Stephanie Hoffman McManus
Copyright © 2018 by Stephanie Hoffman McManus
Cover images used under license from Bigstock and Depositphotos
All rights reserved by the author, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form, by any means.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
For Steph,
Thank you for loving my brother
With such grace.
I lived with him, so I know.
Kidding, love you too little brother.
Prologue
Abel
The vulgar diamond gleamed garishly, nestled within the black velvet. The thing was large enough to blind someone. She’d have nothing less on her precious finger. I snapped the box closed and shoved it in my pocket. Maybe it would disappear like a magic trick.
Nope. Still there.
Hunching over the edge of the bed, I dropped my head into my hands. My heart pounded erratically in my chest like it was trying to escape, but it was as trapped as I was.
Wrestling with the urge to throw up, I drew in a couple deep breaths.
You can do this.
You have to do this.
To change my mind now would mean . . . no, it wasn’t even an option. That’s what I had to remind myself, there was only one choice. Quit fighting it.
At six years old, I’d known I was going to marry Abigail Cross. I’d known it like I’d known I was going to be the greatest rock star in the world, even bigger than my famous dad. I made sure both our families knew it too. They’d smiled, laughed and, to my annoyance, gushed over how adorable we were, me holding Abbi’s hand the way I always saw my dad holding my mom’s. They didn’t get it then.
My world had always revolved around two things. My best friend, the girl who shared my crib and stole my binkies when she came along just a month after I was born. And the guitar my dad put in my hands before I even learned how to walk. Those two things shaped every moment after they came into my world.
My first word was Abbi. At fourteen, she was my first kiss. At sixteen, my first everything else. The girl owned me body and soul.
There would never be anyone else for me. The devastation of that was still sinking in.
You know what you have to do.
But was I strong enough to do it?
The distant creak of the front door caught my attention. “Babe, you here?” a hesitant voice echoed through the penthouse.
I eyed the phone beside me. Ignoring my better judgement, I snatched it up and fired off a single text before I changed my mind. A simple, I’m sorry, and then powered off the screen and tossed the phone down on the bed. It would never be enough.
Please forgive me.
I didn’t deserve forgiveness, not for what I’d done or what I was about to do, but wasn’t that the thing about forgiveness? It was for people who didn’t deserve it. I let myself latch onto that speck of hope as I exhaled through the building sense of dread.
It was now or never.
My feet were lead on the way to the living room, but I couldn’t have hidden even if I’d wanted to. The clack of her heels on the hardwood drew nearer.
I stepped out of the hall and our eyes met. We both stilled. Neither of us spoke. My throat was dry and tight, and I suppose my earlier actions had left her unsure of what to say. Bolting from her apartment in a fit of anger hadn’t been my finest moment.
There was no running from this.
“Abel, we need to talk about it,” she started slowly.
I silenced her by pulling the box from my pocket and taking slow strides toward her. She eyed me and the box warily. “Is that . . .”
I nodded. Dread, regret, sorrow, and a million other emotions threatened to swallow me whole as I sank to one knee in front of her. She gasped, and I pried the little box open. Her eyes grew huge and were riveted to the jewel inside.
“Katya, will you marry me?”
A gleeful grin spread across her lips. “Oh, Abel! Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times, yes!” She grabbed for the box, plucking it from my hand and bringing it to her face. “Oh, it’s so beautiful. Put it on me!”
She shoved it back at me. I stood, a weight like a rock in my stomach. I wedged the ring from the box and slid it onto Kat’s bony, manicured finger. Everything about the moment was wrong.
I only had myself to blame for this.
One
Abel
2 months later . . .
The room was alive, electric with energy, a rapid heartbeat kept pulsing by the club DJ, track after track. The music thrummed through my bones the way the alcohol flowed through my bloodstream, washing away my cares and troubles and lifting the mountain of stress and anger that had been crushing me for weeks, growing heavier every day. For just a little while, I could forget. I couldn’t escape, but I could pretend. For a night.
I tipped the glass of whiskey in my hand to my lips and let it drown the thoughts giving me a headache. I’d have a worse one in the morning if I kept going, but I’d take the hangover. It was the least of my troubles.
“Yo, Abel, what the fuck?”
I looked to my left and the handful of faces staring at me expectantly as the colorful club lights danced across their skin. “Huh?”
Lowell leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and shouted over the noise, “Dude, I asked how the writing is coming along? When you going to have new shit for us to hit the studio with?”
I shrugged off his question and took another sip of the drink. Our manager and the studio had been asking the same question. I didn’t have a better answer for my bass player than I did them. The writing was shit lately. My head was a mess.
“Tripp was just saying he’s got a new song he thinks would be good for the band.” Lowell jerked his chin at Tripp Anders. I eyed the hip-hop artist and songwriter sprawled out over the chair opposite the couch we sat on. A tiny, busty redhead straddled him, sucking on his neck like a vampire. Didn’t look like he was too concerned with conversation either at the moment, but at the mention of his name, he sat up straighter, and somewhat reluctantly shifted the girl around on his lap.
“Just laid down the track in the studio yesterday, and after listening to it, you guys came to mind, has that Rebel Cry feel to it, ya know. I think you guys could do something awesome with it. I can have it sent over for you to check out, before it goes out to anyone else.”
“Appreciate it man, but we write all our own songs.” More accurately, I wrote, or collaboratively wrote, all of Rebel Cry’s songs. Every song we recorded was ours. Outside of the band, the artists and songwriters I was willing to collaboratively write with were limited. Tripp was not on that list. He was an alright guy to party with, and a decent songwriter, but I doubted this new song he was trying to sell really had ‘a Rebel Cry feel to it.’ His talents lay more in the hip-hop and rap scene.
“’S’all good ma
n. Just throwing it out there.” Tripp’s attention returned to redhead crawling all over him.
Lowell was less cool about it and hissed at me, “Dude, wouldn’t hurt to check it out since you’ve hit a block. The label wants another album.”
“I haven’t hit a block,” I growled, even though we both knew I was lying. “And what would you know about what the label wants? You don’t even show up to the meetings. Do you even know what day of the week it is right now? It’s a miracle you have any brain cells left. Thankfully playing bass doesn’t take a lot of them.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbled, but even now, his eyes had that distinctive, glazed over, bloodshot hue.
Everyone else laughed like it was good-natured ribbing between band mates, but I held Lowell’s glower with my own. I was so sick of his shit. He and Gio were treading on damn thin ice. I wasn’t the only one tired of it.
Gabe stood across the room, leaning against the balcony railing that looked out over the rest of the club, chatting up a pretty, barely legal, club girl, but his eyes were on our little group. He looked at Lowell and then raised a questioning brow at me. I shook my head. It was just the same old shit. Same old arguments we’d been having for the last year.
Lowell and Gio were more concerned with getting high and getting laid than oh say, showing up to rehearsals and studio sessions on time. I couldn’t remember the last time either of them played a show sober, or even just not completely fucking blitzed.
It was no surprise Gio wasn’t present. Our guitarist had disappeared almost as soon as we’d arrived and was likely in some dark corner or bathroom with whatever shady fucks he found, snorting his way to a good time. Between the two of them, one of these days they were going to fuck the band right up the ass, and I’d rather not wait for one of them to OD.
Gabe was on the same page. Something had to give.
We were both in our twenties feeling like going on forty, wondering how the hell we ended up here.
This life took its toll and could seriously make you lose sight of a lot of things.
I certainly had, which was the primary reason for my recent bout of alcoholism.
In three days I’d turn twenty-six and my life was not what I thought it’d be back when we signed our first deal and released the first album. Far from it.
I didn’t even like half these people, and here I was, watching them all getting fucked up, trying to get laid, trading sex and drugs and love and money, everybody just trying to prove they were somebody.
A bunch of jokers I didn’t give two shits about, and not one of them besides Gabe gave a shit about me beyond what I could do for them or what being seen with me could do for them. That’s what being fucking Abel McCabe got me. And everything I’d worked toward—the fame, the money, the status, the acclaim—it was a bunch of fucking empty nothing.
Hadn’t always felt that way. Up on stage, in front of a sold-out crowd of a hundred thousand people all singing your song right back to you, was a rush. Nothing but you and the music and your fans. No other bullshit. You think you’re on top of the fucking world.
Ha, I was a naïve little shit. Just eighteen, thinking I was going to get everything I ever wanted.
Dad tried to tell me. He knew. He walked this road of fame and fortune long before I did.
But what kid on the verge of stardom wants to listen to their dad’s warnings about being careful what you wish for?
The bigger you get, the larger your star grows, the more everyone just wants a piece of it.
I used to think it was all worth it, sold away bits of my soul one platinum record at a time on my way to the top, but it wasn’t just bits of myself I’d lost.
How had my life become this string of regrets?
I knew exactly how.
A vice tightened around my chest and I threw back the last of my whiskey. I needed another. I made eye contact with one of the scantily clad waitresses moving through the exclusive upper level of the club and wiggled my glass at her. She happily sauntered over and plucked the empty glass from my hand.
“Just bring me the bottle,” I told her, slipping her a hundred.
“Anything else I can get or do for you?” She bit her lip and batted her eyes in what I’m sure she hoped was an enticing manner.
“All I want is the booze, sweetheart.” Not the least bit dismayed, she spun around and strutted away with my glass, the sway heavy in her hips. I only let my eyes linger on her ass in that mini skirt and heels for a second before I dragged them away, not the least bit interested in any other offer she might make. I was a married man, after all.
Fuck, she needed to get back with that whiskey quick.
“Shit,” Gabe’s muttered curse was loud enough to reach me over the music and drag my eyes over to where he was tearing himself away from his piece of ass. He rushed over and yanked on the arm of the girl who’d made herself comfy beside me on the sofa. I couldn’t remember her name, even though I was pretty sure we’d been introduced. Something with an ‘s.’
Gabe jerked her to her feet. “Hey!” she squealed.
He muttered a quick apology and then dropped into her place and turned to me. “Katya’s on her way up here right now.”
“Tell me you’re kidding?” I growled.
“I wouldn’t kid about this. Spotted her downstairs, headed this way.”
I cursed under my breath and jerked my gaze to the stop of the staircase. Sure enough, she appeared a moment later, a look of determination and annoyance fixed on her face.
Just what I needed.
I didn’t bother waving or shouting for her. It only took a second for her laser focus to zero in on me and that look on her face to become even more pinched. Shouldering past people, she marched over in her ridiculous heels and flowy dress.
I relaxed into the seat, casually draping my arm over the backrest of the leather couch, even though I was feeling anything but relaxed. Katya came to a dramatic stop in front of me, cocking one hip and resting her hand on it. “What the hell, Abel?”
“What the hell, Kat?” I parroted right back at her.
With a huff she slid her purse off her shoulder and pulled her phone from the depths of the designer bag I probably paid way too much for. She slid her fingers across the screen and then shoved the phone in front of my face. “You told me you were going out with the guys, and then I see you partying it up with sluts!”
I pulled my head back, so my eyes could actually focus on whatever she’d shoved in front of them. Someone in the group had taken a picture and posted it on social media. Nothing scandalous, just me and Lowell sitting on the sofa, some b-list actress in his lap, and the girl Gabe had forcibly removed from beside me just in time—Shawna?
I darted my gaze up to Kat’s. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes, I’m serious right now. I’m at home and you’re out with another girl behind my back.”
“Kat, look around, do you see me with another girl? I told you I was out with the guys, and look, here they are.” I swung my arm in a sweeping gesture at Gabe and Lowell, who wouldn’t find this tirade anything new. Tripp and the others with us were staring like they didn’t know what they were witnessing. “There’s nothing going on in that picture.” And there wasn’t. The girl was sitting next to me, that’s it, not even looking at me. She was talking to the girl in Lowell’s lap.
Kat sniffed and drew the phone back, folding her arms across her ample chest. “Well that’s not how it looked.”
“That’s exactly how it looks. You knew damn well nothing was happening in that picture.”
“Don’t yell at me,” she hissed. “It’s not my fault. I’m just emotional right now, and I was lonely at home by myself, and I saw the picture and—”
“Overreacted as usual, Kat.” I stood cutting her off and grabbing her wrist and hauling her away from the center of attention where she could make a spectacle. She stumbled along with my angry strides. “What do you want from me?” I asked, stopping out of earshot of e
veryone around us. “I can’t go out anymore? Is that it?”
She jerked her wrist free and crossed her arms in front of her again. “What do you expect me to do, Abel? Just sit home like a good little wife while you get to party it up?”
“Bloody hell, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me Kat. I don’t know what else I can do, but I can’t keep doing this. You wanted me to prove I was committed to you, so I did.” I grabbed her hand and raised the giant rock I put on her finger in front of her eyes. “You’re wearing my damn ring on your finger.” I dropped her hand and it fell to her side.
“I moved you into my place, and it still wasn’t enough. I’ve bent over backwards to make you happy, but nothing does. You’re at every show, every rehearsal, every studio session. And the few times we’re apart, you accuse me of cheating, of sneaking around behind your back, and I’m not going to put up with it, Kat. This psycho shit has to stop. Now. I needed one damn night to breathe, Kat. One night, that’s all I wanted. I wasn’t cheating on you or hitting on anyone else. Hell, I’ve hardly even spoken to a single woman besides the damn waitress.”
“I’m sorry,” she blurted angrily, “but this is a lot for me to deal with too. I’m not working. All of my friends are blowing me off because suddenly I’m not fun anymore. And you, whenever we’re together you’re moody and act like you can’t stand to be around me.”
“Because you keep pulling shit like this, Kat. When we’re together, all you do is bitch about how all this is ruining your life and your fun and it’s all my fault.”
“It is your fault,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s your fault I’m acting like a crazy bitch. My career could be ruined, and you don’t even care. You don’t care about anything I’m going through. You hate me, and I don’t think I can take it anymore.”
I tipped my head up to the ceiling, drawing in a calming breath before I looked at her again. “Kat, I don’t hate you,” I ground out slowly, although every day she tipped me closer. I couldn’t say that, though, lest I push her over the edge.
Finding Abel (Rebel Hearts Book 1) Page 1