Vintage Volume Two

by Suzanne, Lisa

  VINTAGE

  Volume Two

  Lisa Suzanne

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  books by Lisa Suzanne

  VINTAGE VOLUME ONE

  VINTAGE VOLUME TWO

  HOW HE REALLY FEELS (HE FEELS, BOOK 1)

  WHAT HE REALLY FEELS (HE FEELS, BOOK 2)

  SINCE HE REALLY FEELS (HE FEELS, BOOK 3)

  SEPARATION ANXIETY

  SIDE EFFECTS

  SECOND OPINION

  VINTAGE

  Volume Two

  © 2015 Lisa Suzanne

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law and except for excerpts used in reviews. If you would like to use any words from this book other than for review purposes, prior written permission must be obtained from the publisher.

  Published in the United States of America by Lisa Suzanne.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters and events in this work are figments of the author’s imagination.

  All songs and titles mentioned in this book are property of the songwriters.

  Cover Art by LM Creations

  table of contents

  dedication

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  epilogue

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  books by Lisa Suzanne

  dedication

  To finding yourself

  and the one who makes your heart sing

  one

  “Roxanna Cecilia Price, my Jimi, I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that I can’t live without you. Will you marry me?”

  I stared up at the man on the stage.

  Lights blinded my eyes. They flashed down from the stage. One beam landed on me.

  Were people taking pictures of me? It seemed like flashbulbs were exploding. I could feel George’s presence nearby, but I couldn’t feel much else.

  My ears buzzed with a loud quiet, the kind of quiet that screams over everything else and blocks out all of the surrounding noise.

  My mouth was dry, like the time in the fourth grade my friend dared me to eat three packages of crackers in sixty seconds.

  Drier than that, even.

  My eyes left Parker’s long enough to edge over to the screen displayed to the entire crowd at Raleigh’s Walnut Creek Amphitheater.

  It was me. I was on the screen.

  Surely I hadn’t heard him right. Had I?

  Why the hell was I on the screen if I hadn’t heard him right?

  My eyes moved back to Parker’s. They were pleading.

  He still looked nervous. He looked terrified, actually. There was an amphitheater of at least fifteen thousand people waiting for my answer.

  I knew that Vinnie, Fitz, and Garrett were staring down at me too, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what the hell they thought about this. Had they known?

  But the only one I could focus on was Parker.

  Did he really want this? We’d just barely gotten back together. We were still finding our way.

  He was still earning back my trust.

  We’d never had a problem with the physical aspects of our relationship. If Parker was the last person I’d ever fuck for the rest of my life, I’d be okay with that.

  But marriage was about a hell of a lot more than sex.

  I needed time to think this through. I needed to sit on it, to think about our future, to get to know Parker better.

  Fuck, I barely knew the guy at all. I knew he had a sister named Kimmy.

  I knew he wore a lot of black clothes.

  But was black his favorite color?

  What was his favorite song? His favorite food? What was he like when he got up in the morning on a regular day?

  What would life be like for us if he was out on tour and I was at home, fulfilling my lifelong dream of…

  Of what?

  Of working at Vintage?

  I didn’t even know myself, and this man was asking me to commit my life to his?

  I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready.

  But I couldn’t say no in front of a crowd of fifteen thousand expectant people. Thirty thousand eyes were trained on me.

  The volume seemed to turn back up.

  The first words I heard were George next to me. “He’s waiting for your answer, Miss Price.”

  I couldn’t say no. Not with all of those people staring at me.

  And so I said the opposite of no, even though I was certain I didn’t mean it and I wasn’t ready.

  “Yes.”

  I was momentarily weightless as I was hoisted up on the stage by a security guard. Parker grabbed my arms and helped pull me up. He wrapped his arms around me. He kissed me in front of the crowd, and I heard the screams from the perspective of the musicians gracing the stage.

  He pulled back and looked into my eyes, and even though it was wrong to say yes, his eyes were warm and loving. He knelt down and held out a ring.

  I nodded, and the crowd cheered. He slipped some huge rock on my hand, but it wasn’t about the diamond to me.

  It was about the commitment.

  His eyes told me that he was convinced that this was right, and it was almost enough to sweep me up into it and convince me, too.

  He stood, pressed his lips to mine, and hugged me. “Thank you,” he murmured into my ear. I barely heard him over the crowd. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. But why did you ask me in front of this crowd?”

  He pulled back from me and gave me a strange look that I couldn’t quite read. Almost like he thought my question was stupid.

  But it was valid. Maybe I was asking it at a strange time, but in my defense, he’d asked the first question at an equally strange time.

  He held onto me as he belted out the closing notes of Motley Crue’s “Without You.” Cheers and screams erupted from the crowd, and I felt them onstage. I saw the appeal of standing up there and basking in the adrenaline rush from the audience.

  The lights went out and Parker ushered me offstage.

  My dad stood in the area just down from stage left, Parker’s side of the stage, while the other three guys waved their goodbyes to the crowd and threw out guitar picks and drumsticks.

  I was expect
ing a hug from my dad. At least some sort of fanfare. Instead, he said, “You two did great. That was perfect.”

  My brows knit together in utter confusion.

  “We did great? How about ‘congratulations’?”

  “Congratulations, then,” my dad said with a laugh.

  A laugh? Why was he laughing?

  It seemed to me that my dad should be shouting from the rooftops. He seemed to love Parker. He trusted him enough to put my safety into his hands. Parker was the son he never had.

  Something was going on, and I suddenly felt like the joke was on me.

  Some sick, twisted joke that I didn’t quite understand.

  I looked back and forth between my dad and Parker. Both of them looked slightly relieved.

  “Thanks for agreeing to this, CC,” my dad said. He turned to walk away, back toward his dressing room, but I caught him by his sleeve.

  “For agreeing to what?” I asked.

  His eyes flashed with concern and moved from me over to Parker. “Did you…?”

  Parker shook his head. “There wasn’t time. I sent a text.”

  “You sent a fucking text?” My dad was frustrated. He looked over at me. “CC, where’s your phone?”

  “I left it on the bus when I changed earlier. Why?”

  His eyes filled with horror. I looked over at Parker, and I saw all of the color drain from my new fiancé’s face.

  “Wait a minute,” Parker said nervously. “So you didn’t see the text I sent you?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t have time to get it. I wanted to watch your set tonight.”

  “Fuck,” Parker muttered. He ran both of his hands through his hair, and then he tugged on the ends. He looked like he was either going to punch a wall or vomit. He looked at my dad pleadingly.

  “Parker, texts are traceable. What were you thinking?” my dad asked him in a hiss. He was trying to be quiet. He clearly didn’t want anybody to hear this conversation. He turned back toward me. “I need to explain something to you, CC. But not back here.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked, my voice becoming hysterical.

  Parker pulled on my hand. “But you said yes,” he said, his voice full of wonder. He was in an utter daze.

  Roadies passed by us carrying equipment to and from the stage. Fitz and Garrett were coiling up cords while Vinnie unscrewed his cymbals.

  But I couldn’t focus on any of that because something was very wrong.

  “Not here.” My dad’s voice was forceful, and I knew better than to question that tone. “Will your room be empty?” he asked Parker.

  Parker nodded, and we both followed my dad as he led the way toward the Flashing Light dressing room.

  Parker was gripping my hand so tightly that I thought he was going to cut off circulation. Somehow George had rejoined us. He brought up the rear of our group while my dad led the way.

  We arrived to the door of Parker’s dressing room. George manned the door from the outside while the three of us stepped inside. My dad did a quick sweep of the room, and then he focused in on me.

  “Sit,” he demanded.

  I sat on a couch. Parker sat next to me, his hand never leaving mine, and my dad sat on the table in front of us both. Our knees were practically touching.

  I didn’t like how this felt. A sick feeling twisted in my gut again.

  “Things are escalating with Randy. He found out that I hired Parker to protect you, so we had to think of a way to throw him off.”

  I looked back and forth between Parker and my dad.

  “Is this what you two were meeting about all day?” I asked.

  They both nodded. “We came up with a plan. We had to make a statement that would show everyone that you and Parker are together,” my dad continued.

  A vile anger burned in my belly as the sickness I felt gave way to fury.

  “And if Parker did it in public, Randy would have to believe its sincerity. Besides, he isn’t stupid enough to go after you if you’re in the media. A high profile wedding? It will keep him at bay. We planned to fill you in before the show.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said, holding up the hand that Parker wasn’t death-gripping to stop my dad.

  The diamond glinted in the light.

  Suddenly the diamond became an important factor in this equation.

  It was a large round diamond set on a platinum band. It was beautiful, but it didn’t scream Roxanna to me. Something less modern and more unique would’ve suited me better. It made me think for a quick second that Parker didn’t really know me at all.

  I slapped my hand down on my lap just to force myself to stop looking at it. I couldn’t let the ring distract me from my question.

  “Are you telling me that this was some publicity stunt?”

  Parker’s hand inexplicably tightened over mine. I ripped it away from him.

  Wasn’t I the one who had just told myself that I wasn’t ready to marry him?

  Why did it even matter if it was some publicity stunt?

  Why was I suddenly disappointed that Parker didn’t actually want to marry me, that his proposal hadn’t been sincere?

  “Are you two serious right now?” I looked over at Parker. He was sitting in stunned silence while my voice grew louder. “After all the shit we just went through, you thought this would be a good idea? And you—” I whipped my head in my dad’s direction. “You thought this would be a good idea after I just forgave you for sneaking behind my back and hiring douchebags to watch over me?”

  “Wait a minute,” my dad started just as Parker began to protest the label I’d given him.

  I was done. I was so fucking done with these two men and their lies and their deceit.

  “You were supposed to know, CC. Parker said he’d figure out a way to let you know. You two just need to pretend to be engaged. I swear it’s to protect you.”

  I stood up and darted around the couch and the table. I couldn’t sit so close to Parker. I couldn’t look my father in the eyes.

  I pulled the ring off of my finger and threw it at Parker. Hard.

  It bounced off of his chest and clattered to the floor. His eyes darted from me over to the spot on the floor where the ring had landed.

  “I’m so goddamn sick of this protection bullshit!” I yelled at my dad, at Parker, at the room. I was losing the control I fought so hard to maintain. “I get it. None of us are safe. This was a ridiculous plan. If you would have told me about it ahead of time, I still would have told you both how stupid it was. I can’t be around either of you right now.”

  “Roxanna,” my dad said sharply. I stopped in my tracks. It was instinct.

  “No, Gideon. You don’t get to ‘Roxanna’ me on this one.”

  Hot tears filled my eyes as I turned blindly to the door.

  two

  George followed me out to the bus, of course. I couldn’t get one goddamn second alone on this tour where I felt so goddamn lonely.

  Hank gave me a look of sympathy since I was full-on crying by the time I arrived at the bus door. He punched in the code and opened the door, and I went immediately to the back of the bus, slammed the door, pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket, and opened Parker’s text.

  When I ask you an important question at the end of our closing song tonight, please say yes. It’s for your safety. It won’t be real this time, but I can’t stop thinking about how it will be real someday. I love you.

  I tossed my phone away from me in disgust.

  Playing with marriage, with engagements and love, was sick. It was one thing for my father to force Parker on me for my protection. It was quite another for the two of them to come up with this ludicrous idea that Parker and I should get engaged to somehow protect me from Randy.

  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  “Go the fuck away,” I yelled. I buried my face into my pillow, angry tears still falling from my eyes.

  The door opened. That was exactly the opposite of what I had literally just sai
d.

  I didn’t lift my head because I wasn’t interested in who was at the door.

  I heard my dad’s voice.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. For what it’s worth, this was my idea. Parker protested pretty strongly, but I just couldn’t see any other way.”

  “I don’t need the details, Dad. I just want to be alone.”

  I heard him sigh, and then I heard an echo of another sigh.

  Great. I wanted some time to myself, and suddenly I was surrounded by my dad and Parker—the two people I most didn’t want to see.

  “I have to go,” my dad said. “Show’s in less than an hour. I need my credentials.” I reached into my pocket without picking my face up from my pillow. I held out the cards to my dad. I felt his hand brush my back, a silent apology.

  “Good luck,” he muttered not to me, and then I heard him walk away as I felt the bed dip down beside me.

  Parker’s large, strong hand brushed some hair tenderly from my forehead as he tucked it behind my ear. It was sweet and affectionate and so out of line with the way he’d totally just played with my heart.

  He’d played with my emotions.

  So he’d sent a text. Big fucking deal.

  I hadn’t received it, and it was presumptuous of him to think I did without checking first. It wasn’t like he’d texted me to find out what I wanted for dinner.

  “I’m sorry, Jimi,” he murmured. “Did you read my text?”

  I nodded into the pillow.

  “I meant it. The part about how I can’t stop thinking about our future.”

  I was silent. I hadn’t thought far enough ahead to have the same thoughts and dreams he had. I’d barely come to the realization that I was tired of being stubborn and wanted to just give into what I felt between us.

  Instead, I was back to where I had been only a couple of days earlier. I was angry. I was hurt. And most of all, I was betrayed yet again by the two men I loved most.

  “Talk to me, Jimi.”

  I took a shaky breath, the tears thankfully dry. I flipped over so I was on my back, and I stared up at the ceiling.