My Rockstar's Secret Baby by Jamie Knight

Author:Jamie Knight [Knight, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-26T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight - Ragnar

The sheet was cold. Where there was once an arm full of my warm lover, there only remained a smooth, cool surface. Like a rink before the first skaters took to it. I wondered if maybe I’d dreamt the whole thing.

It did seem a bit too perfect. Life was rarely, if ever, so glorious. A lesson I’d learned at a young age.

There was an odd sensation on my mouth. A sticky wight that called for further investigation by my finger. Fingers which came away smudged with a deep burgundy. Lipstick, like Stephanie had been wearing.

Okay, not a dream, but she was still gone. Where did that leave us? Friends, lovers, ‘fuck buddies’ as the Americans apparently said?

Was it a fling, or something deeper? It felt deeper but how reliable was human perception? A whole philosophy textbook of quandaries to unsettle my mind. It really was a wonder I was able to sleep at all.

Fortunately, I didn’t have much time to ponder. I had to be at the Sanctuary in an hour, and Varg and Stig would be around in just a few minutes to pick me up. At least according to a text I’d received a few moments before. No time for breakfast then.

I had just enough time to wash my face and throw on clean clothes before the distinctive rattle of the van rounded the corner onto my street. I was relieved to see Stig was driving. Varg had many talents, driving was not one of them.

“Join the party,” Varg invited, sliding the side door open.

He was already drinking. The beer cans rattle in as I climbed in the back. A district whiff of lager on his breath.

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Four,” he belched, holding up that number of fingers.

It wasn’t the most impressive gas-based feat I’d ever witnessed. One night, after a small, club gig in Oslo, I saw him burp the alphabet, backwards in both English and Norwegian. Woe betided any well-meaning patrolman who tried to do a DUI test.

“Good, keep it that way, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

The fresh can didn’t even make it all the way out of the cooler before it was bouncing off the wall.

“What the fuck, man?” he demanded, retrieving his assailed brewski, cradling it like a wailing baby.

“Four is plenty,” I declaimed, in my ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone.

He gave me his best scary look, practiced and perfected over many years. The only problem was that I’d seen it too many times before. I knew what he was really like, so his attempts at intimidation fell flat.

“You have no one to impress here, Peter.”

He flinched slightly at the sound of his birth name. He’d been known as ‘Varg’ for as long as anyone outside his family old remember. ‘Peter’ didn’t sound nearly hardcore enough, so he changed it to the Norwegian equivalent of ‘Wolf’ to try and sound dangerous.

He seemed to hope it would stop the bullying. It didn’t really work, except to get the attention of the local cops. The more Peter got pushed around the more intense he became.

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