A Cruel Kind of Beautiful

by Michelle Hazen

  “What’s up, Hayden?” He pulls himself to sitting.

  The volume on his phone is up so loud that I can hear Maya crying in the background when Hayden says, “Nothing’s wrong.” She sighs. “It’s just that I’ve been trying to get her to sleep ever since we got home, and I’m about to lose it.”

  Jacob’s shoulders loosen and he picks up my right wrist, supporting it as he unfastens the cuff.

  I blush at the audible rip of Velcro, and Hayden says, “Could you talk to her? Maybe read her a story over the phone like you did last time? I’m sorry, Jacob, I know you’re probably busy or jeez, maybe actually sleeping—imagine that—but you’re so good with her and I just...” She sounds like she’s on the edge of tears herself.

  “It’s no problem.” Jacob’s thumb brushes over my skin as he checks for any rub marks from the cuffs.

  He dips his head and breathes a kiss over the inside of my wrist. My heart flutters when his lips linger for another moment, then two. His eyes warm on my face as he straightens, clears his throat a touch, and says, “Wait, but I’m at Jera’s. I don’t have any of Maya’s books with me.”

  “You’re at Jera’s? Oh my gosh, I’m really sorry. Forget I even called. We’re fine, everything’s good. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?”

  He swaps the phone to his other ear and reaches for my left hand. I move to take off the cuff myself, but he aims a frown my way and I give in, letting him unwind the cuff. A smile tugs at my lips when he takes an extra second to kiss the skin beneath.

  “No, you know what?” he says to Hayden. “I’ve read Rapunzel so many times I bet I could do the whole thing from memory.”

  He picks up one of the ropes and dangles it playfully beside my head like a long braid, giving me a wink. Swatting his hand away, I swallow my giggles so Hayden won’t hear and think I’m laughing at her.

  Hayden exhales. “I owe you, little brother. Like, one million Christmas stockings. I swear, some days I think if you weren’t around, I couldn’t...” Her voice catches. “I’m okay, really. I’m just so damned tired, you know?”

  “I know.” He scoots down the bed and lifts my feet into his lap so he can take the cuffs off my ankles. “Believe me, I know. Put her on, okay?”

  Hayden’s voice fades a little. “Maya. Maya sweetie, do you want to talk to Jacob?”

  Maya’s sniffly voice comes on the phone. “Hi.”

  “Hey, Shortstop. You want a story?”

  “Yes,” she quavers, like she might be starting to cry again.

  “Well, then you have to lie down and put the covers on, okay?” He drops the cuffs onto the floor and rests his hand on top of my feet, giving them a gentle squeeze.

  He tosses me a wincing, apologetic look, pulling the phone away from his ear.

  “I’m gonna go in the living room, okay? This’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “What, and miss you trying to recite an entire book about medieval hairstyles from memory?” I scoff, pulling him back towards me. “No way.”

  He settles in next to me, reaching up to adjust the pillow beneath his head. I kick the ropes off the edge of the bed and pull the sheet up around us, wriggling until I can lay my head on his shoulder. In my head, an image forms of Jacob reading Maya bedtime stories in my spare room down the hall, the old rose trellis wallpaper replaced by Dora the Explorer. Longing grips my heart, the throb of it quivering with nerves. Maybe someday. It’s not so far-fetched: Ben and Jacob have been needing a three-bedroom, and thanks to Granna, I just so happen to own one.

  “Once upon a time,” Jacob says, and begins the story of the nasty little bait and switch by which Rapunzel’s mother coveted a plant and ended up losing her newborn baby to a witch.

  I snuggle a little closer into Jacob’s chest. I don’t know if it’s the endorphin-fueled afterglow, but I find myself extra sympathetic toward Rapunzel’s bereft parents, who didn’t know that a happy ending and a prince awaited their lost daughter.

  I know my parents have worried about me, too, because especially in the past year, there have been a lot of days when my life seemed like an ugly joke. Still, even after all the witchy bad luck and lonely towers, I must have had a fairy godmother somewhere who made sure my first big career break wasn’t necessarily my only one. And she must have given her wand a serious workout to ensure that my vandalism-prone baseball star would turn out to be the kind of guy who could—without a trace of self-consciousness—put away our sex toys while telling his little sister a bedtime story.

  In the end, my hero isn’t some guy smirking down from a gorgeously-lit pedestal, taunting me to climb up to him. He’s the one right beside me on flannel cloud-print sheets, dropping a kiss to my forehead in between the sentences leading to the happily ever after.

  It’s this moment when I finally start to understand: the world isn’t cruel. It is, actually, kind of beautiful.

  THE END

  Dear Reader

  Hello! Thanks so much for reading, and I do hope you enjoyed your time with Jera and Jacob and her weirdo bandmates. If you can, please consider leaving me a review on the retailer site of your choice. It doesn’t have to be long, and it doesn’t have to be Shakespeare—even a sentence will do. It really helps other readers find my books, and I just really love hearing what people thought about my stories. Good, bad, or ugly, it’s all valid. It just means so much to me to know you took the time to read my work.

  If you’d like to find out more about my other books or what I’m up to, hop on over to my website at http://michellehazenbooks.com/

  I got my start as a fanfiction writer, so there’s nothing I love more than to write little unseen moments from the books, or secret peeks into the character’s lives, character interviews or bonus stories. If you’re the type with a hankering for extras and deleted scenes, my newsletter is the place for you. Plus, I usually announce new releases and whatnot a little early on my newsletter, along with exclusive peeks at whatever I’ve got coming next. I also like to chat a bit about my travels and what continent I’m currently writing from. Come on over and join the fun! http://michellehazenbooks.com/newsletter/

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  Thanks for being here,

  Michelle

  FILL ME

  Book 0.5 of the Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Series

  A GARAGE BAND DRUMMER who can’t keep her boyfriend satisfied.

  A bassist who’s performing on darker stages than the musical kind, and can’t tell his BFF.

  A lead singer who can’t seem to hold the headliner spot in his own friendships.

  It’s just one more dive bar gig, but tonight, all the band’s secrets are coming out.

  This prequel is a short-story-length introduction to the band The Red Letters. It takes place before the books about each of the band members.

  Available 1.4.18

  Click here to order your copy today!

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of the prequel to

  A CRUEL KIND OF BEAUTIFUL

  Sneak Preview: Fill Me

  Chapter 1: Almost Perfect

  Jera

  Laughing at your neurotic lead singer is wrong.

  I know it, everybody with a heart knows it, so I clamp my twitching lips closed and try like hell to be a good person.

  “Do you think anybody saw me
?” Jax hunches his shoulders, his back to the busy bar room as he whips off his shirt, balling the UPS logo to the inside.

  “Uh, yeah, dipshit,” Danny says. “They did.”

  “Shut up, or I’m not getting your underage ass any drinks,” Jax growls at our bassist. “Now where’s my shirt?”

  “Don’t worry, Jax, I’ll shield you while you change so nobody notices.” I step squarely in front of him, giving a smile and a wink to a guy whose eyes drift toward us. Danny reaches over and tugs down the already-low V-neck of my Ramones babydoll tee, doubling the amount of cleavage I’m offering. I slap his hand. “Hey, jerk!”

  “Just protecting our chances of getting drinks,” Danny says. “The only way something as tiny as you makes a decent shield is if you show some skin.”

  “I thought big brother types were supposed to be protective.” I put on a scowl, but my eyes slip away to check the front door before I can stop myself.

  Nothing.

  “Not your brother.” He crosses his arms, hazel eyes gleaming with mischief even though his face, as always, is relaxed. “As your bandmate, it benefits me to get some eyes headed your way. Longer they’re staring at you, the longer they’ll watch us play.”

  “Then I guess you should have built me a drum riser, because nobody’s going to be able to see me behind my cymbals.”

  Both men ignore me. Jax smacks Danny, knocking his black beanie askew. “Dude. Shirt.”

  “What shirt?” Danny pulls off his knit hat, black hair in wild chaos before he tugs the cap back on.

  “It was on the list I gave you when I left you my truck so you could load while I was at work.”

  Danny wrinkles his nose. “List?”

  Jax pales, his blue eyes flaring brighter as he stares down our bassist. “The list with all our equipment on it. Including my good shirt.” He flaps the offending uniform top at Danny, while I stifle a laugh into my fist.

  He shrugs. “Play in what you’ve got.”

  Jax chucks it in Danny’s face instead. “Nobody sees a brown UPS polo shirt and thinks, ‘Step aside, panties, there’s a rock star in the house.’”

  “If you need a shirt to drop panties, man, you better hightail it back to that gym you’re always dragging me to,” Danny drawls.

  Jax’s jaw twitches and he straightens to his full height, carefully cultivated muscles bunching.

  Danny looks bored, his lean body looking just plain skinny beneath the black hoodie and old jeans he threw on before we loaded Jax’s truck.

  I step between them, because they like a friendly fight a little too much, and last time Jax’s mouth ended up so swollen and bloody he couldn’t sing. No matter how many times I explain it to him, Danny doesn’t get the concept of pulling his punches.

  “He’s screwing with you, Jax,” I say. “We have everything on the list, and your shirt is on the front seat. I’ll get it for you, if you want to make a little refreshments run.” I nod toward the bar, my eyes flickering past it to the entrance.

  Still nothing.

  Jax’s hand lands on my arm, squeezing gently. “Was Andy supposed to be here?”

  “Nope.” I force a smile, though I can’t wrench my gaze higher than the tribal swirls of the electric guitar tattoo on Jax’s forearm. Somehow, seeing Danny’s artwork settles some of the fizzing in my stomach. “He couldn’t make it.”

  “Oh, was Douchefest 2012 tonight?” Danny asks. “Too bad. I know he couldn’t possibly miss that.”

  Jax throws him a warning look, then turns his attention back to me. Not long ago, having this much focus from him—plus his hand, his actual hand touching me!—would have sent me into a blushing, stuttering mess. Our band had its first anniversary and I graduated high school before the sheer beauty of our lead guitarist became commonplace enough that I could do more than pant in his presence.

  Thank God he never noticed. If we had ever ended up between the sheets, he’d probably strain something making sure I was fully inducted into the local chapter of the Jax Is A Sex God Club. I’d be exhausted before we got past the making out part of the scheduled programming. And considering how I get in bed? Jax and I would be each other’s own private hell.

  I smile up at him, his model-perfect jaw and the chin-length strands of his wavy blond hair nothing more than pretty packaging on the concerned face of a friend. “Andy had to study.” I shrug. “He’s got a lot of big tests coming up this week. It’s no big deal.” Over Jax’s shoulder, a lanky blond guy passes his two bucks to the bouncer, and I push up on my toes to see better, but no, it’s not my boyfriend.

  Jax lets me go, his brow furrowed. “He’d seriously rather do homework than see his hot girlfriend wail the shit out of her drum kit?”

  “He’s stupid,” Danny says. “What else did you expect?”

  I ignore my best friend, because arguing with him will just egg him on, and I don’t want to risk him dropping something too revealing right now. He insists my issues are all Andy’s fault, because Danny is terminally loyal.

  I point at Jax. “Don’t think I don’t notice your sneaky little compliments to cheer me up. And it’s fine, seriously. His grades have been slipping because we’ve been spending too much time together and I don’t want to be the reason he loses his scholarship.”

  My heart squeezes at the thought. I’ve been waiting my whole life for somebody like Andy. Somebody who yanks the breath out of my chest. Somebody who can distract me from anything, even music. But instead of filling me to overflowing, the way music does, he makes every part of me echo with the need for something that’s not quite within reach.

  I give Jax a little push toward the bar, his muscles even firmer under my fingertips than I remember. Has he been killing himself at the gym again? I make a mental note to ask Danny if Jax’s mom has called recently. His socialite bitch of a parent never fails to set off one of his self-improvement tailspins. “Go!” I tell him, backing away. “Or you’re not going to have time to triple-check our set up and Danny’s tuning of your guitar.”

  His eyes narrow. “Talk about sneaky, Jera. That was seriously below the belt.”

  “Oh, I can’t look below your belt,” I say, my hand poised on the push bar of the side exit to the parking lot. “Because if I do, I’ll see your hideous work khakis and my libido will start cashing in its social security benefits.”

  I shove the door open before he can come after me, Danny’s chuckle sounding low from inside the bar. No way am I telling our singer I packed jeans for him in the truck.

  I blink away the glare of the inside lights and take the long way through the parking lot. Who knows? Maybe “homework” is just an excuse for Andy to surprise me and he’ll be waiting out here. He’s given to cute gestures like that, and that’s the only thing that could make tonight’s—actually paid!—gig even better.

  Besides, if he really isn’t coming, then I have a sinking feeling I know why. And it has a whole lot to do with last Saturday.

  FILL ME

  Available on 1.4.18

  Click here to order your copy today!

  PLAYING THE PAUSES

  Book 2 of the Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Series

  Independent woman meets her Dominant kryptonite

  KATE IS A GLOBE-TROTTING tour manager who can’t be tied down.

  Danny is a Dominant rock star and tattoo artist who needs her help to explore his true kinks.

  Kate just got her big break, managing an international tour for a rising band. Her job is everything to her...at least until she meets the band’s enigmatic bass player. After they collide in one unforgettably erotic night on a hotel balcony, he comes to her with a proposition. As a former BDSM club performer, Danny’s spent so long fulfilling other people’s fantasies that now he wants to reclaim his own—and he says she’s the only one who can help.

  Getting caught in bed with her rock star boss could cost her career, and yet there’s something about Danny’s quiet intensity that she can’t resist. He steals her heart, hard. But the
end of the tour is approaching, and their jobs are headed two different directions.

  To be together one of them will have to stop touring, but the only thing they crave as much as each other is music.

  Available 3.5.18

  Click here to order your copy today!

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of the sequel to

  A CRUEL KIND OF BEAUTIFUL

  Sneak Preview: Playing the Pauses

  Kate

  Today I find out what kind of person I’m about to become.

  Mommy, dominatrix, cheerleader, pharmacist, or even servant, bowing and scraping at motorcycle-booted feet. Whatever it takes over the next six weeks, that’s what I’ll be, because I’m not just a tour manager—I’m a walking life support system for rock bands.

  I turn away from the check-in desk and hit the shoe-scuffed tile of the airport lobby at full stride, the worn wheels of my carry-on squealing a tiny protest as they try to keep up. Waiting for me in Terminal 2 are The Red Letters, a rock band teetering on the vomit-slicked gate to true fame. Their heads are bigger than their record sales, their eyes are bigger than the moon, and their every personal failing is about to be mine to manage.

  Concert tours are evil bitches. The performers get depleted fast, rocketing from the euphoria of the shows straight to the boredom of mundane travel. They’re one in a million on that stage and they are the million again the next day: getting herded barefoot and beltless through airport security, raising their arms to show their pit stains to the body scanners.

  Yes, stressed-out musicians can be a pain to deal with. But then there’s the moment when they go out on stage, the bass hits me straight in the chest, and I see a thousand people start to dance. To me, that is God. And I will never abandon my religion.