Crocodile Tears: A Boy Meets Girl Story

by Daya Daniels

  CROCODILE TEARS

  BY: DAYA DANIELS

  A boy meets girl story.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Playlist

  Quote

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Song

  About the Author

  Copyright@ 2017 by Daya Daniels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or any other means without the explicit written permission of the author, except for brief quotations of the book when writing a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and even facts are the product of the author’s imagination. Wait a minute...especially facts. Any resemblance to actual people—alive, dead, or someplace in between—is completely by chance and likely in your head.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. Holy hell, this is important. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Let’s not forget! All song titles in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  Acknowledgments

  This book is my first in the new adult genre.

  I’m so in love with the two people that you’re about to meet. They represent everything that youth is—a time of adjusting to independence, falling in love, being crazy, overcoming individual hurdles, and embracing exactly who you are.

  Youth is-fucking-awesome!

  This story also allowed me to explore my own personal love of rock and heavy metal, which has never left my blood. I grew up on the Bermuda shores being huge fans of bands like Pearl Jam, Queen, Soundgarden, Metallica, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, and the list goes on...

  Thank you to the readers who are taking the time to read this story!

  Thank you to everyone who has encouraged my writing.

  To my wonderful husband, I love you. Your support is priceless.

  Thank you to CMB, JT, my mother, and Aunt L for reading everything I write. I couldn’t ask for better beta readers. I truly do appreciate all of you.

  To San

  PLAYLIST

  Misunderstood – Motley Crue

  Pretty Thing – Broods

  Moonlight Sonata – Beethoven

  My Shadow – Keane

  Dear Boy – Avicii

  Forget Her – Jeff Buckley

  Man on the Moon – R.E.M.

  Alive – Pearl Jam

  Wish You Were Here – Pink Floyd

  Overfloater – Soundgarden

  Monday – Ludovico Einaudi

  Sleep Baby Sleep – Broods

  Needed Me - Rihanna

  Loser – Beck

  Fall to Pieces – Velvet Revolver

  Claire De Lune – Claude Debussy

  I Walk the Line – Johnny Cash

  Wrapped Around Your Finger – The Police

  Crazy – Aerosmith

  Killing Strangers – Marilyn Manson

  Seven Nation Army – The White Stripes

  24K Magic – Bruno Mars

  Tomorrow – Daughter

  November Rain – Guns n’ Roses

  Got to be There – Michael Jackson

  Enter Sandman – Metallica

  Interstate Love Song – Stone Temple Pilots

  Witchy Woman – The Eagles

  Fame – David Bowie

  “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

  -Plato

  CHAPTER ONE

  Liv

  “If you love your mother, you won’t do that,” a deep voice mutters.

  I turn around slowly, attempting to focus through my watery vision. A young man stands off to my right a few feet behind me, taking long draws of a cigarette. He tucks a Marlboro box into the back pocket of his pants. I eye over his thick black hair that’s a little long around his ears and neck. His eyes are bloodshot and at least three days’ worth of dark stubble covers his angular jawline.

  “I had a good friend who did that and it was just—” He doesn’t complete his sentence. “And I’ve thought about doing it myself but—” He sucks his teeth and pulls the cigarette away from his mouth between his fingers. The smoke floats away with the wind. He drops his hand down to his side. “I don’t know,” he says, staring at the sand and dirt beneath him.

  I focus on the leather jacket he has on that I can tell is expensive and the silver rings that cover a few of the fingers on his right hand. He raises his left hand to stretch and I follow the gesture, as his fingers graze upwards along his ink-stained neck. He’s covered in tattoos it seems—so many that I can barely see his skin from the neck down.

  He takes another long draw of his cigarette and stares out into the distance. “It’s fucking spectacular out here,” he whispers, then changes topics. “I’m just saying you should think about it first.”

  He talks to me as if we were having a casual Sunday morning conversation. He picks his beer up from the ground, takes a chug of the foamy liquid and sets the bottle back down next to his big boots.

  He’s tall, I take in. He stubs the cigarette out and slips it into his jacket pocket. He pulls a small container out of another pocket and turns his back partway to the light April breeze that blows by where we stand. He flips the top off and dips his finger in, scooping up some of the white powder. He places a finger under his nose and takes a long drawn-out snort, inhaling it all away. I stand and remain silent, observing him. He does it again, this time only using the opposite nostril.

  I expect shock, screaming and begging—maybe even an offer to get me help or 911 assistance but there’s nothing. I take a deep breath and try to think but my thinking isn’t clear. By the time I focus again, he’s moved significantly closer and is already holding another lit cigarette. He pulls it to his lips, then extends an arm, offering me a draw of it.

  “Talk to me,” he says, humming a familiar tune. “Come down from there, baby girl.”

  The sun is setting. The distance across the ocean has turned into an orange expanse of fire. It’s incredible. It reminds me of why I’m here and why I always wanted this view to be the last thing I saw. I take another deep breath. A gust of wind blows by where I remain perched. I yelp when I lose my balance and almost slip. Just as quickly, a large hand grabs me and long fingers curl around my wrist. A heavy arm wraps around my middle. The grip is strong. I breathe in hard, while my heart slams against the front wall of my chest. When my panic calms and my vision clears, I realize I’m looking up into the most gorgeous face I think I’ve ever seen.

  I attempt to straighten myself when he pulls me to my feet and into his chest. The white dress I put on this morning is torn and the hem of it is now dirty. My wavy hair is all over the place and I’m certain my mascara is heading south. I inhale the faint scent of cigarettes, body wash on him and the beer on his breath.

  “Talk to me,” he whispers, staring down at me.

  Zane

  I wasn’t in the best of moods earlier, but it was nothing that a walk, the California coastal breeze, and a few lines couldn’t cure.

  I stare down into the face of a beautiful young woman.
She has the brightest but saddest sapphire eyes I think I’ve ever seen. She’s tiny in my embrace and warm and her hair smells like one of those summer nights back home by the river.

  “Talk to me,” I whisper, listening to her frantic breathing.

  She blinks slowly and looks up at me, as though she’s stunned. The wind picks up off the cliffs and the sun has dipped even lower beneath the horizon. The vision is captivating but not more fascinating than the sight in my arms. Our hair whips around in the breeze, reminding us that we’re on the Big Sur Coast. These were the highest cliffs around for miles. It was beyond me why she was just standing up on a large rock in front of one of them clearly willing herself to jump.

  The pounding headache I had earlier is now starting to subside. I knew it had only been brought on from having to listen to Barry Michaels blabber his fat, greedy mouth on for over three hours about our new contract. It was worth hundreds of millions of dollars and would no doubt leave dog collars around our necks, leashing us to Rogue Records forever. To me, re-signing just before preparing to embark on a six-month US tour seemed like a dumb fucking idea. This was about control but first it was about money. It was always about money.

  Her pouty lips part, while she searches for her words. Her hair covers her face for a second time. I brush it away taking in her features. Her skin is bronzed over and her eyes are wet, as though she’s been crying. Sections of her long hair are varying shades of blonde from the sun. She’s a California native—that I’m sure of. I narrow my eyes, looking around. There’s no one else out here. I see no cars—no people.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask, still clutching her arm.

  The intoxicating scent of the ocean relaxes me. I peer into the curious face in front of me and can tell that she’s picked up the scent too. She shuts her eyes and inhales. Then opens them slowly. We stand here, breathing in the salty air. She’s pressed against my chest, while I hold her tight. One of her hands is splayed open over the soft T-shirt I’m wearing under my leather jacket. I don’t know this girl but something makes my forehead crease and my eyebrows knot at what her nearness does to me.

  She eases out of my hold and backs away. “I’m sorry. I thought I was the only one out here.”

  Yeah, me too.

  She drops her head and steps farther away from me.

  I walk closer, pulling another cigarette from my pocket. “Do you want to talk?”

  She looks around and drops her head and then lifts her blue eyes to mine. I’m a stranger but fuck it. I don’t care about that right now. I just want to make sure she’s okay.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Liv,” she says, fiddling with her hands. “Olivia but everyone calls me Liv.”

  I wave her back over, already deciding that I won’t take no for an answer. She walks across gravel and sand cautiously. I find a large rock and sit on it, taking in that it will be completely dark in a few minutes. I pat the spot next to me and flick my lighter to the end of the cigarette that dangles from my lips.

  “Come, sit, please,” I say taking a long draw.

  Liv takes a seat next to me and tucks her hair behind her ears. She swallows hard and uncertainty colors her pretty face.

  “I’m not going to judge you, Liv.”

  She nods. I offer her the cigarette in my hand and she takes it slowly. I smile when I see how small her hands are next to my own.

  I place my hand in the center of my chest, introducing myself. “I’m Zane.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she whispers, right before she lets a puff of cigarette smoke leave her mouth.

  I take it back from her and look up at the night sky. The temperature has dropped and the stars have revealed themselves. The woman sitting next to me is wearing a white dress with no sleeves that looks like it’s seen better days, but on second thought, it’s definitely designer.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ask again in a hushed tone, still staring up at the sky.

  “I went for a walk and I ended up here.”

  “You live around here?” I ask, knowing it’s an odd question.

  There wasn’t much lodging along the Big Sur Coast. If you were out here, you lived nearby or you were just passing through. Since I saw no car, Liv had to be on foot but it was beyond me where she walked from.

  “No. I just came out here with my dad but he’s in a meeting. The house is just over there.” She points a few miles off to our left, at the mansion that sits on the edge of a cliff.

  I let out a long sigh. It was the very place I’d just left. I didn’t see Liv walking along the way, which means she’s been out here for a while.

  “That there is Tom Stanton’s house—one of them anyways,” I point out, nudging my chin in the direction of the massive home.

  She nods. “Yeah, I know.”

  Tom Stanton is the president and chief executive officer of Rogue Records. RR offered The Vigilantes a deal of a lifetime to re-sign with them and opt out of our current recording contract. Our manager and the rest of the band had been in a meeting with RR execs for the past four fucking hours. Tons of fun...

  I had no interest. All I wanted to do was to write and play music. It was what I loved. The money was secondary. I didn’t have time for the particulars...so I left.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You know him, I’m guessing,” I say, taking twice as many draws on the cigarette in my hand.

  “Yeah,” she breathes out. “He’s my dad.”

  Liv

  “Your dad, huh?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, letting my shoulders slump.

  I reach for the cigarette again, take a few more draws and watch the smoke drift away. I exhale a breath.

  “He might be worried about you,” Zane says, lifting his brows.

  I scoff but it’s low and shameful. “I doubt he even realizes I’m gone.”

  Zane bobs his head a few times and looks out into the distance.

  “Y-you’re a musician?”

  “I’d like to think so,” he says with a chuckle, that makes me laugh.

  “What do you play?”

  “I’m the lead guitarist for a band called The Vigilantes.”

  “Oh,” I whisper, realizing I’m familiar with the name.

  The group had already won nine Grammys, three American Music Awards, and had a number of other accolades, but I didn’t recognize this guy.

  “You’ve heard of us?”

  I nod and drop my head. “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “It’s good that way. Sometimes, I don’t recognize myself.”

  I laugh, taking in that he has a unique sense of humor. It’s dark and brooding but still funny nonetheless.

  Zane runs a hand through his wavy black hair that’s screaming for a cut. I narrow my eyes attempting to see what color his are. I think they’re grey but right now they’re so red, I really can’t tell. He pulls a small bottle of Visine from his jacket pocket, cranes his neck to the sky and puts a few drops in.

  “I haven’t had any sleep in at least four days—not proper sleep anyways.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  He leans in close to me, peering into my face. “You have incredible eyes, Liv. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Well, somebody should. They’re blue and then they’re grey.”

  “They change.”

  “Change color?” he asks in a curious tone.

  “Yeah,” I breathe out, wrapping my arms around my middle. “Sometimes more blue and other times, more grey.”

  “The girl whose eyes change color. You’re mysterious.”

  I giggle. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Zane looks around. Darkness has fallen and the wind is picking up. He stands and looks down at me. I truly realize how tall he is now. He’s easily clearing six feet and maybe three more inches on top of that. I scan him for a second time. He’s really handsome in a rocker, bad boy sort of way but he wouldn’t be i
nterested in me. I didn’t know if I should be interested in him. After all, he was clearly now on Tom Stanton’s new list of cash cows. Everything about this guy was already littered with warning signs. I was certain he felt the same way about me.

  Zane extends a paw-like hand to me. I place mine in his and he closes his fingers, enveloping mine in warmth. His touch is comforting, reassuring. He pulls me up from the rock and steps closer to me. I can smell him. A mixture of some sort of clean, spicy, earthy scent, with cigarettes and booze. His eyes have now cleared. Under the darkness and the full moon that is out, I can see that they’re grey—a smoky grey that clouds your thinking. He gives me a radiant smile and slow-blinks. He pulls me against his chest, cupping my head in his large hand. At first I tense, but then after a few seconds I relax in his hold.

  “I don’t usually do this shit, Liv, but there’s something about you that makes me just want to hold you.”

  “It’s nice,” I whisper, pressing my nose into the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

  He rocks me and I nearly cry, not remembering the last time someone did this to me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone saw me. He begins to sing. His voice is raspy, deep and soulful. He’s a good singer, which surprises me since he says he plays guitar.

  “You have a nice voice,” I compliment.

  “Thanks, but I don’t usually use it.”

  “You should.”

  Zane chuckles. I wrap my arms around his middle, feeling the firm abs that seem to be underneath the shirt he wears, which piques my curiosity about him. He makes a loud inhale, lets me go and laughs.

  “I think I needed that more than you did.”

  I drop my head to the ground and then lift it to look around. Zane turns away from me, drops down into a squat and taps his right shoulder. I giggle.

  “C’mon, baby girl. It’s a long way back to the mansion.”

  Hesitantly, I step towards him and hop on his back. I press my nose into his leather jacket and sniff the strands of his hair. Everything about this guy is delicious. He stands with ease as though I weigh nothing, right before we set off walking back down the road.