Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (18 page)

She confided this to Quinn, but he insisted that the meetings were critical. “You have to be around other people who know what you’re going through,” he told her. “Nobody else really understands.” She was dubious, but he offered to go with her and, when he did, it was easier.

The craving still burned, but most of the time she was busy enough to push it away. Her evenings were taken up with gigging, since the Quinntessence schedule was jam packed. They played four, five, sometimes six days a week, just as Quinn had warned her in the beginning. He hadn’t been kidding about his rule that they never turned down a reasonable gig,
reasonable
defined as a decent venue, good exposure, or significant bank. Preferably all three.

He proved that he was capable of bending the rules in late July, when he announced that he’d given away a lucrative Saturday-night gig at the Grotto so they could all watch a televised performance of Pink Floyd’s
The Wall
. The concert was headlined by Roger Waters, Floyd’s former bass player and principal songwriter, another of Quinn’s personal heroes, and was taking place at the former site of the Berlin Wall, which had fallen some eight months before.

The band congregated at the loft to watch the show, which featured more superstars than Shan had ever seen on one stage. Sinead O’Connor, the Hooters, Thomas Dolby, the Scorpions, Van Morrison, Levon Helm, and Garth Hudson all performed. Shan cried out in delight when Cyndi Lauper appeared, but even that excitement was eclipsed when Joni Mitchell took the stage, singing “Goodbye Blue Sky.
”

Shan went misty as she watched, wishing her mother was there to see it, and when Joni returned for the finale, Quinn winked at her. “Prog rocker Waters and folk queen Mitchell sharing a stage,” he said. “Who would have thought?”

She smiled, thinking they were about as likely a duo as Quinn Marshall and Shan O’Hara.

Before she knew it, the summer was almost over. Quinntessence spent a week in August recording a new demo and Shan was excited to find herself in a real studio for the first time. She hounded Quinn to let her participate, even after they finished recording. He was doubtful, but she insisted she wanted to experience every step of the process, and he acquiesced after instructing her that she was to watch silently without commenting or interfering in any way.

She promised, only to be treated to a dose of boredom so excruciating it made her want to scream. For days Quinn hunched over the mixing board with Bruce, debating each miniscule edit and blend with a focus bordering on obsession. Sometimes she found it impossible to refrain from comment, especially since none of the tweaking had any noticeable impact on the way the songs sounded, but anytime she opened her mouth Quinn silenced her with the threat of expulsion.

Finally, they finished and settled back to review the master. Afterward, as they sat there congratulating themselves, Shan decided to speak up. “I think there’s too much bass.”

“You think there’s too much bass because you’re sitting in the back of the room where all the lows build up,” Quinn said without turning. “If I actually cared about your opinion, you’d be sitting up here with us.”

“Oh yeah?” she bridled. “Well, I think all the keyboard solos are too loud, too.”

Quinn was gritting his teeth as he swiveled his chair to face her. “Look, when you asked if you could be here for the mixing I told you you’d get bored, but you insisted. And I said okay because you promised me you’d sit there and absorb it, and shut the hell up.”

“It’s
my
demo, too, and I’m entitled to say what I think.”

“I don’t care what you think, little girl. We’ll listen to it as a group and, if everybody thinks we need to make changes, then Bruce and I will come back and remix.
Comprende
?”

“Don’t call me ‘little girl,’” she shot back. “I hate it when you talk down to me.”

“I don’t mean it that way. You’re physically a small person, that’s all.”

“So is Bruce,” she said, “but I don’t hear you calling him ‘little boy.’ No offense,” she added to the five-foot-four-inch engineer.

“None taken. I’ll leave you guys to fight while I go make a copy of this,” Bruce said. “Interesting observation about the keyboard solos,” he speculated aloud as he left.

Shan pointed her nose in the air as Quinn turned his back on her. “You are
so
annoying,” he said, snapping his notebook shut.

“I don’t see why
you
get the last word,” she said, wandering over to the mixer.

“
I’m
the producer, that’s why.” He watched for a moment as she toyed restlessly with the sliders. “Having an edgy day, are we?”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t agree with you on the final mix.”

“Okay, you’ve stated your opinion. Now keep it to yourself until everyone else gets a chance to hear it.” Shan muttered something about egomania under her breath and Quinn heaved a deep sigh. “And, yes, you
are
having an edgy day. Do you really think I can’t tell by now?”

When she spun around and glared, he shrugged. “It’s okay. You’re entitled to that, too.”

She gazed at him for a moment, then hung her head. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s okay, I said. I’m used to it.”

She put her arms around him and hugged him hard, then drew back to regard him with tender eyes. He grinned amiably in return and rested his head against her shoulder to look at her slant-eyed and teasing. “Why do you look so mushy?”

“I was just thinking what an incredible person you turned out to be,” she said warmly. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were an arrogant asshole.”

“I knew that.” He smirked. “It was way obvious, but I feel compelled to correct you. You didn’t think I was an asshole until I hit on you, so I figured you were gay.”

She sniffed, releasing him as Bruce returned. “Of course. The fact that I didn’t immediately fall all over you couldn’t possibly have anything to do with
you
,” she said. “Besides, I was partly right. You
are
arrogant. It rings out as loud and clear as those keyboard solos.”

Quinn rolled his eyes as Bruce held up a CD. “Loud as the keyboards may be,” Bruce said, “here, pending final approval, is the official Quinntessence demo, summer 1990.”

Quinn reached for the disc. “And what a summer it’s been.” His eyes met Shan’s over the mixing board. She nodded, smiling.

Shan popped open the ampoule and gulped down her dose, then grimaced. Even after six weeks, she couldn’t get used to the taste of the methadone. She tossed the ampoule in the trash and reached for a bottle of spring water.

Oda was at the stove, cooking up a pot of oatmeal. “Here. You’re still too thin,” she observed, handing Shan a bowl. Both Oda and Denise had known the truth for some time now; Shan had told them shortly after completing her stint at the clinic. She had confessed to Dan and Ty, as well, and their response had surprised and touched her. All had expressed support, instead of the scorn she’d anticipated.

Shan went into the dining room to eat. Oda was right, but she was starting to put on a little weight. The craving still jabbed, but she no longer woke up with a jones. She felt good.

Today she felt particularly good. It was her seventeenth birthday. Her first thought on waking was that no one could force her to go back to her father’s house ever again.

She hadn’t mentioned the significance of the day to anyone. Just the fact that she was free was birthday present enough, although the day was tinged with sadness as well, since it was Quinn’s and Ty’s last day in New York. They’d be leaving for Boston the next morning and Shan was going to miss them terribly, especially Quinn. He’d become such a central part of her life that she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to get by without him.

“What are you and Quinn up to today?” Denise asked as Shan finished her oatmeal.

“We have to pick up the demos and then we’re going to run them out to the clubs,” Shan said, scraping the bottom of her bowl. “He wants to do it before they leave.”

“Really?” Denise wrinkled her nose. “I figured you’d at least be doing something fun.”

“He’s a workaholic to the end.” Shan paused. “I am a little disappointed,” she admitted. “It would be nice to do something special, especially since all of us aren’t getting together tonight.”

“I wish we could, but Dan’s sister is in town. We couldn’t get out of it.”

“And Ty has a date. Well, I can’t blame him for that, either. I’m just glad Q doesn’t have one.” Just then a knock sounded from the front door.

“You ready?” Quinn said when Shan opened it. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“It’s only ten o’clock. You want some coffee?” He shook his head, hovering in the doorway. “I don’t see why we’re hand delivering them anyway.”

“It’s good PR. How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“Whatever. See ya, guys,” she called as they departed.

“Besides, I might spring for dinner, even though it’s your turn to pay,” he said as they trotted downstairs. “Want to hit Salaam Bombay tonight?”

“You bet,” she said. “Especially if it’s on you.”

That evening they climbed wearily back up to the loft. “I’m stuffed,” Shan moaned. She handed Quinn a stack of discs and dug for her keys. “Well, we got most of them distributed. I can deliver the rest next week.” She opened the door and he followed her inside. “It’s only a little after seven. Want to rent a movie?” She walked into the living room, reaching for the light switch.

“SURPRISE!”

She jumped. The room was filled with people and decorated with balloons and streamers. A big, hand-lettered banner hung above the window.
happy 17th birthday, shan!
it proclaimed.

“How did you…” she began and stopped, completely overcome. She turned, intent on escaping into the kitchen, and collided with Quinn, who was watching her with an enormous grin.

She inspected his self-satisfied expression and her eyes narrowed. “
You
did this.”

“Guilty.” His smile widened.

“How did you know it was my birthday? I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Yes, you did,” he corrected her, “when you checked into the clinic.”

Dan handed her a glass of champagne. “Happy birthday, princess.”

She looked him. “Your sister…?”

“Is in California, where she belongs,” Denise finished.

“It’s a good thing we had Quinn to keep you busy,” Ty said. “Did he run you ragged?”

“Yes.” Shan nodded. “I should have known. Since when do we deliver demos by hand?”

“Since never,” Ty said, his deep voice full of laughter, “but we figured you wouldn’t be suspicious of an anal-retentive, time-consuming errand if it came at the behest of the Q-man.”

Ty raised his champagne flute in Quinn’s direction with a knowing smirk. Quinn winked at Shan and tapped his glass against Ty’s.

Oda had baked a big carrot cake. Shan blew out the candles while everyone sang, then they forced her to sit in the middle of the room and presented her with gifts. Denise and Dan gave her a gorgeous Indian scarf and she received a dainty silver ankle bracelet from Ty. Bruce’s gift was a stone jar filled with guitar picks and Oda’s was a cool tie-dyed backpack. When she’d finished unwrapping, the coffee table was covered with birthday cards and wrapping paper.

Denise was examining the gifts. “Quinn, didn’t you give her anything?” She frowned at him with disapproval.

Shan laughed. “He’s not the sentimental type, remember?”

Quinn cocked his head. “Is that so? Well, it just happens I
did
get you something.” He reached behind Shan’s chair for a long, brightly wrapped box that he set on the floor. “Careful,” he said. “It’s heavy.”

Shan stared at the package. It was almost as big as she was. She looked up at Quinn, who was settled against the window sill with a cat-that-got-the-canary expression.

She slid out of the chair and dropped to her knees. She loosened the wrapping paper and pushed it aside, revealing a heavy-gauge cardboard box. When she opened it, her eyes widened. Securely cushioned in a bed of tissue paper was a black vinyl guitar case. Shan looked up at Quinn again. A ghost of a smile was materializing on his face as she flipped back the lid.

She gasped. “Holy shit!” Ty exclaimed. She heard a swift intake of breath from Dan, and a low whistle from Bruce.

A Martin.

Not just
any
Martin. It was a Martin HD-28, the acoustic dream machine she’d lusted after for years. She recognized the spruce body and tortoise pickguard from the catalogue.

“Have you lost your mind?” she blurted. “This is a three-thousand-dollar instrument!”

His grin got bigger. “I got a deal on it.”

She snorted indelicately. “So you got it for twenty-eight hundred? Come on, Q. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, but it’s too much and I won’t accept it.”

“Too late,” he said. “I had it personalized, so you can’t return it.”

“Personalized?” She examined the guitar more closely. She was almost afraid to touch it.

Then she saw it. There, on the headstock, a tiny inlay, no bigger than a guitar pick, directly between the machine heads.

It was an angel. A tiny, stylized angel with flowing hair and dainty weblike wings.

It was insanely extravagant and over the top, but so thoughtful and personal and lovely, the most wonderful gift she had ever received. Her throat closed and she was unable to utter a single sound.

“I thought she looked like you,” Quinn murmured when she got to her feet and put her arms around him. “You wouldn’t refuse a gift I put so much thought into, would you?”

She shook her head, hard. “Oh, Q,” she said, when she found her voice, “I lo—”

…love you.

She gasped, pulling away from his embrace before the words could escape her lips, but when she looked up at him, she knew it was true.

She loved him. Truly. Deeply. Completely. Quinn, with all his arrogance and bossiness and frequent flyers and stupid, arbitrary rules. She loved him.

He was the one. The only
perfect
one.

He was looking back at her, frowning a little now. “What?” he asked. “Don’t you like it?”