The Rocker Who Holds Her (The Rocker 5)

I wasn’t asleep.

How could I knowing that she was in that trailer? With that bitch? That monster? I hated Emmie’s mother at first sight: the way she had smelled of smoke and booze and something more sour; the glassiness in her eyes; the stagger in her step; and her tone she took with Emmie when she had seen the little girl talking with me.

“Get in the trailer, girl. Clean your room, before I …” She hadn’t finished the threat, but Emmie had been trembling ever so slightly before going into the trailer, and her mother slammed the old storm door behind her.

I wanted to bundle Emmie up then and there and bring her home with me—protect her, feed her, take care of the little baby doll that she was—but I knew that I couldn’t. My mom wouldn’t understand, and I wasn’t sure if I should tell her or anyone else what I suspected—knew!—was going on with our new neighbors. I had been taken away from my parents once, when the bruises were too many to count and hard to explain away. I knew what the homes were like. Foster parents could be just as bad as real parents.

And a pretty little girl like Emmie?

I shuddered and pulled the covers up over my stomach. My eyes closed and I started to drift off…

A tap, tap, tap at my window made my eyes snap open. Earlier I had told Emmie if she needed me, day or night, to knock on my bedroom window. I had even shown her how to do it. I’d told her it was our secret when she looked lost and more than a little frightened after her mother had gone back inside.

Heart pounding, I jumped up from my bed and peeked through my window. Emmie was standing on the bucket I had set up for her. I couldn’t make out more than the outline of her thin little body in the darkness, but I knew it was her. Quietly, I lowered the window and reached out to help her inside.

By the light of my old television set, I saw that she was bleeding. There was a little cut on her cheek and a few more on her arms that I could see. Tears poured down that baby doll face, and I felt my eyes burn with some of my own. “What happened?” I whispered.

“I wanted a glass of water…but one of her friends was over…” she broke off with a shrug that made her seem much older than just five years old.

I didn’t ask any more questions for the moment. Instead, I went into my bathroom and grabbed a box of Band-Aids and the ointment that Mom always put on my scratches. As I cleaned her cuts, I realized that they were from a switch and had started welting up. My hatred for the woman grew, and I was daydreaming of how I would torture that bitch as I cleaned Emmie up.

“Ouch!” Emmie whimpered as I put a little dab of the ointment on the cut on her face.

“Sorry, baby doll,” I whispered, “but these could get infected.” It was what my mom always told me when I was being a big baby and didn’t want the stingy ointment. “Do you want to have to go to the doctor and get a shot if they get infected?”

Emmie bit her lip but shook her head. She was quiet for the next few minutes while I finished taking care of her cuts. Every time she whimpered from the sting, I felt tears burn my eyes a little more and had to keep blinking before I embarrassed myself by crying in front of this little girl. She was so strong, so brave.

After using nearly half the box of Band-Aids, I put her in my twin bed and tucked the covers around her. “You can sleep here tonight, but you have to go home before my mom wakes up,” I explained to her. “If she finds you here she will call the cops, Emmie.”

She just nodded and laid her head on my extra pillow. I took my favorite pillow and an old quilt and camped out on the floor while she slept, but sleep was not my friend that night. I watched over my new little treasure, this little baby doll that had come to me when I had needed someone the most. She was sent to me so I could protect her, and I would.

I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up it was morning and Emmie was gone. I went to the window to see if she was outside. She wasn’t, but there in the window of her trailer I could see her looking out, as if watching for me. That ragged old bear once more clenched in her arms.

Chapter 2

Record Deal

Sweat was pouring down my back. My face and hair felt like I had dunked it in a bucket of water it was so drenched with it. I always gave each performance a hundred and ten percent no matter where we were playing. Lately we had been doing more and more bars. The owners loved it when Demon’s Wings did a live set for them. We always brought in a crowd for them, and more often than not they would end up having to turn people away, or put a bouncer at the door to make sure that the place didn’t get a fine from the fire marshal for being over capacity.

I used the towel Drake tossed at me and wiped my face. I was exhausted. Not only was this my night gig, but I was working day shift to help out my mom now that she had been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s. The last doctor’s visit hadn’t been a good one, and he was even talking about assisted living in the near future. I knew he was right on some level but hated to think that the woman who had dedicated her life to making mine better was losing her mind.

A strong hand landed on my shoulder. Jesse slapped me on the back, and I grunted under the force. “Good set, bro.”

I could only nod my thanks as I downed a bottle of water. My throat was a little sore, and I didn’t want to waste what little voice I still had by talking just yet.

“You boys have a gift!”

The voice was one I didn’t recognize, and I raised my head to find a guy in a suit standing on the steps that led backstage. He looked like a dick, but he also looked like my salvation. I knew who he was, had heard through the vine that a rock manager was looking for some new talent to pimp. Rich Branson had signed the hottest rock band on the radio just a year or so ago with OtherWorld.

Three beers and a bunch of handshakes later we had a deal—a shitload of money and the life I had always dreamed of was offered to me and my three best friends. I wouldn’t have to bust my ass to pay for the bills and the treatment my mom needed.

It also meant that we were leaving in a week and we couldn’t take Emmie with us. We all knew that with the money we were being offered we could easily take care of Emmie. Send her money, get her the things she needed that her mother didn’t ever supply, but we couldn’t exactly take care of her from California. And that was exactly where we were headed.

We all got wasted that night as guilt for what we were about to do churned in our guts.

Saying Goodbye

I couldn’t even look at her as all of us stood in the yard that separated my trailer from Emmie’s.