Beneath the Stars: A Friends-to-Lovers Rockstar Romance

by A.L. Jackson

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance; Friends to lovers

Synopsis

From NYT and USA Today bestselling author A.L. Jackson comes a friends-to-lovers romance about an unattainable rockstar and his best friend's younger sister...

 

Maggie Fitzgerald is the last girl I should think about taking to my bed.

On the cusp of turning 21, she has her whole life waiting out ahead of her. Sexy AF while still radiating an innocence that I know better than to taint.

And here I am, itching to reach out and touch a girl who is so forbidden that just thinking about her feels like committing a mortal sin.

Thing is, I love playing with fire.

 

Rhys Manning is everything I shouldn't want.

Country-rock's newest superstar.

Fun. Wild. Ready to show the world a good time.

He's so off-limits it isn't even funny.

So out of reach he might as well be a poster tacked on my wall.

Too bad every time he looks at me, my heart races out of control.

 

Now, I'm stuck living with him for the entire summer...

We're only supposed to be friends. Still, I should have known it was a terrible idea when I started sneaking into his room. Especially when it's clear he's keeping secrets.

Secrets that might destroy us both.

One touch, and I want more.

One kiss, and I'm spiraling out of control.

I know it's reckless to start dancing in the flames.

But in exchange for getting to spend one night with this brooding bad boy? I might be willing to get burned...

Release date: February 22, 2021

Publisher: A.L. Jackson Books Inc.

Print pages: 475

Sample

prologue

Rhys

Six Months Earlier

 

Have you ever experienced a moment in your life that should have been commonplace? 

Seemingly inconsequential? 

No big deal? 

Yet you couldn’t shake the feelin’ that it might change everything? That you were on some path you shouldn’t have been traveling, but you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it, anyway?

I guessed that was the way I was feeling when I sat tucked into a booth at the back of the rowdy, dank bar in my hometown of Dalton, South Carolina, sipping at a beer while I watched Maggie Fitzgerald, the baby sister of one of my closest friends, guzzle the last dregs of her margarita from the straw pursed between her lips. 

The girl grinned around it in some kind of drunken ecstasy while I tried to pretend like I didn’t notice how fuckin’ gorgeous she was. 

“Ahh, look at you, little miss drunkey drunk. You better watch yourself there, sweetness. You’re looking way too happy right about now,” I told her, voice rough with the tease and the assault of lust that took me over just looking at her. “Don’t want to have to carry you out of here.” 

“Mmhmmmm…” Maggie hummed around the straw, barely loud enough that I could hear over the din. “I think I’m in love.” 

I itched in my seat, dying to reach out and touch a girl who was so off-limits that just sitting there felt like committing a mortal sin.

See, I wasn’t exactly the type who got an A+ for good behavior. 

I loved playing with fire. 

But this? 

It was different. 

This was dancing into treachery. Treading into perilous waters. 

It wasn’t like we were doin’ anything illegal. 

Okay, at least we hadn’t been until the girl had gotten up to go to the restroom and had somehow managed to return with a full pitcher of margarita and a five-thousand-watt smile on her face. 

Way too pleased with herself for being able to swindle some unknowing sucker into buying it for her, but not yet quite as pleased as she was right then. 

She groaned around the straw as she slurped up the last bit. “Oh my goodness …why does this taste so good? This is the nectar of the gods,” she sang-slurred as she fumbled to pour the last of the pitcher into her glass. 

I stretched my arms out on the back of the booth and pointed at her where she sat across from me. “Come tomorrow mornin’, you’re gonna realize tequila is actually the devil’s poison. Pretty sure you’re gonna be rockin’ a hangover like nobody’s business.” 

“Will you hold my hair if I get sick?” She seemed way too eager by the prospect. 

A rough chuckle climbed my throat. “You’re really tryin’ to get me in hot water, aren’t you, Mag Pie? Your brother finds out where you’re at tonight, and he’s gonna chop off my dick, and then what am I supposed to do with my life?” 

I tried not to grin at the way her eyes bugged out when I brought attention to my cock. 

“That would be bad,” she whispered the scandal before her expression shifted to something fierce. “But don’t you think it’s time I started thinking for myself? Started doing what I want to do?” 

I knew Royce, Maggie’s older brother, wanted to keep her in a gilded cage, especially in light of the horrible shit that had gone down in her life. 

On some level, I got it. I had this crazy need to protect her, too. 

The other half of me? 

He wanted to open the latch and set her free.

There was no question this girl was itchin’ to fly. Spread her wings, step off the ledge, and soar. 

My gaze devoured her where she sat across the table.

Black waves cascaded over her delicate shoulders and ran like a river of seduction down her back.

Her charcoal eyes were big and round, the unique color like the dusting of a pencil across a page, soft and shadowed and somehow piercing at the same damned time. 

Maggie Fitzgerald always looked both curious and shy.

But the thing that stood out most about her was she seemed furiously real, which considering I was nothing but a sham and a fake, only amplified the fact that I most definitely shouldn’t be there. 

Her nose was sharp, almost as sharp as the defined angle of her jaw, but her cheeks were somehow full and forever pinked, the lips of her sweet mouth three shades darker and verging on red. 

There was a tiny dimple in her left cheek that had already driven me halfway to mad. 

She was like looking at something magical.

Ethereal. 

A siren who had no fuckin’ clue just how dangerous she could be. 

She kept staring at me like she actually wanted the answer to the question she’d asked. 

“I think you should do anything and everything that brings you joy,” I finally answered, straight-up honest. I took a swig from my bottle, watching her over the top.

The way those eyes traced my movements. 

Like maybe she wanted to memorize them. 

Maybe become a part of them.

“What if I’m just figuring out what that might mean?” she asked.

“Then you have to trust yourself to make a few mistakes along the way.”

My stomach twisted in a knot of need that I refused to acknowledge. I sure as fuck wasn’t gonna be one of them.

Truth be told? 

Tonight’s mission was all kinds of covert and most definitely unauthorized. 

Just because the concert was dubbed 18+ didn’t mean this little excursion wasn’t one-hundred-percent illicit. No question in my mind that Royce would have my ass if he found out where I’d taken his baby sister.

His baby sister who was twenty. 

His baby sister who was twelve years younger than me. 

His baby sister who, since the second she’d come into town to help prepare for Royce’s wedding to the lead singer of my band, had captured me in a way that I couldn’t let her. 

“Not sure how I let you talk me into this,” I grumbled the tease.

Her brows lifted in the cutest way. Dark, dark eyes flashed something so sweet that it panged through the middle of me. “What, you don’t want to make a few of those mistakes with me? And here I thought we were friends,” she razzed.

That was exactly how she talked me into this. 

That smile that took up the entirety of her sweet face, the one tool in this world that held the power to put a chink in my armor. 

Right that second, I knew any ass-kickin’ comin’ my way would be a small price to pay to get to see her expression shine like that. 

“Yeah, Mags, we are definitely friends.” 

She stretched her margarita glass across the table and clinked it against my bottle. “To making a few mistakes,” she murmured. 

Energy zinged through the air. A bolt of lightning. Same feeling she exuded every time she got into my space.

Girl was a jolt of electricity that both soothed and sparked. 

Shadows from the bar played across her face. She smiled beneath the flashin’ lights, making that dimple dance and play.

Fuuuuuuck. 

I wanted to reach out and touch it.

Taste it. 

Gave myself a harsh shake of the head to break me out of the trance that this girl lulled me into with a glance. 

Might already be on my way to Hell, but touching her? That would earn me a first-class ticket on a direct flight.

Being around her felt like balancing on a high-wire without a net underneath to catch me when I slipped. 

Exhilarating and dangerous. 

So forbidden I might as well have been watching her through bulletproof glass. 

She sucked at that straw, and for a moment, her eyes flashed their sorrow. 

Danced their demons.

I got the distinct sense that she had an unobstructed view of mine, too. Like she could see straight into me and find all the things I couldn’t allow her to see. 

“How are you doin’, Mags?” She’d been through some shit. 

Crazy shit. The culmination going down just this last week that had sent us all reeling. Maybe that was part of the reason I’d brought her here. Feeling like maybe I could step in and be something for her. A reprieve. A distraction.

Maggie pulled back from the straw, and her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as her head pitched to the side, taken by a swell of grief. 

“You want to know how I really feel, Rhys?” 

I swallowed the lump that grew in my throat. “Yeah. Think I do.” 

She glanced away before she was staring me down with those charcoal eyes. “I feel broken. I feel freed. I feel this huge amount of relief that the chains are actually gone and now I can finally live, and at the same time, terrified that I don’t know how. But I’m ready to try.” She kept her gaze locked on me.

So real. So genuine. So different. 

There was no missing the agony that burned from her spirit or the hope that shined from her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” I told her. “So fuckin’ sorry.” 

Her brow pinched just a fraction. “Don’t be because I’m not.” 

“You’re kinda amazing, you know?” 

Shyness crept over her face, and she fiddled with her empty glass. “You don’t even know me.” 

I edged forward. “How’s that, I thought we were friends?”

I let the ribbing wind into my tone, lovin’ the way redness splashed on her cheeks.

She shrugged a little, peeking my way. “You know what I mean. But…I want us to be. Friends. Good friends. For you to know me.” 

She rushed the last like a secret. 

Like she might regret the words later. 

If she got too close, she would.

I drained the rest of my beer and set it on the table before I eased out of the booth, pushing to my full height. I moved over to her side.

My shadow eclipsed this petite girl where she looked so tiny tucked in the booth.

Wondered if she could sense the danger. Way she saw deeper. If there was some kind of warnin’ going off in her mind to keep her distance and something that lured her to me at the same time.

I extended my hand. “C’mere, Sweet Thing.” She stared at it before she set hers in mine. 

Energy crackled. 

A snap in the air. 

Motherfuckin’ flames.

Shit. 

This girl. 

She tipped her chin up my way as she climbed out to stand, and there was something playful that took to her expression. “You wanna dance with me, Cowboy?” 

“Cowboy?” I said it like I was offended. “I thought I made it clear it’s Stallion…Stallion, baby.” 

She giggled, and she tipped back her head, smiling that smile that nearly dropped me to my knees. “I think I’m gonna find me one of those, Rhys. I’m gonna find me a cowboy and move here to Dalton, have about five babies and own about ten horses. Buy a big old house that always needs work. Get away from LA forever. Leave it all behind. Doesn’t it sound nice?” It was a hum and a slur and the whisper of a dream. 

Chuckling a rough sound, I curled an arm around her waist. “That so? Sounds like you’re gearing up for one of those mistakes.” 

“Or maybe it would be the best thing I could do.” 

I pressed my nose to her temple.

Fire. 

I was no longer playing with it, I was dancing in it barefoot.

I led her to the dance floor, anyway. Like I said, I wasn’t so good at making prudent choices.

I was all about the greed and gluttony.

Around us, couples two-stepped, a crush of bodies sliding and twirling and grinding. 

I pulled Maggie into my arms.

That fire was doused in gasoline. 

My insides went raw with a brand of need I’d never experienced before.

Like a fool, I ignored it. Pretended that it didn’t matter. 

That my fucking heart didn’t flutter when she laughed. 

That I wasn’t grinning right back when her smile grew wide. 

I dipped her and she squealed, girl laughing and laughing while I continued to spin her round and round.

“You’re a natural, you know. You’ve got country in your soul, darlin’. Think we need to run out and get you some boots.” 

She grinned up at me. “And one of those cowboys, too?” 

I chuckled even though I couldn’t stomach the idea of passing her off to one of these pricks.

Thought of someone else’s hands on her made my vision turn red. 

So I danced with her instead like that was what I was meant to do.

When the band shifted into a slow song, Maggie didn’t hesitate to loop her arms around my neck. She rested her cheek against my chest. “What do you want in this life, Rhys?” 

We were barely moving, just swaying from side-to-side. “For my band to make it. Nothin’ else matters but that.”

It’s what we’d been working toward for what felt like our entire lives. 

“Well, that and for my mama to be happy,” I said on a bout of wistful laughter. “I’m gonna bulldoze her old house and build a big one in its place. That’s my goal.” 

Maybe set fire to it and torch all the horrible memories hidden inside. 

Maggie rumbled a sound of affectionate disbelief. “Haven’t you realized yet that your band has already made it? Six months from now, you’ll be heading to Savannah to record your big album. Everyone’s going to know your name, Rhys Manning.” 

She stared at me like she was proud. 

“That’s the plan. I mean, who could forget me?” I let one of those smirks take to my face. 

Redness pinked those cheeks, but she didn’t look away when she whispered, “Impossible. You’re unforgettable.” Then she grinned, mischief winding into her tone. “Have you seen these women eyeing you? Hell, I’m probably going to have to walk home with all these girls who want to get with you. I think three or four of them are currently trying to figure out how to lure me into the bathroom so they can shank me. Get me out of the way so they can get close to you.” 

I pulled her closer. “You really think I’d ditch you?” 

“Um…let’s see…your friend’s little sister who begged to tag along, or one of these gorgeous women who would know how to handle a man like you?” 

Uneasiness flooded her expression, even though she kept her tone light when she asked it. 

Trying to play and pretend like it didn’t matter and hating the idea of it, too.

I felt it.

Knew it. 

Two of us were treading those treacherous waters. 

Reaching out, I let my fingertips flutter along the angle of her cheek, right over that dimple that I’d been dying to touch.

Playing that reckless, greedy game. 

“No contest, Mags. No contest.” I forced some levity into my words before I went and said something I couldn’t take back. “Besides, haven’t you heard it said, friends before fucks?” 

I gave her a big, waggish grin. 

Maggie laughed and blushed and grinned, and shit, she was so fuckin’ cute. 

“No…no, I’ve never heard that said before. I guess I must be a really good friend.” She let something flirty infiltrate her voice. 

I wanted to sink into it. 

Slip inside. 

Get lost. 

Fuck.

I needed to rein myself in. 

Hold myself back. 

I was losin’ footing. 

That high-wire I was balancing on was fraying fast.

I spun her again. Slowly this time, so out of time with the music, Maggie and I moving to our own beat. Pulling her back, I slipped an arm around her waist and murmured, “Good, good friends,” close to her cheek, wonderin’ if there was any point in hiding what she was doin’ to me. 

What I was wanting. 

This energy that quietly boomed. A thunder that grew. 

I knew I couldn’t go there.

She was sweet and good and innocent and had been hurt enough, and the last fuckin’ thing I wanted was to be responsible for injuring her in any way.

Even if she was only looking for a good time, which was the one thing I was good for, I doubted very much the prudence of her having it with me. 

Six months from now, we’d all be on Tybee Island to record. Royce would be there because he was married to our lead singer, Emily, and we were in talks with his band, A Riot of Roses, about doing some kind of collaboration, so they likely would be there, too. 

Bottom line? Maggie would certainly be there, and gettin’ naked was probably the type of debris we didn’t need strewn between us. 

Besides…fun didn’t make you feel like this. 

Because she sighed and rested her cheek back on my chest. Though she curled her arms so tight around me there was no space left to separate us, like she was trying to find her way inside. 

I didn’t think I could really hear the questions, I just felt the words that she muttered against my heart that was battering at my chest. “What do you really want, Rhys? Under it all? After the fame? After the music? After the money?” 

I want to take it back. 

I want to erase the pain.

I want to make it right. 

Impossible.

So I gave her the next best thing. “I just want to enjoy each day. Make it better for the people around me.” 

She tightened her hold, and she shifted to look up at me, her body tucked against mine.

So tight and hot. 

All wrong and undeniably right.

And God, I was such a dirty fuck because my dick was hard and my breaths had gone shallow, fingers itchin’ to explore. 

Feeling myself being drawn, I leaned closer. 

Our noses touched.

Her sweet, seductive mouth parted, and her pulse ran wild.

Those eyes flared with a desire and an innocence that made me sure she was not to be toyed with.

Fuck.

I wanted to kiss her.

Devour her. 

Show her that she was beautiful. 

That she was to be cherished. 

But I knew better than to go playin’ these games. 

Knew better than touchin’ a treasure. One that the only thing I would ever do was turn around and taint.

Forcing myself from the haze of lust, I peeled myself from her sweet body and pinned on a casual smirk that was nothing but feigned. “Gotta piss.”

Classy. 

But it was best if she took me for a thickheaded fuckwit who didn’t have any manners. There were probably about a thousand women scattered around the world who would attest to the fact, anyway. 

Maggie frowned. 

Yeah. 

Felt like frowning, too.

I squeezed her shoulder like I was talking to a kid. “Why don’t you head back to the booth? I’ll be right back to settle the tab. Think we’d better call it a night. Get you tucked in.”

Awesome, Rhys. Lay it on thick. 

“Sure. Yeah. Okay,” she mumbled, confused by the shift. 

She went to chewin’ at her lip again, dropping her attention to her feet, and shit, I hated that she even thought for a second that I might want to reject whatever the hell this was, but I was doing her a favor. 

“Be right back.” Before I went and did somethin’ stupid, I angled through the crowd and down the hall into the men’s restroom. Trying to get myself together. 

To reiterate the five-fuckin’-thousand reasons I couldn’t touch her. 

No, douchewad, a one-night stand with your friend’s little sister is not a brilliant idea. Might be the worst one you’ve ever had. 

And believe me, I’d had plenty enough stupid ideas to last me a lifetime.

In the restroom, I went straight to the sink and splashed cold water onto my face, dragging in deep, steadying breaths. When I finally managed to get the raging need in check, I headed back out and down the hall.

I shouldered through the crowd that had grown tenfold since I’d gone to the restroom.

Bodies packed. 

Greedy and wild. 

A disorder on which I normally thrived but tonight suddenly had me feeling all wrong. 

My chest grew tight.

My hands tingled. 

I needed to get her out of there.

Away from me.

I should have listened to those warnings that had lit in my mind in the first place. 

I pushed through the mob back toward the booth.

Nearly tripped when I broke through the crush and found some jagoff salivating all over her at our booth. 

The girl sat there in the shadows while he leaned over the table and probably fed her some seedy line. 

Rage hit me from out of nowhere.

A kick to the gut. 

A twisted possession I had no right to feel. 

That connection shivered and glittered and closed in at the edges of my sight. 

I tried to swallow it down. 

Wasn’t like she was a child. Wasn’t like she couldn’t make her own decisions. 

But I couldn’t shake the sensation screaming at me that somethin’ just wasn’t right. 

I scrubbed a hand over my face to curb the disorder that took to my spirit. 

Relief filled Maggie’s expression when she saw me come up behind the prick who was still leering over her.

“Hey, baby, you ready to get out of here?” I let the claim bleed free like it was real. A demand for him to get lost and to do it fast. 

I managed to keep my cool.

That was until I caught a glimpse of his profile. 

Ice streaked down my spine.

Heart stalling. 

Spirit sinking. 

Fear.

Fury. 

Agony.

All it took was one second for every fucking one of my ghosts to catch up to me.

Howling their warning of destruction. 

Rage came bounding in behind it. No space for anythin’ rational when the only thing I wanted to do was choke him out and keep going until he had no chance of ever coming back up for air. 

In the flash of a second, I had a hand locked at the back of his neck, my voice whispering murder up close to his ear, “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” 

He shifted to look at me, just enough that I could see the smug smirk on his face, promising this little encounter wasn’t close to being by chance. “Just asking a pretty girl to dance. You got a problem with that?”

Knew he knew I’d broken the rules. 

That I’d overstepped a boundary.

That he was there, searching for any way to make me pay. To tighten the chains that would forever bind me. 

My teeth grated, and I fought the bile that rushed as memories surged. I struggled to beat it back, to take on the persona that I wore best, just an easy-go-lucky guy who didn’t give a fuck. 

But right then, that guy didn’t exist. 

“Get the fuck out,” I seethed, fighting the rush of dizziness that spun my head. 

Her face flashed. 

Sickness churned. 

I was sure I’d been sucked under water, so deep I couldn’t tell up from down.

Drowning. 

He laughed a morbid sound and swiveled to fully face me. Asshole with hatred writhing on his smug face that I wanted to break. “Wow. So overbearing. Don’t you think we should let the lady decide? Or are you all about defiling her, too?” 

Tormented fury clouded my sight. 

I fisted a hand in the collar of his shirt. 

“I said to get the fuck out. Get the fuck out of this town.” I choked over the words, every one of them jagged, broken glass. 

Maggie was suddenly standing at my side.

A soft hand landed on my arm. 

A balm tugging me from the daze. 

“Rhys…” Her voice was soft. Calming. Like the girl could touch me in the darkness. “I was just telling him I was here with someone. It’s okay. Let’s just go, okay? It’s okay.”

My brow pinched, and I sucked in a breath, and I shoved him off while I warred with the need to go for him. 

To end this now. 

Keeping one eye on the asshole, I dug into my wallet and pulled out a few bills to cover the tab. I tossed them onto the table then jammed a finger in his direction. “Stay the fuck away from us.” 

“Funny, I could say the same.” 

It was a flat-out threat.

I fought to ignore the weight of it, and instead, sent his pompous ass a parting glare as I grabbed Maggie’s hand to haul her out.

I didn’t make it a foot before his words struck me from behind, “Who is she, Rhys? Tonight’s fuck or does she have a name? Hmmm…I think she has a name, doesn’t she? I saw her getting out of your car. What would she think if she knew?” 

I was on him before I realized I’d even made the move. 

Blinded. 

A boiling fury that covered all reason. 

A rage that extinguished all sight. 

He was wearing that superior smile when I grabbed him by the back of the head and slammed his face against the tabletop. 

I should have taken that expression as a warning, but I was feeling too much satisfaction in the sound of his nose crunching on the wood. 

The table shook, and our empties toppled and crashed to the floor.

Glass shattered as I gave in to the intent of shattering the bastard’s face. Fisting two hands in the back of his shirt, I flipped him over.

Blood spurted from his nose, streamed down around his mouth, and dripped from his chin.

“She’s no one. No one.” The harrowed words rasped from my throat as I threw another punch.

Fist after fist. 

Each blow harder than the last.

I devolved into incoherency.

Fell into insanity. 

Like I could pound Maggie’s face from his brain. 

Spare her from the misery of who I was. 

The fucker just grinned beneath the blows. 

His white teeth smeared with blood. 

I could almost feel the stakes of what I’d said impale her. 

But I had to do it.

Couldn’t risk it. 

Couldn’t afford it. 

Hadn’t I already known what being around her was gonna do? 

On a groan, the prick slumped to the ground. But he was still grinning, already sure of the result. 

He’d achieved exactly what he’d set out to do.

I dropped to my knees, gasping for a breath that I couldn’t find. The music was dead, and every person in the place had gathered around to get a firsthand peek at the carnage of happy-go-lucky me.

Rhys-motherfucking-Manning.

Most of them were recording or snapping pictures.

Fuck. My eyes raced for the girl.

The girl who was twenty feet away where she’d been dragged back by a bouncer. He had his hands on her shoulders to keep her out of the fray. My wary gaze tangled with those charcoal eyes that were etched in hurt and confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed. 

Two more bouncers broke through.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” 

One of them grabbed me from behind and dragged me back. 

I didn’t fight it. 

Just let him push me facedown to the sticky floor with my arms pinned behind my back. 

Didn’t know how long he held me there until sirens could be heard from outside. The sea parted when officers and paramedics descended on the scene.

They put me in cuffs and yanked me to my feet.

Maggie stared at me.

Hurt and helpless. 

Regret lanced through my chest.

I wanted to go to her. 

Tell her I was sorry. 

That I didn’t mean what I’d said. 

But it was for the best. 

It was for the best. 

I didn’t even know why I’d wondered it. 

It was inevitable. 

I destroyed the good.

Broke the beautiful.

I’d known it from the beginning, hadn’t I?

Except I was the road that shouldn’t be traveled. I was the dead end. I was the disaster waiting up ahead, and she was the one who didn’t have the first clue.

And I refused to be the downfall of Maggie Penelope.

 

one

Maggie

Six Months Later

 

Once a bad boy, always a bad boy? 

It would seem so for Rhys Manning, the bassist of Carolina George, record giant Stone Industries’ latest musical lovechild. Manning is scheduled to be in court late next month on charges of assault and disorderly conduct against a patron at a local bar in his hometown of Dalton, South Carolina. 

 

It seems Manning, known for his charismatic stage presence and his penchant for leaving behind a superhighway of dropped panties and broken hearts, also loves to leave behind a trail of brawls and barfights. 

 

Celebrity Spread has learned the country-rocker has a record almost as long as the notches in his belt. After five arrests and two minor convictions, Manning now stands to serve up to six months in jail.

 

Earlier this year, Carolina George announced its first major-label album, backed by Stone Industries, will be released this winter, though sources close to the band have been tight-lipped about when they are scheduled to be in the studio.

 

When a storm of speculation about Manning leaving the band hit the social media airwaves after he disappeared from the spotlight, Carolina George offered this official statement: “Our band is family, blood or not, and that includes Rhys Manning. We can’t do what we do without him. We believe the fight occurred in self-defense, and we stand behind him one-hundred-percent.”

 

Yet at his arrest, Rhys Manning showed no signs of injuries.

 

The band stole millions of hearts during their stunning performance at last year’s ACB Awards, and now adoring fans are desperate for more. 

 

But will this chronic bad behavior derail Carolina George’s skyrocketing rise to superstardom or will the turmoil only feed the band’s creative force? Only time will tell.

 

Throat thick, I reread the article that had been published last week as I sat in the backseat of the black SUV that sped toward our destination on Tybee Island. 

Nerves fired through my body.

A chaos of excitement and dread that toiled and pled from the depths of me. 

I guessed I finally understood why they called it a crush.

It might have been the first one I’d ever had, but I recognized the heaviness that sat like a ton of bricks at the center of my chest. Recognized the way my heart pinched and squeezed and made it feel like it was difficult to breathe. 

Constricting and compressing.

Part of me felt desperate to see his face. To get the affirmation that he was fine and whole, while the other half still felt raw and broken by what he’d done. 

It wasn’t like we were a couple or anything. 

I wasn’t delusional. 

But I swore there’d been something there. 

Something that was bigger than the two of us. 

Something unfound that had begged to be acknowledged. 

And then he’d just…freaked out. 

Beat the hell out of that guy for no reason.

All while he spewed words against me.

Words that had slayed and stung. 

After that? 

Nothing. 

Not a word. 

I hadn’t heard from Rhys Manning in six months. 

Radio silence.

So I’d resorted to this—stalking him on the internet.

Devouring any articles I could find. Searching his hashtags for a glimpse. Gorging myself on his music night and day. 

Pathetic. 

But it was like he’d disappeared from the face of the earth. 

Only a few pictures had popped up of him in all that time—one of him with his mama in his hometown and a few others with women who were reposting from times before. 

And I worried. Worried for him. 

That he wasn’t okay. 

That whatever demons had possessed him that night had completely infiltrated his heart and mind.

Taken over. 

And I had no way to call him out of it. 

I shifted in my seat, trying to pull myself together.

I needed to remind myself it wasn’t my job. 

We were barely even friends. 

Besides, I had enough of my own mess to deal with, didn’t I? Only God knew the kind of trouble I’d brought into my life.

I reached into the top pocket of my purse and ran my fingers over the little origami duck that was tucked inside. 

Feeling its worn edges. 

I’d made it in my group therapy class. It was meant to be an illustration that we had the power to reshape our circumstances. Form them into what we wanted them to be. That we might have been dealt a bad card, but we had the power to fashion that card into a new shape. 

At the time, I’d picked a duck since it was easy to make. But there’d been something to it, and I’d kept the duck all this time, carrying it around with me as a reminder that I was in control. 

Yeah.

My own demons might be on the hunt, but I was going to do whatever it took to pull this off. 

It would be worth it in the end.

From where he sat in the middle row in front of me, my older brother Royce released a strained sigh. “Still not sure about all of this,” he grumbled as he roughed his tattooed fingers through his shock of black hair. 

A rush of his anxiety slammed me. Palpable. As if it were a part of my consciousness. 

I guessed that was the hardest part about being me. 

It always seemed as if I felt too much, and the moods of people could be overwhelming. 

The feel of it was wonderful and horrible, and everything in between. 

“And just what aren’t you sure about?” his wife Emily questioned, voice wry and filled with a shot of southern amusement.

She sat on the opposite side of him, their sweet newborn Amelia nestled in her car seat in between.

“Dragging Maggie all the way out here.” He didn’t hesitate to say what was on his mind. 

I frowned. “Is that your subtle way of saying you’re sick of your baby sister tagging along everywhere you go?” 

From over his shoulder, Royce trained his dark gaze on me, the smile that graced his face close to a sneer. “Nah. It’s my way of sayin’ I hate that I’m always exposing you to douchebags.” 

There was no missing the guilt that flashed in his eyes. 

My head barely shook. “That’s untrue, Royce.” 

A grunt escaped his throat. “Untrue? Seems to me every time I turn around, you’re getting hurt by someone I introduced you to.” 

Suffice it to say Royce had been pissed over the whole Rhys debacle. 

He’d been terrified when I’d called him in the middle of the night, drunk and crying and asking him to pick me up. 

Finding the bassist of Carolina George cuffed and being dragged to a cruiser had only made it worse.

Royce had been irate. 

Demanding to know what the hell I’d been doing with him. Hardly willing to believe we were only friends. “I wasn’t in any danger.” 

“Bullshit,” he refuted. 

Emily sent him a warning glare.

He cringed. “Fuck…I just hate that every time I turn around, seems like there’s something I can’t stop or control when it comes to you.” 

“That’s because it’s not your job,” I told him, my tone going soft. Laden with the affection that I felt for him.

My brother might look bad, made of stone and printed in mayhem, but I’d learned long ago that it was what was on the inside that mattered. 

Royce had been my savior. My hope. My liberator when I hadn’t been strong enough to stand or speak for myself. Now that I could? Now that I’d found my freedom and my strength? 

He was having a hard time letting go. 

The fact I seemed to be a magnet for disaster didn’t help things.

“And then your goddamned condo caught fire…” he gruffed out.

You know, like that. 

“I wasn’t even home, and I’m completely fine,” I finished for him.

I beat back the guilt for leaving out the rest. 

The sense I’d gotten that it hadn’t been an accident when I’d gotten back to my complex and had found a fleet of firetrucks and ambulances in front of my building.

The fact I’d thought someone might have been in my car earlier, searching for something I made sure no one could find.

But that was the problem when you’d lived most of your life in fear. Paranoia took hold, and you no longer could discern when that danger was real or conjured in the darkest places of your mind. 

So, I shoved it all back down into that bottomless pit where it belonged. Refused to remain a prisoner to it. 

I would no longer be chained by my past.

Emily touched Royce’s arm. “And since we’re lookin’ at the bright side…let’s remember that means Maggie is spending the summer with us and we have someone we can fully trust to take care of Amelia. Love her the way we do.” 

She glanced back at me, her blonde braid swishing over her shoulder, her sweet face filled with the adoration she had for me. 

Love pulsed.

I couldn’t be more grateful that after what I’d cost Royce earlier in his life that he’d found this…

The greatest joy. 

A wife filled with grace and strength and loyalty. 

A new baby girl. 

He was also reconnecting and establishing a relationship with his older daughter who he’d lost years ago.

Not to mention the fact he’d reunited with his band. 

“I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend my summer than with all of you…watching Amelia…spending time with the rest of the band and their families. They’ve all become that to me…family,” I told them.

The original plan had been that I would spend the summer in LA at my own place. Continue working. Continue figuring out what I wanted to do with my life.

But the fire had displaced me, so I’d asked to come along. Offered to watch Amelia in exchange for a place to stay.

It wasn’t like Royce would leave me homeless, anyway. But I was tired of him having to rescue me. 

A tender smile pulled at the edge of Emily’s mouth, her joy full and real. I inhaled it, held onto the hope of it. 

“Then maybe this was exactly the way it was supposed to be.” She reached out so she could squeeze my hand. 

Before she had a chance to glimpse at what was on my screen, I flipped my phone over. The last thing I wanted was for her to discover my little obsession with the bassist of her band. 

I reached for her and squeezed back. “I think you’re right.” 

Royce grunted. “Just stay away from handsy assholes, yeah?” 

“You mean that as in one particular asshole?” I pushed. 

He shrugged. “If it fits.” 

“Says the guy who has his whole wild, unruly band comin’ to record with us in a couple weeks?” Emily asked, a tease lilting her voice. 

So A Riot of Roses was known as being exactly that—a riot. Royce’s three oldest friends were untamed and a little unhinged. 

But I’d never gotten a malicious vibe from them. 

They were good guys who’d done some dumb things.

“Awesome. Now you’re really tryin’ to give me a heart attack,” he said with a feigned scowl.

“Just tellin’ it like it is.” 

“And let’s not forget that I’m not twelve,” I told him, not sure if I wanted to laugh or if I was actually annoyed. 

But that was the thing when you were twenty and had never even been kissed.

Your naivety and vulnerability showed.

My heart lurched as the memory assaulted me. Rhys so close. Those big, big hands on my body. His mouth a breath away. His spirit surrounding me. His need palpable.

I’d been sure.

So sure.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Royce smirked. “You might not be twelve anymore, but you’ll always be my baby sister.” 

“You know, I will meet a man one day.” No harm in taunting my overprotective big brother a little.

“And he’ll meet all the criteria.” Royce lifted a hand in the air and started ticking off his fingers. “One, he’s gotta be a nerd. The awkward type. Pose no threat. Two…he needs to be smart. A professor or a doctor or some shit like that. Three…he’s never been in trouble—not even a ticket. Slow and safe. Four…he has to love his mama.” He lifted his thumb on the last. “Oh…and a virgin. Let’s not forget that.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I am quite sure that man does not exist.” 

Besides, he wasn’t the man. The man who made me shiver and shake. The one who currently had my insides twisted in a fist. At least he had one thing going for him—there was no question he loved his mama.

“Fine by me.” 

Emily swatted him on the side of the arm. “You stop it. And would you watch your mouth. Our Amelia here has sensitive ears.” 

His brow lifted toward the sky. “She’s six weeks old.” 

“And you think she doesn’t hear you? Look at her little mouth twisting every time she hears your voice.” 

“Fine. I’ll find better things to do with my mouth.” He leaned over and started running kisses along Emily’s neck.

I ducked my gaze and tried not to blush when I felt the roll of need and love billow through the air. 

It was beautiful, but I definitely didn’t need to bear witness to it. 

Emily giggled and Royce rumbled something I couldn’t make out before he pulled away, still angled to the side but twisting his attention so he was facing me. 

Any playfulness had been wiped from his face. “I respect you, Maggie. Know you’re grown and you’ve got to do your own thing. But promise me one thing…promise you’ll keep your distance from Rhys. He’s trouble…the kind of trouble you don’t need.” 

Worry heaved from his spirit. 

And I knew he was right. 

Rhys was trouble.

A danger to my soul. A threat to my heart that was barely mending. The scars so deep. 

“I promise,” I forced out, not sure if it was a lie.

Royce nodded. “Good.” 

He sat back in his seat, and Emily sent me a covert glance. 

Her green eyes full of knowing concern.

Like she held a secret of mine.

Meeting her gaze, I attempted an indifferent smile. The one she returned was sympathetic. 

Royce shifted around and sat forward.

Emily’s voice was soft though running with an undercurrent of fortitude. “And I need you to remember something, too, Royce…Rhys is one of my best friends. Like a brother to me. I know up until a few months ago, you’d come to feel the same way.” 

Royce sighed. “I know that, Emily. But my sister will always be my first concern. You gotta respect that.” 

“I do. I’m just askin’ you to respect mine and Rhys’ relationship, too. I truly believe he would never want to put her in danger. Sure, he’s made mistakes, but he is a good man.”

His nod was tight. 

The two of them settled as we continued down the highway. 

I stared at the back of his head.

The man was so rough and fiercely protective. 

I knew it would take time for him to let go of all that had happened to me. What had happened to him. His single drive for so many years had been taking out the ones who had hurt us.

Now that they were gone, I sometimes wondered if he weren’t a little lost.

Floundering. 

Like he was no longer quite sure of his purpose.

Thing was, I was sure there would always be a piece of me who would cling to him, too. 

The part that would never forget what he’d sacrificed. 

What he’d done. 

I would forever be grateful. 

Indebted.

I turned to gaze out the window at the passing marshlands that flashed by with each mile that brought us closer to the sea.

It suddenly felt like the moment was fluid. 

Liquid. 

A shaken concoction from the normal as we raced for the house that would be our home for the summer. 

It felt as far away from Los Angeles as could be. 

Our driver slowed as we got into town.

A town that whispered of peace and quiet and faith. 

Like Dalton.

Warmth spread through my veins and my spirit shivered in anticipation. 

The stampeding of my heart only intensified when the ocean suddenly came into view. 

Crisp, blue waters fronted by white, smooth sand. 

High grasses grew along the dunes, and the road curved so that we were following along rows of houses, condos, and apartments that faced the beach. 

The houses here seemed older, not close to boasting of riches and luxury, but more a testament to that slowed, relaxed pace. Downtown, people strolled the sidewalks fronting bars, restaurants, and hotels in their beach attire. 

Casually. 

Relaxed and without a care. 

We made it from one end to the other in what seemed a blip since the town was so tiny.

The driver made a left and started to inch down a narrow road. 

Hurt and confusion fluttered and pulled at my insides, all mixed up with a flurry of excitement that had my breaths going short and shallow.

Here, the homes became increasingly larger and more luxurious. They were mostly concealed by palms and spindly trees, giving privacy to the beachfront properties. 

I inhaled a shaky breath, taking in the sultry scent of the sea.

The driver took two more quick turns before he pulled through a gate and into a private driveway that made a big circle in front of an even larger house. 

The Stone Industries mansion that housed its artists while they recorded. 

Anxiety and need crawled over me when it came into view. 

A shiver that raced across my flesh.

Not because I was impressed by lavish things. I’d seen plenty of that growing up the daughter of a crooked, wicked music mogul who’s worth was only found in the wealth that he controlled. 

I learned quickly those things meant little to me. 

I knew firsthand what greed could do. The lengths that people would go to in order to build and protect it. 

But this…this was for a man who’d turned me inside out and hadn’t had the first clue. 

The one who didn’t know he’d been the first to make me feel.

The first to make me want.

I inhaled a sharp breath when that anticipation turned to a burn. 

A boil in my blood that had sweat slicking across my skin.

The SUV came to a stop in the round drive in front of the five massive steps leading to the front door. 

I tried to convince myself the physical reaction was only because I was getting ready to witness history being made. Two bands at completely different spectrums of the music industry, one country and the other metal, preparing to converge in the same spot.

Carolina George and A Riot of Roses. 

A confluence of differences and like-minds that together I was sure sheer magic would be made. 

Or maybe it was the fire.

The truth that I was displaced from my first home.

Or maybe…maybe I should just be real. 

Accept it. 

Acknowledge it was entirely, one-hundred-percent, due to that crush. 

That mad, unrelenting crush that made me feel like I was going to get pulverized. 

Smashed into oblivion. Because standing at the top of the steps was Rhys Manning. 

Thick and tall and intimidating. 

Since the last time I’d seen him, he’d grown a full beard. 

He wore jeans and a tee that stretched across his wide, wide shoulders.

The playfulness he wore like a brand barely covered the outright strength that blistered from underneath, and I could see the layer of rigid worry tighten his corded muscles. 

But what he was known for was all there—the fame he’d gained for himself that had women dropping to their knees—the tease of sex that seeped from his skin and his smirking, delicious mouth. 

Those blue eyes were warm and dancing and oh so sweet. 

From where he stood staring down at us, I was sure my chest was caving in. My heart beating wild for a man who was twelve years older than me. 

So off-limits it wasn’t even funny.

So out of reach he might as well have been a poster tacked on my wall. 

In an instant, I was both terrified and ensnared. 

And I knew Royce was right. 

I had to stay away because Rhys Manning would bring me the type of trouble I couldn’t afford.