Dear Rockstar by Emme Rollins Read Free Book Online

Vincent’s only daughter, Chloe, to come home every day? She was in her last year of high school—just a year behind me, although I was still stuck in school too.
    I spun the fantasy out in my head—
    She would come home from school, driving her brand-new Mustang, red with black interior, grab herself a snack from the kitchen, talk to her mom for a minute, and then head to her room. On her way, she would peek in and say “hi” to her dad—if his sign, “Do Not Disturb, Madman At Work” wasn’t out, that was. He would be in his studio, writing, strumming his guitar. She would talk with him for a minute, munching on her apple, about her day, about his song, about life in general, give him a peck on the cheek and say, “Oh, Dad!” when he mentioned how old she was beginning to look and how he was going to have to invest in a shotgun and a porch swing soon.
    I sat down on the stairs, unable to think anymore through the bitterness or see through my tears. His voice reverberated in my head.
    “You can’t do anything! Jesus Christ! Are you that stupid? I can’t hear you!”
    My hands pressed against my ears and I hung my head between my knees, feeling weak. You’d think I could get used to it, but it always made my stomach churn and my ears ring.
    “What? What did you say? What did you just say to me? Fuck you, bitch! Get your ass over here!” He went on, and he would continue, berating her, making himself feel superior.
    I heard my mother’s voice—a little voice, a mouse voice, a scared little-girl voice.
    “Honey, you never asked me to do that. I would have, if you’d told me, but you never did.”
    No Mom, I thought, shaking my head. Don’t be a hero. Don’t be brave. You won’t get away with it.
    “Don’t tell me what I told you! Are you calling me a liar?”
    “No, but I—”
    CRACK
    Sudden, like a gunshot, or a whip.
    And my mother’s tears, always her tears.
    And mine. I cried for her weakness, for my own, wondering if there were people out there who lived normal lives, or if everyone hid things like this behind closed doors, behind scarves and sunglasses.
    Tyler Vincent doesn’t.
    That much I knew. He was known for being a family man, his wholesome image part of his celebrity. Just a normal everyday guy, living in his hometown in Maine, raising a family, who just happened to be one of the biggest rock stars who ever lived.
    His kids never sat outside and wished him dead.
    I was pretty sure of that.
     
     

 
          CHAPTER FIVE     
    I opened the door slowly, bracing myself. This was the worst part. If I could just make it to my room, my haven, I’d be safe.
    “Well, where have you been?” He didn’t look away from the TV, although his words were directed at me. “You can’t just waltz in here anytime you want to.”
    I looked at him, sitting in “his” chair, remote control in hand, a cigarette in the other. He looked at me now, but he didn’t glare and that was good. That meant he wasn’t going to keep me. This was just a show of power.
    “Sorry, I was at Aimee’s,” I said softly, the door snicking shut behind me. This was a lie. I’d simply waited out on the stairs until the yelling—and the crying—had stopped.
    “Well, you can forget about dinner.”
    “Did I miss it?” I hadn’t been out on the stairs that long!
    “No, but you can forget about eating it.” He flipped the channel and puffed on his cigarette.
    “You were late.” He turned back to the television set.
    It was my dismissal. Thank God.
    “Yes sir,” I mumbled anyway, just in case he thought about it later and decided I hadn’t been humble enough to suit him. I made my way past his chair, glancing into their room to see my mother lying on the bed with an ice pack on her eye. She appeared to be asleep.
    I opened my door at the end of the hall and sighed in relief when I shut it behind me. I dropped my notebook and purse and lay down on my bed.
    I made it. I was safe. Well, relatively.
    . It