Darling

by Gabrielle G

  Darling

  Darling Devils 1

  Gabrielle G.

  Darling, Copyright ©2019 by Gabrielle G. All rights reserved.

  Cover Design: Kari March Designs www.karimarch.com

  Cover Photography : Yuliia Zatula

  Editor: Cassie Robertson - Joy Editing www.joyediting.com

  Proofreading: Kelly Stone Gamble - Joy Editing and Riley Rae.

  Logo: Tanya Cloetta

  Heart Logo & Name: Lisa Boucher (www.instagram.com/lisatattoos) & Devoted Pages.

  Darling Devils Logo : Devoted Pages www.devotedpages.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written consent of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, band names, incidents are the product of the author imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

  Disclaimer: This book contains explicit mature content and language and is intended for adults ages 18+. For more details on the issues in this book, please consult a healthcare professional.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Introduction

  Playlist

  1. Anna

  2. Dan

  3. Anna

  4. Dan

  5. Anna

  6. Dan

  7. Anna

  8. Dan

  9. Anna

  10. Dan

  11. Anna

  12. Dan

  13. Anna

  14. Dan

  15. Anna

  16. Dan

  17. Anna

  18. Dan

  19. Anna

  20. Dan

  21. Anna

  22. Dan

  23. Anna

  24. Dan

  25. Anna

  26. Dan

  27. Anna

  28. Dan

  29. Anna

  30. Anna

  Epilogue - Dan

  Merci, etc.

  Also by Gabrielle G.

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Darling, by Gabrielle G.

  This story is set 5 years before my debut novel Always & Only.

  A rockstar romance novel with swoons, laughter and heartbreaking truths.

  Anna: A one-night stand with a rock star isn’t what I had planned on my birthday. But Dan Darling, sexy and irresistible as he is, doesn’t take no for an answer. What follows? Five incredible days and a connection I thought I’d never feel. Until he leaves on tour. It hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what I have gone through before.

  Dan: The first time I saw her, I knew she was it. Then I doubted my feelings and believed they were only a product of my impulsivity. How can she love me when I’ve kept secret who I really am? Can I pull myself together enough to be with her and make it work? Is Anna the soothing medication I need to survive, or should I continue living my life one one-night stand at a time?

  Playlist

  Love at the First Sight – The Brobecks

  Montreal – The Weeknd

  The Spider And The Fly – The Rolling Stones

  Lady, Hear Me Tonight – Modjo

  Groupie Love (feat. A$AP Rocky) – Lana Del Rey, A$AP Rocky

  I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’ – Scisson Sisters

  Hurricane – Bob Dylan

  Manic – Coleman Hell

  This is Gospel – Panic! At The Disco

  Rockstar (feat. 21 Savage) – Post Malone, 21 Savage

  The Sound Of Silence – Disturbed

  Je te promets – Johnny Hallyday

  I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing – Aerosmith

  Sick of Losing Soulmates – dodie

  I Was Made For Lovin’ You – Kiss

  Strip That Down – Liam Payne, Quavo

  Wonderwall – Oasis

  I imagine the Darling Devils as a mix of young Rolling Stones and Red Hot Chili Peppers. Finding the perfect songs to inspire me for a rock star novel was hard, especially considering the subject. Having to write lyrics, I sang in my head and in my phone, but I will never give those songs to you.

  “Manic” helped me to write one of the scenes for the book. Listen to it, feel it, imagine Dan singing it.

  Listen to Lana when you imagine Dan and Anna dancing together, it’s hot…

  And if you can’t understand the French song, know it’s beautiful and it’s their story. Promises made and broken… seems something I do a lot in my books…

  Dedication: To those who believe they are hard to love.

  1

  Anna

  Favorite Brother: Happy Birthday Sis. I know a text won’t cut it, I need to call you and talk to you, but I also know you are going out tonight and I don’t want to ruin it for you. Call me tomorrow when you have time. We need a siblings’ weekend and booze. I’ll come to you or you’ll come to me. Miss you Girl.

  I’m turning thirty-eight today! Yay me!

  To celebrate, my friends Jules and Debbie decided we would have drinks at a hotel bar before going to the outdoor concert of their favorite band, the Darling Devils. They were so excited that the band’s one and only Canadian show was in Montreal and on my birthday that I couldn’t say no.

  “Mommy’s night out,” Debbie howled while Jules shushed her with a worried glance in my direction!

  Thirty-eight years old and no kids for me...

  Not that I’m unhappy being a single non-mother at thirty-eight years old. I thought my life would be different by now, but with my current situation, I’m blissful not to have any children. I work almost sixty hours per week in the architecture firm that I built from scratch with my partner, Chéri.

  Until three years ago, I did have a husband, but we divorced in anger after I miscarried.

  It was heartbreaking.

  We had tried for so long.

  I remember the day I announced to Joel, my ex, that we were having a baby. At first, we couldn't even believe it. It had taken us a little more than seven years to get pregnant. After so many years of crushed hope and treatments, we’d decided not to have children and instead focus on our careers and being everything we needed for each other.

  As Joel was a GP, he had connections from med school and got us in to see renowned fertility specialists who assured us there was no way we could get pregnant. My hostile uterus was unfriendly to his sperm, killing his spermatozoid before they could make their way up to fertilize my egg. We weren’t using condoms and I wasn’t on the pill. After all, my uterus was the best contraception you could find. But like every contraceptive method, at some point, it failed, and instead of dreading the consequences of our actions, it’d been the best day of my life. When we finally passed the three-month mark, we were ecstatic. The baby was safe. We were both high on cheerfulness, flying on a freaking cloud. Or so I thought…

  One morning though, in the beginning of the second trimester, something was off. I could feel it. Joel told me to rest, said I was only a concerned mother-to-be, and went to work, dismissing my worries and instincts. To him, I was tired and stressed; I worked too much and should learn to slow down. He knew better, being a doctor and all.

  As soon as he left, the spotting and abdominal cramps started.

  In a few hours, I had a miscarriage.

  I called my husband, but he didn’t answer. I texted him in case he was in a consultation, but still nothing. I called my doctor and got an emergency appointment. The D&C took only fifteen minutes. I stayed at the clinic for five hours, waiting for Joel to pick me up. But he never came. For a reason I couldn’t understand then, nobody had been able to r
each my husband, or so I was told. In the space of a half day, my miracle pregnancy was over, and I’d gone through it alone.

  Finally, I called Jules to pick me up. She had been a fertility nurse I met at the beginning of my treatment. She wanted me to go home, to rest and relax, but I needed to find Joel, to be with him, to have him hold me. I was broken in my soul, in my womb, in my heart. Nothing could have felt worse.

  How wrong I was …

  Twenty minutes later, I found out my dear husband was a cheating scumbag.

  By opening his office door unexpectedly, I learned he was the kind of guy who would cheat on his pregnant wife, who wouldn’t call his wife back in case of emergency, who would fuck at work without caring that everybody knew who his wife was. He was the kind of guy who could break his wife to the core.

  It was the most mundane story in the book, but it was my story.

  Doctor fucks Nurse.

  Wife walks in on them at the office.

  Doctor breaks up with Nurse because of guilt.

  Wife can’t forgive Doctor.

  Nurse loves Doctor.

  Doctor needs to have someone adoring him.

  Doctor resumes affair.

  Wife divorces Doctor.

  Doctor and Nurse get married while Wife gets screwed over and starts therapy for the end of her pregnancy, the destruction of her marriage, and the acceptance of her infertility.

  It took me a very long time to get over it. A lot of screaming, some medication, and I was now single with no children and sitting alone at a bar on my thirty-eighth birthday because my friends were standing me up. Something about babysitters being sick and meetings running late. Debbie is a stay-at-home mother of three, high-caliber volunteer, and Jules has a new career as a writer for a series on TVA, the French television network. Of course, I received their messages once I was already here, drinking my sorrows and swallowing my annoyance sip after sip.

  Despite it being only late afternoon, I’m not alone in the bar. There are a couple of people scattered around. Like the man in the corner with a baseball cap pulled over his eyes, a muscular body to drool over, and a beautiful nose that sharpens his profile. He seems familiar, but I really don’t want to try to figure out if and how I know him. He could be one of my clients for all I know, and I don’t feel like discussing plans and structures tonight.

  A younger guy is looking anxiously at his watch, certainly waiting for a date. I look at mine and gulp down my drink. I still have a good hour to kill before meeting my friends at the restaurant where Jules made the reservation. The show will start in three hours, since we have to wait for night to fall to have the full experience of the sticky outdoor concert in the humid summer of Montreal. The bartender tries to make a little conversation, but I show him rapidly I’m not in the mood and it would be better for him to leave me the fuck alone with my Moscow Mule.

  I reread my brother’s text. Oliver—Ol, as I call him—is my baby brother and the only person who knows everything about me. We share a lot. Always have and always will. I can read between the lines that he needs to talk, but I’m not sure I can handle another of his crises. Most people think he’s a super manwhore —which I don’t deny— but he’s also lonely, borderline depressed and his smile is just a mask hiding his grief. He’s been my rock through my divorce, and I’ve been his through his loss. We’ll do anything for each other, like fly on a whim between Montreal and New York because one of us needs a hug. I’m not sure when that will happen next though. I’m booked for months and he just opened a bar, leaving behind his well-paid and secure job as a consultant to follow his dream of being an underpaid, stressed bar owner. My fingers hover above my screen to answer.

  Anna: Thanks, Hon. I’ll call tomorrow even if right now I’m alone at a bar drinking vodka, waiting for Mom Bitch and Busy Bitch to finally arrive. Love you.

  “Anna?”

  The voice I don’t want to hear brings me out of my wicked plans to kill my friends. I don’t have to look to know Cheating Scumbag is next to me with his new bride. Her skanky perfume is tickling my nostrils.

  “What are you doing here?” I might be a little louder than I want, because the two strangers and the barman are now looking at me, curious about what could worsen my mood.

  “Well…” Joel seems embarrassed.

  I want to grab his words from his throat. Come on, you can’t be more embarrassed than when I caught you with her. Oh, and it was a rhetorical question. I don’t give a shit.

  “We’re having a drink before the concert. How are you? Happy birthday, by the way!” He smiles at me.

  I want to slap him. Happy birthday, by the way. Go fuck yourself, by the way. Scumbag!

  “The Darling Devils concert? You fucking hate that band. You refused to go to a single concert with me.” I know I’m hissing but being stood up at a bar and running into him isn’t how I planned to spend my birthday.

  Nothing my therapist told me to do is working anymore. Shutting down my anger, breathing, imagining my safe place, these aren’t the tools you need when you see your ex while you’re alone at a bar. A knife to plunge into his flank or a strong forehead to head-butt him with would be more useful right now.

  My hand is holding my glass so hard, my knuckles are turning white. I see red, black, and then red again. I have no way to deflect my anger at him. The lost pregnancy, the broken marriage, the mislaid happiness. I loathe him and the life I had because of him. I’ve blamed myself over and over, then him, and her, and now still him.

  I hate Jules and Debbie for being late. I hate being alone. I hate how he’s making me feel on my birthday and how I have no exit to flee. I’m stuck between them and the bar, as I was stuck between them and my marriage.

  “But I love the Darling Devils. Dan Darling is my freebie, right Joel boo?” says the worst high-pitched, twangy voice in the world…

  My jaw and fist close. Violence isn’t the answer, right? “Good for you, Camilla-Jane!”

  Everybody calls her CJ, but I prefer to call her by her whole name to her face. Scumbag’s wifey will do behind her back. I know it’s childish, but it’s still nicer than screwing someone else’s husband.

  “Anyway…” Scumbag tries to redirect my anger to him. “Why are you alone on your birthday? Date? Or did your friends stand you up again? Where’s Oliver?”

  I know he’s trying to make conversation—condescending, assholish conversation—but I’m not in the mood to talk to him. I’m miserable, and I don’t want him to acknowledge it. He knows me well enough to know I still cry at night about the loss of our child. I’m sure he can still feel my heartbreak. But I want him to believe I’m over it all.

  He tries to comfort me with a smile and a slight touch on my arm, but Wifey holds him back. I swallow my tears of rage, not willing to give him more power. I stopped being in love with him the moment I found his head between her legs, but I’m still mad about his betrayal. I’ve been mad at myself for a while for not seeing what kind of man he is. He’s the Cersei to my Arya Stark—but killing him with indifference is more my jam. I just need to get my shit together and not show him he still stirs up feelings, even if they are the worst kind a human being could feel.

  We got married youngish, but it never felt like a mistake until three years ago. We had great years. Happy years. Wifey is the only one he cheated on me with, or so he claims. We had a great marriage and a great sex life.

  When we met, I was far from a virgin, but he was. He’d waited for the right girl and he decided it was me. He used to say it didn’t matter that he wasn’t my first because I was his last… or next to last, I guess. I taught him all he knows in the bedroom, and he’s now using it on someone else. I should be a proud teacher.

  I haven’t had anybody serious in three years, while he got married quickly. I’ve had sex of course, but my heart was never in it. The pieces of it were still across town, at his feet… I have my friends and my brother, but I’m not looking for an everlasting relationship. Never again. Not if
I’ll finish alone anyways.

  My answer must take a little longer than they expected because Wifey taps her finger impatiently on the bar and Scumbag looks confused. Do I look that mad? Why do I feel so ridiculous for being angry still? Finally, Wifey’s fingers stop their irritating drumming, and her eyes dislodge from their sockets while her mouth drops. Scumbag looks concerned and surprised at the same time.

  I breathe and take the time to answer, having no clue what’s going on with their distorted faces. “Not your fucking business.”

  A hand falls on my shoulder, and someone kisses the top of my head. I jump from surprise, thinking maybe Oliver just appeared, but seeing how Scumbag and Wifey are stunned—they can’t say a word, how very cartoonish of them—I look up, wondering what’s going on. The sexiest man I’ve ever seen is bringing me closer to him. It takes me a few seconds to realize who he is and to connect this man to the perfect chest sitting in the corner when I entered the bar. I know who’s behind the cap now, and I know where I’ve seen him before.

  “Be nice, Anna love! Ready to go?” he says in an English-Bostonian accent that flips my stomach like a burger on the grill.

  Because only an idiot wouldn’t follow such handsomeness, I stand up and lock my hand in the one he has hanging around my shoulder. I grab his waist and follow the man without a second glance at Scumbag and Wifey, knowing neither of them understood what just happened. Not that I do either…