Defining Destiny
Page 1
Defining Destiny
When destiny fails…
Singer-songwriter Lucy Moore thought her life was perfect. At just twenty-one, she’s already met her soul mate and together they’ve landed a recording contract. But when her father dies and the love of her life betrays her in more ways than one, she returns home to pick up the pieces. On the shores of Mendocino, California, Lucy has some decisions to make. Should she start a solo career? Or should she leave it all behind for some semblance of normalcy in the quiet town she grew up in? And what about Seth, the tortured artist who always seems to be there when she needs him?
Seth Keenan has demons of his own. Eighteen months ago, he was involved in a horrific accident that he never talks about. His career as an accomplished oil-paint artist has been abandoned, replaced by the buzz of his tattoo gun. And women—well, he never sticks around for longer than a few hours of pleasure…until he meets Lucy. After one evening of listening to her seductive voice, he’s pulled under. But what about the vow he made to never get close to anyone again?
In a world where everyone has one true soul mate, can these two find love in the arms of each other?
Defining Destiny
A Destiny Novel
Deanna Chase
www.DeannaChase.com
Bayou Moon Publishing
Copyright
Copyright © 2014 by Deanna Chase
First E-book Edition 2014
ISBN: 978-1-940299-10-5 ebook
Interior Design: The Printed Page
Cover Art: Okay Creations
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Bayou Moon Publishing
dkchase12@gmail.com
www.deannachase.com
Printed in the United States of America
Contents
Defining Destiny
Defining Destiny
Copyright
Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
About the Author
Other Books by Deanna
Dedication
For Trisha, Sarah, and Megan.
He’s not gone, only waiting.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to Susan Sheehan, Lisa Liddy, Chauntelle Baughman, and Anne Victory. You four keep me out of trouble. And a special thanks to my MAD girls for making this year special. You know who you are.
Chapter 1
Lucy
Exhilaration. It’s the only word to describe the post-concert high. At least for me. The cheering audience is in another state altogether. Peaceful. Joyous. Enlightened. It still amazes me that this is our gift to the world.
“Amazing show!” Les calls over the roaring crowd and gestures to Cadan and me. “I swear, that connection you two have gets stronger every day.”
Cadan gives me a self-satisfied smile. “See, Lucy? I told you they’d love the new songs.”
Irritation sours my good mood and I snap, “They would’ve been just as happy with the old ones.”
His smile turns patient as he puts an arm around me. “Oh, come on, babe. They’re great songs. We had to debut them at some point.”
I slip from his grip. “No. We didn’t. Besides, they’re mine. It was my call, not yours.” We have a bunch of songs we’ve written together that are fan favorites, but in the last twenty minutes of our set, Cadan had started singing the new ones I’d written. He’d managed to get the band to practice the music without me even knowing.
“It was a surprise. For you.”
When I don’t respond, he frowns. “What’s wrong, Luce?”
Jesus. He never listens. “I wasn’t ready yet, Cadan. I told you that.” Those songs are important to me. They’re the ones I wrote a few months ago after my father died, and while I’m proud of them, they’re deeply personal. They’re for me. I’m not even sure I want to release them.
“Oh, babe,” he says softly and pulls me to him. “I didn’t realize this would be so hard for you. But look at what happened out there. Everyone was deeply moved. Think about what you gave them.”
It’s the only thing that got me through the three songs he’d sprung on me. Twenty seconds into “You’re Always Here,” the crowd hushed as the bittersweet lyrics and melody wound their way into their hearts. The connection with the audience had touched me to my core. But that was beside the point. I was tired of Cadan steamrolling me. “I admit—”
“Encore,” Les yells over the noise and pushes us back onto the stage.
Cadan’s amber-flecked eyes flash with triumph, then he leans in close to my ear. “I knew you’d come around.”
It’s too loud for me to correct him. I’d been about to say I was pleased with the reception, but I hadn’t been ready and I was still pissed as hell he’d forced the situation. Not to mention how utterly violated I feel by the way he’d exploited something so personal to me.
We take our positions center stage. The deafening volume of the crowd ratchets up a few decibels. I beam at them. This is what makes being on the road three out of every four weeks bearable. The soul-mate connection Cadan and I share is meant for them. Not me. And not Cadan. Though I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s all about him. He’s twenty-four and full of rock-star ego. Reining him in is impossible most days. It’s only during the rare, quiet moments we get together that he’s anything like the guy I fell in love with two years ago, before our records hit any charts and before our lives were turned upside down by success and fame.
Cadan gives the cue, and I mentally prepare for “After the Fall,” our most popular song. It’s how we close every show. But instead of the strum of the guitar, the keyboard player starts a slow, haunting melody. My heart stops, and I gape at Cadan.
He pretends to not notice my reaction, but his knuckles are turning white from his death grip on the mic. He’s worried. And he should be. Because I’m frozen. The words are clogged in my throat.
Tears are already burning my eyes as emotion chokes me. Cadan cuts his gaze to me, waiting for me to sing the first lines of the song. I shake my head violently. How could he do this to me? I can’t do this. I’ll never make it through the lyrics. My heart will burst wide open on the stage.
But then I glance at the rapt audience. Their faces are turned up expectantly, already drawn into the sad music filling the club.
And when Cadan takes over, singing the part that I can’t
, he hits every note perfectly with his clear tone. Haunted by memories and the melody, I want to bolt. To be home, hiding under the covers the way I had for almost three weeks straight after Dad passed. But I won’t leave the stage with the audience expecting more from me… and Cadan knows that. The bastard.
He holds out his hand to me, and I have no choice but to take it. The media frenzy if I dismiss him during a concert would be a shit-storm resulting in official statements to the press where no one wins.
The moment our fingers touch, something inside me calms. Cadan is my soul mate. And I don’t just mean he’s someone I have a deep connection with. He’s my destiny in a magical sense. The one supposed to understand me better than anyone. And together, we make music that is beloved by millions of people around the world. Everybody has one true soul mate. I’ve been told we’re lucky. We found each other three years ago.
The first notes of the chorus start, and with Cadan’s emotional support, the words come out as a whisper. It’s enough for the magic to take over, and the effect is instant. A collective sigh reverberates through the crowd, followed by a few gasps. Tears are streaming from one of the fans in the front row, and I have no doubt she’s not the only one. It’s a stronger reaction than usual, but it’s because of me. My emotions for this song in particular are too raw. I’m giving too much. How can I not?
I’m counting the days until I see you again.
Until then, keep an eye on me.
There are no good-byes. Not today.
For now I’ll say
Until we meet in heaven, until I see you again.
My voice catches on the last line, and Cadan gives the signal to wrap up the song. It’s too much for me. I’m not ready for this. Not this song. He knows and pushed it anyway. Why?
The crowd is on their feet, though instead of the roar, they are silent, waving their arms back and forth to the painfully gorgeous melody our keyboardist is still pounding out.
Cadan takes the lead and pulls me into a bow for the audience. It’s the signal the show has ended. I’m barely conscious of what’s going on as Cadan gently tugs me backstage. His arms come around me, and he pulls me close, cradling my head with one of his hands. “Shh,” he says through my sobs. “I’m sorry, babe. I messed up. Don’t cry.”
I sob harder, memories of Dad flashing through my mind like a slideshow. Christmas morning as Dad dishes up pecan pie for breakfast. Dad laughing as we race personal water crafts across Lake Shasta. The way his eyes crinkle when he makes up stories of his childhood. And a million other memories of him coming to every singing recital and competition within a two-hundred-mile radius. Then the days when he lay in the hospital while I waited for him to recover.
Only he hadn’t. And I’d been left alone.
I still have family. My mom isn’t too far away. Then there’s Cadan and my best friend, Jax. But none of those relationships come close to the one I shared with Dad. He was my rock. The one I long to talk to when I have news, good or bad. He was my anchor.
Now all that is left is his house on the side of the cliff.
Cadan walks me backward until we get to the couch. Then he sits and tugs me into his lap, whispering how much he loves me and how sorry he is.
He’s always sorry. But that never stops him from hurting me.
A knock sounds on the door. Cadan ignores it, all his intensity focused on me as he rubs my back and kneads the base of my neck. This is what he’s good at. Keeping me from losing it in front of millions of fans. Lord knows there’s been plenty of opportunity lately. I’m not exactly handling things well.
“You need some rest. I think a break is in order.” His arms are so comforting wrapped around me, and the light scent of his cologne is so familiar that I almost forget it’s his fault I’m barely holding it together. That song. He had no right.
Reluctantly, I extract myself from his embrace and nod my agreement. I need my bed. Need to crawl under the covers and block out the world. “You’re right. I do.”
He pulls his phone from his back pocket and taps out a message. A second later it buzzes with an incoming text. “Phil will meet you around back and take you to the hotel.” He kisses me on the forehead and guides me toward the back exit.
I pause at the door, suspicion nagging at the back of my mind. “You’re not coming with me?”
He flashes me his practiced, apologetic smile. Anger pushes aside some of the anguish crushing me.
“Never mind,” I say before he can give me one of his fucked-up excuses. You’d think he could abandon the band and label execs for one night to make sure I get back okay. Especially considering this latest breakdown is his fault. Not that I even want him around. But this is an emerging pattern. Put Lucy in the car with Phil while he stays out all night doing God knows what. I’m so sick of his shit. I don’t even want to look at him. “I want to be alone anyway. Just… give me space.”
He jerks back at my clipped tone and grimaces as if finally realizing just how pissed I am. “Do you want me to stay with one of the guys tonight?” he says carefully.
“Fine.” I stalk off before he can say anything else, the crack in my heart forming a small crater.
***
I wake to the shrill of the hotel phone. My gritty eyes won’t focus in the bright morning light, and I fumble around until my hand closes over the cool plastic of the receiver. “Hello?” My voice is gravelly and full of sleep.
“Ms. Moore?”
“Yeah?”
“I have Cassie Patricks on the line for you.”
I fall back on my pillow. Why in the world is our label rep calling me at seven in the morning? “Okay.”
“Lucy, good morning,” she says, her voice full of excitement.
“Good morning.”
“My apologies for calling so early. But I’ve got great news. We’re fast-tracking the new song. We need you and Cadan in the studio this afternoon to start recording. Two p.m. Don’t be late.”
I sit straight up and clutch the phone with a death grip. “Which new song?”
“‘Meet You in Heaven.’ A bootleg video has gone viral over the Internet.”
Oh my God. No. Not that one. My stomach clenches with a wave of nausea. I take a deep breath, trying not to vomit right in the bed. “But that song isn’t ready. I’m not sure I even want to record it.”
“You’re just getting cold feet. I told Cadan it’s perfect just the way it is when he was here to sign the publishing contract on Friday. Now take a deep breath. It’s going to be huge. Especially if we capitalize on this PR ASAP. See you this afternoon.”
The line goes dead, and I stare with horror at the phone. Publishing contract? I didn’t sign over any of my new songs. What did Cadan do?
My feet hit the floor before my brain processes what I’m doing. Wearing only pajama pants and a tank top, I tear out of the room and head down the hall. When I reach Phil’s room, I bang both fists on his door. “Cadan,” I yell. “Open up.”
There’s no answer.
I bang again, this time continuously, making it impossible for anyone in this wing to sleep. The door to the right opens, and a woman snaps at me to keep it down. I don’t even acknowledge her. Right now, all I need is to talk to Cadan. If he isn’t inside, Phil will know where he is.
The door finally opens and a tall, slender blonde with bleary, mascara-smudged eyes stares at me. “Where’s the fire?”
“Is Cadan in there?” I don’t wait for her to answer. I just push past her and stalk into the suite. “Cadan?”
The bedroom door opens and Cadan stumbles into the sitting room, his sandy-blond hair still mussed from sleep. “What’s wrong?”
He’s still buttoning his jeans, and the first thing I notice is a hickey on his chest. “What the fuck is that?”
“What?” He glances over his shoulder at the closed door.
“This.” I stalk up to him and poke the hickey with my finger. Then I turn to the blonde. “Is this your parting gift? A way to make sure
I know he’s unfaithful?” My tone is cool and controlled as if the scene isn’t making bile rise in my throat.
“Me?” she ekes out. “No, that was Natasha.”
Without speaking, I push past Cadan and open the bedroom door. Inside, a honey blonde with perfect, smooth skin is sprawled naked over the bed. A condom wrapper is lying on the floor.
“Oops,” the skank who answered the door says and disappears into the bathroom.
My entire body goes numb. I’d suspected Cadan wasn’t always faithful, but I’d never been sure. Now the truth is battering me over the head. Stunned into silence, I turn and leave the room, closing the door behind me.
“Luce,” Cadan says.
“Don’t Luce me, you fucking two-timing piece of shit.” I keep heading toward the door but stop when I remember why I came in the first place. I spin. “Why does Cassie think we have a publishing deal for the new songs?”
“Babe.” He walks slowly toward me with his hand stretched out. “I made a mistake. We were drinking. Just a few beers. I think mine was spiked. Acid. Or Ecstasy. I don’t remember anything.”
My fists clench, and I have to fight to not punch him in the nose. “Gee, you don’t look like you’ve been drugged. Not like the band does after a rough night. Try again.”
“I swear, I didn’t—”
“Fucking shut up!” I yell. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Do you think I’m stupid? I know you knew what you were doing. I can see you calculating the best way to get out of this. You’re not even sorry. Not at all. The only thing you’re sorry about is that you have to deal with me now. Well, guess what? I’m about to make it real easy on you.” I lash out and push him away from me with both hands. “I’m done. This soul-mate thing? It’s over. Go ahead and fuck whoever you want. Sing whatever you want, just as long as it’s not one of my songs, because no matter what you told Cassie, those songs aren’t for sale.”
Fear flickers in his copper eyes. “Lucy, now wait.”
“I’m not waiting for a goddamned thing. You’ve hurt me for the last time, Cadan. I can’t live like this.”