Background Music

by J. R. Rogue

  Background Music

  J. R. Rogue

  Rogue Books

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Acknowledgments

  Burning Muses

  About The Author

  For Catye & Kat

  Background Music

  Copyright © 2017 by J.R. Rogue

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ROGUE BOOKS

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Editing: Christina Hart of Savage Hart Book Services

  Proofreading: Author Services by Julie Deaton

  Background Music / J. R. ROGUE – 1st ed.

  ISBN-13: 978-1542385572 | ISBN-10: 1542385571

  www.jrrogue.com | www.jrrogueshop.com

  I’ll always remember the background music that played downstairs that night. Those notes will forever haunt me. They played softly as midnight struck, as our friends and family raised glasses and kissed lips. So softly, so delicately, as my husband raped me in our upstairs bedroom. As he pinned my arms behind my back. As he told me not to cry out. As he convinced me it was what I deserved.

  I had been working next door to Kat Roberts' shop for four months. Four torturous months of watching her walk by my window as I sat at my desk, counting down the minutes until five o'clock.

  The post office was directly across the street. She would run in and return with a handful of mail from her PO box; then she would run it back inside her shop, only to return back outside a few minutes later. She loved to grab lunch at the little deli across the street, too. She would go out the front door of her store again and I would hear the little bell they had installed to alert the arrival of customers. I would hear that bell and look up. Every time. I was like Pavlov's fucking dog. I knew I would get a treat so I would look up.

  It was summer now. Kat loved skirts, and I loved watching her ivory legs scurry across the pavement. I loved watching her red hair whip in the wind. It was longer now.

  I held onto these moments because I wasn’t sure when they would end. She was on a deli sandwich kick. Once it was over, she would probably start grabbing lunch somewhere away from our small town square. That was no good. That meant she would leave through the back entrance of her shop to where her car was parked. That meant I would not see her.

  As for me, I brought my lunch to work every day. I carpooled with my boss and that meant I had to stay put. I had a little mini fridge next to my desk, so it was no big deal. I would sit in the small room in the back and catch up on Netflix shows and browse social media. And besides, staying put meant Kat wouldn't see me. I arrived to our office before her shop opened and left before she locked up. It worked out well. Kat didn't want to see my face, and I was scared of the cool indifference I would meet if she did lay eyes on me.

  I left things a jumbled mess between us. I was sure things hadn't changed, and I doubted they ever would. I had become fairly good at fucking up great opportunities in my life. No matter how far I dug myself out of the holes I had been inhabiting, Kat was the one thing that would always be out of reach. I was content here, in my little fishbowl, watching her dance across my vision, around my world.

  I huffed out a breath, glanced at the time on my computer, and flipped over my boss's appointment book. Nothing for over an hour. I had time to eat. I reached down and pulled open the mini fridge door, locating my cliché brown paper bag. My stepmother loved making lunch for me. Another reason staying put wasn't an issue. I didn't even have to prepare it. I reached my other arm in and pulled out a Pepsi and took a sip straight out of the bottle. It really was the best way to drink one.

  On the way back down our small hallway, I texted my boss to let him know I was stepping away from my desk. I normally would just pop my head in, but he was currently with a client and I had no clue who it was. He didn't have anyone on the schedule, and I had found his door closed and heard the murmur of voices behind the glass after I stepped away to use the restroom.

  The small, plain, windowless room in the back had no door, so I could listen for our front door in case it opened and someone walked in. I normally positioned myself so that I could see the stream of light that would also pour in when someone entered.

  I grabbed a napkin from the center of the table and ripped open my bag, excited for the surprise. My stepmom—Mary—was a fantastic cook. She never disappointed. I was greeted by a chicken salad sandwich, which some might find dull, but I knew better. She always put fresh feta and relish in with the chicken and mayo. My mouth watered just looking at it. I took a bite, made an embarrassing audible sound, and laughed to myself. Good God, I needed a coworker some days.

  I pulled out my phone and shot a text to one of my friends.

  Me: How do you feel about playing tonight?

  Alec: Who is this?

  Me: Funny. You're a funny fucker.

  Alec: Is this the former lead singer of this band I was in that I loved and had to mourn the loss of due to some dill hole's daddy issues?

  Me: Jesus fuck, you don't mess around with the insults do you...

  Alec: Sorry. That was harsh. I'm hungover.

  Me: It's a Tuesday.

  Alec: The Reese I know would never text me in that tone of voice.

  Me: Okay, do you want to play or not?

  Alec: No...

  Alec: ...thing would make me happier.

  Me: I hate you.

  Alec: You adore me. Where at?

  Me: You still working at Revenge of the Spaceballs?

  Alec: Yes. Perfect. I'll ask my boss if I can open up after hours for us.

  Me: Text me the time and I'm there. It's been too long.

  I threw my phone on the table and raised my thumb to my face. I pressed deep at the spot between my eyes. What the fuck was I doing? We hadn't played together in months. I had let us fall apart because I was trying to be responsible. I was trying to leave the dream that I could play music for a living in the past. But recently one of my best friends had left our small town. He had moved to Nashville and all those dreams came flooding back. He asked me to come, too, but I had declined. I had worked myself into a steady rhythm, a mind numbing rhythm of small town suffocation, but a rhythm that moved in time wit
h my father's. It had been so long since he and I found anything resembling peace between each other. I didn't want to upset the balance. And maybe, maybe those dreams would wait for me.

  I knew I was being a coward. I knew it. My stepsister knew it, too. Every time she got me on the phone, she scolded me. “You’re not being true to the person you are. Your dad is just going to have to come to terms with the fact that you’re an artist.” Easier said than done. She didn’t have a father with rigid expectations to live up to. She had a mother who supported her every move.

  The sound of voices getting louder raised me from my thoughts. I stood up and gathered my lunch, threw it in the waste bin by the open door, and walked into the hall. I sauntered past my boss’s office and sat down in my chair. I spun around a few times then faced my computer just as my boss and his guest left his office. I turned to face them and tried not to let my face betray my emotions when I saw who the mystery guest was.

  “Thank you again for taking the time to speak with me,” Chuck Thompson said, extending his hand to my boss’s.

  “Of course. I will be in touch soon to continue this. Have a great rest of the week,” my boss replied. “You know Reese, don’t you? Reese, this is Charles Thompson.”

  I stood and smirked, hoping the few inches I had on him was annoying as hell. “Chuck,” I said tersely as I extended my hand to the asshole in front of me. His face quickly became somber. He wasn’t a “Charles” to me, he was a “Chuck.” A chump, a cocksucker. I could go on and on. He took my hand and quickly shook it. I gripped tightly, a little too tightly, and dropped it. I wanted him to remember the last time I had my hands on him. He turned back to my boss and lit up again with his 100-watt fake ass grin.

  “We’ll talk soon,” he said, and walked out the door.

  I waited until the door closed to turn to my boss with my arms folded. “What was he doing here?” I asked.

  “It’s too soon to share. Maybe when I know more I can let you in on everything,” he said, walking to the coffee machine in the corner and dismissing me.

  “He’s a piece of shit,” I said.

  My boss’s gaze quickly darted to the small waiting area behind him. Once he noticed there was no one in the room but us he relaxed a little and turned back to me. “Language,” he said.

  “You just saw that there is no one else but us here.” I laughed, throwing my arms up.

  “I don’t care,” he said evenly. “I don’t want talk like that to be a habit.” He was never one to let his voice betray his emotions.

  I rolled my eyes and turned away, flopped back into my chair, and began working through the paperwork piled to the right of my computer. There was no use with him. If he said he wasn’t going to tell me what was going on, then he meant it. I tried to let my rage cannibalize itself.

  Chuck Thompson was Kat’s ex-husband. I knew all about him. I knew his dirty little secrets. I couldn’t be a part of anything that was connected to him. But I couldn’t let my boss know why. It wasn’t my story to tell. It wasn’t my secret. It didn’t need to be a secret. Everyone needed to know what kind of man he was, but it was out of my hands. I wondered how Kat would feel, knowing he was just one building over.

  This was a small town, but you can still hide in a small town when you want to. You can duck down an aisle quickly in Wal-Mart when you see someone you don’t want to talk to. You can hide your face in your phone when the neighbor you’re trying to avoid walks into Dairy Queen. You can hide in plain sight. Kat didn’t frequent any of the bars here in town, where I knew Chuck loved to hang out. Surely, she had been able to avoid him for the past two years.

  My boss finished pouring his coffee, ignoring the anger that was coming off me—surely palpable in the small space—and retreated to his office, obviously not caring to know more about my opinion. Typical. My phone buzzed on my desk, making me jump. I reached for it and pulled up my new text.

  Alec: Tonight. 7 p.m. Let’s get back at it. Also, you look handsome today.

  I laughed and looked out the windows in the front of my office. To the right of the post office was Revenge of the Spaceballs, the comic shop my friend worked at. He was standing on the concrete slab in front of it, waving at me with his phone in his hand and a huge Sonic drink in the other. I laughed and tapped out a text.

  Me: Perfect. Now get inside and back to work you fucking creeper.

  On Tuesdays, I allow myself a luxury. A small reward for dragging myself through Monday and surviving its second coming. Some Tuesdays it was an Amazon 1-click spree, sometimes it was a trip to the antique mall four doors down, sometimes it was a double chocolate scoop cone from the ice cream shop next door. This Tuesday was a day to satisfy that sweet tooth.

  Today was hell. Our Monday deliveries to my small shop arrived late, so Monday work trickled into Tuesday work, throwing everything off. The summer months at Fiddlesticks were always busy and I often hired extra help, but this year I had put it off a bit, trying to convince myself that I was just keeping busy, that it wasn’t because I couldn’t afford it. I didn’t really have much of a social life these days so I figured I would just pick up the extra slack, but it was beginning to wear on me. I had to chug a Monster Energy drink every morning this past month, and I spent most Saturdays recovering from the five days prior. Something had to give.

  With chocolate on my mind, I let the last two employees out the back door and locked up behind them. I made my way through the length of the shop, turning off lamps as I went, until I came to our front door. I unlocked the door I had just locked and walked out to our front sidewalk. I locked the door again behind me and turned to head next door to the ice cream shop, but tripped on something that was lying in front of the large glass opening of my shop. I braced myself from falling by grabbing the large baker’s rack filled with flowers next to me. I turned and scowled at what tripped me and laid eyes on a bouquet of roses. Strange. I looked around and saw no cars nearby. It was six p.m. and the post office had been closed for an hour and a half and the office next door for an hour. The comic shop diagonal from me closed at six p.m. as well and looked like there were no late customers inside.

  I reached down and picked up the roses, fumbling for a tag, but found none. Odd. I placed them on our baker’s rack and made a mental note to grab them on my way back home.

  My home was above my shop. I had been living there for two and half years and loved it. It was my own. It was safe. It was convenient. Late nights didn’t feel so bad when you slept above your work, but I had to admit, it sometimes got old. I would find myself staring on a Friday night, realizing I hadn’t left my block all week. This was my new normal. That really wasn’t all right with me, but I wasn’t doing anything to actively change this reality.

  I searched my mind to find the last time I had anything resembling fun as I walked into the ice cream shop and made my way to the counter. They were closing up in a half hour and there was no one in line. The man behind the counter smiled at me. “I’ll take mint chocolate chip in a cone,” I smiled back.

  “Not your usual chocolate today?” he asked, reaching for an ice cream scoop.

  “No, shaking things up,” I answered. Sera always got mint chocolate chip and I wanted to feel a little less sad. My best friend moved away again, and the days since had been long. She was my lifeline. I was looking at a long summer without her, just like two years ago. I paid for my cone and walked the few steps back home, grabbing the roses I had left on the way.

  Once I was home in my own space, I threw them on the counter, planning to look more closely for a tag. I sat at my bar and licked the ice cream from the cone that was now dribbling down it. I had a small length of countertop installed at the front of my apartment below one of the windows. From there, I could look down on Commercial Street.

  I pulled out my phone and began tapping out a text with one hand as I ate my ice cream.

  Me: I miss you. Today is sucky.

  Sera: I miss you too! What happened?

  Me: N
othing. Just random sadness. It happens. How was your weekend?

  Sera: Great. Dancing, writing, rain.

  Me: Lucky. Oh hey, there were flowers on the front step of my shop after I closed up. Weird huh?

  Sera: Who from?

  Me: No clue. No tag.

  Sera: #secretadmirer #stalker

  Me: I hate when you talk in hashtags….

  Sera: #notsorry

  Sera: But for real, I wonder what that’s about. Could they be for one of your employees?

  Me: True! Jeez, talk about narcissism. Oops.

  Sera: You’re the least narcissistic person I know. Stop.

  Me: Well, thank you. And I will bring them back downstairs in the morning. Maybe one of the girls will know.

  Sera: Good idea. Hey, my lover is calling me from the shower. I gotta go ;)

  Me: You two make me sick. Bye.

  Sera: #hatersgonnahate ;) Bye

  I laughed and tossed my phone into my purse on the floor. I stared absentmindedly out of my window as I finished my ice cream cone. It looked nearly deserted already. My eyes caught movement to my right in front of the comic book shop across the street. A guy walked out of the front door just as the door to a truck parked in front opened. The truck looked slightly familiar, but there were many just like that black Chevy in town. The guy that emerged wore a backward ball cap and a white t-shirt. My stomach flipped a little as he walked around to his truck bed and pulled the back hatch down. No way. Was it him? I recognized his walk. His strut. The sway of his arms.

  The guy who had come from the shop walked around the driver’s side and the truck owner turned to him, smiling. Yes. I knew that smile. I hated that smile. It was Reese. Reese, who I had successfully avoided for so long, which was no easy feat. I glared at his grinning face from my seat, though he couldn’t possibly see me.

  I pushed off my counter and left the window, needing to get as far away as I could from his smile. Fuck, he was beautiful. Still. I walked back to my bathroom, shedding clothing and cursing as I went. I closed my eyes when the rush of water from my showerhead hit me. Liars lie and I do not sleep with liars. Not anymore. I said it out loud, twice. I had worse done to me in this life than what Reese had done. But still, I never wanted to lock eyes with him again. It brought everything back from two years ago. The worst year of my life. I grimly replayed it all as I washed my body and tried to ignore the butterflies colliding in my belly.