Stricken Resolve (10 page)

This snooty righteous cocky bitch is about to
hear it. I can feel my temperature reach catastrophic proportions.
My body tenses head to toe.

Don’t blow up. This won’t help your situation
with Emily. She’s trying to get under your skin.

I suck in a deep breath, hold it in and turn
to leave. Removing myself from the temptation to explode. God only
knows what nasty rudeness would spew from my vulgar mouth.

Striding to Emily’s room, I will myself to
relax. I can’t face her or the twins in this shitty fuckin’ mood.
Righting myself, I open her door without knocking. Stacy stands
from what used to be James’s seat.

“Hello Johnathan,” Stacy greets morosely.

“Sorry I’m not the pope,” I kid with a
chuckle, to lighten the mood. It’s seriously gloomy up in this damn
room. Blinds are drawn, TV’s on but muted, and some of the flowers
are starting to wilt. It’s like somebody died. Except nobody has.
And our children were just born. Which under normal circumstances
is cause for celebration. Apparently nobody got that damn memo
either. It’s not like James is gone forever. Well, if I’d have it
my way he’d have gone long ago. But I never get what I fucking
want. The almighty just doesn’t swing favors my direction. Luck of
a shitty life.

I walk a little further into the room that’s
full of suffocating sadness. Emily doesn’t even acknowledge me. The
machine next to her is pumping IV fluids into her system. Her skin
is sheet white. Which is surprisingly even paler than her normal
peachy pale skin. The hair on her head is remarkably maintained and
pulled back into a low bun thingy. I think they call it a chignon,
or some weird Frenchy crap. It’s the same hair-do she wore the
first time I ever spotted her from the stage at the scorching hot
Vegas concert.

Slowly edging even closer, I see what Emily’s
gaze is fixed on. Our daughter Jenna is firmly attached to her
oh-so-supple breast.

My eyes can’t help but gawk at her luscious
exposed mound. My daughters head fades away in my vision and all I
can see is her lovely skin. Saliva pools in my mouth and I swallow
it down. At the same time I can feel my dick stirring.

Don’t you dare get to full mast you sick
kinky fucker!

Stacy loudly snaps his fingers and I
immediately break my perverted all-consuming stare.

“Stop...” He warns, looking to me and back to
Emily’s boob, three or four times.

I nod, twice, getting the gist. He’s over
protective of her and I’m not about to take on the best friend. Who
also happens to be my manager and friend, too. That wouldn’t bode
well for me. Most things as of late haven’t boded well for me.
Except… which this a huge one. Except James taking a hike. A full
on, no communication, sucked into government protection, kind of
hike. My second favorite kind. The first would make me sound like
an even bigger dickwad. So I’ll just keep that little sick thought
all to myself.

I take a seat on the short couch and Stacy
carries Eric to me. Turning my arm just right I support his tiny
little melon head on the crook of my elbow. And he instantaneously
starts in on his whinny grunting. I am certain my son hates me.
Every time I’ve ever held him he’s unhappy. Jenna on the other hand
doesn’t seem to mind me. Eric’s a predestined mommy’s boy. I don’t
think I’ve ever heard him peep an unhappy sound in Em’s arms. Not
that they are very old.

“Can we talk business, Stace?” I ask him, as
I hold my full attention to lightly bouncing my angry Eric.

“In a minute, hold on.” I look up and find
him dabbing Emily’s dripping nipple off with a tissue. As she
gently burps Jenna on her lap. Her hand cupping under her chin as
her other lightly swats Jenna’s back. Producing a rather manly burp
to blow from such a little creature.

Damn. I think my daughter just put me to
shame.

Another drop dribbles from Emily’s breast and
he swipes that one away too. Apparently, gay means full access to
her goods. She doesn’t seem to care and she even gives him a lazy
smile as he finishes and lifts Jenna, placing her back into her
hospital bed, now full of milk and half asleep.

Eric wails out a blood curdling cry in my
arms and Emily frantically darts up in bed, eyes wide. No words.
Still no words. I love her voice. I just wish she would speak to
me. To anybody.

“Stay.” Stacy pats her shoulder, coming to
calm her.

Now why didn’t I think of that? Idiot!

“I’ll get him, sweetie.” He leans down,
pecking her cheek and she nods, scooting back into bed and pulling
out her other heavy breast.

“Here.” Stacy puts his arms out. Wanting to
take my cranky son.

“No, I’ll do it.” I stand and take the few
short steps to the bed.

“Here’s our son, Short Stack.” I sit next to
her and place him into her eager arms. His soft cries fade into
nothing as her skin comes in contact with his.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen something more
beautiful in my life. The magnificent mother of my children
relieving our son’s distress in a single touch. It’s like something
straight out of the freakin’ Bible. All Holy and shit.

Eric’s mouth blindly searches her soft skin.
Bumping against her nipple, he stops and latches on. As the suction
takes place she leans back and he audibly draws nutrients from her
body. Oh how I wish I could draw nutrients from her like that. I
wonder what her breast milk tastes like? It is sweet? Sugary?

Hum…..

My cock rises, again.

Not now!

This is the worst possible time! Mind out of
the gutter, Johnathan!

I just finished pumping Cammy full of my seed
about an hour ago. I should be sated. Guess my dick didn’t get the
message.

I close my eyes and reeling in the thoughts
of old saggy titties, wrinkly and all deformed. Yuck! And baseball…
Bring on the baseball. Batting, catchers. Home plate. Yes… Home
plate. My home run… between Emily’s legs, my thick dick ramming
into her tight un-stretched hole. The sprinkling of her light red
hair just dusting the top of her pussy. Dammit. I’m one sick
fucker.

Ok, football. How about that. Yeah… That…
Maybe it will work.

Field goals, sweaty barbarian sized men
tackling one another. Oh yep…That’s working. Slowly bringing my
anaconda down to its flaccid state. Where is needs to stay!

“I want you to come home,” I sweetly tell her
and she finally establishes eye contact, distress flashing like a
beacon in her green eyes.

“It’s okay.” I instinctively rub her sheet
covered leg. “You don’t have to until you’re ready. But we’ve got
the babies’ beds all set up in your room. It’s really nice.” I
smile.

She nods and extends her gaze back down to
Eric. Caressing his fine hair.

“Now, about work.” I angle toward Stace, my
hand still resting on Emily’s leg and she lets me keep it there.
Point for me!

“The album is done. We have a large amount of
fans and media seeking information about when we’re touring again,”
he explains, running his hands through his unruly dirty blonde
locks. His right foot resting comfortably on his jean clad left
knee.

“We can’t do that now...” I wink at him to
catch my drift.

“Well I don’t see much of a choice,
Johnathan. The fans, after last year’s fiasco with rehab and
cutting it short. We have some rather angry ones and the media is
itching to get more. More of Stricken. More of, quite frankly. You.
They want to see you. Hear from you. We are slowly falling behind
two other top charting bands. If you plan on making this album go
platinum, then you have to step it up. The concerts will have to be
epic. Light shows, flashy performances, maybe even dancers.”

I literally cringe and he chuckles. Fuck
dancers. That’s total hip-hop and gum-pop bullshit. Not rock. Rock
is hot chicks with tits hanging out. Music to make you sweat and
bang your head. To scream and jump around. To pull the animalistic
rawness from inside your body, out. To become pure. Feeling the
lyrics feeding your soul. The drums bouncing with your heart. The
guitars, catching fire to your veins. It’s consuming. It’s… its
rock
.

“Can it be short?” I ask, leaving my other
reservations to myself.

Hey, I’m trying to become a better man.

Even though I hate long tours; sleeping out
of a suitcase is okay for twenty year olds. But I’m pushing thirty.
I’m accustomed to certain luxuries that the small cramped quarters
of a bus can’t provide. Like a place to punish and spank Cammy,
quietly. Or a bed for babies. Hotels are great. Except the fact you
have to come and go from them like a dick does a pussy. It’s not
stationary enough. Not anymore.

“I guess,” he shrugs. “If that’s what you
want. We probably won’t hit platinum, maybe gold. But okay.”

Dammit. I really need this album to go
platinum. More so than any other album. I can’t go into the whys
right now. But let’s just say it’s more personal than the rest of
my music has ever been. D has helped with a bunch of the writing.
And I’ve let out more emotions in these twelve songs, than I have
anything else in my entire life. Those songs have to be recognized.
They have to be heard by the entire world. They will knock the
socks off of Redemption and Drowning Sinners. The two bands that
are in the top ten rock albums right now. They don’t stand a
motherfuckin’ chance.

“Write this down; Vegas, Miami, DC, Chicago
and LA. Those are the best locations for this tour. Sell them out.
Make them all VIP. This is going to be an extra hard concert to
book tickets to. It will have all the bells and whistles and a few
things nobody’s seen before,” I explain, all of a sudden feeling a
little enthused. Nobody has heard our new music except a select
few. Not even Cammy or Emily have had the privilege, yet. And I’m
not sure if either of them will enjoy what I have created. Only
time will tell.

With my hand sweetly caressing up and down
Emily’s leg, I carry on the conversation with Stacy about our
upcoming tour and what I need to do to prepare for it. First on my
agenda will be tour bus shopping. The old bus for Price, Keith, D
and the extra bodyguards. And an additional, even more lavish bus
for me, Short Stack, the twins, Cammy, Dylan and Stace. If D will
stay on his own motor coach, that is. Which frankly I don’t see
happening. Unless he’s engrossed in pounding his sausage into some
groupie slut-bag. Most likely with fake tits and a fat ass. Just
how he likes them.

Hum… I wonder if they can customize built in
baby cribs. With all the fancy trimmings. Like a mobile, monitors,
changing table…etc…etc.

A slight snore breaks into the air and I
glance over to see Em’s head lulled back, fast asleep. Reaching
over, I push the button on her thick plastic railing to recline the
bed more comfortably. My poor baby. I hope she gets better soon.
Maybe this tour coming sooner, rather than later will be just the
thing she needs to distract her. And ultimately give me the upper
hand to do some serious wooing and a pinch of much needed
groveling. Naked, on my knees, my tongue slick between her folds.
Making her come in my mouth over and over. If I have any say on the
matter.

“I’ll be working from here...”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, lifting a
finger for him to ‘wait a minute,’ I cut Stacy off. And I stand,
slipping my hand into my pocket, retrieving my phone.

Using my finger to slide across the screen to
wake it up. It flashes that I have a text from Cammy. What could
she want?

Poking my finger onto the ‘open’ messages.
Pressing her name to see what she wants.

OH SHIT! She is going to kill me with that
much hotness. I’m greeted with the ultimate dick hardening pic. My
woman’s newly waxed cunt. Hell to the yes!

She knows just how I like it,
silky-smooth.

My cock rises. Bad place, really bad fuckin’
time. Per usual. Damn me and my dirty mind.

“I gotta head, since she’s out.” I nod toward
Emily asleep on the bed, my back to Stacy. Scissoring my legs and
wiggling my hips I inconspicuously maneuver my hard dick without
having to use my hands. Not an easy feat. It finally relents and
slips itself to the side, pressed to the left and down slightly.
Sitting flush against my tatted skin.

“Yup,” he pronounces, not sounding very
happy.

“Do you need a break? I’ll stay...” I offer,
internally smacking myself in the head, feeling like a complete
jerk for not asking sooner.

“No. Way. That’s my girl. I’ve got her as
long as she needs me. And Kyle will be up tonight with my clothes
so I can shower.”

I turn to face him.

“Thanks a lot, Stace. I’m sure she
appreciates you being here.” I crack a half smile.

I’d rather be the one to take his spot. I
finally get the opening to do the right thing and fill the void
left by James. Except Stacy beat me to it. I should have jumped at
the opportunity first thing, but by the time I got off work
yesterday, Stacy was already here and holding her as she wept
openly in his arms, ruthlessly tearing my heart out in the process.
My body registering her pain in my own heart. It nearly killed me
in the process.

I turned and left the room without announcing
my arrival. Walking down the hospital’s depressingly stark white
hall I made it to the unisex public restroom. I spent ten minutes
reigning in the excruciating pain that radiated in my chest. My
hands grasping the edge of the large bowled porcelain sink top, I
hung my head to get a grip on my emotions. Nearly losing the battle
as my eyes matted with thick watery tears. As much as I despise
Emily with James, seeing her so torn up ripped me in two. My baby
should never feel that kind of pain.

After I gathered my whit’s I went back to her
room. To find her curled into the fetal position, encased on both
sides in a Kyle and Stacy sandwich as more wretched tears tore from
her lungs. I had no clue what to do as I stood at the end of her
hospital bed, unnoticed. So I left again and tracked down a nurse
to take me to see my children who were being cared for in the
nursery. For two hours I sat in a wooden rocker with my children,
in the nursery that has these kickass twinkling lights on the
ceiling. Even Eric let me rock him for a few minutes without giving
me his signature scrunched up, pissed off face, that he seems to
demonstrate most times I try to hold him. I’ve come to the
conclusion my son just doesn’t like me. Whether it’s my smell,
voice, skin or something. He just can’t seem to stand me. Like
mother, like son. I suppose. Or that’s how I feel some of the time.
I realize a huge part of my Short Stack’s apprehension is what I’ve
put her through. I just wish she’d get fully over that. It’s not
like I can change the past for cryin’ out loud.