To the Ladies of the Ledge: Marilyn Medina, Marion Archer, Cris Hadarly, Michelle Eck, Kim Bias, Lisa Kane, and Karen Lawson
Without these fabulous women, dear readers, you would not receive my books. They have supported me by holding my hand during the blood, sweat, and tears of the writing process as well as talking me down from the ledge we crazy writers put ourselves out on. Most of all, their keen eyes have helped to make my books the best they can be through editing, revising, and brainstorming.
“You and I travel to the beat of a different drum. Oh, can't you tell by the way I run every time you make eyes at me?”—Mike Nesmith
“One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain”—Bob Marley
“If music be the food of love, play on”—William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
With my foot pumping steady on the bass drum, my arms flew in a frenzied flourish over the toms and cymbals, sending a deafening thunder throughout the auditorium. As stinging sweat threatened to blind my eyes, I quickly swiped my arm across my forehead and then focused on the song’s encore and my third solo of the evening. Jake and Brayden’s echoing harmonies had ended only moments before, and now it was a battle between the metal and drums on our most hardcore song to date, Ride the Pale Horse. Their guitars screeched to a halt, and then it was me, and only me, pounding out the rhythm. As the house lights flickered in a mosaic of colors, I felt the beat echoing deep within my chest. Although I loved any excuse to show off, I knew the importance of solos to my band mates—we were only as good as our last show or our last album. Even though I was in a stadium with twenty thousand people, moments like these always took me back to when I was a kid and was learning how to master the drums from my Tio Diego.
Just as I finished the last beat of the crescendo, everything went black in the auditorium. It took only a millisecond for the audience’s approval to begin as a resounding roar. For a full minute, we remained in the pitch black until the house lights slowly came back up. As I took off my headset, whistles, cat-calls, and applause stung my ears. I rose off my stool and made my way out of the drum set to join the guys at the front of the stage. During the blackout, roadies had taken Jake, Brayden, and Rhys’s guitars. I, on the other hand, stood twirling one of my drumsticks between my fingers.
Standing toe to toe with each other, we waved to the crowd before doing a united bow. Jake passed each of us the microphone so we could say our individual goodbyes. Once Brayden returned it to him, Jake grinned. “Good night, Oklahoma City! Keep it rockin’ til next time!” he bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the auditorium. With a final wave, we started jogging off the stage. When I got to the edge, I turned back. I kissed each of my sticks before chucking them out into the crowd. It was a wonder, after all the times of doing it, I hadn’t managed to poke someone’s eye out or inflict some other heinous injury with them. The potential liability and lawsuits were something that ‘legal-eagle’, Rhys, loved to remind me of constantly.
Security quickly escorted us into one of the backstage rooms where we’d gotten ready earlier in the evening. The members of Jacob’s Ladder—Jake’s fiancée, Abby Renard, and her twin brothers, Gabe and Eli, lounged on the over-stuffed couches, awaiting our arrival. With sweat pouring off of me, I gladly took an ice-cold water bottle, along with a towel, from one of the roadies. As I guzzled down the water, another guy thrust a clean shirt in my face. It was t-minus five minutes till Meet and Greet time with lucky fans.
“Ew, Jake!” Abby squealed. I glanced over my shoulder to see that Jake hadn’t bothered to towel off or change shirts. Instead, he was rubbing his sweat-soaked body over Abby’s glittering stage dress. When he nuzzled his face against her neck and whispered something in her ear, she grinned and didn’t seem to mind that her appearance to meet fans was getting shot to hell.
“Get a room,” I teased, as I whipped my old shirt over my head.
“We may have to call the room on your bus tonight,” Abby said with a giggle.
I groaned as I pulled on the clean, skin-tight, black Runaway Train T-shirt. “I thought the whole point of you two buying a separate bus was so you could keep it rockin’ without us having to know.”
Wrinkling her nose at my description of their activities, Abby replied, “Yes, but since Lily is with us for the next three shows, we want to give up the bed to her and Bray.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Let’s rephrase that, babe. You want to give the bed up, not me.”
Abby smacked his arm playfully. “But the roosts can be awfully fun too, you know.”
A wicked grin curved on Jake’s face as if some elicit memory had just been rekindled in his mind. “That’s true.”
Just as they started to engage in some serious lip-lock, a knock came at the door, signaling it was time to start the Meet and Greet. Running a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, I tried to steady myself. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the hell out of our fans—they made us what we were, but I preferred pre-show Meet and Greets. With the pre-performance energy adrenaline pumping, you really could give to your fans what they deserved.
But the suits and event planners never quite understood that. So, after days of touring and hours spent playing your heart out has sent exhaustion prickling over your body like nicks from a razor blade, it was hard finding the energy after a show to give your all to each and every person who came by—especially the over-eager women who wanted more than you were willing to give. You’re too tired, and you let your guard down, which results in having your ass and junk unwillingly grabbed.
A flurry of movement came from the doorway indicating the eager fans had arrived. Abby and Jake quickly rose off the couch and then went their separate ways with their respective bands. The line remained steady, and my face felt frozen in a smile as I posed with different fans. I signed so many shirts, CD’s, and body parts that my hand cramped up so bad that I thought it would never recover to play in tomorrow night’s show. Rhys and I were now the only guys who signed breasts. Brayden had been out of that game practically since we started, and now that Jake was engaged to Abby, he was refusing too. In his absence, I was happy to oblige.
We only had about ten fans left when Kylie, Lily’s younger sister and sometimes nanny, poked her dark head in the door. Before she could open her mouth, Melody’s high decibel scream echoed throughout the room. “DADDY! I WANT MY DADDY!”
With one hand signing a program, Brayden used the other to beckon Kylie. She hurried into the room, trying to muffle Melody’s cries by cradling the fifteen month old to her rack. But Melody pulled away and reached out for Bray. The moment he took her, Melody quieted, wrapping her arms around Brayden’s neck.
He gave an apologetic smile to the fans. “Excuse me, but it seems my daughter needs her daddy. I hope you all won’t mind if I duck out?”
Since it was only women left, they practically melted into a freaking puddle in the floor at Brayden’s words and actions. A chorus of “A
w’s” coupled with “What a good father you are” rang through the room. As Bray left with one of our jacked-up security guards, Kylie didn’t follow him. Instead, she hung around, talking to Abby, while cutting her blue eyes over at me.
“Trouble, bro,” Rhys said, as he handed a hat back to the last fan left.
Glancing up at Kylie, I winked, causing her to grin. “Nothing we haven’t already done before.”
“Yeah, I know.” Rhys turned his back to everyone else and eased up beside me, so no one else could hear us. “You’re all about the game and the freakin’ chase. Once you caught Kylie, she threw you for a loop by not being heart-broken when she went back home for spring semester.” Rhys grimaced. “Dude, you got shit-faced for a week.”
I shrugged. “So I got a little attached. It doesn’t mean it will happen again.”
Rhys huffed out a frustrated breath. “Whatever man. Just don’t come to my roost drunk and crying over her.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled. With the last fan exiting the door, Jake began tugging Abby out of the room. I hoped for their sake, Bray had managed to get Melody to sleep so it wouldn’t interrupt the rated R plans I imagined Jake had for himself and Abby.
I gave Kylie my best ‘you will be screaming my name in an hour’ smirk. “Hey stranger.”
With a smile, she tossed some of her chestnut brown hair over her shoulder. “Hey yourself.”
“Good to see you back.”
“Thanks.”
“How long are you along for the ride?”
She cocked her head, as if surmising whether there was some loaded innuendo in my question. “Just for the week. I’m off for Spring Break.”
“Ah, I see.” I rubbed the stubble along my chin, trying to decide the best way to approach getting her naked in my bed as soon as possible.
“I’m not seeing anyone now,” Kylie said softly.
“Good to know.”
She brushed up against me. “I missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“With your hoard of female admirers, I highly doubt that.”
I gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s the truth.” Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the room was starting to thin out. “What would you say about coming back to my bus tonight, instead of Jake and Bray’s?”
“I think I would like that.”
Pinning my hands against the wall on either side of her head, I leaned in, my lips inches from hers. “From what I remember you used to like it a lot, especially when I gave you multiple orgasms. All. Night. Long.”
A flush tinged her cheeks as I ground my pelvis into hers, eliciting a slight gasp that stroked my ego. “AJ,” she murmured, closing her eyes in anticipation. After a quick kiss, that was harder to control than I had originally thought, Kylie groaned in disappointment. I almost did the same thing. Instead, I pushed back off the wall and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Come on, let’s take this to the bus.”
She bobbed her head and let me lead her out of the room. We started weaving our way through the hustle and bustle of roadies breaking down the show’s equipment and loading the trucks. Ahead of us, Frank, our head roadie and father figure, joined up with Jake and Abby. We were only a few feet from Jake’s bus when Frank stumbled on the pavement. Jake and Abby stopped, but when he didn’t continue walking, Jake reached out for him. But before he could catch him, Frank slumped to the ground.
“Oh shit!” I cried, as I sprinted away from Kylie.
Ashen faced, Frank clutched his chest. “My heart.”
“Somebody get the paramedics!” Jake shouted.
Roadies scrambled around, grabbing for their phones. An ambulance was always on stand-by during a show, and I hoped to God it hadn’t left yet.
Instead of kneeling down beside Frank, Abby raced to the bus. The driver saw her coming and hurried to have the door open. She disappeared inside for a minute before running back with the first aid kit. Brayden was right on her heels, obviously sensing something had happened.
When she got back to us, Abby fumbled in the bag before digging a bottle of aspirin out. She then knelt down beside Frank and popped a pill. “Here. Swallow this,” she commanded.
As Frank took the pill, the wail of an ambulance’s siren pierced the silence. It was only seconds later that it came screeching around the corner. Slamming on its brakes only a few feet away, it stop with the paramedics rushing out of the doors. I backed away so they could get to Frank. That’s when I glanced over at Jake. He stood frozen, unblinking and unmoving—pure horror etched on his face. “Jake?” I questioned. But he didn’t respond.
After getting an oxygen mask over Frank’s face, the paramedics worked on putting in an IV and loading him onto the stretcher. “He’s stable, so someone can ride with us,” one of them said.
Abby glanced over her shoulder. “Jake, do you want to ride to the hospital with Frank?”
He ignored her question. Instead, he murmured absentmindedly, “You were crumpled on the ground.”
Rising to her feet, Abby’s blonde brow lined in confusion. “What?”
“Your white dress was stained with blood…Then, she was on the ground at the stables when she had the last seizure.” Jake shuddered. “She never got out of bed again after that.”
Tears sparkled in Abby’s bright blue eyes as she crossed the distance between them to put her hands on Jake’s face. “Baby, I’m here. Don’t go back there,” she crooned softly.
One of the paramedics poked his head out the door. “Okay, we’re ready to go.”
Abby threw a panicked glance over at me. I knew she wanted to go, but she couldn’t bear leaving Jake in the state he was in. “Don’t worry. I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” she replied, before wrapping Jake in her arms.
I hopped in the back of the ambulance and slid across the bench. Reaching out, I grabbed Frank’s hand, which was already wrapped in IV tubing, in mine. He squeezed it back. The doors closed behind us just as the wailing siren started up. I glanced out of the window to watch Jake and Abby’s retreating forms. Kylie threw up her hand, and I felt a pang of remorse that I hadn’t even said good-bye. As I waved back to her, it was almost like my dick felt an intense pang of frustration that there would be no getting busy tonight. Glancing down at Frank’s ashen face, I felt like a gigantic ass for even thinking about a missed hook-up. The dude was like a father to me and the guys for fuck’s sake.
As we started down the road, Frank tugged me closer to him. “This means a bypass,” he croaked.
“You don’t know that. Could be they just need to put another one of those stent thingies in those old, crusty arteries of yours.”
He shook his head. “Doc said so last time.”
With a shrug, I replied, “So you’ll have a bypass or two. It’s not the end of the world. People have them all the time. My abuelo in San Antonio had one a month ago. Good as new.”
Frank seemed to be weighing my words. The heart problems he’d dealt with in the last two years weren’t a secret to anyone on the crew or in the band. He’d had two separate angioplasties while during our down time not on tour. We hadn’t given it much thought since he had bounced back so easily both times.
“I just want to get it done back in Atlanta, okay? I want it to be with my doctor and where my boys can be with me.”
“You got it, man. We’ll get you back there ASAP, even if we have to call the label’s jet.”
“Thanks, son.”
With a wink, I squeezed his hand. “No problem.”
“Hey stronzo, why don’t you learn to use a fucking turning signal!” I shouted at the car that had just cut in front of me, causing me to slam on my brakes and almost drop the bagel I was balancing on my thigh. Just like every morning as I battled Atlanta rush-hour traffic, I cursed like a sailor, or probably more like the hot-blooded Sicilian men I’d been raised around. I also pondered why I thought it was necessary to continue living in the burbs, rather than closer to the city and St. Joe’s—aka St
. Joseph’s hospital—where I was a charge nurse on the Cardiac Care Floor.
Traffic edged along at a snail’s pace while I ate my bagel and cream cheese. I didn’t dare glance at the clock on the dashboard because I knew it would only piss me off more at how late I was going to be. Finally after a small eternity, I whipped into the parking deck. Once I eased the car into a parking spot, I reached for the hair clip on the strap of my purse. I wound my long, dark hair into a tight twist and clipped it into place. After throwing a glance in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn’t have bagel crumbs or cream cheese in my teeth, I grabbed my purse and threw open the car door.
When I pressed the lock on the key fob, I was once again reminded of the sting of grief that always accompanied that beep. A subtle grief trigger, as my therapist had called it. It certainly felt like a trigger had been pulled on a gun, lodging a bullet into my heart. The Mercedes convertible, SLK250, which was way out of my usual budget, had been Mama Sofia’s, my late grandmother.
After she died unexpectedly of a heart attack nine months ago, I found she had left implicit instructions in her will that I should have the car. Regardless of her slew of other grandchildren, she reasoned, that since it had originally been a gift from my father, it was mine outright. Considering her feisty personality and status as family matriarch, no one dared to question her motives. Whatever Mama Sofia said, you did. She was the youngest acting eighty-five-year old you would ever see. With a decorative scarf wrapped around her perfectly coiffed, bouffant hair, she always had the top down—even on her daily trip to mass.
Shifting my cup of coffee into my other hand, I rubbed my chest over my aching heart. After my mother had bailed on my dad when I was just a baby, Mama Sofia had been the only mother I’d ever known. She’d left her home in Jersey to come to Atlanta to help my father raise me. Her loss had shattered me to the core. As I made my way out of the parking deck, I shook my head, trying desperately to shake myself of the cloak of dark, smothering grief that seemed to hang tight around me.
Just a few minutes before seven, the hospital slowly stirred awake from the evening shift. I smiled and bobbed my head at the stream of bleary and beleaguered looking doctors and nurses heading out to their cars. I remembered all too well what it was like to pull the night shift—I’d gotten that experience years ago during my clinicals.