Rock the Dream (Redfall Dream #1)

by B. B. Miller

  “Maybe I was.” I pull away just a bit so I can reach down and flick open the buttons on his fly. In seconds, I’m holding his heavy, warm flesh, and I tug gently. Letting out a deep groan of pleasure, he flips me on my back and climbs between my legs. In an instant, he pulls his jeans down to his knees, lines himself up, and plunges inside me, muffling my startled exclamation with his mouth. I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my heels into his ass, relishing the feel of his hard body and powerful thrusts that threaten to send me scooting off the aged quilt. “Fuck, you feel good. Jesus, Abby.”

  “Harder,” I beg, clutching his shoulders. My shirt bunches up around my waist as we rock together almost violently. Every nerve ending is tingling, and I’d feel like I’m floating except for his relentless pounding that anchors me to the earth. My blood sings in my veins, and I can tell I won’t be able to hang on much longer. Threading my fingers in his soft hair, I pull his face down to mine, and try to pour every ounce of love I have for him into my kiss. His deep growl is my reward, and I soon find myself at the edge. A whimper escapes me—I want to hold on—but his intense whisper is my undoing.

  “Come on, gorgeous. Let me see you.” I explode around him, thankfully retaining enough presence of mind to enjoy the sight of him quickly following. He collapses on top of me for a moment, covering me in his warmth, until rolling to the side, panting heavily.

  The rustling of the vines in the light breeze lulls me. “Do you want to go back to bed?” I murmur, my eyelids drooping. Kennedy grabs the edges of the thick quilt, fashioning a cocoon of warmth around us.

  He positions my head on his shoulder, and I can feel his lips against my forehead. “In a minute,” he promises.

  I wake with a start. It’s much cooler now and my feet, which are sticking out the bottom of our quilted burrito, are chilled, but that’s not what woke me. Kennedy is awake, and the muffled sound he makes has me raising my head in alarm.

  He’s staring at the enormous expanse of stars above us, anguish etched on his handsome face. When he realizes I’m awake, he wraps us up tighter in the quilt.

  “Kennedy! What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He blinks and swallows thickly, roughly rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “I’m fine.”

  “Clearly, you are not.” I cup his cheek. “Did you have a dream?”

  “No, I’ve just been thinking.” He looks at me, clearly conflicted, but also troubled. “I was thinking about Brodie and the way he died. I was also thinking about my talk with your dad. The way he described the day he was shot, and how he felt when he opened that door and saw you.” He clenches his jaw, trying to control his emotions. “He told me a lot more about that day before you walked in the room. And I was just thinking I could have lost you before I ever met you.”

  I blink at him, feeling helpless. “You can’t lose what you haven’t found yet. Regardless, you didn’t lose me. I’m here now and we’re together,” I soothe him, but he suddenly clutches me tighter, burying his face in my hair.

  “I know. But you’re wrong. Even though we hadn’t yet met, I think I would have known—somehow—that I’d always be missing something in my life, something important. My missing piece. Because you’re fucking everything to me, Abby. And I can’t bear the thought that I might do something someday that would put you in danger like that asshat, Lucas.”

  His voice is a tormented whisper against my neck. “I know I can’t keep blaming myself for what happened to Robin. The fact is that she’s gone, and we’ll never get her back. Maybe our argument had something to do with her accident. Maybe I upset her so much that she took that curve too tightly, or maybe it would have happened anyway. I’ll never know. I can only hope that if I did somehow influence it, that she’s forgiven me.”

  “It was an accident. A terrible accident. I know she has forgiven you,” I say softly, but with conviction. He looks at me suddenly, his brow furrowed with his grief.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she loved you.”

  His eyes open wide for a moment, as if the thought is almost too much for him to accept, before he swallows and gives me a shaky nod. “I swear to you that I’m not going to make those mistakes again. I’ve got every reason to shape up—my parents, Adam, Tucker, the guys, and even Parker. But you . . . You’re the best reason. Every fucking day, I’ll keep fighting. I’ll never be perfect, but I promise that I won’t let you down.”

  My spirit soars at the love and determination in his voice, but I shake my head gently and give him a soft smile. “I’m honored that you include me in that list, but you’re wrong. You, Kennedy; you’re the best reason to keep fighting. You owe it to yourself, because you’re worth it.”

  He pulls me to him fiercely, his face pressed against my neck, and I hold him securely, offering him my strength and acceptance. My heart aches with love for this incredible man, and I murmur soft assurances to him as we lay there under the broad blanket of night. When he finally raises his face, he presses his lips reverently to mine. There’s not enough light to see his tears, but I can taste their saltiness on his oh-so-soft lips.

  Our kiss intensifies, but instead of our earlier passionate fervor, this is about comfort and caring. Slowly, he pulls me on top of him and lowers me down with a tenderness that’s breathtaking. The expression on his face as he watches me move above him is full of such adoration and intense desire that it almost stops my heart. With the quilt protecting us from the now-cool air, we’re in our own little bubble under the pre-dawn sky, worshipping each other slowly with lips, hands, and hearts. Our movements are fluid and loving, but bring us to an even more poignant pinnacle.

  When we’re finally spent and lying once again in each other’s arms, I look up at him expectantly and nod toward the house. “Ready? We don’t have much time before it starts getting light.”

  He gives me a peaceful smile that tells me so much more. “Ready.”

  Kennedy

  I’VE ALWAYS SAID there are a few days in your life that define who you are. Sometimes, it’s not easy to recognize them. They start simply, mundane even with breakfast and coffee, and the grind of all the things you do on a daily basis. Then, it hits you right in the gut when you least expect it, knocking you on your ass and changing your life.

  This is one of those days.

  “Are you ready?” Abby’s hand slides down the back of my leather jacket as we stand outside the closed door in a wing of the hospital no one wants to see.

  I’ve had a lot of Skype sessions with Parker over the last couple of weeks, but being behind the safety of a computer screen is one thing. Now, he’s just beyond the light beige door, and he has no idea I’m here. His parents know, and the hospital staff; the thirty-minute briefing and subsequent sanitization of my hands took a layer of skin off, I’m sure. It’s not a complaint—it can’t be here, where children are fighting for their lives. I have zero to complain about. My life is a gift. What Cameron said at Brodie’s funeral is right. The fact that I’m still here after all the fucked up shit I’ve been through means something. I just hope Parker isn’t disappointed.

  The meeting with his parents is still fresh and raw in my mind. I know what it’s like to lose a family member. It’s a haunting, agonizing loss you never get over. But dealing with the intensity of treating this fucking disease is also brutal, and it’s obviously taken a huge toll on them.

  David, Parker’s dad, was less than enthusiastic at first when we met this morning, and I don’t blame him. He’s protective of his son, as he should be.

  Parker’s mom, Joyce, was the polar opposite. She took my hand, her eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear, her arms a vise around my neck as she crushed herself against me.

  I gave Abby a concerned glance, but quickly pulled her into a gentle hug. “Hey, no thanking me is needed. I’m glad I’m here.”

  “You got the media with you?” David had asked, clearly sizing me up. He’s only forty, but looks much older. Parker�
��s illness has had far-reaching effects. It looks like David hasn’t slept in weeks.

  “No. It’s just Abby, Tucker, my security guard, and me.”

  David looked unconvinced, but shook my offered hand. “Thought you might use this meeting for a photo opp.” His tone was clipped, tension rioting through him. I understood the skepticism. Abby and I had talked about this. Some celebrities use charity events as a PR stunt only. They don’t really give a shit about what cause they’re supporting, only that their name will be flashed for the masses to see. Any press is good press and all that.

  “There will be enough press at the concert. I wanted to meet him without all the craziness, you know?”

  David nodded, swallowing back some barely restrained emotion, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. You’re a good man, Kennedy. This whole thing, it’s been a blessing, really. Parker was . . .” His face paled, and Joyce took his hand and squeezed, providing him the strength he needed. “He wasn’t doing very well. For a while there, we just didn’t know. I mean it could still take a turn, you never know with this. But then, the foundation called, and we met with Abby, and now . . . Well, it means the world to him, and to us. I don’t think you’ll ever know what this done for us and for him. You’ve given us back our son.”

  My jaw set as I tried to hold back my own emotions. Abby attempted to prepare me for this, for meeting them. She said it would affect me, but I really hadn’t believed or understood her until now. These people, the things they said . . . It was all too much. They were treating me like some kind of hero, when the real hero is Parker. He’s the one who has survived; he’s beating the odds in the face of a disease that no one should ever have to deal with.

  “It means just as much to me. I just hope he has a good day. And that we’re able to raise a shitload of money,” I added, trying to lighten the mood.

  That earned me a laugh at least.

  “We’re up over the three million mark now,” Abby reported, steering the conversation away from the minefield we were in. “And that’s before the concert is televised. I’d say you’re well on your way.”

  Abby’s hand squeezing mine brings me back to the present, and I meet her gaze.

  “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” The nurse that’s been shepherding us around the hospital gives me a bright smile and pushes the door open, as my heart hammers inside my chest. A faint guitar strum drifts into the hallway and I smile at Abby, whispering, “He’s practicing.”

  “His mom says it’s all he wants to do when he’s not sleeping.”

  “You awake in here, Parker?” the nurse asks, stepping into the room.

  “Yep. Just playing. Kennedy says it’s important to practice.” I recognize Parker’s voice immediately, and I try to hold back a laugh, glancing at Tucker with a grin.

  “Does he? Maybe he’d like to tell you that in person,” the nurse teases.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to meet him next week.”

  “How about not waiting until then?” I push through into the room, stopping at the foot of his bed.

  Parker’s big blue eyes widen, his dry lips dropping open as he stares at me in disbelief. I’ve seen a lot of looks over the years from fans, but this? This does something to me, deep down and into my soul. “Holy sh—”

  “Don’t be picking up my bad habits now,” I warn with a laugh.

  “Is it really . . . Are you really here?” he stammers.

  “Looks that way, bud.” I shuffle forward, setting the guitar case on the floor and leaning it against the end of the bed.

  “Am I allowed to hug you?”

  The nurse smiles when I glance quickly at her. “Of course you are.” His tiny, frail body scrambles across the bed, and he practically launches himself at me, his thin arms flying around my neck. As gently as I can, I wrap my arms around him, closing my eyes as he hugs me with every ounce of the limited strength he has. I can feel the distinct outline of his spine, the clear definition of his shoulder blade.

  “It’s good to finally meet you, Park,” I manage, my voice soft and shaky as he pulls back from me.

  “You’re here!” he shouts, and I can see a spark in his eyes, like I’ve seen in our Skype sessions. It gives me hope. Despite the fact that the Redfall shirt he’s wearing is hanging off him, and he’s pale as a ghost, there’s sheer energy vibrating through him. His mood is infectious, and I marvel at the strength this eleven-year-old has in the face of a daunting disease. He’s stronger than most adults I know.

  “I sure am. Had some time off, you know?”

  “And you wanted to come here?” he asks, pulling a face.

  “I can’t think of another place I’d rather be.”

  “You’d be the only one,” he mumbles, scooting back across the bed, but keeping hold of my hand. “Oh, this is my mom and dad.”

  We go through the mock introductions, pretending like we haven’t already met as Parker looks on, beaming a smile.

  “This is Tucker.” Parker’s eyes widen as he glances over to Tucker.

  “Your security guy. Cool!” Parker looks just as excited to meet Tucker.

  “Yeah, he’s more like a brother, but he is kind of cool.” Ignoring my comment, Tucker holds his hand out and Parker shakes it.

  “Whoa. You’re really strong,” Parker comments in awe, his eyes widening as he takes in the sheer size of Tucker.

  “You’ve got a good grip there, too, Parker. Have you been working out?” Tucker grins, sitting on the bed beside him.

  “Just playing the guitar a lot. Maybe that’s making me stronger?” he asks, looking hopefully between Tucker and me.

  “I’m sure it is.” The confirmation from Tucker seems to send his enthusiasm higher. He’s practically bouncing on the bed. I try to remember what Abby said. To not focus on the equipment in the room, or his bald head effectively concealed by a Rock the Dream bandanna, but I can’t help it. At least he’s not hooked up to any of the machines. I’m taking that as a good sign.

  “Hey, Abby!” Parker’s voice cracks a bit as he finally notices her. “Want to take a walk, Kennedy?” he asks, pushing up from the bed, looking ready to take on the world.

  “Well . . .” I look to his parents and the nurse for guidance, but there’s none to be found. They seem enthralled by him, as if they’re seeing something they don’t see very often. “Only if you’re rested. Remember what I said, right? You can’t put on a concert or practice if you’re tired, and you don’t want to disappoint people. That’s one of the big rules.”

  “I’ve been in bed all day, just playing the guitar. And, Nurse Claire says I need to walk.”

  “Well, if Nurse Claire says it’s okay, then lead the way.”

  “You know how you’re always asking about what I would do if I wasn’t following your sorry ass around?” Tucker’s voice drifts to me as he spots me at the bench press in my gym at my house in Bodega Bay.

  After spending most of the morning with Parker and the some of the kids at the hospital, we reluctantly dropped Abby off at her place. I fucking hate leaving when my time with her is so limited, but we made a compromise; something I haven’t been very good at in the past.

  It’s given me time to go to another AA meeting while she spends a few hours getting caught up on foundation business. It isn’t any easier than it was the first time, but I also know it’s therapeutic. People gathering together because they want to, not because they’ve been ordered to seems to cut through the bullshit I experienced when I was in rehab. I know there’s not a magic bullet for this. It took me years to get here, it’s going to take a lifetime commitment outside of random meetings to remain sober.

  “You getting bored of me finally?” He answers my smirk with one of his own, squirting the water from the bottle at my face as I push the bar up again.

  “Every damn day, sunshine. Seriously, though, seeing Parker today, seeing all of them actually gave me an idea. There’s not a lot of physical activity going on in there.”<
br />
  My muscles complain as I push the bar up, finishing the third rep of twelve as instructed by the drill sergeant himself. “A lot of them can’t do much.”

  He nods, easily lifting the bar from me and setting it down as if it carries the weight of a feather. “Yeah, but when they can, what about a program? It could start with simple exercises in bed and progress as they get better. It can’t hurt, right?” His voice is hopeful, excited. It’s not something I hear a lot from Tucker. He’s normally so stoic, so focused. It’s refreshing to see a different side of him for a change.

  I sit up on the bench, trying to control my breathing. He’s added forty pounds today, claiming I can handle it. I’m not so sure about that. My muscles shake in agreement or protest; I’m not sure which. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “I wonder if the hospital has funding for that sort of thing?” He passes me a towel, and I wipe the sweat pouring down my face.

  “I’m not sure, but even if they don’t, you won’t need funding. I’ll help. We could put a whole proposal together. Some sort of musical/fitness treatment regime. The Lane-Pearson Program.”

  He laughs darkly, shaking his head and moving to the free weights. “You mean the Pearson-Lane Program.”

  “Silly me. What was I thinking?” Pushing up from the bench, I join him at the weights.

  “As usual, you weren’t. When are you going to realize that you’re just a pretty face, and I’m the brains behind this operation?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this view.”

  “Mmm. Me either.” Abby’s hair swirls in the wind picking up off the Pacific as she turns back to watch the surf kiss the shore. The light is fading, the sun slowly disappearing into the ocean, a vista of orange coating the sky.

  After picking her up in the Fastback this afternoon, we enjoyed the ride back, taking in the coastline views. We stopped at one of the sleepy towns along the way, picking up fresh produce from one of the local stands, and indulging in the best fish and chips you’ll find this side of London.