Table of Contents
Front Matter
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Erin Noelle
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, is entirely coincidental.
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Cover Design by Hang Le
Editing by Kayla Robichaux
Proofing by Jennifer Van Wyk & Jill Sava
Formatting by Jill Sava
For my MastaBetas:
Never stop stroking it
“EMERGENCY FAMILY MEETING? Do you know anything about this?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously at my twin sister Ashlynn as we simultaneously emerged from our second-floor bedrooms. A good majority of the time, if we were in trouble, it was because of something she’d done. I was much better at not getting caught.
She shook her head and glanced down at the cellphone in her hand with a scowl on her face. The text from our mom informing us to get our asses downstairs immediately was still displayed on the screen.
“No, but I’m expecting a really important call shortly, so hopefully it doesn’t take too long,” she replied, blowing out an exasperated sigh as she shuffled her bare feet toward the staircase that separated our rooms.
I rolled my eyes and bit back a snarky retort about whoever her flavor-of-the-week was and how important listening to each other breathe on the phone could possibly be, then quietly followed her down the steps to where our mom and dad waited for us in the formal dining room. If we were already in trouble, I didn’t need to pick a fight with Ashlynn to really piss our parents off. Not the time to add fuel to the fire, Everett.
Turning the corner from the entry hall into the room typically reserved for holiday meals and serious family discussions, I was immediately suspicious when neither Mom nor Dad seemed mad or upset at all. In fact, excitement and eagerness painted their expressions, both of them standing rather than sitting, as if they were overflowing with enthusiasm about whatever they had to say.
Ashlynn and I exchanged a quick puzzled glance then returned our focus to them, waiting for an explanation. It wasn’t that our parents were unhappy people or didn’t smile a lot, because it was quite the opposite actually; they were normally fun-loving, cool-as-hell people who really enjoyed life. We just associated the dining room with solemn or somber conversations like when they’d told us Sassy, our German Shepherd, had died a few years back, or when they took away our cars for a week after finding out about the party we’d thrown while they were out of town.
No, this was definitely weird. Happy conversations took place in the kitchen. That was my parents’ favorite room in the house.
“Everett,” Mom began, flashing her bright smile at me before her elated gaze moved to meet my sister’s. “Ashlynn.” She grinned over at Dad and reached down to grab his hand, the anticipation growing with every passing second. I had no idea what was going on, but she was killing me with this drawn-out shit.
“As you guys know, Dad and the guys stopped touring the summer before y’all started kindergarten, because it was really important for him that we planted our roots somewhere and live together as a family while you guys you were in school.”
I nodded along with my sister, still confused as hell. Though we were too young to remember most of the first five years of our lives as we traveled on tour with our dad’s band, Jobu’s Rum, we were well aware of his adamancy about us having a consistent home environment and a “normal” school experience. Well, as normal as can be when you’re the offspring of rock god Mason Templeton.
“Well, since y’all only have eight months left until you graduate high school, the band has decided—”
“Oh, for chrissakes, Scarlett,” my dad cut in with a deep chuckle, “spit it out already, woman! Just tell ‘em we’re going back on tour next summer and that the label wants Singed Wings to open for us.”
My jaw hit the floor at the same time my sister shrieked so loud that I was surprised every window in the house didn’t shatter. He had to be joking. There was no way…
Singed Wings — the duo my sister and I had formed our freshman year after making music together practically our entire childhood — was going on tour. Opening for Grammy-winning, platinum-selling recording artists Jobu’s Rum. I couldn’t fucking believe it.
“Ar-are you serious?” I sputtered, my eyes as wide as saucers while my chest pounded a heavy bass line.
Laughing, he shook his head over at where Mom and Ashlynn were squealing like little girls and jumping up and down in a circle. “Yeah,” Dad nodded, his face lit up with a proud smile, “I wouldn’t pull your chain about somethin’ like that, son. I know how much this means to you. How hard you’ve worked. It’s time to see if you’ve got what it takes.”
“But how? They haven’t even heard us play?” I ran my trembling fingers through my thick, dark waves, tugging on them, needing to feel the sharp pain in my scalp to confirm I wasn’t dreaming.
My dad cocked his eyebrow at me and made a tsk-tsk sound. “The label has been begging me to go back on tour from the day I told them I was done twelve years ago. If I tell them I want my kids’ band to open for us, then my kids’ band is gonna damn well open for us. Your music is good. Great even. The world should hear it. And I’m gonna give you guys the chance. What you do from there is up to the two of y’all.”
“What about college? And the house here? How will it all work? Will we all be on a bus together? And the rest of the guys? Their families? When does it start?” The questions fell from my mouth in one breath as my brain finally started to process the news.
We were going on tour. All over the world. Sold-out crowds. The best venues. I could play music day and night and get paid for it. My dream.
“The tour is for nine months — six in the states then three international, including Europe, Asia, and South America. Opening night is in LA, last weekend in June. We’ll leave right after graduation to start three weeks of straight promotion," Mom answered, still holding a beaming Ashlynn close to her. “You guys will have to forego you
r first year of college, which isn’t ideal in my mind,” she paused, exchanging a look with Dad that said they’d discussed this at length, “but I understand this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I think it will be a good gauge to see how you adapt to life on the road.”
My sister snickered. “You mean, you guys will be there, so we can’t get in trouble.”
“So you can’t get in too much trouble,” Dad corrected, with a curt shake of his head, but kept his tone teasing. “We’re right here with you guys now, yet you both still seem to find your share of shit to stir.”
“And at the end of the tour, we can decide what the next step is,” Mom added. “I still think you’re both too young—”
“We’ll be eighteen in February, Mom,” Ashlynn interjected, backing away from her slightly. “Adults. You know, make-our-own-decisions adults.”
Narrowing her gaze at my sister, Mom crossed her arms defensively. Their shared jubilation was short-lived. “Yes, I’m well aware of what you turning eighteen means, but you’re still my babies. And I’m always gonna want what’s best for you. I don’t care if you’re turning fifty-eight; I will voice my opinion.”
“But, I won’t have to listen.”
“Enough!” My dad raised his hands in the air, putting a stop to what would’ve most likely turned into a spat between Mom and Ashlynn. “I refuse to let y’all ruin this happy day with that petty bickering shit you do all the damn time. We should be excited, celebrating as a family. Everyone go get dressed. We’ll talk about the rest of it over dinner. Without arguing.”
Ever since we’d entered high school, the two of them were constantly at odds, always squabbling about the stupidest of things. When we were little, it was no secret that Ashlynn was a Daddy’s girl, just as much as I was a Momma’s boy, but as I got older, my relationship with my dad strengthened. We had more in common like music and cars and fishing. The years, however, only seemed to increase the separation between the two females in the house. And the more Mom pushed, the more Ashlynn pushed back. It was bound to come to a head at some point. I just hoped I wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity when it happened.
Once we were excused, I bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time with my long stride, still somewhat dumbfounded. The opportunity that musicians all over the world prayed for was being served to me on a silver platter. All I had to do was get through the rest of my senior year — only eight short months of staying out of trouble and passing my classes — and then, it was mine for the taking. Music was my life, pumping hard through my veins, resonating deep within my bones. It was what I was born to do.
Nothing could steer me off track.
Nothing except the woman who would become my everything.
“I LOOK RIDICULOUS. Dresses are stupid,” I groaned, frowning at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I hated being short. Barely topping out at the five-foot mark, nothing ever fit me properly except kids’ clothes, and at twenty-five years old, I refused to shop in the same department as girls half my age. I didn’t need any help in looking younger; as it was, I had to show ID to get in to Rated-R movies.
Lindsey, my childhood best friend and pseudo-roommate at the present, sashayed over to me and crinkled up her nose at the black sweater-dress I’d purchased earlier in the afternoon. Without trying it on, of course.
“I told you the skinny jeans would look better. That doesn’t work at all,” she agreed, never having been one to lie to save my feelings. “Wear them with the off-the-shoulder blueish-purplish top you got. Your tits looked good in that. Plus,” she glanced down at her own jeans and silver blouse, “you’ll be much more comfortable in pants, not worrying about who can see your ass hanging out if we dance or end up playing pool or whatever.”
Her honest, no-bullshit attitude was one of the things I loved most about her. Oh, and the fact she and her husband were allowing me to live in their guest room for free until I had a chance to adjust to my impromptu move from Fairhope, Alabama to Houston, Texas, where they’d settled a few years earlier.
As if the stars of fate had finally aligned for me, just as I was finishing up my master’s degree at University of Southern Alabama and trying to find a job so that I could move out of my parents’ house, Lindsey had contacted me about a sudden opening for an art history teacher in the school district her husband Michael worked in. The only problem was they needed me to start on January third, the beginning of the new semester, and she’d called me on December twenty-seventh, giving me less than a week to pack my stuff up and make the seven-and-a-half-hour drive from my hometown to a city I knew absolutely nothing about.
I was on the road the next day.
All I could see was a chance for a fresh start, the break I’d been praying for. Leaving behind memories that I preferred to face as infrequently as possible, limiting trips to the couple of times a year I’d need to visit my parents, who, even after everything I’d put them through, loved and supported me wholeheartedly.
Getting to be close to Lindsey again for the first time since we went our separate ways after high school was just the icing on my new beginnings cake. And luckily, her husband — who I worried about since he was almost ten years older than both of us — turned out to be a pretty chill guy too, not only hooking me up with the job, but also offering for me to stay with them until I saved up some money and found a place of my own. I was truly happy she’d found someone like him.
“Can I wear my Docs with it, or do I need fancy shoes?” I asked, as I pulled the dress over my head and stalked back into the closet, tossing it into the bag with the receipt for a return.
Lindsey barked out a laugh. “Nothing at Empty’s Pub is ever fancy. It’s a family-owned bar that showcases some of the best live music in the city, and they’ve got this amazing patio area nestled around an outdoor stage. You’re gonna love it, I promise. Very relaxed. Michael and his buddies used to hang out there all the time in college, and we still meet up with them and their wives at least once a month or so. I’ll introduce you to everyone tonight, but they’ll all be very casual. The only people you’ll see dressed up are the barely-legal co-eds out on the prowl.”
“But it’s New Year’s Eve. Won’t people be more dressed up than normal? I don’t want to look like a slob. And do you think I need to put my hair up? I’m afraid it’s gonna get all windblown if we’re outside much.” I emerged from the walk-in in only my underclothes with my new outfit selection slung over my shoulder, modesty between the two of us nonexistent.
Turning around from the mirror where she was applying makeup, she fisted her hands on her hips and narrowed her crystal blue gaze on me. “Arabelle Marie Sloan, would you stop second-guessing yourself about everything? I know that dickwad did a number on you, but you’ve gotta put that shit behind you and accept the fact that you’re a smoking hot, smart-as-hell woman who is a fuckin’ prize-winning catch for any man. Now, you’re gonna change that God-awful excuse for lingerie into something that makes you feel sexy and doesn’t look like what my granny wears, put on the tight jeans, the boob-shirt, and your damn combat boots, and whatever you do, leave the hair down. Then you’re gonna go to this party and have a good time. Maybe you should even make out with a guy. Or two. Ya know, get your juices flowing again. You’ve been bottling that shit up for so long there’s probably a crusty film—”
“I got it, thanks,” I interjected, as I lifted my hands up in surrender, laughing hard. “We can talk about a lot of things, Linds, but I draw the line at my juices. A girl’s gotta keep some things to herself.”
A wide grin spread across her face. “But juices are important.”
I shook my head and walked over to my suitcase, digging out the only matching bra-and-panty set I owned. A simple, solid black lacy duo. Quickly, I changed into them then followed with the purposely-ripped jeans, iris-colored top, and my favorite boots. I was willing to leave a lot of things back in Alabama, but the boots weren’t one of them. They were my security blanket.
Striding
back over to my friend, I smiled at her through the mirror, immensely pleased with my appearance. The little bit of mascara and lip gloss Lindsey had insisted on, accentuated my best features — my big brown eyes and full lips — and I’d been wearing my hair in a bun for so long that I’d forgotten what it looked like down, the super-straight brown tresses falling well below my bra strap. The outfit wasn’t anywhere close to the conservative style of clothing I was used to wearing, but that’s what this new chapter of my life was all about. Trying new things. Broadening my horizons. Spreading my wings.
“You’re right,” I finally admitted. “I want this. A clean slate. Thanks for helping a girl out when she needed it. I promise I’ll make the best of it.”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head like a mom would. “Good, and we can talk about the juices tomorrow. Let’s go find someone to uncork you tonight.”
FROM THE MOMENT we arrived at the New Year’s Eve bash, a genuine smile stayed firmly plastered across my face as I reveled in the first night of my new life in my new city with my new friends, my brain on sensory overload. Taking it all in. The ambiance magical.
White paper lanterns strung from tree to tree surrounding the massive wood deck illuminated the area with a soft glow like something straight from a movie set. Groups of people ranging from college-aged kids to grandparents chatted, drank, and danced together, most wearing Happy New Year hats or silly glasses, all footloose and carefree. The combined smells of beer and peanuts from our table and deep-fried food coming from inside the old-warehouse-turned-bar filled my nose, reminding me of a county fair. For the first time in a long time, I felt youthful… hopeful.
Sitting around a wrought-iron patio table with Lindsey, Michael, and nearly a dozen of their friends, drinking pitchers of beer and listening to the live music, the guys all talked shit to each other about some fantasy football league they were in together. The wives ignored them for the most part, engaging in small talk about their kids or their jobs, and though they were all extremely nice and tried to include me in the conversation, it was hard not to feel a little bit like an outsider. I didn’t have children or a husband, and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about the only serious relationship I’d been in. Without knowing much about what to expect at my upcoming job either, I didn’t have much to add to their discussions, so I nodded and laughed when I was supposed to, simply enjoying the laidback, cozy atmosphere. It felt as natural as hanging out in a friend’s backyard.