Damaged Hearts (Book 2, Rock Star Romance)

by McAdams, Mia

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Mia McAdams

  Cover Design: Fleur Camacho

  Editor: Write Divas

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  For more information, please contact Mia at MiaMcAdamsAuthor@gmail.com

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  To damaged hearts and those who mend them.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lyric

  “What’ll it be, Lyric?”

  This choice shouldn’t be hard. Not for me. Seven weeks ago, I stepped onto a tour bus with bad-boy rock star Wolf Chapman and did the one thing I promised myself I would never do. I fell in love. Practically zip-lined right into it. All the precautions had been there to prevent the fall: I was strapped in tight with lessons learned from past relationships, and I took off, clueless as to what would be waiting for me at the first platform. He was there, just as surprised as I was.

  It didn’t take long for him to break down my walls—as if they were his to break. It started with just a crack on the surface when he called me out for avoiding life. He saw right through me. The crack wasn’t enough, though. He proceeded to sledgehammer off a chunk of wall when he found my lyrics, which later became “Dangerous Heart,” and sang the song to a crowd of thousands, making it an instant viral sensation. What’s worse? He loved my lyrics. When he found out they were mine, he started to love me.

  Our relationship was doomed from the beginning. Both of us suffered from issues in our pasts. We’d only leave disaster in our wake. I tried to be smarter this time, tried to keep my distance, but Wolf made it impossible to stay away.

  He became persistent. Vulnerable. It took everything in me to resist him, and I failed miserably, letting my walls fall around me in defeat. While he was still a bad boy with layers upon layers of issues, he was my bad boy. And I was his Lyric.

  Forty-eight hours ago, I woke up to a social media explosion that portrayed me as an unfaithful whore. Not unfaithful to Wolf, but to the lead singer of Salvation Road, Tony, my asshole ex-boyfriend who showed up to sabotage my cloud of bliss. That one night changed everything. It painted me as a cheat because the media is clueless to the fact that I left Tony months ago after catching him fucking my best friend.

  And this . . . this is exactly why I didn’t want to date another rock star. Well, it’s one of many reasons. But this is inevitably what happens when I mind my own business and follow my heart. I get hurt. And then I hurt others.

  Wolf didn’t deserve to be hurt. He trusted me with his heart, something he never thought he’d do after losing his mother to cancer. And yet he trusted me. I walked away, but only because I was given no other choice. I was mad and angry doing it, but Wolf was too furious to see my side—why I couldn’t just give up my job for him. In the end, we failed each other. Whatever we built has been broken, and I’m not sure if it can be fixed.

  I’m sitting in the main conference room of Perform Live, the tour company I’ve worked for since I was fifteen. A panel of executives sits across the table from me, multitasking on their many forms of technology. None of them give a shit what the reality of this situation means to me. To them, I’m not a person. I’m a means to an end. Someone they deliver a paycheck to, someone who makes them look good. At the moment, they don’t look so good.

  I’ve just been handed my fate—two choices, rather—and they want my decision immediately. My anxiety is at its worst. My poor scalp has been scratched to shreds over the past two days, so badly I can feel a little sting of pain as I massage the side of my head with my fingertips. With a wince, I remove my hand and set it on the table.

  “Let’s go over the terms again.”

  I’m stalling. I know what the terms are. There are two contracts in front of me: one frees me from all contractual obligations of Wolf’s tour, but it also releases me from my employment at Perform Live; the other has me rejoining the tour but as an assistant to the tour director, Doug. It looks like he’ll have to give up the luxury of his office to take the reins from the road, making my position as road manager an obscure one. One that holds zero value in the eyes of the band or the crew. I’ll become a ride-along. A joke. It’s clearly a filler position, halfway between a groupie and a road manager because I’m no longer trusted.

  Either option is humiliating, and while I could say I did nothing to deserve this, that’s not entirely true. Wolf’s band manager, Lionel Crawley, may have been a prick with a gigantic stick up his ass, but I should have been more careful on the road. It’s not written in my contract, but mixing business with pleasure is obviously a no-no. They hired me to do a job, and that should have been my primary focus. Not falling in love with the lead singer, even if his mind and body are more addictive than chocolate-covered strawberries.

  I never stood a chance.

  “Lyric, you’re like family here at Perform Live—an asset to the company. I hope you’ll choose to stay with us.”

  Wright Stevens is normally a kind old man who has been with the company since its inception in the seventies. He’s one, like Doug, with a soft spot for me because of his past experience with my parents. It seems, though, in tense situations that put a negative spotlight on his company, his soft spot is replaced with cement. Although his words seem kind, everything about him is hard. Unforgiving. His expression, his posture, even the crease between his bushy, graying eyebrows seems to be stuck in permanent display of disappointment.

  “Our PR team is working on calming down the rumors, and all will be resolved soon. You can trust us.”

  Trust. I scoff. This coming from the company that has no qualms about letting me go if I don’t make the decision they want me to make. This is so frustrating. “But an assistant? My job wasn’t the problem. Tony was the problem.”

  Wright nods carefully, but I can see that he’s not entirely convinced. “We understand this isn’t what you were hoping for, but we certainly cannot overlook this situation now that it’s become public. Social media may die down, but your name is attached to us, and we can’t risk losing future business over this. It’s not a permanent decision. If the situation wasn’t salvageable, we wouldn’t be pushing you to go back on that tour at all. These options were presented to us by Wolf’s team: you can either stay on tour or leave without responsibility to the contract. And we agreed to them, but we had to add in our own stipulations. I hope you can understand.”

  I’m not sure which thought to focus on. Wolf is inviting me back on the tour, but the fact that he’s also giving me an out is what I dwell on. How should I take that? That he doesn’t care if I stay
or go? Or the fact that the company, even though I’ve worked here for close to a decade, is okay with letting me go because of a one-time slipup.

  Okay, so maybe I had to end my contract with Salvation Road prematurely, too. Maybe I’m not as great at my job as I thought I was. I sink into my chair, letting the shame beat down on me.

  “Can’t you just put me on another show? Or maybe I can work here in the office for a while . . .” I look around, knowing that is the worst idea ever. But I’m not sure if I have the courage to go back on that tour, assistant or not. Wolf is done with me. Eventually he’ll go back to the rock star he was before meeting me, happily noncommittal. It’s the only life he knows. I’d have to witness things I don’t have the heart to see. I’m already broken; that would end me.

  “I’m afraid not, Lyric. If you choose to leave the tour . . . then we’ll have to let you go. It would be hard to find you another gig after this, no matter who your parents are. And we all know you’re not an office worker. Your heart wouldn’t be in it.”

  While he’s speaking, the rest of the panel looks anywhere but at me—their phones, their computers, the lovely view of the bay out the window. They are totally and utterly done with me. The more I take in their actions, the more blood rushes to my head in a boil. I want nothing more than to get their attention. I let his words sink in before I speak, but I’m ready to burst. I aim for a calm rebuttal first.

  “What do my parents have to do with anything, Wright? You know I work damn hard to stand on my own two feet. I’d ask you if they’re the only reason you keep me around, but that would be bullshit. Artists beg for me to lead their tours. They throw more money at your company because of my reputation. Hell, even Tony gave me a glowing recommendation after leaving his tour.”

  He looks startled at the start of our new conflict. I almost feel bad. Almost. “Of course you work hard, Lyric. I was just pointing out that not everyone has the luxuries that you do. Your name is well-known. Other road managers work for years to get their foot in the door with artists like Wolf and still never get the opportunity you got. You might want to remember that the next time.”

  What the fuck?

  I stand, and my chair scrapes harshly across the porcelain floors. I hope I scratched something. “The next time? What do you think I did wrong, exactly? I was dating him. So what? I still did my job, and a damn good one. Is there suddenly a rule against fraternizing with the talent?” I raise my eyebrows. This is where I should stop, but of course I don’t. He lit the match; he just didn’t know he tossed it on a pile of dynamite. “What about marrying them? Wasn’t your wife one of your clients? Yet you’re telling me my career is at risk.”

  Wright stands, his chair slamming into the wall behind him. It has less distance to travel, so the impact is loud. Fury takes over his eyebrows—I guess they do move—and crimson dots his face. “Young lady, let’s not make this personal.”

  Thank God there’s a large wooden table separating us. We’d probably be spitting our words directly into each other’s faces. “You, sir, made this personal by mentioning my parents.”

  There’s a flicker in his eyes as he acknowledges that I’m right. He gives it two beats, possibly to calm down, and then lowers his voice. “I apologize, Lyric. I shouldn’t have mentioned your parents. Your reputation in the industry has been beyond reproach until this incident. When you left the Salvation Road tour, we overlooked it. Unfortunately, this situation has leaked to the public. The damage is done, and now you must make a decision. Our response to the matter is final. We approve either of the two options presented. We’ll look at your position again when your contract with Wolf is—”

  “What about Tony?” I’m fuming. Despite his apology, he’s not answering my questions. My own guilt aside, on paper, I did nothing wrong. And he knows it.

  “I’m not following,” Wright answers dryly.

  “Tony physically violated me, and Wolf stood up for me. Tony should be exposed and Wolf should be cleared of the rumors. It’s unfair to his reputation, not to mention mine.”

  Wright’s eyes shift to the rest of the panel. At some point, probably while chairs were being flung across the room, their focus moved to where it should be. This meeting. Now they all just look around at each other, baffled, as if I had no reason to bring up Tony’s name.

  “That will be up to Tony’s label to decide. We just book the tours.”

  “But I’m your employee. Have you even talked to the label?”

  “Lyric!” he shouts. “How we choose to handle this situation is our business, not yours.” The poor old man is shaking. He sucks in oxygen as though he’s been starved of it.

  My heart is hammering away as I glance back down at the papers. I’m not going to win this battle today, but the war isn’t over. No fucking way. If Perform Live isn’t going to do anything about Tony, I’ll find a way. I’ll file charges if I have to, and then it will be public knowledge with or without Wright’s consent.

  “We’ll excuse ourselves while you think about it.” Wright addresses me, but his voice might as well be bottled up behind thick glass. It’s muffled but still too close. “Would you like anything? Coffee, tea, water?” Wright’s polite tone makes me want to carve my name into the hideously expensive conference room table. The other executives are already out of their seats and heading for the door.

  “Whiskey,” I say dryly and plop back into my seat.

  Wright chuckles as if we haven’t just slung angry words back and forth. “One tall glass of whiskey coming up.”

  He’s gone before I can tell him I’m kidding, and then I’m reading the contracts again, line by line. I’m going to need that drink after all.

  “I should have just quit,” I tell Terese over drinks.

  We found a hole-in-the-wall bar in town so we could get some cheap drinks and food. Not because we need to save money. There’s just something comforting about dive bar food in dark establishments. Punishing myself with grease and booze seems like the perfect distraction from what I’m about to do.

  “You’re stronger for seeing this out. The circumstances are shitty, but you’re doing the right thing.”

  I frown. “I guess. There are only two more shows, and then I’ll have a week off to get my shit together.”

  Terese laughs and takes a swig of her beer. “You sure you don’t want to come to Florida with us?”

  I shake my head. The band will be in Miami for the week following the tour to record “Dangerous Heart” and take a short break. Derrick invited Terese since they’ve been having a ridiculous amount of phone sex, and she’s taking a week off work to be with him. Surprised the hell out of me. I knew they liked each other and had been talking casually, but this seems like a huge step for both of them.

  “Definitely not.” I shudder with my response, thinking about how awful that experience would be. Wolf has rented a large house for his band. Rumor has it it’ll be a nonstop party house. The ladies are already on alert. It’s the perfect opportunity for Wolf to return to his man-whore ways. I’m definitely not putting myself in the same house to have a front row seat for the action. No, I’ve already decided to take that week to regroup, fly to Seattle, and tie up some loose ends I left behind when I left Tony.

  “Why not? Don’t you think you two will get back together?”

  Terese is such a sweet person. She has no idea what it’s like to date a rock star like Wolf. She’s getting a taste of it with Derrick, but she’s fresh to the game. She doesn’t understand that the minute things get rocky, Derrick will have a slew of distractions and other options to dip his stick into. I’m torturing myself with these thoughts, but Wolf has probably already forgotten me with his endless supply of offerings. There’s no shortage of rock skank to go around, and they literally line up for Wolf. All he has to do is take his pick.

  “He was pissed when I left him.” I shake my head sadly.

  “Then why don’t you at least apologize? I don’t unders
tand why you’re being so stubborn.”

  “He was such a dick when I left, Terese. I gave us the night to cool off, then tried calling him—more times than I want to admit—but he must have blocked me because my messages and calls stopped going through. If he won’t even talk to me, then what kind of chance do we have?”

  “Of course he’s pissed. The real question is why aren’t you trying harder?”

  “Because . . .” I try to find the words, but I’m not completely sure why I left with so much anger like that back in L.A. It was a reaction to the situation and to our fight, sure. But fixing things with Wolf means divulging why I hold such resentment toward my parents, especially my mother. I just want my past to go away. I don’t want to explain it to anyone, but it doesn’t look like it’s going away anytime soon.

  “It’s just . . . complicated. I’ve loved the music scene my entire life, but the people closest to me always end up hurting me somehow. I should have never given myself to Wolf like that so fast. It was reckless. As much as I care about him, I can’t stray from my path again.”

  “What if he is your path?”

  I stare at her. Something tugs in my chest at her question. Words don’t come.

  “Lyric, take it from someone who wasn’t there—and you can completely ignore everything I’m saying. But as your friend, someone who is listening to you now and seeing your pain, I don’t think you should give up on Wolf. Whatever your parents and Tony did to you? Fuck them. You’re letting your past control you. Don’t give them the satisfaction. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to be loved the way Wolf loves you.”

  I swallow. Fuck. There’s a thickening in my throat and my eyes feel the pressure of an oncoming flood. Terese excuses herself to find the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  God, I miss him so much. It hurts to think about. Maybe by putting up these walls again, I’m bracing myself for the worst. But what if we can fix things? Wolf might be hurt, but I can get him to trust me again. I can make things right with him again. I have to.