Rock Redemption (Rock Kiss, #3)(38)

It wasn’t true, of course. He was awake and so were the flotsam and jetsam of the world. Including the gangbangers and drug pushers who only came out after the sun set—and who left Noah alone because they were fans. An odd perk of fame, and one he appreciated. His favorite Venice night person was a familiar homeless guy who, night after night, managed to sneak onto the beach to sleep under the stars.

“Hey!” he called out as Noah passed him on the way back to his place.

When Noah stopped, the other man struggled up into a sitting position in his sleeping bag, his deeply tanned face seamed with life and all but covered by a sprawling white beard and mustache and the messy white of his hair. “Why you so crazy? Out here at night all the time, disturbing a man’s sleep.”

Breath rough, Noah bent over with his hands on his knees. “Just a bad seed, I guess.”

“Since you woke me up, you got a dollar?”

“For you, Marshall, I got twenty.” Taking the bill from his sock where he’d put it for exactly this purpose, he handed it over. “What’s happening, my man?”

“I was creating a symphony inspired by the waves.” Marshall tucked away the money. “Now I’m thinking I’ll be inspired tomorrow morning by bacon and eggs and sausage. Symphony of Cholesterol.”

Noah grinned, knowing that for the truth. Marshall never drank away what money he had, had even turned down a bottle of bourbon last Christmas. “A full breakfast sounds good. I might join you.”

The homeless man grunted. “You’re not invited. Last time you came into the diner, you had all the waitresses going so crazy they burned my sausages and made my eggs sunny-side up when I specifically said scrambled.”

Noah took a seat on the sand, his eyes on the waves rolling in to shore. “Body’s gotta eat.”

“You got that right.” Marshall held out a stick of gum, slid it back when Noah shook his head. “Why do you run so much?”

“Same reason you sit on the beach playing your harmonica long after the world’s gone to sleep.”

The other man nodded solemnly, rubbing his thumb over the small instrument. “Where’s your guitar?”

“Back home. Want to come up so we can jam?” Noah had offered Marshall a place to crash—not in his house, because he couldn’t have anyone in his house while he slept, while he was vulnerable—but in the guesthouse. The homeless man kept turning him down because he hated walls, hated not being able to taste the wind and breathe the open air.

The only time he’d ever accepted shelter had been during a rare torrential rainstorm.

“Naw,” Marshall said to his invite. “I want to work on my symphony. But I’ll see you at the diner for breakfast. Seven a.m. sharp. And if those waitresses get my order wrong, I’m eating yours.”

Saluting the older man, Noah rose and jogged back to his place. He was so tired by the time he arrived that he slept, though he was still awake in plenty of time to make his date with Marshall and looking forward to it. Whatever path had led Marshall to this life, he had music in his blood—and Noah knew that if not for Fox, Abe, and David, he could’ve ended up much the same. Lost and without roots and tormented by nightmares until he couldn’t bear walls around himself.

Not shaving, he pulled on an old Lakers cap in an effort to shadow his face, then made his way down to the diner on the boardwalk. Marshall was already sitting at a table, having tidied himself up so that he looked respectable. The olive-green weatherproof coat Noah had given him last year was clean, his beard neatly trimmed, and his backpack set beside him. No shopping cart for Marshall, just that ragged backpack.

After getting their food—unburned—they spoke about music and about all the changes Marshall had seen in this area over the years, until the other man got up to use the restroom. Noah picked up the newspaper lying on a nearby table to occupy himself while Marshall was away, seeing too late that it was one of the tabloids. About to throw it back, he caught Kit’s name in the sidebar.

Figuring Basil had gotten a payday after all, he turned to the page indicated—to see a full-color shot of Kit standing with her hands in Terrence’s, her face glowing. They were beside Kit’s car, as if she’d just arrived or was about to leave, and she was wearing a pretty, soft dress in a cool tangerine orange that he knew turned her amber eyes even more striking.

The text read:



It looks like rising star Kathleen Devigny is following in the footsteps of her Last Flight costar, JJ Hughes, in dating not one of her fellow actors but a member of the crew. While JJ is now pregnant with her first child with her cameraman boyfriend, sources tell us that Kathleen’s romance with scriptwriter Terrence Gates is only beginning.



This exclusive shot shows her arriving at Gates’s home around seven last night. Sadly for Gates, she left at eleven. However, from the rumored smile on his face as he walked her back to her car, the night was a promising one for the talented scriptwriter who already has a Golden Globe under his belt.



Watch this space for more on this developing Tinseltown romance.





Chapter 14


The Saturday of the gala came around before Kit knew it. It felt strange to her to be dressing for an evening out with Noah when she was now officially seeing another man, but Terrence remained fine with her attending the event. Partly because, as a result of work pressures, they’d only just gone on their third official date, so things were still new, and partly because Terrence knew Noah’s reputation.