Chapter 28: Chapter Twenty-Eight: Road Trip

Evan

Helaine almost dropped the brown paper bag of takeout from The Night Shift when I opened the garage door to reveal what was once my pride and joy, a shiny red 1959 el camino I bought with my paycheck from the band’s first big American tour.

The damn thing brought back memories—fond memories I didn’t deserve after what I’d done all those years ago. That was why I kept it in here. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it, but I also couldn’t stomach looking at it.

Even seeing it now, I could almost hear the laughter of my old friends—could almost feel the sun on my skin as we raised hell from Vegas to Reno . . . it was a whole other life.

A life I didn’t deserve to daydream about.

Now though, the el camino had a new purpose, and the look on Helaine’s face made all the discomfort I was feeling about seeing it again worth it.

Her lips parted in a quiet gasp as she looked back at me. “Is this . . . ?”

“The very same.” I nodded, the corner of my lips tugging into a smirk in spite of myself. “Technically, according to some extremely expensive falsified legal papers, I’m my own grandson, so I ‘inherited’ the car I used to drive back in the eighties.”

“That’s how you afford everything, then.” Her eyes went back to the el camino, her fingers ghosting the metal frame. “I wondered about that, but it felt rude to ask.”

“Fair enough.” I made my way over to the car, opening the door and leaning against it as I looked her up and down. “You ready to go for a ride?”

“You’re kidding.” She shook her head, her bottom lip going between her teeth as her lips pulled into a smile. She looked like it was Christmas and her birthday wrapped into one. “Teenage me would have passed out.”

“You weren’t kidding about being a fan.” I watched with an amused smirk as she climbed into the passenger seat.

“You were my favorite.” Her voice was softer now, and she turned away from my gaze.

A pang of guilt prodded at my chest—I was cruel to her the first time we talked about the band, before she connected the dots on exactly who I was.

“I’m surprised your dad let you listen to the kind of music I used to make.” Climbing in beside her, I sat behind the wheel. The seat was still perfectly molded to my form, like it was frozen in time . . . just like me, I supposed. “A lot of people called our stuff ‘Devil Music’ back in the day.”

“You think my dad knew?” She scoffed, carefully taking a bite of her triple chocolate muffin over the open bag.

It was sweet how she worried about leaving crumbs behind, as though there wasn’t enough liquor and other fluids spilled on these seats back when it was my daily driver. Being a rockstar wasn’t half as glamorous as people made it out to be.

We were idiots, a bunch of twenty-something year-old men who refused to grow up. The only thing on our minds was keeping the party going, and in the end, that shortsighted lack of thinking caught up to us.

Some of us more than others.

“Oh, so you were sneaky.” I leaned in conspiratorially as I put the key in the ignition, keeping my attention on her so my thoughts wouldn’t spiral into oblivion. “Somehow, I can believe that.”

“When your dad is as strict as mine, you come up with ways to get around the rules.” She shrank into the seat, and the uncertainty in her eyes made me all the more sure that we were doing the right thing, taking this trip to confront her father. “I . . . may have stolen a cheap MP3 player from the dollar store back then. Loaded it full of illegally downloaded music on the library computers.”

The engine revved to life, and after giving it a second or two to warm up I let my foot rest against the gas. I hadn’t driven in decades, but I hadn’t forgotten how.

Sure enough, the old boat carried us out of the storage garage, and the unit closed behind us as we set off. “Seems like you went through a whole lot of work just to listen to some old songs.”

“You say that like it’s nothing, but honestly, listening to the music I wanted was the one small rebellion I had to make me feel like myself.” She rolled up the top of the brown paper bag, sealing it before setting it on the floor by her boots. “That’s why your band means so much to me.”

“I . . . see.” Swallowing harshly, I stared ahead at the road, or at least pretended to.

Back then, we were just a bunch of dirtbags making our music and having a good time. We never expected to tour, and we certainly never expected our music to mean that much to anyone but us.

I couldn’t help wondering what the other guys would think if they could talk to Helaine. 

When they died, I couldn’t stomach anything to do with E.V. Rose and The Dirtbags. It was all fun and games for us when we were living on the road, but my life after had become anything but.

But Helaine stirred a nostalgia in me that I never thought I’d feel again.

She fiddled with her phone, and in just a few taps she managed to bring up a map that would give us directions to her dad’s place.

It was a hell of a lot more convenient than trying to navigate the outdated book of maps that still sat under the passenger seat.

She gave me directions as we exited the city, headed for the freeways that would carry us across stretches of America that held next to nothing but old remnants of Americana, occasionally lit with fading neon signs.

Driving felt good. A lot about this world had changed, but as we left the progress of the city behind, more and more reminded me of the world I’d all but retreated from before I met her.

My eyes flitted to her phone, where the estimated arrival time sat at nearly three hours.

“Gonna be a long ride,” I purred as we sailed along the empty country roads, taking one hand off the wheel and squeezing her thigh. “I can think of a few good ways to pass the time.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as I plucked upon the button of her jeans, but she didn’t complain.

She whined in disappointment when I brought my hand back to her thigh. It was clear I’d have to give her a little nudge if I wanted an answer. “What do you think, Angel?”

“I seem to recall you saying you’d do the thinking for me,” she teased, still clutching her phone. “Or am I mistaken?”

“That’s when we’re already in a scene,” I clarified. “But I’m asking you a question, and before we go any further I need an answer.”

She squirmed in the old leather seat, looking around as though she was afraid we’d somehow get caught. The idea excited me, and I wanted to see what she’d do if we played with that further.

But it all hinged on her saying, “Yes.” She took my hand, guiding it back to the top of her jeans, so I could unzip them. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” My fingers pushed below the tight denim, and she shifted her position so I could have a better angle to bury them beneath the soft fabric of her panties. “You know I like it when you use your words.”

I dipped my middle finger into the wetness of her sex before dragging that slick to her clit. “I love hearing that beautiful voice,” I all but growled as I leaned closer to her ear.

When I started drawing out slow circles on that sensitive bud she whimpered, “Oh my god.”

“There’s no God here, Angel.” I pinched her lightly, and she gasped as she bucked her hips involuntarily against my hand. “Only you, me, and the road.”

I bet this was a dream come true for her, having her favorite rockstar finger fuck her in his car. It made me feel like the man I used to be—one hand on the wheel and the other down the pants of a hot groupie.

But Helaine wasn’t a groupie, and I wasn’t a rockstar anymore. She was the anti-christ, and she was also the only pleasure I’d found in life since the day E.V. Rose met his end.

“Fuck, Evan!” She clung to my arm, shifting to take me deeper when I cupped her sex, sliding two fingers into her needy cunt. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, you’re not,” I teased, lazily rubbing that sweet spot inside of her as I looked over at the map, feeling her squirm in the effort it took to obey. “One mile. We need to go one more mile, and then I’ll make you come so hard you cry.”