Stolen Tyme
S.L. Ziegler
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Borrowed Tyme
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Stolen Tyme
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by S.L. Ziegler
Copyright © 2017 by S.L. Ziegler
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To anyone who had to fight with everything in them to overcome something—or someone—to get their happily ever after.
* * *
This is for you.
Part I
Borrowed Tyme
Dear readers,
I have added in Borrowed Tyme for anyone who hasn’t read it. If you don’t need to refresh your memory, feel free to skip to Stolen Tyme.
* * *
Thank you,
S.L. Ziegler
Chapter 1
The rays from the setting sun bring attention to the dark wood of the cabin. The hot summer air lingers longer tonight. A twinge of true happiness hits me in the gut for my oldest friend, Lock. He finally got everything he’s ever wanted. From his shop to his house, he deserves it all, and probably then some.
When Lock was seventeen, he’d met some random chick at a party. Nine months and two DNA tests later, he had a daughter to live for. The mother flaked two months into parenthood, but it didn’t stop him. Lock stepped up to the plate and he did it by himself. He raised his daughter with no help from his parents, or the bitch who gave birth to her and should’ve been a mother to that little girl. Even with all the mess of dropping out of high school, he managed to figure out how to have his hope of opening his own custom bike shop here in Atlanta come true.
He’s living the damn dream now.
Ironically, it wouldn’t have been Lock I pictured becoming this man in school, though. Things are different now.
We are different.
I was ten, just some loner kid who one day tripped over his feet in the lunchroom, and Lock—who, even at nine, towered over me—helped me up. Our friendship never made sense, and still doesn’t. We’ve always been completely opposite of each other. Lock was the free one, starting fights—ending them. He was the one having sex with random girls, drinking, and more. I was the dork who pretty much kept to myself; Lock and my ex, Zoey, being my only friends. I stayed clear of everything and everyone. Where Lock’s idea of a good night was a party with free beer, mine was staying away from all that shit, holed up in my basement with my guitar in my hands and a notebook at my side to ensure I never missed the lyrics that flowed through me whenever I hit that certain—perfect—note. I grew up with one thing on my mind: music. I bled for it, cried over it, hoped for it, fought above it. And I thought nothing would be a cloud over my future.
I moved to LA to make music, Zoey followed, and we got married before the ink dried on my first deal. For a while, it was everything I dreamed of…‘til the late night parties and early mornings at the studio wore me out. That’s when I found the wake-up I needed. Drugs. Coke was my drug of choice. By the end, I would’ve done anything to chase the damn high. Even when Zoey was pregnant, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop. And because of it, I’d lost my wife, my daughter Charlie, my band, and my career. I’d fallen victim to the damn Hollywood curse.
Losing all that still hadn’t stopped me.
My rock bottom came in the form of an overdose in a hotel bathroom. Alone. And ever since that night, I’ve been clean. Thanks to three months in rehab, another nine months in a sober living home, and many grueling hours each week spent in groups, I finally have my shit together. At least in this moment I do. It’s always one day at a time.
Lock may not have as much money as I do in the bank, but that’s not what life is about. He’s got his damn family, which is far more than I can say for myself.
The sound of the heavy door opening pulls my attention from the long road that brought me here. In front of me, I find Lock, huge as ever, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. He looks almost the same as the day he kicked me out, except for a few more grays mixed with his black beard, and what’s now balding on his head. If it wasn’t for the biggest lopsided grin on his face, I’d be scared.
“Holy shit, X. It’s great to have you back. It’s been fucking ages.”
Ages? It might as well be a damn lifetime ago. For me anyway.
“Seems like that. I think Naomi was nine maybe.” My stomach turns to knots. I didn’t need to say—add—“maybe.” She was nine. It had been her damn birthday, and I’d fucked it all up.
“Damn, it was. I wish she was still that fucking age. I survived all her tween years, the high school boys that were knocking at the door, but now that she’s nineteen, I swear she gets off on almost giving me a heart attack. You have a few years yet before that.” Turning away, he glances over his shoulder. “Come in. Excuse all the shit around. I had some massive deadlines at the shop. Hope you still like pizza, because that’s the only thing I have to eat here.”
As I step inside his old cabin, I’m instantly hit with a familiarity between us. The ease in which we walk together to the kitchen astounds me, and I’m glad I finally picked up the phone to call him. I’ve been hiding from people for far too long. Two years of being the loner was enough.
“I brought some beer for you.”
“Thanks, man, I need it after the shit at the shop.” He pops the top off and offers me one, but I shake my head. With his smile gone, replaced by regret, he says, “Damn, X. Sorry, I just assumed since you brought it, you’d drink it. Fuck, I have no clue how this works with you being sober now.”
I didn’t know how it worked for a long time either, but now I’m at a place where I can buy beer for a friend and not get the itch, but give me pain pills for a broken foot and the need to score more takes over my way of thinking. It’s a damn slippery slope, but over time I understood why. “It’s okay. It wasn’t ever the beer that got me into trouble but the drugs. I just stay away from all that shit now. It’s safer in the long haul. I brought Mountain Dew.” I raise my arm and hold out the cans of soda I can’t go anywhere without.
“Understand that. How’s it going?” Lock’s voice shakes as he asks me.
It being my sobriety. It being why we haven’t seen each other since his daughter was nine, when I showed up to her birthday party so high I thought the blow-up unicorns were trying to kill me. It being my rotten life I lived for almost ten years. Fucking sad shit that wasn’t even one of the lower points of my drug use. Not even close. I was hooked like a junkie on the side of the road, begging for the next
hit, only difference was, I had money to buy the good stuff. That’s what being a present-day Elvis got you, and days like this, I’m glad I didn’t die on the shitter like he did.
“Good. No shit for two years. Just writing and producing some music to stay busy and trying to get back in my daughter’s life.”
“I thought it was more like three? Not like you can trust those magazines.”
“Technically it is. But that first year I don’t count. That year I had someone constantly around me—watching my actions. Between rehab and the half way house I couldn’t use. So it wasn’t a choice, but the two years where I don’t have the babysitter I count. Those were my choice to wake up each day and say no.”
“Never heard someone describe it that way. That’s a great way to think of it. Zoey letting you see Charlie?”
“Some. I just keep showing up and proving I’m here to stay. Not much else I can do.” My words float through me because I know I could do more. I could take the money away and make them poor, forcing them to fight me in court to try to keep me from seeing her. But I wouldn’t do that. Charlie is loved, in a safe and stable home—where she needs to be. If I have to be the friend in order to be in her life, I will. Doesn’t mean Zoey isn’t awful—she plays the victim, using Charlie to pull more money from my pockets. But she’s her mom and sometimes I see the nice person she was before money cloudy her vision. She was there for Charlie when I was too high to even piss anywhere but my pants.
Lock nods to the door, his arms loaded down with food and beer. “Let’s go outside. Naomi hates when I eat in here, says I make too much of a mess.”
Two pizzas demolished, Lock’s beers all gone but one, and the conversation flowing as easy as the fire burning. This is the friend I shouldn’t have left. He always had my back, always looked out for me.
“Listen, X, I have to tell you…I was glad you called, not just to catch up and shit, but I need your help, if you can.” He says, before taking a pull on his cigar.
“Anything, man.”
“I need you to help Naomi with her music.”
“What?” I choke on my drink, stopping the laugh from coming out. I try to picture his daughter—the chunky girl with a bad haircut, gapped teeth, thick glasses, and the high-water jeans she loved to wear—wanting to get into the business. A business based not only on the music, but the image you’re selling.
“She wants to move to New York at the end of the summer.” Lock stares off into the distance, smoke billowing out of his mouth in smooth waves of gray like a damn fire-breathing dragon. His voice shakes with a wave of something I can’t place. “I get it. I had my dream and I did it. But music is brutal. I saw you struggle, and I’m not talking about the drugs but about getting your name out. She doesn’t do well with rejection, never has, and that scares the shit out of me.”
“It’s tough. It’s not just the music you have to worry about. Trust me. The people who surround music can either bring you up or take you down. Man, I don’t know if you want that for her, and rejection is part of the game. For every yes you get, you hear thirty nos. For every cheer someone gives you, the boos follow even louder.”
Lock kicks his feet up on the worn wood of the porch. “I know, I don’t want it for her, that life of wondering if or when the break will come. The tears she’ll cry when people don’t call her back. I want none of it for my girl. I can’t hold her back though; she’ll resent me. That’s why I’m letting this happen, why I’m asking you to help get her ready. Naomi wanted to leave right after graduation but I forced her to at least try two years of college. Then, if she still wanted to, I’d support her. So that’s what I’m doing. She’s my life, man. I don’t have anything but her. She needs to gain some confidence. If she’s going to leave me, I’ll be damned if she fails at it.”
“I’ll help, but I’m only in the background of the business now. I can’t be around all that other shit, and things change all the time, but I’ll do anything I can. And if she’s any good, I’ll make a few calls to some people. Point her in the right direction.”
“That means a lot. And listen, I’m not going to get too deep, but I’m proud of you.”
My throat burns raw with emotion. Lock shouldn’t be proud of me; I’ve accomplished shit compared to him. “Listen, I know I apologized over the phone when I was in rehab about the party, but shit…if someone did that at Charlie’s birthday, I’d beat some serious ass. I’m saying it to your face, man to man. I’m sorry, no excuse.”
“You weren’t right. We all knew it. And Naomi doesn’t even remember it. So that water has long passed the bridge.”
I exhale, the relief that he forgives me sinking in. “Now that that’s over, how’s the love life?”
With another puff of his cigar, his eyebrows rise at my question. “Not much happening. I have some biker girls here and there. But none that come over and none who are good enough to meet my girl. Figured if they don’t meet that criteria, they don’t need to last longer than a few nights.”
Even with his daughter, Lock hasn’t changed when it comes to the opposite sex. “Not one girlfriend?”
“I’ve had a few, I would say, but I kept that shit separate from my life here. Naomi needed stability, and having girls in and out of her life wasn’t that.”
“Gotta respect that, man.”
Lock raises his beer to me. “How about you?”
“Nothing. You can’t have any relationships for a year after rehab, and after that my focus has been on Charlie, writing, and producing. Girls just complicate that shit.”
“And I can respect that.”
We fall into a relaxing silence, like no time has passed before the sound of slow, heavy crunches of gravel along the driveway catches my attention. Before I have my head fully craned to the side, a strong whiff of exhaust fills my lungs. Whoever just pulled up effectively interrupted the peaceful lull we’ve fallen into.
Lock glances down at his watch and lets out a deep sigh. “That would be Naomi.”
“She late?”
“Nah, she’s working at a bar now. I hate how they keep her out into the middle of the night for the shit she makes.”
“Pop! Where are you? Pop? You better not be out there smoking. Because if you are, I’m going to kill you before the cancer can, Old Man!”
He leans in and whispers, “You were the one smoking. Got it?” He throws the cigar over his porch before raising his voice. “I’m out here. We have company.”
“Is it a girl? Because the truck in the driveway is raised. She’d have to be an Amazon to get in.”
I let out a chuckle. My best friend’s daughter is a ball buster. Never thought the day would come that Lock would have someone put him in his place.
“Jesus, not with this again. Just get out here.”
“Yes, sir,” she mocks.
I turn around at the heavy creak of the door opening, and halt any movement as the light hits her just right. This isn’t the nerdy girl from a decade ago. No. She’s been replaced by the most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever seen. Dark hair piled on the top of her head, a black tank top stretched across her chest, her fucking feet in Birkenstocks sandals. Her left shoulder covered in tattoos.
My fucking dream girl.
We lock eyes over the flames of the fire and my hands start to sweat, time completely evading me.
“Omi, this is Xavier. Do you remember him?”
Lock’s deep voice is my reality and it smashes straight into my chest, knocking the wind out of me and leaving me lightheaded. I swallow deep. Shit, this can’t be happening. The riptide is cut.
It’s not right. What I’m feeling is wrong. On so many levels.
She’s my oldest friend’s daughter.
She is his daughter. One that I have the strongest urge to grab by the arm and run away with, throw down on my bed, and have my way with.
Nope, can’t go there.
Not at all.
Not even a little bit.
Fuck.
> Her smile is hesitant, but perfect. Her hips sway gently as she walks over and takes the chair next to mine. “I do. Pop took me to my first concert when I was twelve. It was good.”
I turn my head over to Lock and he just shrugs it off. “Omi had Twisted Tyme posters covering her room ‘til three years ago.”
If eyes could murder, she’d be in handcuffs for killing Lock right now. “Shut your mouth,” she says with a throaty groan.
I raise my forehead, laughing to myself. “Thank you. Your pop says you want to make music.”
Naomi casually lifts her shoulders at the mention of music. “I do.” Her cheeks glow and her voice rises with each new thing she tells us. I’m fucking mesmerized, and my chest constricts with each word she utters in that rich voice of hers. I find myself taking notice of everything about her. Everything I shouldn’t be noticing.
My best friend’s daughter.
Shit. His fucking daughter.
And still, I can’t stop staring.
It’s contagious.
I can’t pay attention to her words coming out, or who’s around, or anything other than the elongated movements of her full, pouty lips, until Lock’s voice breaks the hold she’s gripped me with.
“I’ll let you do it, but I just don’t know why you’d want to leave.”
Naomi tightly closes her eyes while releasing a breathy sigh of annoyance at her father. “Can we not talk about this? Again?”
“Oh, we will, it’s my job as your father to annoy the shit out of you. I have three months to change your mind. But in case I don’t, I have a surprise. I told X about it and he offered to help. Why don’t you give him your CD to listen to?”
She raises her bright eyes just as the corners of her mouth lift in a sinful smirk. “I have it on a file on my phone now. Do you want me to send it through email?”
Nope, because if you do, if you come over, I can’t promise my intentions are true.
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