Lost For You

by Jayne Frost

  Lost For You

  Sixth Street Bands Book Four

  Jayne Frost

  SIXTH STREET PRESS

  Copyright © 2018 by Jayne Frost

  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.

  Edited by: Patricia D. Eddy — The Novel Fixer

  Proofreading: Proofing With Style

  Cover Design: Pink Ink Designs

  Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model: Tyler Harlow

  Contents

  Join The Tour

  Prologue

  1. Taryn

  2. Chase

  3. Taryn

  4. Chase

  5. Taryn

  6. Chase

  7. Taryn

  8. Chase

  9. Taryn

  10. Chase

  11. Taryn

  12. Chase

  13. Taryn

  14. Chase

  15. Taryn

  16. Chase

  17. Taryn

  18. Taryn

  19. Chase

  20. Taryn

  21. Chase

  22. Taryn

  23. Chase

  24. Taryn

  25. Chase

  26. Taryn

  27. Chase

  28. Taryn

  29. Chase

  30. Taryn

  31. Chase

  32. Taryn

  33. Chase

  34. Taryn

  35. Chase

  36. Taryn

  37. Chase

  38. Chase

  39. Taryn

  40. Chase

  41. Taryn

  42. Chase

  43. Taryn

  44. Chase

  45. Taryn

  46. Chase

  47. Taryn

  Epilogue

  Jayne Said:

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jayne Frost

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  For Maria

  Sometimes you meet someone as weird as you are, and you just click. That’s you :)

  Prologue

  TARYN

  FIVE YEARS AGO

  A faint ringtone roused me, echoing off the walls in the loft. Indistinct. Generic. I pulled the blanket to my chin.

  Go away …

  “Phone, babe,” Beckett grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

  Groaning, I patted the nightstand, searching for the source of my annoyance. When I came up empty, I cracked one eye open and spotted my jeans next to the bed, my phone hanging out of the back pocket.

  Teetering on the edge of the mattress, I snatched up the device and issued a groggy “Hello.”

  “May I speak to Taryn Ayers?”

  The woman’s voice, all business, filtered through the hum of conversation in the background.

  As I settled against the pillows, the room spun from too much wine at dinner and too much Beckett for dessert. “This is she.”

  Beckett draped an arm around my waist, his thumb skimming my ribs. Smiling, I rolled over and brushed a thick lock of hair from his face. His lips quirked but he didn’t move.

  “Miss Ayers, this is the Travis County Sheriff’s department dispatch calling.”

  The thick fog of sleep receded, leaving me fully awake. “Who?”

  “Miss Ayers … I’m a dispatcher with the Travis County Sheriff’s Department.”

  Slowly, I rose to my elbow. “Yeah … okay. What is it?”

  Beckett’s lids fluttered open and his cobalt eyes found mine.

  “Miss Ayers, we got your name from Preferred Motor Coach. There’s been an accident outside Fredericksburg involving a tour bus. Your name was listed as the point of contact.”

  Disentangling myself from the sheet, I sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, my legs dangling over the side. “I’m sorry … an accident? What kind of accident?”

  “A semi-truck crossed the median and hit the bus at a high rate of speed. The survi … the injured parties are being transported to Brackenridge Hospital via Care Flight.”

  Beckett’s fingers brushed the base of my spine. “What is it, babe?”

  When I didn’t answer, his footfalls sounded on the hardwood. And then he was in front of me, moonlight from the floor to ceiling window framing his broad shoulders and illuminating the tips of his dark locks.

  He needs a haircut.

  Shifting my attention back to the faceless woman on the other end of the line, I cleared my throat. “But everyone’s all right, though?”

  After an eternity, she started to speak, but I couldn’t process what she said. Everything after “I’m sorry” faded to white noise. And then, like a crash of thunder, her last words exploded in my head.

  “… officers’ on the scene reported two survivors and three fatalities at the crash site.”

  In front of me, Beckett crouched, his lips moving soundlessly as a tiny fissure formed in my chest. And then something shattered deep inside and the phone slipped from my numb fingers.

  Beckett scooped up the device and began to speak, but I couldn’t hear anything but the four-word refrain echoing in my head.

  Two survivors … three fatalities.

  Beckett cupped my cheek. “Taryn …baby …”

  “Hmmm?”

  When I didn’t look up, he slid his fingers into my hair and gently tipped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Baby … you’ve got to get dressed now.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks, and I tracked a tiny rivulet with my finger. “Why?”

  Catching my hand, the crease in his brow deepened. “Why … I don’t …” Clumsy fingers circled my biceps. “Here … let me help you.”

  Wobbling to my feet, I yanked free from his hold. “Why?”

  Beckett scrubbed a hand over his face. “Babe, I don’t know why.” He snagged my jeans from the floor and shoved them at me. “Please, just get dressed. We have to go to the hospital.”

  Two survivors and three fatalities.

  A calm washed over me. Sweet relief. “It’s a mistake.”

  “Taryn—”

  “Listen to me!” Clutching his arm, my nails sank deep into his skin. “Don’t you see? Rhenn, Tori, Paige, and Miles.” Holding up a finger for every name I ticked off, I wiggled my digits. “That’s four. It’s a mistake.”

  Beckett crushed me to his chest. “Babe, it’s not a mistake. We have to go now. Please.”

  Confused, I peered up at him, the placid smile wobbling on my lips. “But I just told you …”

  Taking my face between his palms, he rested his forehead against mine, anchoring us together. “Taryn, listen to me. There were five people on the bus. You didn’t count the driver.”

  Chapter 1

  Taryn

  PRESENT DAY

  Paige used to talk about fate. She believed in that shit.

  “Everything happens for a reason,” she’d say.

  Of course, she didn’t say anything now. Except to me. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it wasn’t her. But when I talked to myself, the voice in my head that answered was hers.


  Sipping my drink, I stared out the window of the plane into the pitch-dark Texas sky.

  This is where I felt closest to Paige, in that space between heaven and earth.

  When you were careening through the air at five hundred miles per hour, defying the laws of nature, anything seemed possible. Even a conversation with your dead best friend.

  “I signed an all-girl act today,” I murmured into my next sip of vodka and cranberry.

  Light bells of laughter that I’d know anywhere echoed in my head, and then that voice. “Not as good as we were.”

  Paige’s memory always brought up the Austin Dolls, the all-girl group that Tori, Paige, and I formed before Damaged.

  I snagged a couple of pretzels from the foil packet on the tray table. “They don’t have to be good. They just have to be passable.”

  Like me.

  While Tori and Paige were born with music in their blood, I had to work for every note. And hard work only got you so far when you were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with two powerhouse talents.

  So, I’d stepped aside. It had saved everyone the awkwardness of asking me to leave. Tori had already hooked up with Rhenn, and the music they were working on … well, it was magic. Paige was the only one who protested the demise of the Dolls. She would’ve been content to play the dive bars on Sixth Street with Tori and me forever.

  Forever, as it turned out, only lasted twenty-four years. And if I had known how it was going to end, maybe I wouldn’t have slipped into the background. At least Paige and Rhenn would still be alive.

  “Quit thinking like that,” I chided myself.

  And in that moment, I had to wonder if that was the reason the voice in my head sounded like Paige. To assuage my guilt. Because if Paige forgave me, then maybe I could forgive myself.

  The fasten seat belt sign illuminated, and the captain came over the intercom to announce our descent into Austin.

  I tossed back the last of my drink. And the voice was quiet for the rest of the flight.

  My phone vibrated as the Google Alerts continued to pour in.

  A secret wedding for Beckett and Maddy?

  Beckett parties in Vegas with supermodel, but where’s Taryn?

  Beckett leaves Taryn high and dry as settlement in Damaged case looms.

  “Taryn?”

  Dazed, I looked up and found Ethan, my driver, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Huh?”

  Concern creased his brow. “Um … we’re here. Did you need me to take your bag upstairs?”

  Glancing around, I realized that we were, indeed, parked in front of Bluebonnet Towers. I’d lost a good thirty minutes scrolling through the avalanche of stories that hit my phone before we left the airport.

  “Um … no.” I shook my head. “I got it. Thanks.”

  As I moved for the door, Ethan twisted in his seat. “Listen, Taryn … I’m sure there’s nothing to any of those stories.”

  Ethan could barely look at me as he forced out the lie. He knew Beckett. What he’d become since the accident.

  Schooling my features into a practiced smile, I pushed open the door. “No worries. We’re not together. Haven’t been for a long time.”

  It was the truth. I broke up with Beckett seven months ago after he moved to Los Angeles to record the latest Leveraged album—and hooked up with Maddy Silva. The funny part? Except for the sex, nothing much had changed. I was still his manager. Still the person he trusted most in the world.

  Becks claimed Maddy was just a friend, but the photos of them in Vegas more or less blew that lie out of the water.

  Waiting on the curb for Ethan to fish my suitcase out of the trunk, I scrolled through my messages, zeroing in on the one from Beckett. Expecting one of his long-winded excuses, I stared at the two words in the little box.

  I’m sorry.

  Ethan dropped my rollaway on the pavement. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  Apparently, I needed a shit ton of help. Because I was fighting to hold myself together.

  I’m sorry.

  “No.” I smiled that fraudulent smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

  Before I broke down right in the middle of Sixth Street, I waved, spun on my heel, and headed for the glass doors.

  It wasn’t until I was tucked inside my sixth-floor loft that I allowed the first tear to fall. Sniffling, I kicked off my shoes and wandered to the kitchen for some wine.

  Propped against the counter with the glass in my hand, I finally opened Tori’s message.

  I’m up if you need to talk.

  Of course she was. The girl rarely slept. And like me, she monitored the social media coverage of the bands we managed.

  Well, some of them.

  Twin Souls, the company we’d formed after Tori had recovered from the accident that almost took her life, was now the premier management company in the business with over a hundred acts on our roster. But only three mattered. Leveraged, Revenged Theory, and Drafthouse. The bands I’d handpicked and then propelled to the top of the industry to preserve the legacy Damaged left behind.

  Reluctantly, I swiped my finger over Tori’s name.

  “He’s an asshole,” she blurted, not bothering to say hello. When I didn’t respond, she added, “You know he didn’t mean to …”

  Her thought trailed off as she grappled for words.

  Swallowing my tears, I climbed the stairs. “To what? Get photographed? He’s not cheating on me, you know?”

  “Whatever,” she grumbled. “He should be more discreet.”

  After wiggling out of my skirt, I dropped onto the unmade bed and closed my eyes. “Why? So he won’t hurt my feelings? He’s allowed to have a relationship.”

  “Relationship?” Tori scoffed. “Beckett’s never had a relationship with anyone in his life except you.”

  The invisible string that tied me to my lost love tightened around my heart, and I wondered if Beckett still felt it. “Well that’s not the case anymore.” Sighing, I rubbed my tired eyes. “You’re going to have to face facts sooner or later. We’re not getting back together.”

  “Maybe not right now,” Tori protested. “But he loves you.”

  My mouth dropped open, but instead of offering another rebuttal, I said, “I know. I love him too.”

  I brushed my thumb over the infinity tattoo on my ring finger, identical to Beckett’s. We’d gotten them when we were eighteen. The ink was faded now, with small hairline cracks. But the symbol endured. Kind of like Becks and me.

  Mollified by my confession, Tori said, “We should hang out tomorrow night. Grab some dinner and—”

  Her sentenced died when she hissed.

  Anxiety stiffened my spine, and I sat up. “What is it? Are you in pain?”

  She managed a labored breath. “No. I’m all right.”

  The strain in her voice sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over me. Digging my iPad from my tote, I flipped to my calendar and, sifting through Tori’s schedule, my heart squeezed.

  “You saw Andrews on Tuesday?”

  It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Tori snapped. “Would you like to see the report?”

  She knew I wanted to see the report. Which is the reason she waited until I was out of town to go to the doctor.

  “I’m not trying to get up in your business,” I said quietly. “I’m just, you know …”

  So many adjectives sprung to mind, I couldn’t finish the thought. The two weeks Tori had lingered in the coma after the accident had been the worst in my life. I’d already lost Paige. And now, every time Tori’s pain flared from the injuries that would never fully heal, I panicked. I couldn’t lose her too.

  “Yeah, I know,” she finally replied, her tone considerably softer. “It’s been a bad couple of days.”

  I should’ve cancelled my trip. Sent one of the junior managers traipsing across the continent.

  Glancing at the clock, I chewed my bottom lip. “You sho
uld get some sleep. Maybe take a pain pill and—”

  My heart leapt in my throat when Rhenn’s voice, crooning “Down to You,” echoed in the background. And then silence. Picturing Tori on her bedroom floor, sorting through all the old photos and memories, it broke me in places that had no bones.

  Wobbling to my feet, I grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor. “I’m coming over.”

  “No,” Tori said, emphatic. “I’m fine. I don’t want you driving all the way out here in the middle of the night.”

  For the millionth time, I cursed Rhenn and his decision to build a house on the northern shore of Lake Travis. For years I’d begged Tori to leave the place. It wasn’t even a home, more like a mausoleum. A monument to the life she’d never have.

  Stepping onto the balcony, I breathed in the humid air and leaned against the railing. On the street below, people congregated, and I could almost hear the music.

  After a long moment, Tori cleared her throat and then said softly, “I miss him so much, T. Sometimes I just want …”

  The anguish in her voice cut through the miles, and I could feel her pain so deeply it stole my breath.

  “I know, Belle. Me too.”

  Her pet name slipped out, the one Rhenn bestowed on her when we were just kids. Lost in another place, we drifted like that for a long time.

  When my lids got heavy, I went inside and crawled into bed.

  “You want me to stay on the line?” I murmured.

  Tori sighed contentedly, so I rolled onto my side, the phone still pressed to my ear. “Night, Belle.”

  Chapter 2

  Chase

  My fingers curled around the edge of my seat, thumbs digging into the marred wood. Anxiety slithered beneath my skin as I stared at the lectern in the front of the old church. Shifting my gaze to the cross behind the altar, I inclined my head, hoping for once that I’d feel … something. Not that I didn’t believe in God. But I’d never subscribed to the theory of ceding control to a higher power. At least in terms of my disease.

  Disease.

  I suppose it was. Thousands of twelve steppers couldn’t be wrong, could they? But inside, I knew what I was. An addict. Recovering. Clean. A success by any stretch of the imagination. Still, I had a hard time believing that God, or whatever higher power existed, had a hand in my sobriety.