Teacher: The Final Act (A Hollywood Rock n' Romance Trilogy #3) by R. L. Merrill Page B

really sorry that this happened at all.”  
    “Thank you, Bronson. But I mean it when I said it’s done.  Although…”
    I paused.  Thoughts of Stacey’s shooting had been what woke me up.  I wanted to talk about it, but I didn’t want to tell Danny.   ”I don’t know how to handle knowing he’s dead, you know?  That was my first time seeing a dead person, especially someone that I kind of knew?  It was weird. Very unsettling.”  
    He looked up at me and his blue eyes were darker than usual. “The way I look at it?  It’s better all around.  He’s not suffering anymore. You and Danny don’t have to deal with a trial or anything.  It’s over. There’s closure.”
    I nodded, relieved I had said something.  ”I am happy there will be no trial.  I’d hate to have Jane go through all that.  This is going to be bad enough.  I’m so afraid for her to see me like this.”
    He nodded.  ”That’s why I thought it would be good for you guys to stay here.  Although, no offense, but it’s going to take longer than a few days for those bruises to fade.”  
    I rolled my eyes.  ”I know. I look terrible!  How the hell am I going to go to work on Monday?  My students are going to freak out and I really don’t want to tell them everything.”  
    “Do you have sick leave?  Can you be out?  I’m sure your boss will understand.”  
    “I’ll call her tomorrow.  I don’t want to think about anything else tonight.”  I pulled my knees up to my chest and exhaled loudly.  
    Bronson laughed.  ”I think we need to do something to take your mind off things.”  
    I raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head.  ”I don’t mean anything that will get us in trouble. Well, not you anyway.”  He set his guitar aside and stood up, stretching his back.  He was in a t-shirt and sweats. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.  He so didn’t look the rock star when he was rockin’ the sweat pants.  He looked like a second string basketball player.  Ok, maybe with long hair not quite a basketball player.  Maybe a coffee house poet guy.  
    Bronson walked over to the far wall, which was covered with shelves holding pictures, knickknacks and books.  Looking around the room, I noticed some tour posters, a couple of platinum album plaques, and pictures of his family.  Holy shit!  He even had his Grammy on the shelf!  There were five or six guitars on stands in the corner and two couches in the middle of the room, facing each other.  
    “Aha!  Just the one I was looking for.”  He pulled a large photo album off the shelf and brought it over to me.  ”Damning evidence from Blackened’s early days.  He’ll be pissed at me for showing you this.  I’m not even sure he knows I have it.  I’m a total geek when it comes to saving pictures and memorabilia.”  He sat down at the far end of the couch, giving me space, and probably trying to be appropriate in case we were discovered.
    I took the album from him, excited at what I might see.  When I opened it I had to clap a hand over my mouth.  It was a scrapbook, in essence, of Blackened’s beginnings.  The cover page had a publicity photo of the band, probably from when they first started in 1997 or ‘98.  They were all posed together in leather and denim.  Bronson and Julian still looked the same. They were even dressed similar to how they dressed now, in black jeans, thick, studded belts with large buckles, cowboy boots, sleeveless shirts.  Alex had longer hair and had no shirt on in the picture and was holding his drumsticks in one hand.  Other than looking younger, they looked how I’d expect.  
    I could not, however, get over Danny!  He wasn’t kidding when he told me his hair was down to his ass.  His red hair had waves and curls and so much blonde in it, it almost looked highlighted if I didn’t know better.  He was wearing black leather pants and a leather vest.  No shirt. He was much thinner. His