Lithium Tides: A Lithium Springs Novel

by Carmel Rhodes

  “They’re really fucking good,” a man said coming to stand next to Grant. “You their manager?”

  “Kind of.” Grant shrugged.

  “I’m Lawrence. I’m the road manager for The Unburned. Wiley is a big fan. Lithium’s making waves in the underground music scene. We are putting together a fall tour and I’d love to talk to them about it.”

  “That…that would be…amazing.”

  “Cool. We’ll link up after the show. I’ll give you my info.”

  “Awesome, enjoy!” Grant shook Lawrence’s hand.

  The mood shifted. They all sensed it. Things were changing and Kensie only hoped her budding relationship would survive.

  Kensie traced the outline of her bottom lip with her fingers. She tasted him there. She felt him on her skin. Her body was on fire and it had nothing to do with the temperature of her shower, and everything to do with being in love.

  Love was an intense and soul-searing tornado of emotion that overturned trees and uprooted lives. Sometimes love was the eye of the storm, a false sense of calm right before a final act of devastation. Other times, it was the peace after, the quiet stillness that comes with knowing you survived.

  In the days that followed the Fourth, they were practically inseparable. Carter laid his secrets at her feet, and she fell harder than she’d ever thought possible.

  “You scared the shit out of me!” Kensie yelped as the shower door swung open and Carter slipped in behind her.

  “You should see the look on your face. Who’d you think it was, a serial killer?” he teased, pulling her into his chest, biting the back of her shoulder.

  Kensington believed in fairy tales.

  She’d always imagined marrying a handsome prince, one who would sweep her off her feet and carry her off into the sunset. She never dreamed of falling for a Lost Boy. Carter was loud and vulgar, and he pushed and pushed and pushed until she wanted to scream. He made her face herself and all of her shortcomings. He inspired her to chase her dreams. He didn’t treat her like this breakable thing who needed protecting. He loved her hard. He loved her possessively, intensely, and maybe a little wrong—but like a thief, he stole her heart.

  “I’d almost prefer it,” she retorted, settling into his arms. His erection pressed against her backside, the thickness of it sending a chill down her spine. The veins pulsated against her flesh. His hands trailed down her stomach and his mouth found her neck. He sucked and he licked and he bit at the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Baby, stop or I’m going to be late,” she moaned in protest. The man was relentless. His need to claim her, to possess her, even now, even after she’d given herself to him, mind, body and spirit, that need was always there. He insisted on marking her.

  “I’m sure your parents won’t mind.”

  “You’ve never met Victor and Jacquelyn Roth.”

  “Well, when do I get to meet them?”

  “Who? My parents?” Kensie blinked at his question. It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to meet her folks, but Carter didn’t strike her as the “meet the parents” type, especially parents like hers. “You want to?”

  “They mean a lot to you,” he said lifting a shoulder.

  “Of course, they’re my parents.”

  “It’s more than that. You value their opinion, it matters to you, and you matter to me, so yeah, I want to meet them.”

  “Okay.” She nodded carefully. He had a point. She wanted forever, and him meeting her parents was inevitable. “But can we just get through this wedding first?”

  “One disaster at a time, I can do that. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” Carter brushed his lips against her shoulder before turning to eye the products arranged along the shower ledge. With an easy smile, he plucked the tube of Coco Mademoiselle and brought it to his nose. “This shit smells awful,” he grimaced, tossing it out the shower door. Next, he chose the lavender wash. This time, he was cautious, slowly bringing the bottle to his nose as if any sudden movements would cause it to explode. A content hum emanated from his chest, and the corner of his lips tipped up in a lopsided grin. It was her favorite grin. A secret smile that was equal parts playful and mysterious.

  “Why that one?” Kensie asked, her old foe curiosity besting her once more. The subtle lavender scent filled her nostrils as he worked the suds onto her skin.

  “It smells like you.” His answer was simple, his voice, reverent, and yet those four little words caused Kensie’s heart to skip a beat. She’d thought it was a euphemism, an old wives’ tale, a proverb, or a psalm. He spoke as if it were obvious, as if him figuring out in just a couple of months what Trey still hadn’t known after a year, was nothing. He explored her body, his fingers teased her nipples, floated down her stomach, and over her hips, then he sank to his knees and rubbed up and down her legs and between her ass. He lingered there, he touched her there, kissed her there. “Mine,” he whispered in the same reverent tone. He made her feel loved, cherished, desired.

  “Yours, forever,” she moaned, simply because she was his. No matter what happened, no matter how their fairy tale ended, Carter Thayer would always possess her heart.

  El Gaucho’s was one of those old-meets-new fine dining establishments. Coltrane drifted through hidden speakers, candles flickered on tabletops, and the scent of generational wealth perfumed the air. Servers buzzed around the dining room in pristine white oxfords and coal-black slacks, while bartenders mixed Manhattans and poured fingers of fifty-year-old Scotch.

  Kensie followed the hostess to the back, each step sent a delicious sting to her sex. After washing her, Carter fucked her on the bathroom floor until her knees were raw and her limbs were putty. She had to rush to get dressed, and had only made it to the restaurant in time by the grace of God.

  El Gaucho’s was her father’s favorite. They’d eaten there for birthdays, anniversaries, and her graduation, but tonight, as she weaved through tables en route to her parents, Kensie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into the lion’s den. There was something about her dad’s voice when he’d called and invited her to dinner, a tightness to his words, that catapulted Kensie back to when she was ten and had broken the vase her mom flew in from Milan.

  “Hey, baby girl.” Her mother smiled brightly as she neared the table.

  “Hey, Momma, hey Daddy,” she said. Her father nodded in return and her heart sank. She hadn’t seen her parents in almost two weeks—unusual for them—yet Victor only offered a polite nod.

  “How are you feeling?” Jacquelyn asked.

  “Much better, thank you.” Kensie took the seat across the table from her parents.

  “It’s been awhile.”

  “I know, Daddy, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a lot going on.”

  “Hmm,” was his reply, a noncommittal noise that was a mix between a grunt and a sigh. Her mother launched into a tirade about a charity event she’d been planning with Jam’s mom. Their server brought the wine and they placed their orders. All in all, the evening progressed in normal fashion, but something was off. Somewhere after the first course, but before the second, Victor broke his silence. “Do you remember Mark Lebowitz?”

  “He works at your company?” Kensie guessed, unsure of what Mark had to do with anything. Her eye darted to her mother who sat up a little straighter—too straight. This was it. Whatever it was.

  “He’s head of public relations. He’s also in charge of organizing local community efforts, for example, the Pike Market Music Festival.”

  “Is he?” Kensie yawned, feigning boredom. She was twenty-five years old and had been self-sufficient since she graduated college. What she did and who she did it with was her business, not her parents’, and certainly not Mark fucking Lebowitz’s.

  “He also told me he saw you backstage, VIP access and everything.”

  “Jam’s boyfriend is the lead singer of one of the bands.” And my boyfriend is the drummer.

  “He didn’t mention James kissing anyone, just you.”

 
And there it was. “Daddy—”

  “I had lunch with Trey the other day.”

  “Daddy—”

  “He said the last time he saw you, he had hoped this little split of yours was temporary, but then you stopped taking his phone calls, and I’m wondering if that boy in that band has anything to do with it?”

  “Trey and I aren’t together because we aren’t compatible,” Kensie gritted.

  “I think that’s a cop-out.”

  Kensie turned to her mother. “Do you feel the same?”

  “Your father and I have differing opinions on Trey, sweetheart. I think you’re better off, but,” Jacquelyn added, taking a sip from her wine glass, “I don’t like the idea of you jumping into another relationship so soon. You lose yourself in these boys, Kensington.”

  “Carter is different.”

  “Trey was different, and before that, you were so in love with Stephan that you followed him to Los Angeles, and I don’t need to remind you how well that turned out,” Jacquelyn sighed. “I just think you need some time alone.”

  “And I don’t want to see you throw something good away for something fun and exciting,” Victor added.

  “What about what I want?”

  “I know who we raised, and I know you have a good head on your shoulders, but I also know you wear your heart on your sleeve.”

  “Daddy, I’m just—”

  “Baby,” a familiar voice called from behind.

  “Please tell me you didn’t,” Kensie sighed, rubbing her hands over her face as the chair beside her screeched backward and Trey sat down.

  “Victor,” Jacquelyn warned.

  “Don’t be mad at him, Kensie, it was my idea. You won’t talk to me.”

  “So, you thought ambushing me in front of my parents would be a better way to get me to talk to you?”

  “I didn’t think.”

  Her dad spoke up, “We can go. You kids talk.”

  “No.” Kensie stood. “There isn’t anything to talk about—”

  “Baby—” Trey’s voice cracked. The sound gnarled and mangled. She almost caved. Hearing him so broken, seeing him so desperate, ate away at her. She had loved him once and those feelings didn’t just disappear, but they were nothing compared to what she felt for Carter.

  “I told you I don’t want this, you need to accept that. And, Daddy, I’m really disappointed in you.” Kensie yanked her bag off the side of the chair and stormed out of the restaurant. She was furious—at Trey, at her dad, and at herself.

  Her mother followed quickly on her heels. “Wait, Kensington, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was coming. I would have warned you.”

  “Oh, so you were okay with ambushing me, just not with Trey doing it. Got it.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be an attack. We’re just concerned about you. You’re our only child. We have a right to worry when we hear about you dry humping someone in public, on the same day we find out you broke up with the man you were supposed to be moving in with.”

  “You weren’t young once, Mother?”

  “I was, and I’ve done a lot worse than that, but it’s my job to keep you from repeating my past mistakes.”

  “Grandpa and Grandma didn’t like Daddy in the beginning and that turned out okay.”

  “I’m not saying this drummer can’t make you happy. I’m only saying you need to learn to find happiness outside of him.”

  “I have. I am happy, and I’d like it if you and Daddy were happy for me, but if not, I’ve got to live my life on my own terms.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry if we overstepped.”

  Kensie sighed, “I’m really mad at your husband right now.”

  “He means well.”

  “Yeah, well so did Grandpa.”

  Carter dropped a plate of eggs in front of Kensie as she sat down at the breakfast bar. She eyed the plate suspiciously. It looked better than his first attempt, and his second, and his third—but not by much. Reaching for her fork, she stabbed into the eggs and lifted the fork to her mouth, taking a small bite. “Uh-uh. Nope,” Kensie said, shaking her head, spitting the eggs into a napkin. “Too salty and still crunchy.”

  He grabbed the plate with a huff and tossed it into the sink before reaching into the cupboard, swiping a Pop-Tart from the box. He’d bought them after yesterday’s disaster of a breakfast, referring to them as Plan P. Kensie tore into the silver packet and pulled out one of the frosted pastries. She bit into it, closing her eyes and moaning with pleasure. When was the last time she’d eaten a Pop-Tart?

  Carter chuckled. “And here I thought I was the only one who could make you moan like that.”

  “Not so special after all, Thayer,” she mumbled with her mouth still full.

  He rolled his eyes in response, grabbing the other pastry and dropping it into the toaster. “You’re eating it wrong,” he commented.

  She peeked up at him, raising the rectangle to her mouth and bit into it. “How so?” she asked between bites.

  “This guy made this thing way back in the 1800s that allows you to make toast. Toast, which elevates otherwise boring bread or pastries into glorious breakfast delicacies. It’s like a slap in the face of science and innovation to eat a raw Pop-Tart.”

  “A raw Pop-Tart?” she repeated, arching her brow.

  “You’d be better off eating the eggs.” He grinned lifting his coffee mug.

  Kensie did her best to keep a straight face as she lifted the pastry to her mouth again, this time shoving in as much as she could manage, so much that her cheeks puffed out and she could barely close her mouth. “I happen to like them raw.” Crumbs fell from her lips.

  “You look like a squirrel,” he chuckled, grabbing his breakfast from the toaster.

  “A cute squirrel?”

  “The cutest.”

  They ate in a comfortable silence. With Trey, Kensie had worried about how she looked, if she was eating too fast or too slow, or any of the other million insecurities she felt around him, but with Carter it was as natural as breathing. “So, boyfriend, what have you got planned for today?”

  “Gym, a meeting with Creed, and then we’ve got some studio time later.”

  “Creed’s your manager, right?”

  “Yeah, he’s based in LA, so Grant helps out when he isn’t here.”

  Kensie nodded and took another bite of her Pop-Tart. “I’m meeting your sister today. I’ve got my first and last fitting.”

  “Are you going to tell her about us?” Carter asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell her about us yet, not until after the wedding.” She paused, wondering if she should continue. “He Who Must Not Be Named still hasn’t told anyone that we’re broken up.”

  Carter growled, setting a mug of coffee down in front of her a little too forcefully. “He hasn’t told them because he thinks he still has a chance.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. I’ve made it clear that we’re done.”

  “Trey doesn’t give up on anything…well, except for me.” Sadness flashed briefly in his eyes. “He probably thinks spending the weekend in Napa, at a wedding no less, will soften you up.”

  “It won’t,” she insisted.

  “I know, baby. Plus, you’ll be too busy with my devil dick to fall for his bullshit.”

  “Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m going to tell Reagan that we broke up. I still need to sort out some place to stay since the hotel is booked. Maybe I can bunk with one of the other bridesmaids.”

  He looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “You’ll stay with me, obviously.”

  She shook her head. “Share a room with you, Ryder, and Javi? No, thanks.”

  “We’ve got our own rooms.”

  “That’s perfect! You can bunk with one of them and I can take your room.”

  “Why would I sleep with one of those smelly bastards when I can sleep with you?”

 
; “And how would we explain that?”

  “I don’t fucking care.”

  “Carter, what’s the point of keeping us a secret until after the wedding if we’re going to be sharing a room?”

  “I don’t want him sniffing around you.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “He’s going to, you said it yourself, but you have to trust that I won’t fall for his bullshit.”

  “I trust you, I don’t trust him.”

  “Baby, we’ve got to be on the same page. This is your family, your sister. If you want to announce our relationship at her wedding, then I’ll be sure to pack all my Lithium merch, okay?”

  He sighed. “Fine, I’ll share a room with Ryder, but only if Kitty Cat comes too. She hates Trey as much as I do.”

  “That works for me,” she agreed. She was basically going to be alone the whole weekend anyway. Without Trey, she was an outsider.

  “This whole thing is going to be a fucking disaster, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Kensie stayed quiet. She knew the answer, but refused to say it out loud.

  After work, Kensie made her way to Dolce Bleu, the swanky, by appointment only, bridal shop located in downtown Seattle. “Kensie!” Reagan squealed as she approached. “Thank you so much for doing this. I know it’s totally last minute, but you really are saving my life right now.”