REBELLIOUS ROCKSTAR

  THE BURNT CLOVERS TRILOGY

  GINA AZZI

  Rebellious Rockstar

  Copyright © 2023 by Gina Azzi

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To all the epic loves that just won’t quit.

  INTRODUCTION

  Derek and Allegra’s journey is a tumultuous, intense, and epic love story! If you’d like to read their backstory, please start with the prequel, Righteous Rockstar, included here.

  If you’ve already consumed Righteous and are ready for Rebellious Rockstar, please skip ahead and enjoy a summer in Boston, where the spark of a love story bursts into a flame…

  CONTENTS

  Righteous Rockstar: A Prequel Novella

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Rebellious Rockstar: Book One

  1. Allegra

  2. Derek

  3. Allegra

  4. Derek

  5. Allegra

  6. Derek

  7. Allegra

  8. Derek

  9. Allegra

  10. Derek

  11. Allegra

  12. Derek

  13. Allegra

  14. Derek

  15. Allegra

  16. Derek

  17. Allegra

  18. Derek

  19. Allegra

  20. Derek

  21. Allegra

  22. Derek

  23. Allegra

  24. Derek

  25. Allegra

  26. Derek

  Also by Gina Azzi

  Acknowledgments

  RIGHTEOUS ROCKSTAR: A PREQUEL NOVELLA

  ONE

  Cynthia rolls her eyes when I enter her bedroom and drop my backpack to the floor.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to be a senior in high school and your parents still won’t let you wear jeans on dress-down Fridays.” Her tone is half playful, half condescending. It pulls me up short as I peer at one of my oldest friends.

  I’ve known Cynthia Ackers since the second grade but since we started high school, she’s been harder and harder to read. Sometimes, her words are cutting, even though she says them with a smile.

  But tonight, we’re celebrating my seventeenth birthday and the last thing I want to do is be in a bad mood over some silly thing Cynthia said. So, I agree with her. “Tell me about it.”

  “Good thing I have something for you.” She flounces over to her closet, her blonde hair a sheet down her back. She straightened it, something else Mom won’t allow me to do. Cynthia pauses for dramatic effect, giving a little hip shake that is silly yet sexy, a combination I can’t for the life of me pull off, and grabs a pair of ripped jeans and a tiny crop top from her closet. “For tonight.”

  My mouth drops open. “I can’t.” I pause and shake my head. There’s no way I can successfully make an outfit like that work. I’ll be even more awkward and unsure of myself than I am in the pressed khaki pants and white Polo Mom ironed for me. I clear my throat. “Cynthia, I can’t wear—”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “I’ll freeze,” I point out.

  Cynthia snorts and tugs a sherpa zip-up from her closet. It’s nearly April but nowhere near feeling like spring in our tiny town in Massachusetts.

  My friend rushes me, pressing the clothes into my hands. “Just try it on. Come on, Allegra. You only turn seventeen once and tonight is your party.”

  I blush at her words. “It’s not my party. It’s a party that just so happens to coincide with my birthday.” Although our small town isn’t far from Boston, about an hour, there’s not much happening where we live.

  While Boston is bustling and exciting, with trendy restaurants and fashionable shopping, my neck of the woods is quiet and simple. I guess it’s a decent place to live if you want to raise a family, or own a horse, but there’s literally nothing exciting happening. Nothing for teenage kids, desperate for a taste of rebellion, to do.

  The most trouble high schoolers from Spell Court High kick up is holding bonfire parties out by an old barn no one’s claimed in years. It technically belongs to the Cashman family, but they haven’t lived here in over a decade and in their absence, the space has become a gathering place for teenagers wanting to try alcohol, and kiss or do other activities, without the wagging tongues of nosy neighbors.

  “Where’d you tell your mom we’re going?” Cynthia asks.

  “The movies.”

  My friend snorts and fiddles with her hair. “What are we seeing?”

  “The new Zac Efron movie. Eight-fifteen showing.” I rattle off the information, just as Cynthia knew I would. When it comes to my parents, I leave nothing to chance and take nothing for granted.

  Because my parents are those watchful, nosy neighbors. They’re loving but overbearing, considerate but strict, and have a vision for my life that doesn’t line up with the things I want for myself. Not that I know exactly what those things are, but I’d like the chance to figure them out without having everything mapped out and decided for me.

  “Put these on,” Cynthia demands, tugging on the jeans.

  The material of the crop top is slinky in my hands. It’s like nothing I own, like nothing I’ve ever tried on, even in the privacy of a dressing room.

  “Come on, Allegra,” Cynthia whines. “We’re going to be seniors. You can’t go off to college having never worn a crop top, or taste alcohol, or even have a first kiss! They’ll eat you alive out in the real world.”

  Her words hurt, scraping against something in my chest. It’s not because they’re mean; it’s because they’re true. Everyone in town knows how my parents are, how sheltered I am.

  Three years ago, my brother Levi washed his hands of them when they wouldn’t support his music or his dreams. He moved to Boston, joined a band, and never looked back. His relationship with my parents is tenuous at best, but still, he’s living his life on his own terms.

  The problem is, I’m not like Levi. I don’t cross lines; I toe them. No matter how tempting the pull of the unknown is, I’ve never let myself experience it.

  But for one night, on my seventeenth birthday, can’t I wear jeans and a cute shirt? Taste alcohol? Maybe kiss a boy? Grant Hadler comes to mind, and I blush.

  As if reading my thoughts, Cynthia sing-songs, “Grant will be there.”

  I bite my bottom lip, debating.

  “And he doesn’t have baseball practice tomorrow,” she continues, wagging her eyebrows.

  “He’d never notice me anyway,” I murmur.

  My friend shrugs and for some reason, that cuts too. Because Grant would notice a girl like Cynthia, with her long, blonde hair, svelte body, and bubbly personality.

  Girls like me—brown hair, brown eyes, covered up in bulky sweaters and chinos—fade into the background. My plainness, coupled with my parents’ severe rules—no dating, no makeup, no sleepovers—makes me more than unwanted. It makes me so undesirable that I’m practically invisible.

  “Get dressed,” Cynthia urges, shimmying out of her sweats and pulling on skintight jeans.

  For tonight, could I be a girl guys notice? Could I fit in and blend and celebrate my birthday the way Cynthia celebrates hers? With laughter and vodka shots and sensual kisses on the edge of a bonfire?

  I roll my lips together. Why not?

  I pop the button on my khakis and Cynthia lets out an excited whoop.

  “See if your parents will let you sleep here tonight,” she suggests.

  “Now you’re pushing it,” I laugh.

  Cynthia rolls her eyes and takes my phone off her dresser, shaking it at me. “The worst they can say is no.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, unlocking my phone.

  Before I can message my Mom, Levi’s name lights up my screen.

  I grin and answer. “Levi!”

  Next to me, Cynthia’s eyes widen. “Is he coming?”

  My brother is the Levi Rousell. The one who made it out of this sleepy town and is gaining traction with his band in Boston. The guy who followed his dreams and persevered. He’s a bit of a local celebrity since his band, The Burnt Clovers, has gained popularity throughout Massachusetts.

  Now, girls who never talked to me before stop me in the hallways at school to ask about Levi. The guys admire him, the girls want him, and even though he’s changed in many ways, he’s still my brother. My first friend. The one person I’ve always been able to count on.

  “Happy birthday, A.” Levi’s warm voice travels through the line and my smile grows. “Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. “How are you?”

  “Better since I’ll be seeing you tonight.”

&

nbsp; My mouth drops open and I grip my phone tighter. “You’re coming?”

  “You think I’d miss your birthday party?”

  “It’s not my party. It’s—”

  “At the barn,” he cuts me off. “I know. My boy Derek and I are gonna roll through.”

  My stomach tightens at his words. Derek. Derek Reiner. The lead singer and guitarist of The Burnt Clovers is coming to my not-birthday party!

  A thrill rolls through my body, dancing down my spine and making my hands tingle.

  “Okay. Cool. I’ll see you soon.” I force myself to sound chill. Collected. Nothing like the intense feelings coursing through my bloodstream at the thought of Derek Reiner, with his dark, mysterious eyes and messy hair, his half smirk, half scowl, his energy that screams bad boy, coming to the bonfire tonight.

  We’ve met a handful of times and he’s always been cordial to me. In truth, he probably forgets I exist the moment after he mutters hey, but still, he’s made a big impression. He exudes coolness, mystery, a man who doesn’t care about anything except the music. He’s passionate and soulful, deep and introspective. He’s…well, he’s nothing like any of the guys at Spell Court High, that’s for sure.

  “See you, A. Don’t get too wild tonight,” my brother snickers and disconnects.

  I frown, wondering if he was being serious or teasing me. I never get wild and it’s a well-known fact. Except, maybe, just for tonight, it shouldn’t be.

  “Is he coming?” Cynthia asks again.

  I nod. “He’s going to pass by with Derek.”

  “Reiner?” My friend squeals. Her hands dart out and curl around my forearm, her French manicure digging into my skin. “Tonight’s gonna be epic, Allegra.” She does a little dance before lifting her makeup bag. “You have to let me do your makeup. Please?”

  With the promise and possibility of the night before us, and the knowledge that my brother and Derek are going to show up, Cynthia’s excitement is contagious. Throwing caution to the wind, I smile. “Okay, yeah.”

  My friend squeals again. “You only turn seventeen once.”

  “Right,” I agree, sitting down at her vanity as she sets to work.

  Forty-five minutes later, my wavy chestnut hair falls down my back and curls around my shoulders. My eyes look huge, a soulful brown with hints of green. I’m wearing the outfit Cynthia pulled for me and even though I think I’m going to be cold, she promised it’s nothing a shot or two of vodka can’t fix.

  I sit shotgun in her car, sing along to The Burnt Clovers’ newest single, and ride a wave of confidence I’ve never experienced. Tonight, I look the part. Tonight, I’m going to fit in.

  Tonight, I’m going to celebrate my seventeenth birthday, taste alcohol, and share my first kiss with Grant.

  Tonight is full of promises.

  TWO

  My excitement has given way to nerves.

  Grant’s here. He’s talking with some of his baseball buddies next to the bonfire, a red Solo cup in hand. He looks good, rocking dark jeans and a black hoodie with our school’s mascot, a bear, on the back in red.

  I check my phone but other than two messages from Mom checking in that Cynthia and I are okay at the movie theater I told her we were going to catch a film at, there’s nothing. I hope Levi shows.

  “Here.” Cynthia passes me a red cup.

  I look down at the clear liquid and sniff gently. I recoil. “This smells like nail polish remover.”

  Cynthia laughs. “It’s vodka, babe.” She lifts her cup to mine. “Happy seventeenth.” Then she tosses the shot back.

  Applause rings out around us with a few guys calling out their support for Cynthia’s actions.

  She shakes her ass, her arms raised overhead. “Now, it’s the birthday girl’s turn.”

  Eyes cut to me, and my nerves go haywire. Everyone is staring at me, waiting expectantly.

  “Shit, it’s Allegra’s birthday?” someone whispers.

  “She’s not gonna do it.”

  “Her father would kill her.”

  At the murmured commentary that reaches my ears, my cheeks blaze.

  “Come on, babe,” Cynthia says, her tone hard.

  Isn’t this what I wanted? For people to notice me? To be like Cynthia? To blend in?

  Closing my eyes, I lift my glass higher and force myself to drink it all in one gulp.

  It burns sliding down my throat and I sputter, wiping the sleeve of Cynthia’s sherpa across my mouth. I cough and Cynthia taps me on the back.

  “She’s a newbie but she got the job done,” she announces.

  A few cheers and laughs ring out, but it doesn’t sound the same way it did for Cynthia. I frown, trying to understand the difference when another shot is placed in my hand.

  “For your birthday.” Grant grins, his blue eyes mesmerizing.

  Oh, wow. He’s standing next to me. Talking to me.

  He slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his side. I breathe in his scent—cologne, the outdoors, and wisps of smoke from the bonfire. My heart races at my nearness to Grant—Grant!—and I try to steady my breathing.

  “You ready?” He smiles at me, boyish and charming and totally deserving of the Homecoming King award he won earlier this year.

  This time, I lift my cup with more bravado. “Ready.”

  Grant’s smile deepens and he taps his cup against mine. “Down the hatch, birthday girl.”

  I follow his movements and take the second shot. This time, the burn isn’t as bad, and I chase it away with the Coke Cynthia thrusts in my hand.

  Grant squeezes me, his fingers finding the curve of my hip and holding there for a beat. I shiver from his contact, and he pulls me even closer, giving me that signature smile.

  “Grant! Can you help me?” Cynthia asks, standing next to the keg and shaking her empty cup.

  “Of course, babe,” he says, giving me an apologetic look. “Happy birthday, Allegra.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter, my eyes narrowing as Grant saunters over to Cynthia.

  My friend gives me a shrug and turns toward Grant. Why would she call him over when he was finally—finally!—paying attention to me?

  And why does it bother me as much as it does?

  “There she is!” Levi’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  Forgetting about Cynthia and Grant, I turn toward my brother. With the vodka thrumming through my system, I race toward Levi and vault myself into his arms.

  “Oof!” he cries out, catching me. He hugs me close for a long moment as we both silently acknowledge all the months that have passed without seeing each other.

  With my parents barely speaking to him, Levi stays away for longer stretches of time. Between school, swimming, and student council commitments, not to mention Church and Youth Group, I rarely, if ever, make it into Boston to visit him. The only time I’ve managed to pull it off was under the guise of looking at colleges.

  Levi pulls back and his eyes widen. “You’re wearing makeup.”

  “I’m seventeen, Levi.”

  My brother places me down gently. “Hardly grown-up, A.” His voice is soft but the meaning behind his words hurts.

  I know I’m not an adult yet but I’m getting there. Can’t anyone see how badly I want to get there? My shoulders dip.

  Levi shakes his head. “But you look beautiful.”

  I look up slowly, a smile working over my mouth. “Really?”

  Levi frowns. “Always, A.” Something from behind me grabs his attention and he groans. “Don’t let Cynthia get you too drunk.”

  I laugh lightly.

  “Levi!” a few people call out to my brother.

  He grins and lifts his hand in greeting. “Let me go say hey.” He tips his head to the guy walking up beside him. “You remember Reign, yeah?”

 

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