unspoken promise hung in the air between us.
Part of me wanted to believe him, but the heavy chains of my past kept me confined—alone.
It didn’t matter.
I brushed past Levi’s mountainous frame. A whiff of his alluring, masculine scent tantalized my nose. I closed my eyes and grabbed the door handle.
“Please don’t project someone else onto me.” His soft plea halted me. When I paused, he continued. “Whatever rumors you’ve heard, whatever you assume about me, know that I’m nothing like him. You don’t know how honored I’d be to work with you. I truly admire your work.”
I risked a glance over my shoulder. With all the thoughts running through my head, nothing prepared me for the genuine compassion in his eyes.
“You’re brilliant,” he exhaled, utterly awestruck.
Muddled thoughts warred in my mind. A pounding on my skull after the near panic attack influenced me to twist the doorknob. Yet I couldn’t see past the sincere depth in his brown eyes and his unashamed need for my help.
“I’ll think about it.” That’s the only consideration I provided before vanishing through the door.
Levi didn’t follow.
In the lobby, I hesitated in front of the poster again. Dad appeared so happy in that picture. I still couldn’t believe I’d never seen it before.
Wreathed in the flames of the photo like a fiendish creature, the monster at the back of the band stared back. “I hope you burn in Hell,” I hissed before stomping out of the building.
Five
I returned to my lonely hermit home by noon. Beaten up by my own feelings, I crawled into bed to wallow in self-pity and misery.
I majorly fucked up. Not only by walking out on a working contract, but by showing my entire ass. If Levi told our managers what happened, I’d get an earful from Damien. I didn’t need him to scold me as if I were still a teenage popstar.
Remorse for my actions and attitude kept me in bed for the rest of the afternoon. My last interaction with Levi played on repeat behind my eyes. It annoyed me that he was right.
I did him a disservice by preemptively judging him based on the actions of others. My past had no weight on him. Being judgmental and arrogant was commonplace in LA but being one of those people unsettled me.
He wasn’t the source of my trauma, and I’d treated him unfairly. But I still wasn’t sure if I could work with him. I’d operated from the safety of my home for so long, yet nothing there inspired me anymore.
That spark came back to me for a moment in his studio. An inkling of the motivation I’d been deprived of for half a year skirted at the edge of my reach. Had it been the ambience of the studio, or his presence that provoked it?
