Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  Deepest Blues

  by Heidi Hutchinson

  copyright 2014

  Smashwords Edition

  Deepest Blues

  Copyright © 2014 Heidi R Hutchinson

  All Rights Reserved

  Book Design: Heidi R Hutchinson

  Cover Design: Penelope Reid

  Cover Photography: Laura Gibson

  Cover Model: Miles Logan

  Editor: Tara Burch

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  For Angie

  your heart is as big as the state you hail from

  I am blessed to call you friend

  Prologue

  Cologne, Germany

  3 years ago

  After all of that.

  Everything.

  The secrets kept.

  The promises made.

  All that he had done for her.

  For them.

  Mike pushed his thumb and index finger into his eye sockets and breathed against the pain. The physicality of the burn in his eyes was nothing compared to the soul pulverizing drum of his pulse roaring in his ears.

  The darkness was smothering. Or maybe that was his own thankless breath that was killing him. His chest was heavy. Like someone had filled the empty spaces between his ribs with lead. It was dragging, pulling him forward. He hunched over his legs, letting go of his face and allowing his head to hang unseeingly towards the floor.

  It was still too easy to breathe. He tried to squeeze the air from his lungs, wondering at the brown edges around his vision. Wondering if he could follow the pattern and figure out it's path.

  He jolted from his position when he heard someone walking down the hall.

  He stood slowly, listening for an indication of identity.

  The suite he occupied was massive, plush, beautiful. He had gotten it for her. Just like the spray of blue cornflowers on the table by the entry. Gifts. Distractions. Things to fill the void that threatened to swallow them—him—whole. He'd known he was grasping, scraping desperately at the fabric of his sanity. Or what was left of it.

  It didn't matter what gifts he threw at her, the words he promised, the images he pretended weren't there. None of it mattered.

  Nothing was the same.

  His heart stuttered briefly and he wondered if maybe it wouldn't restart. That would be okay, he decided. But then it continued beating and he moved his attention back to the sounds in the hallway.

  A soft feminine laugh rippled through him, and, like an undertow, he was pulled unwillingly to the door. The knob felt cold as he acknowledged the easy way it fit in his hand, the lack of resistance it gave him as he opened the door. Like it had conspired with the universe to bring him to this moment.

  The hall opened up before him and his heart did the stutter again. Just as the door across the hall from him was falling closed on Ilsa's long porcelain legs, black skirt swishing just above her knee, her elegant figure hooked around the waist by a man's arm. Her elongated neck highlighted by the short and flirty cut of her iridescent blonde hair tilted to the side as her head rested on the shoulder of...

  Of course.

  They'd talked about this yesterday. At least, Mike was pretty sure it was yesterday. He'd lost track of time when it had all happened. And there wasn't a whole lot of talking. It was mostly Ilsa crying and explaining, Mike realizing too late what she was saying. Something about him being different. Or was it distant? He remembered thinking how odd that one moment, one breath—or lack thereof, could alter their lives so intensely.

  Then she'd left.

  He knew she wasn't coming back. Somewhere in his center, he just knew that it was well and truly over.

  Hadn't it been over already, though? Hadn't he felt the distance for weeks, maybe even months? Hadn't he seen her talking and laughing with Sway? Laughing.

  God, he loved her laugh. He was going to miss that.

  The final moments, the death rattle of their love (in a very literal sense now) came suddenly but not unexpectedly. They'd been decaying for weeks. She'd finally put it to rest with her broken words falling from her chapped lips.

  He must have stood in the hall for several minutes. He wasn't sure. But he knew he had to do something.

  She was gone. And with his band mate—his brother—no less.

  Mike wasn't capable of living with that. Not an overly morose person, this feeling of utter devastation and loss was foreign to him. Yes, he'd been broken up with before; yes, he'd experienced the pain of a relationship tearing apart like flesh ripping from bone. But something about this moment was different. Something darker and far more lethal was threatening to take over his mind.

  His thoughts skittered to the obvious solution. Though Ilsa had claimed that his recreational substance use was what had pushed her into Sway's arms, he now saw them as his only outlet. His only source of control in this unfair and unpredictable world.

  He wasn't an idiot. He knew it wasn't his friend. He knew the risk. But didn't all reward come with risk? He most definitely was acquainted with the reward. The bliss of darkness, of calm. Like crashing into a giant pillow and finding sleep.

  He hadn't slept in a week. How could he? All he saw was the accusing eyes of the hospital staff. All he heard was the abundance of heartbeats in his own chest and the lack of them in another.

  His door slammed shut on his right. He looked at it briefly, then slid his phone out of his pocket, texting his contact on the crew who would no doubt get him exactly what he needed.

  He needed to think. He could figure out how to be okay with all of this if he could just find some time to think and plan. This would help. It always helped. Made him feel connected to the bigger picture when he was usually so wrapped up inside himself.

  Besides, the show wasn't until tomorrow. He had plenty of time.

  This would help.

  That's all he wanted.

  Just a little bit of help.

  Chapter 1

  The Beat

  Clarke Matthews pushed her damp bangs off her forehead and peered up the beach towards the group of loud mouthed twenty-somethings ambling in her direction.

  Figures.

  She'd been hoping for a few minutes without an audience to sort her head out before she had to go into work. Didn't look likely.

  Sitting astride her surfboard, she leaned into the water and gently turned her way back to the shore. It was just as well, she would probably have been late for work anyway.

  Disembarking from her board and tossing it onto the sand next to her things, she quickly slipped on her terry shorts and tank over her swimsuit. She had a change of clothes at the office, and she hoped she could scroung
e up a comb to untangle the hair she probably should have tied back before jumping into the ocean that morning.

  She picked up her longboard and carried it on top of her head as she retraced her earlier steps back to her waiting Land Rover. Technically, it was Shane's Land Rover, but since he'd been spending most of his time in New York and had told her she could use it whenever she wanted, she had started thinking of it as hers. But Shane was supposed to be back today. That would mean the end of her small love affair with the beautiful British four-wheel drive.

  “Hey, sunshine! Don't leave on account of us,”one of the beachgoers hollered from the sand below her now.

  She sighed and threw the strap over the top of the longboard, walked around to the other side to tighten it. She came back to repeat the procedure and was caught off-guard when the guy who had yelled at her a few seconds prior was standing next to her vehicle.

  Sporting the classic beach bum glow, he grinned and swept his blond hair off his face. “We didn't scare ya, did we?”

  Oh, he thought he was so pretty.

  “No, I have to get to work.” Clarke was trying to sound polite, but she knew it came out with a little more bitch than usual. She was tired and it irritated her that she couldn't get a decent wave this morning before having to go into her dream job and spend the next fourteen hours managing a building of people who thought she was too young and too pretty to have the job in the first place. If a little bitch escaped, that wasn't so bad, was it?

  “You look familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”

  No shit. You and your gaggle were just in the shop yesterday spending someone's daddy's money. I rang you up. You were with your girlfriend, though, so that's probably why you can't quite place it. But she didn't say any of these things. Instead, she finished tying the longboard to the roof and silently climbed into the Land Rover.

  “What a bitch,” she heard the guy mutter as she backed out of her parking space. She'd gone from “sunshine” to “bitch” in the span of thirty-seven seconds. She wondered if that was any indication to how the rest of her day was going to go.

  When Clarke arrived at her place of employment, she was only slightly perturbed to see Shane's Mercedes already parked in the lot. Perturbed turned to curious when she saw Greta's Jeep there as well.

  She made her way to the building, noting not for the first time how gorgeous it looked with the sun coming up from behind it. Two stories of surfer chic, housing every dream ever contrived by her boss and Soaring Bird's founder. There had never been a day she wasn't proud to be a apart of his establishment.

  “Hey, babe,” Greta her greeted after the glass door had swung shut behind her. “I brought you some food for later. I noticed you left kinda early this morning.”

  Clarke noted the small cooler sitting on the main counter. She smiled at her friend thankfully. “Ugh, yeah. I couldn't sleep. Decided to get a start on the day.”

  That was mostly true.

  “No problem. Your boss is back,” Greta continued too casually. “If he washed that look of dejection off his face, he'd be kinda hot.”

  Clarke narrowed her eyes at Greta, who gave her a playful smirk because she totally knew that Clarke knew what she was already thinking.

  A loud crash broke through their silent conversation and they both moved in unison to Shane's office doorway.

  His chair had snapped in two, depositing him in the most undignified fashion on the floor. He blinked twice before Clarke stooped down to help him up.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I'm great. Why?” He pushed himself up, ignoring her extended hand, and righted his chair, though he didn't sit in it again. He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

  Clarke regarded him for a moment, trying to decide what to do next.

  He huffed in impatience. “Who's the rude girl?” He lifted a chin to Greta.

  “This is Greta Garbo, my roommate. Er, one of my roommates.” Clarke made a face during the introduction that caused Greta to snicker.

  “Wait a minute, 'rude girl?'” Greta asked, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow.

  Clarke looked back and forth between the two. Her roommate, her boss. Shit.

  “I would be hot if I washed that dejected look off my face?” Shane repeated her words, Clarke slid her eyes over to catch Greta's reaction.

  “True story.” Greta smirked and started back to the door. “I need to head. I'll catch you tonight?” she directed to Clarke, reminding her of why she was so on edge when she woke up that morning.

  “Yeah,” Clarke sighed. “I'll be there, but no promises of bells.”

  “Fair enough.” Greta grinned and was gone.

  Yeah. Dinner tonight. That should be fun.

  Between the boys who had taken up residence on her third floor, her extra work load, and now Greta's brother coming for a visit, Clarke was beyond tired. Not physically so much as mentally. It took a lot of energy to balance the different groups. She had to be one person at home, one at work, one with her friends, and now one with the musicians. She had no energy left to just be herself.

  But maybe that didn't matter. She hadn't been herself in so long, she almost forgot what that was like.

  “Sorry I haven't been around,” Shane said suddenly, reminding her of his presence. Her eyes swept over to his.

  “Hm? Oh, don't worry about it.” She shrugged one shoulder and went back to the main floor. She heard him follow her.

  “What's going on tonight?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the counter as she crouched down to open the safe.

  “Oh, Garbo's brother and friend are coming into town for a couple weeks.” Clarke paused as she spun the dial to the correct numbers. “She swears they're only staying with us for one night and they have a condo rented for the rest of the time they're here but... I don't know.” She knew she sounded annoyed. She couldn't stop it. Much like that morning on the beach when the bitch came out involuntarily. “It wouldn't be so bad if the house weren't so full already. I can hardly use my own bathroom.”

  “How many people are you living with?” Shane watched her count the deposit.

  “A few.” She sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “It was only supposed to me, Greta and Tatewin. But then Steve's place burned down and he brought Bo and Brady because apparently they can't live without each other. Then Tate moved in with her boyfriend Eddie, so now Steve is making noise to take over her old room.” She looked up at him under her frown. “I sound bitter, don't I? I'm not bitter. I'm just... so tired.” Her head sank to the counter top, her hair spread out around her.

  It felt good to unload on Shane. If only for a minute. He was always trying to fill the big brother role in her life, maybe she should let him. On that thought, her stomach turned and she wished she could start the day over again. But since she was making wishes, why not ask for the last three years back?

  “How long have those freeloaders been staying with you?” Shane asked, sounding irritated which helped bring her back to reality.

  Clarke straightened back up and resumed counting the money, hoping that Shane didn't pick up on her extemporaneous mood swings. “I don't know, a couple months. It wouldn't be so bad if they could pick up after themselves. And maybe sleep at normal times. And not forget which room is theirs when they come home drunk.”

  “So you've been babysitting my friends and running the shop all by yourself?”

  Clarke loved it when he called it a shop. It was bigger than that and more important, but hearing him say it made it feel homey somehow. It practically was her home at this point.

  Soaring Bird, the perfect name for the place where Clarke intended to make something of herself. She had originally thought that fitness modeling was the way to go, but learned early on she preferred being scored for her wave riding abilities than for her ability to pose in high heels. Not that there was anything wrong with the latter. Tatewin, one of her best
friends, was an IFBB Pro. Clarke was immensely proud of her. She just found she didn't get the same satisfaction competing on a stage as she did when she was covered in salt water.

  Her time interning at Billibong, though it looked like floundering, had been well spent. It's where she had met Shane, the gold-medal winning, hard-ass athlete with a dream she could get on board with. He'd offered her a job and she hadn't even inhaled an entire breath before accepting.

  Their “shop” was situated near the active waters of Huntington Beach. Surf City, USA. They attracted a lot of business based on their location alone. But they maintained their clientele because Shane poured his heart and passion into every item they sold. Not just surfing equipment and bikinis, but snowboarding and winter gear as well. It didn't matter the lack of proximity to a snow covered mountain. They had orders come in from all over the world, which is why he had started another branch in New York City. That's where he had been for the past ten weeks.

  Having a dream was easy. Chasing it, catching it, and harnessing it's wild power was another matter entirely.

  Of course, Shane falling in love with an Oklahoma songbird in the middle of it didn't really help his focus. Especially since it hadn't ended well. Clarke didn't know the details of what had happened with Lucy Newton. Just that a few months ago, her boss had been blissfully happy. Then the entertainment media outlets announced the disintegration of their relationship, followed shortly by the announcement that Lucy had gotten married to one of the guitarists from Double Blind Study. The same band, incidentally, where Shane's other ex-girlfriend had found a husband.

  Clarke hadn't been around when things ended with his first serious girlfriend, Lenny Evans. The media made it look ugly, but since Lenny had gone into business with him last year, it must not have been too ugly. He'd named the place after her, after all. And he was always hanging out with Lenny's husband Luke Casey, lead singer for the aforementioned mega-huge rock band.