Chapter 17: Rock Stars Never Die

Trace

We leave the Lambo parked outside without a second thought—it is a gated community, after all—and head into the kitchen. To my surprise, Kat's house looks a little more lived in than it used to.

"Wow, Ellen's eased up a bit, huh?" I force a grin, looking around at the food packages on the counter, and the hooks in the hallway laden with purses, bags and sweaters. Back in the day, the house looked like a show-case—every room except Kat's, which was a disaster and a constant source of conflict.

"Well, my parents are actually around now. They don't work all the time anymore. They said they wanted to spend more time with me before I went away to college. It looks lived in, because it finally is."

I search the fridge for soy sauce and Kat gets some little dishes.

"The words sound like a good thing, your tone tells me otherwise. They on your case or what?"

"They were, for a while, after..." she stops before she mentions her sister. "But it's okay now."

We eat the sushi, sharing each other's rolls as she tells me all about transferring schools, and shows me pictures of her new friends. Lots of pictures of them doing normal teenage things...concerts and restaurant pictures and spring break and fun on Lake Lanier. Sometimes the pictures have Maddie and/or Laurel in them, but Colin is always there in every set of pictures. She shows me her prom picture. She and Dickwad look good together, I've got to give them that. She's wearing a sophisticated black halter dress with fancy beading and slit all the way up her thigh. As I'm staring at her prom picture, working up a fantasy of what it would have been like to cause a stir and take her to her prom, my phone pings.

I pick and up and look at it. "That's Callie Caparati," I murmur.

"Really?" she asks, her eyes wide at the mention of the famous pop singer.

This time my grin is for real. I love teasing Kat.

"Yeah, she asks that you stop wearing dresses like that. You're showing her up."

She slaps me on the arm. "Don't punk me with jokes about hot celebrities you've dated."

"Never dated her. Don't even have her number." I show her that the text was actually from Dawes, demanding to know where I am. I forgot-on-purpose-to tell him I was planning to go AWOL.

"I saw a picture of you with her on a red carpet."

I steal a piece of sushi from her plate. "That stuff—all those pictures you see in magazines, it's all...staged. Event organizers hustle certain groups of celebrities together to take shots like we are friends. I hardly know half the people I'm "seen" with on a regular basis. Then there are other people...some celebrities even, that you don't ever see me with, that I actually do hang with."

"Like who?" she challenges. "Who are you secret celebrity friends with?"

I chew thoughtfully, "Well, I wouldn't say we are friends exactly, but whenever we are at an event together, for some reason, I always end up shooting the shit with Matt Del Marco."

"You're kidding."

I put my hand over my heart. "Swear."

She laughs. "That's really weird, Trace. I mean Skid Marcs is one of the biggest bands ever, but that's not your style of music. They were an eighties glam metal. And Matt del Marco has be like what...in his fifties?"

"Ahh, but they've stood the test of time, reinventing themselves. Most importantly, they still love to play and people love to come out and hear them. I'm lucky to know Matt—he's a great guy. Kind of like...a mentor, I guess you'd say."

"So that's what you want to be...a forever Rock Star?"

"Rock stars never die," I joke. "Really, though...I could do alot worse than follow Matt's example. He's got lifelong friends, he does what he loves everyday, he gives back. His wife oversees a foundation that they started together."

"Yeah, I've seen her on TV. Marianne del Marco, Philanthropy Queen. She's almost as famous as her husband."

"She's a classy lady," I agree. "A real ride-or-die. I think part of Matt's lasting success in the music industry is because of their relationship, as much as his talent. He doesn't take much seriously, except his family. Marianne and their family, that's his real gig."

"Is that what you're looking for?" Kat is the one teasing me, now. "An old lady to keep you solid?"

I snort a little nervously. "Uhhm, not just yet, no."

I toss the sushi containers in the trash and head up the stairs off the kitchen, eager to escape this subject. I have no idea why I even brought up Matt del Marco's wife. The topic of marriage is a little too close to home and yet a long way off for me. If Ashlynn and I can ever figure out how to extricate ourselves from our giant mistake, I won't be jumping back into another legal commitment lightly, that's for damn sure.

"Where are you going?" she squeals.

"To your bedroom, of course! Time to see the grown-up Kat's inner sanctum."

She pounds up the stairs after me and throws herself in front of the door. "Don't!" she pleads.

"Come on, I can take it. It can't be any messier than it used to be."

"It's not that," she pleads.

"I don't care about all the pictures of you and Dickwad," I say, and grab her around the waist and pull her to me while I push the door open.

I walk in, carrying her with me. After a long moment in which I take in every corner, I drop her slightly on the balls of her toes.

The room is nothing like her room used to be. Where it once was boho junky and the walls were filled with Kat's sketches and paintings, and the floor littered with magazines and markers and electronics and makeup, now the room is...practically a guest room. There is nothing personal, nothing Kat here. The room is painted a cool blue-gray, and all the bedding, curtains—all that stuff is virtually the same shade. There are no pictures, no random souvenirs, no posters, nothing. There is a stack of books, arranged neatly on Kat's desk. I walk over. Christ, she's already got her college textbooks for fall—a bunch of science classes. Organic chemistry. Anatomy and Physiology.

"Who are you and what have you done with my girl?" I joke. My voice sounds strained, even to me.

Kat stood in the center of the room, looking at her hands. "It was bad, after Ashlynn disappeared. My parents were sad, and I was sad. Because of Ashlynn and...well I missed you, too. I didn't want to cause trouble, make anything worse than it already was. I didn't feel much like having fun."

"What about your art?" I say slowly.

"My creativity just kind of...fell off."

"Kitkat." Her name is a whisper, an echo on my lips—kind of like the girl.

"It's okay," she says quickly. "I'm not depressed or anything, I'm just...different. Everything's fine."

"Fine," I repeat. Easier, she means, to give her parents what they need. An Ashlynn replacement. I turn around and around in the room. This is not a place that the Kat I know belongs.

"Kat, where are you going to college next year?" I ask.

"Duke," she whispers. That's where Ashlynn went.

I tap the science books. "Let me guess. Pre-med?"

She nods.

"Is that what you want?" I ask slowly, and she shrugs.

I'm not letting her get away with a shrug. "Kat."

She looks me in the eye. "I don't know what I want. I don't know if it even matters if I know what I want."

I run a hand over my face, trying to get a handle on this. It's like the Twilight Zone. I've got Ashlynn running around the country like a demon-child, having fulfilled the ultimate darkside of the old Kat, and now Kat is holed up in a soulless room, like a hologram of the old Ashlynn.

I cross to her, sliding one hand into her dark hair, gently raising her gaze to mine. "Of course it matters. You can choose. You don't have to be anything for somebody else."

She nods, but I see it in her eyes. She's agreeing because she thinks I want her too.

Christ, what's happened to this girl that used to know her own mind, go her own way?

I pull her slowly to me. We stand there, just holding onto each other, not speaking, for a long time.

"Trace," she whispers, finally.

"Yeah?" I murmur into the top of her head.

"I hate the color blue."

"It is like Blue Hell up in here, babe," I agree. "How did this happen?"

"Supposed to be calming," she mutters. "Good for studying."

"It's a room for inducing comas," I tilt back. "You wanna paint it? I bet Ellen's got some paint in the garage."

"What—right now?"

I shrug. "We could at least do an accent wall or something," I mimic painting the wall behind her bed.

"You're serious?" her eyes are wide.

"Sure," I shrug. "Why not?"

"Because...you're a famous performer who has to rock forty thousand people six hours from now?"

"I'd rather rock you right now," I say. When her eyes get that terrified look again, my suspicions about her level of experience are all but confirmed. I qualify, "You know, by being your amazing, impulsive friend that reminds you life is actually worth living with a meaningless gesture like painting your room."

"Oh, you mean like that," she feigns disappointment and then her smile turns devilish. "I thought you changed your mind about the cheat lay."

"Now that's my wicked girl. But I know you're playing...girls who live in blue rooms don't cheat on their Quarterdick boyfriends." I grab her hand, and try to pull her from the horrible soul-reaping room. "Come. Let us seek paint."

She tugs back. "No, I don't want to paint. I'm out of here soon, and it's not how I want to spend our time today."

I put my arms around her again, unable to stop myself from touching her. "Okay, Kitkat, what to do you want to do?"

She considers, looking up at me. Her eyes come to life just a little.

"I wanna play Marco Polo. Like we used to."

"You want me to chase you around in the pool and grab at you with my eyes closed?" I grin.

"Yep."

"I can't promise where my hands might land," I warn.

"No, I guess you can't," her wicked smile only gets more wicked as she slips my grasp and saunters toward the built-ins in her closet.

I follow her to her closet like a puppy.

"I have to change into a swimsuit."

I put my fingertips on the doorframe and lean in, flexing a little. "So change."

I'm only teasing her, and I'm sure she knows it. Still, I love the way the blush starts on her chest and creeps up her neck.

"What would you really do if I called your bluff? Maybe I want to be a fangirl after all," she says casually, unbuckling the belt, and pulling it from the shorts, letting it fall heavily on the ground. She pulls off the tank top, and I try to keep my eyes from moving immediately to the hot pink scrap of completely unnecessary lace. She starts unbuttoning her shorts, her eyes never leaving mine. "What do you say to that, Rock Star?"

I resist clearing my throat, making any encouraging sound at all. Last night, if it hadn't been for my concussion and her telling me she had planned to have sex with Colin, I would have been down for having sex with Kat to get the fireworks going between us. Things have changed in my head. Now I'm thinking more of a slow burn.

I have a really strong suspicion that Kat might have a lot less experienced than I would have imagined possible. Stripper role-play sex on the floor of her closet is not the first-time experience I would want Kat to have. And I'm not sure we should have sex right now for another reason. Not because of her boyfriend. He's on the way out and we both know it. But it doesn't feel right, because of Ashlynn. Not that I feel beholden to her in that way. I guess technically I'm an adulterer dozens and dozens of times over, and I've never had a moment's feeling of guilt about it, because Ashlynn and I never made any promises to each other like that. This is not about me and Ashlynn; it's about being honest with Kat about her sister.

"Fine, consider my bluff called. You win this one." I turn abruptly. "Meet you downstairs."

The sound of her laughter fills my ears as I close her closet door. I grin. A little Kat and mouse will be good, I decide. We need time to get reacquainted, for me to figure out how to explain everything. I want to do this right; I can definitely take the time for Kat.

What do you think of Kat's room? Seems like she and Trace have both changed a lot since they were kids. Is their chemistry still real or just a relic? Do you think Trace is handling the Kat-Ashlynn situation right? Is it understandable that he needs some time to explain properly or is he just afraid to tell Kat?

Please consider voting, sharing. following! Adding EPIC to your library will allow you to receive notifications when I update. Thanks!