Riptide (Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances Book 2)

by Michelle Mankin

  “I understand.” His face was so close I could see the darker pixels of brown in his eyes, and I knew he could see the sheen of fresh tears in mine.

  “Don’t cry, Karen. Not for me.”

  “I’m not.” I pulled in an unsteady breath. “These are happy tears. I’m relieved. You’ve been a pain in my ass. I’m glad to know I can finally have the whole damn ocean to myself again. I’m glad to be rid of you.”

  “Little liar.” He caught the first tear that spilled down my cheek. “I’ll call you every day,” he said softly.

  “You won’t. And you really don’t need to. I’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t be. You know all the band drama will drive me bat shit crazy. And Morris isn’t helping with the ridiculous deadlines he’s setting. It’s a lot to ask. It will be a lot of work to keep the lines of communication open between us, but I know you. You’re solid, steady and a true friend. You would never let someone down if they really needed you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ramon

  January 2004

  “I’m not paying for this.” I let the room service guy in. My bleary eyes narrowed when I turned back and scanned the interior of the lavishly decorated penthouse. The Dogs had finally hit it with our third album. Each song Zenith released from it had vaulted up the charts. Headliners on our own tour, we stayed in the fanciest hotels and flew to each new city on the company jet. We had VIPs offering us all kinds of expensive shit for free at the meet and greets. We had our pick of the women; one, two, three, hell, however many we wanted. And whatever we wanted them to do, they did it—eagerly. “Who ordered all the extra food and champagne?” I complained, holding my half-buttoned jeans up with one hand while draping my arm around the naked blonde with the huge rack that I had just come all over earlier.

  “Not me,” Ash replied. He laid on the leather sectional toying with the tits of the brunette on his lap. She was totally out of it, her eyes glazed and bleary. She didn’t seem to notice that though the Dirt Dogs’ drummer was fondling her, his focus was actually elsewhere.

  Linc didn’t answer when I shot an investigative glance his way. He was higher than Ash and me put together, his attention divided between the two girls putting on a show by the piano and another one he was fucking up against the wall.

  Diesel had gone to his own room hours ago. The guy was a decent bassist, but the perks of stardom seemed to be totally lost on him.

  I slapped the blonde I was already bored with on her ass, sending her away. I grabbed a couple of the flutes the wide-eyed delivery guy had somehow managed to fill with champagne and stumbled over to the sectional. Dropping down beside Ash, I offered him one of the glasses. It was only half full now. I had spilled the rest.

  “Thanks, dude.” He took a sip and dipped his gaze toward the brunette. “You want her?” He arched a platinum brow.

  “Nah.” I shook my head, drank some champagne and surveyed the room again, spent and disaffected. The more women I fucked, the more irritated I became. I didn’t like the feeling. But I didn’t dare delve too far into the reasons for my dissatisfaction. I slid out my cell, checked my text log and frowned. Karen was taking forever to reply. What was she doing? It was late, and Dominic was still overseas.

  “You alright?” Ash asked me, noting my frown after he shooed his own chick away.

  “Fantastic,” I lied. “Who do you think sent the champagne?”

  “Probably Zenith. Morris wants us happy. I think he’d rather we drink the champagne than do the other shit.”

  “You’re probably right. He give you the same warning he gave me?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded.

  “He also mentioned something about bringing in a new manager to keep us in line.” Deep down where I didn’t like to acknowledge things, like how much I missed a certain golden eyed California girl, I thought that a manager might actually be a good idea. None of us seemed capable of restraint and sometimes I worried that our dysfunction might be too deep to remedy, even for Morris with all of his power and connections.

  “Morris was pissed about the Omni.” Ash’s lips curved. “He didn’t appreciate us trashing those rooms.”

  “We didn’t trash them. We only redecorated a bit,” I clarified, forming a smile.

  His grin widened. “That thing with the stacked television sets and ice buckets was genius. I…” He trailed off as the woman with Linc started chanting his name, in the throes apparently. Sometimes, I got the idea a lot of the women just faked it. After all, most of them didn’t really give a shit about us, either. They just wanted to brag about bagging a rock star. Our lead singer groaned a moment later and pulled out. I glanced away. I wasn’t really into watching, but I wasn’t surprised to discover that Ash was still staring in his cousin’s direction. We were together nine months out of the year. There weren’t many secrets between us. We all knew Ash was a voyeur and that he swung both ways depending on his mood.

  “You ever gonna say anything to him?” I said low, watching Ash follow Linc with his gaze.

  “What?” He turned back to me, his eyes focused, and I realized he was a lot less out of it than I had assumed. “You ever gonna say anything to Karen?” he rephrased pointedly.

  I froze solid, shook my head and put my cell away. Was it really that obvious? “She’s off limits,” I managed.

  “So is he. Life ain’t fuckin fair.” Ash drained his champagne, slammed the empty on the marble coffee table top and hit me with a knowing look. “So we both settle for what’s available, right?”

  * * *

  Karen

  I was out of breath when I arrived at the pier. “Ramon,” I yelled, spotting him. He stopped in the surf, board under his arm like mine was as he turned to the sound of my voice. “Wait for me.” I splashed through the shallows and caught up to him where he stood in the waist deep water.

  “I wasn’t expecting you. With Patch home, I mean.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It seemed the same here in real life as it did in the photos and videos that had to suffice while he was away on the road.

  “He’s not interested in surfing anymore,” I explained. Not much interested in me, either. The changes Dominic had undergone in the war were etched into his psyche now. His sense of duty and honor I admired, but not his growing cynicism and emotional distance. “He went to the gym with his dad.” He wasn’t interested in sitting around and talking to me. He didn’t see the point in it. “Is it ok that I’m here? Is someone else joining you? That girl from the Deck Bar?” One of many I saw linked to him in the entertainment magazines.

  “No one’s joining me.” He frowned at me as if incredulous that I would think such a thing. Did he consider this spot ours, the way I did? “And of course I don’t mind. You just surprised me.” His gaze intently focused on mine, he reached for a strand of loose hair that the wind blew across my lips, a familiar gesture. He withdrew his hand at the last moment and glanced away. “How is Patch doing?”

  “He’s ok. But why ask me? I thought you talked to him at the bar last night?”

  “Not really. We don’t seem to have much in common anymore. He hardly said more than two words to me, surfer girl.”

  He hardly says more than that to me, either, I thought. I felt like I was a disappointment to him. The more I tried to show him how much I cared, the more I tried to tell him how much I missed him, the more he seemed to withdraw from me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I could tell that the distance between them bothered Ramon. It bothered me, too. It seemed to be a symptom of a much deeper problem with Dominic. But I didn’t share. Since that day on the beach, since that misunderstanding on my part, I was more careful with Ramon.

  “It’s not your fault. He just seems…changed.”

  “He is. I mean how can he not be, right? He doesn’t talk a lot about it.” There was his life in the military and his life in OB. He seemed to want to keep them completely separate. “But then it’s all there, all the awful stuff in the news.�
�� I could read between the lines of his infrequent emails. What he left unsaid. But when he came home, he brought the conflicts with him. He wore them like a uniform, like armor I couldn’t penetrate. It comforted him to have regimentation. Even as it pertained to our relationship. Things had to be strictly spelled out. What we could talk about. What we didn’t. He made the decisions. He had all the authority. But what put him at ease built a wall between us. He felt further away even when he was home. “A couple of suicide bombers have gotten pretty close to his base.” It was my turn to look away. I glanced at the turbulent surface of the Pacific. “I told him the extra pay isn’t worth the risk, but I don’t think he cares.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ramon did touch me this time. A strand was tucked. His fingertips skimmed the shell of my ear. His gaze was now as tempestuous as my own. “It’s not your fault,” I whispered, giving him the same absolution he had granted me a moment before. He glided his knuckles down my cheek, his thumb grazing the outer corner of my lips. My heart sped up, but I had buried that particular longing so deep I didn’t think that even Ramon with his talent for observation could ever see it. “My happiness isn’t your responsibility. And I don’t want you to worry about him, either. We’ll be ok. You have enough things going on right now.”

  “You say that a lot. That you’re always ok. I’m not sure if that’s the truth.” He turned the nose of his board to the ground and came closer, reaching for and cradling the back of my head with his hand. “If you ever need me, you know I’ll come. All you have to do is call me. You know this, right?”

  “Ramon,” I breathed. “You don’t have to say things like that.”

  “I say them because I mean them.” A wave slammed into his back. Shielding me, he took the brunt of it, though it rocked his sturdy form. “The surf’s calling.” He searched my features. “You ready?”

  I nodded, my eyes bright from Ramon’s magnanimous offer as much, or more so, than my eagerness to test the surf. My hip brushed his as I headed out. Just that innocuous contact made my breath shorten.

  “I took some major waves down in South America, surfer girl. I just might school you today.”

  “You are welcome to try,” I told him, jumping on my board.

  * * *

  “You want me to get you another one?” Dominic asked me.

  “Huh?” I tore my gaze from Ramon. He had brought a woman who looked like a Victoria’s Secret swimsuit model to the backyard barbeque at Dominic’s dad’s house. Ignoring the unsettling churn in my stomach from seeing his lips on her neck more often than his beer, I refocused on my husband.

  “Your burger,” Dominic frowned. “Is it too overdone?

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just not hungry. But thanks.” No uniform today. Board shorts instead. If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe that he was the man he had been at the beginning of our marriage. Though he wore casual clothing, there was nothing relaxed about the muscles drawn taut beneath his skin when I touched his thigh. The openness, the easy smiles, they were long gone. His shuttered gaze lifted. Sometimes, it hurt to look into his eyes, to know there was a part of him now that I could never reach. But I tried not to let on.

  “We don’t have to stay, but it will hurt your dad’s feelings and my mom’s if we leave. They worked so hard on the planning.” Feeling my gaze on her, my mother smiled at me. I framed one in return that I didn’t feel. Not because of the party. It was nice. Colored paper lanterns hung in the lush green arboretum-like backyard. Burgers and hot dogs sizzled on the grill. Ramon’s dad was there. Gonzolo, too. All the Dogs together again, even Diesel was smiling. It seemed like everyone was having a good time. Yet, tension emanated from my husband that threatened to turn the celebratory air sour.

  “I really don’t think they would mind. I go back in a couple of days. They understand we need time alone together.”

  The unease inside of me rose. My husband wasn’t the only one who would be gone soon. The Dogs would be leaving, too. One in particular. The one who checked on me constantly by phone when he was on tour, who made sure I resurfaced after every wave that took me under, and who had been discretely monitoring me here at the party. Though he was with the gorgeous blonde, he seemed quite capable of multitasking. Ramon caught my eye on him…again. He arched an inquiring brow. I ripped my gaze away.

  “Maybe we should go,” I allowed.

  “Great.” Dominic took my plate off my lap. “I’ll just say goodbye to my dad.”

  “Shouldn’t you say goodbye to the guys, too?” I noticed Ash watching us, clear blue eyes like his cousin’s narrowed with concern. “You haven’t said a thing to any of them.”

  “I don’t have anything in common with them anymore.” The crease between his brows deepened. “You sure seem chummy with them, though. I can’t believe they’re running their new material by you.”

  “We’re friends.” I cocked my head to the side. Was he jealous? Did he envy them their success? Did he ever regret walking away from the music? If he did he never let on. “I only made a couple of suggestions that turned out well on their third album. I’m just a listener. I’m certainly no expert.” I had an eclectic ear, and I wasn’t afraid to give constructive feedback which they all seemed to appreciate. “I think they’re kind of superstitious now and want to do everything exactly the same way for the next album.”

  He made a disapproving sound. “Dishonorable guys for a married woman to call her friends. Women. Drugs. They have a terrible reputation. I really don’t like you hanging around alone with them.” By them, he meant mainly Ramon. We had been circling around the edges of this particular disagreement since he arrived home. But like we had done so many times, on so many leaves before this one, we avoided thorny subjects, pretending everything was rosy between us. “People talk,” he chided.

  “What people?” I pressed. “No one has said anything to me. Don’t you mean just you?”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do you two even have in common?” He glared at the Dirt Dogs’ guitarist. “The surfing I understand. But, I mean, look at him. He’s half-drunk already, in the middle of the afternoon. And that’s the third girl I’ve seen with him this week. Drinking and screwing around, those are the only two things he’s interested in.”

  “That’s not true,” I disagreed. “And you know it. He’s loyal and caring. He is devoted to his family.” Minus his mom. “To his music. To his friends in the band. To you and me. He keeps me from going stir crazy during the months that you’re gone.” Ramon had been true to his word. He was the steady one. He kept the lines of communication open as promised. When he was on the road, he called. When he was home in OB, we surfed nearly every morning, and afterward we sat at the wall and talked. It wasn’t earthshattering stuff, certainly not gossip worthy. Yet to me it meant everything that he invested the time. That proved he cared. Why else would he do those things?

  “I guess,” Dominic allowed. “I just hoped he would grow up eventually. But I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. All the money. The fame. It gives him a pass on responsibility.” Dominic’s green gaze turned misty. “It’s not real life, though. It’s not like holding your buddy in your arms while he bleeds out. It’s not standing at attention to honor him when they put his flag draped coffin on the plane home.”

  “Dominic,” I gasped, placing my hand on his arm and squeezing the rigidly taut flesh. He never talked about the specifics of what went on during his missions, not that he went on a lot of them. As a mechanic, he usually stayed on base. “Who?”

  “Nick. He was on guard duty while I was under a hood making repairs. We took on some unexpected sniper fire.”

  “Oh Dominic! I’m so sorry.” My eyes filled. “So, so sorry.” I stood and wrapped my arms around him. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “What else is there to say?” He shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of the memory. “Talking doesn’t change anything.” His eyes turning as hard as his body, his gaze n
arrowed on the Dirt Dogs’ guitarist, the animosity apparent. “I know that you think he’s your friend, Karen. And I’m glad that he’s here for you.” His tone didn’t make it seem as though he was really grateful. He sounded more like he resented Ramon. Would he rather that I be completely alone? Completely reliant upon him and whatever scraps of himself he would throw my way? “But I can’t relate to him or the other guys anymore. So don’t expect me to pretend that I can.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ramon

  February 2004

  “Hello,” Karen said dully.

  Fucking finally, she answered her phone.

  “Hey, what’s going on? I left you a ton of messages last night that you never returned. Is everything ok?”

  “Everything’s fine. What’s going on with you?” She was deflecting. She sounded anything but fine. Damn this fucking long stretch of appearances. I was usually able to get back to OB more often between Dominic’s absences to support her.

  “We’ll get to that in a minute. Right now I want you to tell me what the fuck’s going on with you. For real. No bullshit.” My temper flared. I crushed my cell in a tight grip.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

  I’d be the judge of that. “How long have we been friends?” I asked her.

  “A long time,” she whispered. Lately, she just seemed to get quiet instead of throwing her sass at me whenever I got mad.

  “Three years. Almost four this summer,” I clarified wanting to make my point. “Did you brush me off when my dad had chest pain?”

  “No.”

  “Right. It was only heartburn but he didn’t know that, and wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken him to the ER to get it checked out. And how about when Linc got that wild hair and wanted to take the band in an experimental direction after our last album? Who listened to me blow off steam about it for a couple of hours?”