Flesh & Bone - a contemporary romance: The Minstrel Series #2

by Strauss, Lee

  FLESH & BONE

  by Lee Strauss

  Copyright © 2014 Lee Strauss

  Cover by Steven Novak Illustration

  Formatting by Novel Ninjutsu

  This is a work of fiction and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual event or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  She can’t remember. He can’t forget.

  Eva Baumann is invisible. Sebastian Weiss is famous. In a perfect world Eva would be fearless and Sebastian would be guiltless.

  It’s not a perfect world.

  The Minstrel Series is a collection of stand-alone contemporary romance companion books set in the singer-songwriter world, each with a happily ever after.

  FLESH & BONE includes MP3 links to original music performed by Canadian Music artists Trisha Robins and Bryan Steeksma.

  The Minstrel Series books can be read in any order

  but are best enjoyed in sequence.#1 Sun & Moon#2 Flesh & Bone#3 Heart & Soul (coming soon)

  FLESH & BONE

  Words and music by Joel Strauss. Copyright Joel Strauss. Remake recorded by Trisha Robins. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  THE WATER SONG

  Words and music by Andrew and Tami Smith. Copyright Andrew and Tami Smith. Remake recorded by Trisha Robins. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  WON ME OVER

  Words and music by Trisha Robins. Copyright Trisha Robins. Remake recorded by Trisha Robins. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  SUN & MOON (remake by Bryan Steeksma)

  Words and music by Joel Strauss and Bryan Steeksma. Copyright Joel Strauss and Bryan Steeksma. All rights reserved. Used by permission.

  Gabriele had dared her to do this. “Just walk in, sign your name, and play a song for heaven's sake.” It was easy for her to say. Eva Baumann's sister didn't understand what it was like to be afraid. What it was like to be invisible. Gabriele oozed confidence, tall and lithe like a runway model, lighting up every room she entered. She was pretty, talented, smart.

  And not handicapped.

  Eva eyed the graffiti-marred entrance of the Blue Note Pub and watched as other musicians and-patrons strolled into the darkened room. Music pumping from the sound system escaped into the narrow corridor of four-story stone buildings every time the heavy wooden door opened and closed. Eva carefully set down her guitar case and rested her hand over her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. The muscle pulsed erratically, and her stomach wanted to dry heave.

  Eva gripped her cane with white knuckles. She'd learned to master the uneven sidewalks with careful steps, but the cobblestones were still a nemesis, especially in colder months like February. The rubber knob on the tip of her cane had to center on a stone, otherwise she could lose her balance and fall. It was necessary to wait for a break in traffic or to continue to the corner for a walk light before daring to cross the street.

  She took a deep breath. She could do this. This was just an irrational fear—not real. Nothing bad would happen to her in that room. It was filled with people who loved music as much as she did. It was loud and crowded and dark, and no one would expect her to talk. When they called her name, she'd focus on the small stage, blocking out everyone in the room out until she safely stepped up. Then she'd just close her eyes and pretend she was at the street church playing to the people who came for the soup they provided.

  She could do this.

  A cold wind blew hair across Eva's face and she snapped to attention just as the little green man flashed on to indicate it was safe to walk. She lumbered across with a guitar in her left hand and her cane in her right. The weight of her instrument pulled her shoulders forward, her back arching slightly under her winter jacket. She caught her reflection in a store window and frowned. She looked like a crazy, old lady, not a nineteen-year-old girl.

  Eva tucked her cane under her left armpit and reached for the door. It swung open sharply, a patron had exited at the same moment, and she was shoved against the wall, nearly losing her balance.

  “Excuse me,” the guy said. He held the door open, waiting for her to go in. She wanted to turn around and head straight home, but the guy's eyes stayed on her, waiting. The cold air whooshed inside.

  It would be impolite not to pass through. “Thank you,” she said softly. She leaned on her cane and entered. She'd been to the Blue Note before. Gabriele and her British boyfriend Lennon Smith had dragged her out one night, so she knew what to expect. There was a bar to the right and table seating to the left. A poster on the wall read: “If you want to chat with your pals while the band is playing, take your conversation outside.” The air smelled of beer and cigarette smoke clinging to damp wool jackets. At the back of the midsized room was a small stage lit by two lights hanging from the ceiling.

  Her stomach churned, and once again she questioned herself. Why had she come? What did she have to prove? Why did she care so much what Gabriele thought? She stared back at the door.

  “Hello, ma Cherie. Would you like to sign your name?”

  The gruff yet friendly voice stopped Eva before she could leave. She knew the manager, Herr Maurice Leduc, by reputation, but had never spoken to him before. “I don't know,” she answered.

  “Well—” His eyes darted to the guitar in her hand. “I just thought since you lugged that thing in with you.” He pushed the sign-up sheet closer.

  Eva didn't have the heart to deny the man. She took the pen and scribbled her name.

  “Wonderful,” Herr Leduc said with a sincere grin that filled a round face. “I look forward to hearing you play...” he glanced down at his sheet, “Eva Baumann.”

  The room consisted of a lot of wood. Tables, chairs, benches and floors—all darkly stained, old wood. Even the ceiling had rough, open wood beams. Eva claimed a nearby empty chair and breathed in and out, long and slow. She was here. She'd done it. Wait until she told Gabriele. Wouldn't she be surprised?

  A server arrived, and Eva ordered a cola. The other people who shared the long table gave her sideways glances at her childish drink and cheered each other as they lifted their beer glasses.

  Herr Leduc walked on stage and welcomed everyone. He called the first act, a girl with long, golden hair, he introduced as Katja Stoltz.

  Eva listened intently impressed with the girl's talent and the way she took over the stage like she owned it. That was what Eva needed to do. Own it.

  The girl finished her song, and after much-deserved applause, she joined her friends at a table across the room. A guy in his early twenties with a peacock tattoo along one arm stood to give Katja Stoltz a hug. He had messy, dark brown hair and bristles on his face, like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. He laughed and high-fived her before sitting and draping the peacock around a thin girl with spiky hair.

  A shiver ran up Eva's back. She recognized that guy. Last summer, when she was playing guitar for the homeless, many of them had raised their hands to God in praise. The outside metal blinds had been raised, they always were when the church was open, and a group of guys had stopped to watch from across the street. They began to laugh and then threw their arms in the air, mocking the people worshiping inside.

  That was the first time Eva had seen that peacock tattoo, and she'd never forget the laughing fa
ce of the handsome boy who went with it.

  Her short-lived confidence shriveled at the thought of being the guy's next target. Oh, why did she come? She'd leave right now if she thought she could do it without making a scene. The room had filled, and there was no way she could slip out unnoticed with her guitar and her cane.

  She sipped her cola and kept her eyes focused on each act as it was called. Every time Herr Leduc stepped to the mic to call a name, Eva’s heart filled with nervous dread and emptied with a flush of relief when she didn't hear hers.

  “Sebastian Weiss,” Herr Leduc said.

  The guy with the peacock tattoo hooted, shifted out from behind his table and grabbed his guitar.

  So that was his name.

  He hopped onto the stage and strapped on a guitar with an over-confidence Eva envied. She wanted him to be terrible so that she could add self-delusion to his other obvious traits of conceit and insensitivity, but unfortunately he wasn't. His voice was smooth and strong, and he had great range.

  She also happened to notice the flex in his biceps that poked out of the short sleeves of his dark T-shirt and how his jeans fit nicely on slender hips.

  He finished his song and fisted the air like he just won a boxing match. The audience went crazy. Eva couldn't help but join in the applause. Something about Sebastian was electric. His aura and competence, his popularity—she couldn't peel her eyes off him. His arm returned to its position around the girl beside him who hadn't smiled once. Such a contrast to Sebastian who couldn't stop smiling. He seemed quite taken by the pixie girl and kissed her excitedly on the cheek.

  “Eva Baumann.”

  What? Eva had been so busy watching the table of cool people, she hadn't been paying attention.

  Herr Leduc's accented German bellowed again. “Eva Baumann.”

  Eva's heart stopped. Then raced. Her hands broke out into a sweat, and she blinked back the tears welling up behind her eyes, which were opened far too wide. Her head prickled hotly, and she swallowed hard. She could sense the attention of the room, necks craning, everyone searching, waiting for the next act to stand.

  Herr Leduc stared at her, and all she could do was shake her head. He gave her a gracious nod and called the next name.

  A girl with short, dark hair bounced out of her seat, and within seconds Eva was forgotten. She took advantage of the swirl of commotion that occurred between acts, grabbing her guitar and cane, and limped to the entrance.

  It was a terrible mistake to come, she thought as she hobbled down the crusty street. She kept her head bowed low against the cold, and gripped her guitar case and her cane. If she'd had a third hand, she'd swipe at the bitter tear that slid down her cheek.

  Sebastian Weiss wrapped the oversized pillow around his ears in a vain effort to block out the pounding on his locked hotel room door. His head throbbed and his mouth felt like sandpaper. He released a slow, low groan. “Go away!”

  “Sebastian!” Karl called from the hallway. “The bus is waiting. Get your ass in gear!”

  Sebastian tossed the silky pillow across the room and worked the sleep out of his eyes. The bright light that seeped in from the crack in the curtains was like a torch to his eyeballs. He blindly grasped for the hotel phone on the nightstand and somehow managed to punch the numbers for room service.

  “Orange juice and coffee. A whole carton of juice and a full carafe of coffee.” He'd learned he had to be specific. The first time they'd arrived with a tiny glass and cup of each, and he had to suffer needlessly for another twenty minutes before the service returned with what he needed.

  He popped a couple pills and downed them with the stale water in a glass by the phone. He gave them two minutes to kick in then stumbled to the shower. The coffee and orange juice would be waiting in the hall when he was finished.

  He dug the last clean T-shirt out of his suitcase and pulled on the jeans he'd worn for the last two days. His room service order waited for him in the hall, and he pushed it inside. He downed the juice in several gulps, breaking once or twice to breathe. This was followed by a swig of coffee; he poured the rest into his travel mug.

  At this point in his routine, Sebastian started to feel normal again. Like a computer reboot. He'd come alive on the bus, and by the time they hit the next city, he would be high again—on adrenaline and other things—ramping up for their next concert.

  Dirk, their manager, was in the lobby checking out the band when Sebastian arrived. He raised a brow over black plastic-rimmed glasses. “Just in time,” he said. “The others are already on the bus.”

  Sebastian pushed his sunglasses on his face. The brightness of the sun streaming through the windows shot pain to the back of his head. He winced as he exited the hotel and quickly handed his bags over to Florian, the bus driver.

  “Next stop, Hamburg!” Florian shouted, and Sebastian winced again as the driver's booming voice made his head feel like someone was trying to rip it off. He climbed on board and took a seat near the front. Karl spotted him and moved up to the empty seat behind him.

  “Three more dates, Sebastian, and this tour's over. Time flies.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I still can't believe we're actually doing this.” Touring with his band, Hollow Fellows, had been a dream for so long that he'd lost heart in the pursuit. Funny how things tended to take off once you'd given up the chase.

  Karl raked a hand through long, stringy hair. “The gig in Hamburg is being televised! A year ago, I never would've imagined this could happen. But here we are, on our own tour bus, giggin' in front of the cameras. On freakin' TV!” He patted Sebastian on the shoulder. "We're doing it, Seb. We're actually doing it!”

  Hollow Fellows' hit song, “What Drives Me,” had catapulted up the German radio charts over the past half year surprising everyone. It was the song he'd co-written with Katja Stoltz-Sturm. That was a lucky impromptu decision on his part, agreeing to do the songwriting session with Katja. Both of them were unknowns then. Sebastian rubbed his eyes and sighed. He hadn't written a song since.

  Maybe when the tour ended, and he saw Yvonne again... maybe she'd inspire him.

  A nagging truth stirred his gut. He wanted to blame life on the road and the alcohol and the ongoing fight he and Yvonne seemed to be engaged in for his writer's block. But he knew the truth.

  He chugged back a sip of coffee and shook his head forcing himself to push those old, black memories away. Nothing good could come from dredging that up.

  Nothing good.

  Eva ran a finger along a thick, pink scar that zipped up her right leg from just above her knee to the top of her thigh. Normally, she never paid it any attention. It was just a part of who she was, who she had been for the last five years. But now, as she got ready for bed, she stood in front of the mirror and examined it.

  It was ugly.

  She stopped asking God why this had happened to her long ago. There was no satisfying answer. No answer at all, actually.

  The bedroom door flew open and Eva quickly tugged her nightdress down as Gabriele breezed into the room they shared. Gabriele kept promising to move out, but she still hadn’t. She had to finish her studies at the university first. Eva felt guilty for wishing her sister gone.

  Instead of her usual nightshirt, Gabriele stepped into a tiny little blue and white dress.

  “Where are you going?” Eva asked as she watched Gabriele struggle with the zipper at the back.

  “Can you get this?”

  Eva stood and waited for Gabriele to scoot over to her. It was just faster that way, and Gabriele was always in a hurry. It was a habit they’d formed since the accident. Gabriele always came to Eva.

  “Lennon’s taking me out for a late dinner. It’s our one year anniversary!”

  “Already?” Or should she say, Is that all? Lennon had been hanging around so much the last few months, he’d become part of the furnishings.

  “Yes, and we’re going to a really fancy place in the Altstadt.” Gabriele floated to the spot in front of th
e mirror Eva had just vacated and applied hair product to her short bleach-blond hair. Her natural color was the same as Eva’s, an ordinary brown, and up until a year ago, just before Lennon, Eva recalled, she wore it long, too.

  Gabriele started in on her makeup attacking green eyes (another trait she shared with Eva) with several layers of mascara, and then her full lips with a tube of red. She smacked them together and said with a little squeal, “I think he wants to talk about marriage.”

  “What? Really?” Yay! Gabriele just got that much closer to leaving home. “That’s terrific!”

  “Yeah, I’m really nervous.” Gabriele selected a pair of white, patent leather stilettos and slipped them on. She spread her arms wide and faced Eva. “What do you think?”

  “You’re beautiful.” It was the truth. Gabriele had a tall, waif-like, fashion model look and the exuberance to go with it. Eva could barely believe they were sisters. Nobody could, really. Apart from their identical green eyes, they were nothing alike.

  Eva put on her robe, collected her cane and followed Gabriele out into the living room where their parents joined in with her sister’s excitement.

  “You look wonderful,” their mama said.

  Papa sat on the chair facing the TV, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Gabriele. “Isn’t that dress a little short?”

  Gabriele laughed. “Oh, Papa. You’re so old-fashioned.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek, and Papa’s faux frown broke into a smile.

  The door ringer buzzed, and Gabriele danced over to let Lennon in. They could hear his footsteps as he made his way to the second floor. He barely had a chance to tap on the door of the flat when Gabriele flung it open.

  Lennon wore fashionable jeans and a form-fitting button-down shirt. He wore his dark hair combed back behind his ears, and he had a slight shadow on his chin. He was average height standing eye to eye with Gabriele when she wore high heels. Eva always considered Lennon to be handsome, the only kind of guy that would fit beside her sister, but tonight he was really handsome. And he’d brought her flowers.