Worthy of the Dissonance (Mountains & Men Book 3)

by R. C. Martin

  “Thanks,” I mutter as she occupies the space next to me.

  “All right, here’s the deal,” she begins to say as I take a swig of Joe. “We all put up with you when you got completely smashed after yesterday’s show, I stayed up most of the night making sure you were still breathing, and I’ve made you coffee. Now, you listen.”

  I offer her a small nod, certain that I owe her more than a listening ear. “Okay.”

  “You told me once that praying isn’t your thing, so I’m going to assume that God isn’t really a big part of your life, either.”

  “Zip—”

  “No, no, no—you’ve got your listening ears on now, Sage. Besides, I’m not here to preach at you. What you believe is your business, but I believe in God. It shapes my entire outlook on the world, and I want you to understand what I see when I look through that belief system into your world.

  “You’ve been hurting. Since we started this tour, you’ve been hurting so much that you’re barely you. I won’t lie. I miss you. The only time I get you is when we’re out on that stage and you let the music take over. Whatever’s going on with you and Millie is so all consuming that no one can break through it, not that you would even let us try. You shut down every time we try and talk to you about it.

  “I know how much you were looking forward to this tour. I know how much this band’s success means to you—to all of you. I’m new. I’m here, I’m excited, and I hope that this is just the beginning, because it’s so much better than I imagined it would be—but I’ve been dreaming about this for a couple of months. You’ve been dreaming about this for years, and you’re letting it pass you by because you’re off center. Your focus is scattered.

  “When I look at you, I see a guy who loves hard and works hard and dreams big. It’s quite admirable. I don’t know many guys our age who are so driven and optimistic and determined. You’re passionate. I see it when you’re performing. I used to see it when you were sitting around with the other guys, just enjoying each other’s company, because they mean so much to you. You appreciated every moment. I mean, I know I haven’t known you for that long, but before the tour, you soaked up all that life had to offer. Then you hit a rough patch.”

  She pauses, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears before she shifts just slightly to look at me dead on. “I think you’re barely holding on. I think your music is your center. I think that’s what you’ve been clinging to as you’re dealing with whatever it is that’s going on between you and Millie. I think that’s probably how you always cope. The problem with that is, your music is ever changing, which is good in terms of our sound, but not in regards to your well-being. It’s as unreliable as your emotions. You’ve got to find a center that you can rely on—something you can lean on, no matter what; something that’ll help ground you and give you perspective so that your world doesn’t fall apart when the unexpected happens.

  “God is my center. Obviously, I would suggest giving Him a try, but, again, that’s just my personal preference. The thing about God is—He never changes. He will always be love; He will always be grace; He will always be mercy. He provides peace and rest and purpose and meaning to everything. He gave me the gift of music. So I know that no matter where it takes me, whether this works out and we hit it big, or even if we don’t, I know that He gave me the ability to play and He’ll always give me a way and a place to use my talent.

  “And when my relationships are hard, when life is hard, I know that it’ll all be okay. I know that I can lean on Him and He’ll grant me perspective; He’ll keep me grounded; and He’ll give me hope. Every challenge I walk through, if I lean on Him, He’ll teach me something, He’ll make me stronger, and He’ll shape me into the person that I’m supposed to be. All things work together for my good.”

  She sighs, reaching for my hand. For a minute, she doesn’t say anything. My mind is muddled and I’m not sure what to make of everything she’s just said. It must show on my face, because she gives my fingers a squeeze and offers me a small smile before she continues.

  “I had a lot of time to think about this while I was on Sage watch. But, look, all I’m saying is, you’ve got to get it together, Sage. You’ve got to figure out what it is that brings you back to good. And it can’t be Millie and it can’t be your music or even the guys—because all of those things are imperfect and they can all let you down, and then you’ll be right where you are now.”

  I shake my head carefully, looking down at her small hand wrapped around mine. “I don’t know what that is,” I say contemplatively. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had that. Music has never failed me.”

  “Music drives you. But here you are, deep in your music, and you’re still miserable. Life’s a journey, Sage—your path has led you here, to this very moment where you question your stabilizer. Now, you look for it.”

  “That simple, huh?”

  “I didn’t say it was simple,” she replies with a grin. “Anyway, your path to discovery isn’t necessarily something you’ll figure out while nursing a massive hangover. We’ll start with something smaller today—like doling out I’m sorrys. I think you know who deserves the first one.” She squeezes my hand again and then crawls out of bed. “Finish your coffee and then hop in the shower. We’ll catch a cab to the motel when you’re ready.”

  “Alex?” I call out as she makes her way to the door.

  “Yeah?” she asks, turning back to look at me.

  “Thanks. For…all of it.”

  “It was my turn for a pep-talk,” she says, winking at me before she’s gone.

  AS SOON AS WE get to the motel, Alex points me in the direction of the room that was supposed to be mine, assuring me that’s where I’ll find Violet. She then abandons me to go catch some shut eye. I rap my knuckles against the door and then run my fingers through my hair, feeling both anxious and a little nauseous. JJ answers a few seconds later, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, despite the fact that it’s one in the afternoon.

  Then again, if I were him, I’d be in my bed with my girl for as long as possible, too.

  “Hey,” he mutters.

  “Hey,” I reply. “Listen, I don’t remember a whole lot, but I’m sure I owe you an apology, so—sorry, man.”

  He stares at me blankly before he speaks again. “Don’t fuck this up. Fix you and Millie and then we’ll deal with the rest—but this is your one chance, Sage. Don’t. Fuck. This. Up.”

  I nod once. There’s nothing to be said. He’s right. I know he’s right. Last night was apparently rock bottom, and if I don’t get my act together, everyone is fucked.

  Violet joins us, wearing little more than one of JJ’s t-shirts, her hair still a mess from sleep—or lack there of. She curls into JJ’s side, her gaze locked on me as he wraps his arm around her. If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ashes. I’ve never seen Violet so pissed off before.

  “Vi—”

  “Fix it,” she says, thrusting a key card at me. “That’s the only apology I’ll accept.” I look down at the card and then back at her, not quite sure what she’s offering me. “She’s down the hall and around the corner. Room one-eleven.”

  I draw in a deep breath and then reach for the card, spinning it with my fingers as I stare down at it.

  “Um, hello!” Violet snaps. “We’ve been here for almost twenty-four hours and she’s seen you for all of fifteen minutes. Get your ass out of here.”

  Her words strike a chord, jogging a memory. Millie didn’t come to the show last night—not at all. I had no right to be pissed, but I was. When I found out she’d stayed behind, that’s when I decided copious amounts of whiskey was in order.

  I shake my head a little, wishing to be rid of the memory. My head pounds in response, but I ignore it. I lift a hand to wave goodbye and then I make my way down the hallway, headed for my girl.

  When I reach her door, I think about knocking and then decide against it. Violet gave me a key, and I see no point in letting it go to waste. I enter the
room cautiously, noting right away that the curtains are still drawn closed, leaving the room shrouded in shadows. When I’ve made it past the bathroom door, standing in the mouth of the room, I see my girl sitting cross-legged in the middle of one of the double beds. The top cover is folded neatly at the bottom, but the sheets are made up. Millie is wearing a pair of jeans and a loose fitting, flowy, white tank top—her long, ashy brown hair draped over her shoulders and down her chest. Her pretty green eyes, red-rimmed from crying, grow wide at the sight of me. She sits up a little taller, but she doesn’t say a word. At first, I don’t either. Instead, I sit at the foot of the bed and rest my forearms atop my knees.

  I don’t know how long we sit, neither of us saying a word. All I know is that being in the same room with her, breathing the same air as her, it’s like having a piece of home with me. I’m angry at her, that I can’t deny. But I love her; and just like I knew I would, I love her hard. Whatever shit lies in our past, we have to deal with it—right here, right now, because no matter what, she’s my gorgeous girl. Life sucks ass without her.

  HE DOESN’T SPEAK for so long, I wonder if he will. The longer we sit in silence, the more frightened I become. I have no idea what he’s thinking and no clue what he’s feeling. All I know is that he saw me, fucked me, and abandoned me last night. I can’t say for certain what all of it means, but I don’t have a good feeling. I don’t have a good feeling at all.

  “I’ve wanted this since I was sixteen years old,” he begins, his rich, tenor voice smooth and soft. “When Knox, Maddox and I started Mountains & Men, this was always where we wanted it to go—touring the country, touring the world, sharing our music—that was the dream. It’s what we’ve been fighting for—since I was sixteen. Now, it’s happening. Or, at least, it’s starting to happen; and instead of having the time of my life, instead of enjoying every single moment, I’m over here worrying about whether or not my girl is still going to be my girl when I get back home. I’m wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to convince her that I’m in love with her when she won’t even answer her damn phone.”

  I suck in a quiet breath, my heart constricting as he turns his head to look at me.

  “You fucked with my head, doll face, and that shit wasn’t cool.”

  “I know,” I whisper through the tears that congest my airway, not knowing what else to say. He’s right. I got scared, tucked tail, and ran. He didn’t ask for this. In fact, he demanded the opposite. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you doing here, doll? Why did you come?”

  I cried half the night. I cried so much, I’m surprised I have any tears left. I cried harder than I’ve ever cried before. I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t calm myself down. I couldn’t explain or rationalize any of it. The tears just kept on coming. Now, looking at the man who holds my heart—hearing him ask me why I’m here and remembering the way he treated me yesterday—every ounce of hope that I’ve been building up and clinging to just evaporates. My eyes well up and I try my hardest not to let a single tear spill onto my cheeks as I scoot out of bed and onto my feet, sliding into my flip-flops as I begin to walk toward my bag.

  “I’ll just go.”

  “Baby, fuck!” he mutters exasperatedly, reaching for my hand before I step out of reach. “Just answer the question. Why did you come?”

  “Because I love you,” I cry, my eyes betraying me as they overflow with tears.

  He stares at me, appearing surprised but not shocked at my declaration. Then he stands, gently cupping his hands around my face, wiping my cheeks dry with his thumbs.

  “I love you, too, baby.”

  For a fraction of a second, I’m overwhelmed with relief. But that only lasts until I draw in a deep breath and reality wedges a gap between us. He leans in to kiss me but I shake my head at him, taking a step back as he drops his hands. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” I protest, reaching up to bury my fingers in my hair.

  I was prepared to wait. I was willing to suffer for another eighteen days before I saw him again, when he’d tell me he loved me and mean it. Instead of being marred by goodbye, it was supposed to be drenched in the hope of hello, and I was supposed to get my chance to tell him I felt the same. Now, none of that has happened. Instead, our words are coated in the bitterness of anger and hurt and regret.

  “Millie—”

  “No,” I cry, shaking my head at him. “Last night, you fucked me—without a condom—and then you left me.”

  His face falls before he murmurs, “Shit. Are you on the pill?”

  “God, yes. I’m on the damn pill!” I groan, letting my hands fall to my sides. “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is?”

  “No one has ever been inside of me bare. No one. You took that—I let you take that—and then you left! I hurt you. I know that, and I’m sorry. But then you hurt me right back and—shit, Sage…it’s not supposed to be like this.” By the time I’m done speaking, my voice is hardly more than a whisper, but I forge on. “I messed it up. I messed it all up. I was just so scared. I still am, and—”

  “Baby—”

  “No, Sage—”

  He grips his hands around my waist and pulls me against him, silencing me as he rests his forehead against mine and mutters, “Millicent…”

  I suck in a breath, reaching up to grip his t-shirt, loving the sound of my name falling from his lips.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you, baby—but you’re here. I’m here. We’re far from perfect, but we’re nowhere near finished, doll face. It’s like I told you, we’re not breaking up, no matter how bad the shit storm. I love you and I’m not letting you go.”

  “Sage.” I close my eyes, pushing myself up on my tiptoes as I circle my arms around his neck and whisper, “I love you so much.”

  “Fuck,” he breathes before his lips brush against mine in a light kiss. “Feels good to hear you say it, doll.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he’s kissing me again. Unlike yesterday, his lips caress mine softly, slowly, seductively. He teases my tongue with his and I melt against him, longing only to be as close to him as possible. My entire body tingles with excitement when his hands slip underneath my tank top, easing the fabric over my torso until we’re forced to sever our kiss so that he can pull the garment over my head. When I’m free, I reach for the hem of his shirt, wishing to feel my skin pressed against his, and he helps me remove it. My eyes devour his sculpted chest, my fingers grazing along his tatted sides as I drag my lips across the art that covers his pecs. He grabs two handfuls of my ass, making me whimper as I press my chest against his.

  I love how much he adores my ass. Always have. Always will.

  He dips his head to kiss the space between my neck and shoulder as he guides me to the bed. He leans into me, encouraging me onto the mattress, and I kick off my sandals and scoot to the middle. Rather than join me, he reaches for the top of my jeans, unfastening the button and sliding down the zipper before tugging them off of me. My panties are discarded next, and then finally my bra, leaving me completely exposed.

  He licks his lips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he admires me. When he reaches down to give his cock a squeeze through his own jeans, I part my lips, suddenly in need of more air—my entire body ready and waiting for him. Thankfully, it’s not long before he’s divested himself of the rest of his clothing. He sets his glasses aside before crawling between my legs, resting his weight onto his forearms on either side of my head.

  He rubs his cock over my clit, causing my arousal to drip out of my core as I gaze up into his eyes. I lift my hips, silently begging for more, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

  “Who owns your orgasms, baby?”

  “You, Sage,” I whisper, reaching up to comb my fingers through his hair.

  Without another word, he slides into me, and I can’t help but arch my back, pressing my breasts against him. He feels so warm, so hard, so perfect—his cock filling me u
p like only it can, reminding me that he’s all I’ll ever need.

  “You’re my best girl, Millie,” he whispers, his lips grazing mine. “Shit, you feel so good—my best girl.”

  I’m speechless. Completely and utterly speechless. But it doesn’t matter.

  He’s here. I’m here. We’re far from perfect, but we’re nowhere near finished—just as he promised.

  GOD, SHE FEELS sensational—her tight pussy so wet, so soft, and so warm. This is what I’ve wanted, my dick claiming ownership of what is mine; and her delicious cunt is exactly that. Mine.

  I take my time, gliding in and out of her slowly, ignoring my headache as I make love to my girl. Her dark green eyes are locked with mine, and I dare not look away, wishing to take everything she’s offering me. Finally. When she frees a moan, her lids drooping closed, I lean down and kiss her lips, needing another taste. As her tongue tangles with mine, she hitches up both of her legs around my hips, allowing me to sink my dick a little deeper. She hums a sigh into my mouth, and I wonder just how the fuck I’ve lasted so many days without this—without her.

  Her fingers leave a trail across my shoulders, down my back and up again, tickling the nape of my neck before she buries them in my hair. When she grips onto me, pulling the strands in her fists as her swollen pussy swallows my dick, I know she’s getting close. I pull my mouth from hers and the sound of her heavy breaths fill the room.

  “Sage—oh, god—baby, I’m gonna come,” she moans.

  I free a grunt when her core flutters, squeezing my cock as she emits a soft cry. I keep my slow pace, drawing out her orgasm. She’s still trembling beneath me when I hook one arm and then the other under her knees, pressing her thighs further up my sides as I roll my hips even slower, plunging as deep as I can go. She groans, the sound that pours from her mouth melodically deep and beautiful, and her fingers curl around the back of my neck as she holds on tight. Her pussy flutters and clenches again, and I roll my hips even slower, grazing my pelvis over her clit with each stroke.