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

by Michelle Mankin

  On that thought, I started rifling through the rumpled sheets on my bed, found my jeans and fished into the front pocket. Phone in hand, I punched in the number I knew by heart.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, surfer girl. You said for me to call if I want to. Well, I want to now, if that’s ok?”

  “Alright,” she said after an extended breath.

  I would go first, catch her up on some things, hopefully then maybe she would open up her heart to me again.

  Eventually.

  “Gonzolo’s divorcing Maria. The Martinez men suck at relationships, but I think you probably figured that out by now.” I raked a hand through my hair, wishing she were actually in the room with me and not just on the other end of the phone. “Not that the divorce itself wasn’t the right thing to do. It’s only that it’s going to be hell for my three-year-old niece. I’m an uncle now. I didn’t know if you had heard. Luna is the one right thing in my messed-up family.”

  “I took baby clothes over to your dad’s when she was born,” she said softly. “And I don’t agree with your statement. I think there are a lot of good things about your family.”

  “Yeah, well, anyway…” I proceeded to tell her about my niece, about how much I loved that little girl and everything else that had happened in the last three years, making sure not to leave out any of the painful details about me. She probably thought she had seen me at my lowest point. I wanted her to understand that the reality of my life without her had been so much worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Karen

  April 2008

  “Hey,” I said into my cell, balancing it between my shoulder and ear while I unlocked the door to my apartment on the twentieth floor. It was Ramon. I knew before I even looked because I had programmed one of his guitar solos in as his ringtone. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, but what’s going on with you? You sound out of breath. I didn’t interrupt anything of a personal nature, did I?”

  “Not unless you call carrying a laptop, a purse and the two sacks of groceries I need to get me through the next two days something of a personal nature.”

  “You bringing your work home again? You did that the last weekend, too.”

  “Yeah. I have to.” I dropped my keys in the dish, shut the door using my hip, set my messenger bag that held my laptop on the chair, and put the sacks on the counter in the amount of time it had taken him to ask the one question and me to answer it. I’d had lots of practice being efficient since moving to the city.

  “Dominic off doing weekend training again?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but this one’s actually for an entire week.” I transferred my cell to the other ear and began unloading groceries with my right hand. I had lots of microwave meals that I needed to get into the freezer.

  “You work too hard, surfer girl.”

  A wistful pang pierced my heart. “Surfer in name only,” I corrected. I was a land bound city girl now surrounded by claustrophobic concrete and buildings that blocked out the sun. I longed to fill my eyes with the wide-open view of the ocean and my ears with the soothing roar of the surf. “Not much else to do but work,” I groused, frowning at the stack of Lean Cuisine boxes before closing the freezer door. “I miss your dad’s cooking, too.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so. I’m calling him right after I talk to you, and then Gonzolo. I wanted to check in with everybody on the other side of the world before things get too hectic over here.”

  “You still in London?”

  “No, we did Wembley last night. We’re in Ireland now. We’re doing a set at a three-day festival.”

  “Cool. Is it as green as they say?” I slammed the freezer closed and flipped off my high heels pumps, leaving them where they landed in the middle of the kitchen floor. If Dominic were home, he would fuss. Since joining the military, he was all about everything being put away in its proper place. I shied away from the thought of my husband including me on that same list.

  Four short strides brought me to the small couch by the window. I collapsed onto it bringing my feet up on the cushions, drawing my knees to my chest and staring up past the rooftops to the open sky I could see through the break in the buildings.

  “Don’t know yet. We landed in the wee hours of the morning, lass.” He faked a terrible brogue. “We went straight from the after show meet and greet in London to the private jet to the hotel here.”

  “Text me some pictures.”

  “Will do. Why don’t you text me some, too. Of you. I bet you’ve already stripped off those confining work clothes and are already lounging on the couch in sexy lingerie staring at the sky and wishing you were in OB right now.”

  He had most of that right. It was uncanny the way he knew me and my routine, but then we talked nearly once every week, even if it was only just to say hi.

  “No stripping going on unless taking off my shoes counts. But you’re right about me missing home.” That was a longing that never left me. I released the curtain, set my feet back on the floor and glanced around at the efficiency apartment that was actually large by Manhattan standards. Even so, the walls felt as though they were closing in on me most of the time. My claustrophobia was most pronounced during my morning commute. When I was on the subway several stories below ground smashed together with everyone else, I often had to close my eyes and pretend I was out on the ocean to control my panic. But experience had taught me that the feeling would subside. I was usually calm by the time I sat down at my cubicle at work, and once there my job kept me busy.

  Mostly.

  “Enough about me and my boring life,” I forced brightness into my tone. “What’s on your agenda for the day?”

  “Not much till noon. You know how it is. Diesel and I will have to try to get Linc and Ash up and functional for the day.”

  “I thought they were doing better this time around.”

  “Um-no. They are actually much worse. Ash starts the day with a bottle of vodka for breakfast, Linc with a handful of who knows what kind of pills. It only goes downhill from there.”

  “But your shows are getting such positive reviews.”

  “You stalking me through the media?”

  “A little, I guess.” My cheeks heated. “I was part of all that chaos once way back in the day. The Dogs are forever an OB band to me. It makes me proud when you do well.”

  “When you’re right in the middle of all this craziness it doesn’t feel like there’s anything to be proud of. It’s more like just survive day to day and cross your fingers as you move from one crisis to the next.”

  I’m sorry.” That sounded like my life only without the excitement.”

  “Not your fault, in fact it was much better when you were on tour with us.”

  “Yeah, no one plays the bass like Dominic.”

  “I’m not talking about him.”

  “You trying to sweet talk me, Romeo? I seem to remember you calling me a mother hen and a pain in your ass on more than one occasion.”

  “Nothing motherly about you. I just said that to get you angry. You’re pretty all the time, but when you get worked up you’re fucking sexy as hell.”

  That was an eye-opening bit of information that I wished he really believed was true.

  “But maybe you’re right. Maybe I am trying to butter you up. We have a couple of days after the festival before we have to head to Scotland. Since you’re all alone and just said you’ve got nothing to do, I was thinking maybe you could join us for a couple of days. The flight from JFK to Dublin is only five hours. The guys would all love to see you. It would be like old times.”

  Dominic would never go for that. But I didn’t tell him how my husband felt about Ramon and me being friends again. I gave him a partial truth instead. “That’s an expensive flight.” I made a good salary but living expenses were high in Manhattan.

  “I didn’t mean for you to pay your way. I invited you. I’ll have our manager call the airlines and book you first class. The
re’s even surfing on the west coast of Ireland around Donegal. I’m dying to check it out. Don’t overthink it. Say yes.”

  * * *

  Ramon

  I stood beside the window in my hotel room an ocean away from her, crushing the satin curtain in my hand, holding my breath and waiting for her answer.

  “I can’t,” she said, sounding genuinely regretful, like maybe she wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see her. A guy had to have dreams. “Don’t send me pictures of the beach. It’ll hurt too much. But thank you for asking.”

  “I shouldn’t have mentioned the surfing. That was selfish manipulation on my part to try to entice you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s ok.”

  “Are you going home to visit OB anytime soon?”

  “Christmas.”

  “That’s eight months away.”

  “Yeah I know. Tell me about it.” She sighed. “I better let you go. I have a mountain of dull paperwork to complete and you have a lot of other calls to make. Tell everyone hello from me.”

  She clicked off after my assurance that I would. The static filled void on the line echoed the yawning disappointment inside of me. I released the curtain and turned away from the window. The view of St. Stephen’s Green barely tempted me to go outside and explore it. I had come to realize too late that the pleasures my life afforded me were only half what they could be without someone to share them…without her.

  Sighing, I took a seat in the wingback chair, opened the photo library in my phone and scrolled through the pictures of Karen. The few I had were years out of date. Though I had been through New York and had dinner with her and Patch a couple of times, I knew better than to snap pictures of her. Since the surf shop purchase and the rumors that had accompanied it, an unspoken mistrust lingered between Karen’s husband and me. Besides, the three of us together in a photo wasn’t the way I wanted to think of her. Especially not with Patch’s proprietary arm around her. Once I had believed that he deserved her. No more.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back in the chair. It wasn’t fun anymore. The tour. The travel. The nonstop stress with Linc and Ash being so out of control.

  And the women.

  Well, they were never who I wanted them to be.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Karen

  September 2009

  “Why Dominic?” I put my hands on my hips. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking before now?” Clad in his familiar desert fatigues, his gear bag already packed and on the floor waiting for him, he stood ready to leave me yet again. Everything about his untimely announcement was awful. It was Friday. I was exhausted from work, and I had a terrible pounding headache. “You should have given me a chance to let it sink in, so I could prepare myself at least.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would react just like this.” He gave me that condescending look. The one I loathed. The one that snapped my spine straight and made me instantly defensive. I sometimes thought that he didn’t see me anymore, that he didn’t see the changes his eight long years in the service had wrought in me. That he looked at me and saw the naïve twenty-year-old girl he had left behind that first time. Maybe he wanted me to always remain that way.

  “Like how exactly? I’ve supported nearly every single decision you’ve made. I compromise all of the time. I left my support network, my family, and OB behind when I came out here to New York. All for you.”

  “Not just for me. You’re a star at Roxy. You love the traveling and marketing and all of the attention. No one has moved up the corporate ladder faster than you have. I’ve sat at the expensive dinners and watched those execs fawning over you. They’re going to make you a senior VP soon.”

  He seemed to resent my successful career. Why couldn’t he take pride in my accomplishments instead?

  Seeing him only on weekends, sometimes not even then when he was working on some special side project at Fort Drum, or when I was traveling for Roxy, I had little else to occupy my time besides my job.

  “Work is good. Challenging. It keeps me busy. But Dominic, what about us? Did you consider me at all when you made the decision to reenlist and sign on for another extended overseas tour?”

  “Of course I did. You are the sole reason I took the commission. You know we have to make sacrifices to advance in the military.”

  I knew, but sometimes it felt to me like he expected me to rubber stamp every unilateral decision he made. Like our marriage should operate the way things did within his unit. Clear chain of command. Don’t question orders. Appreciation and love felt like an afterthought. I didn’t know how to cross the growing rift between us, one that would be impossible to traverse now that he would be away for six month cycles again. I tried to appeal to his analytical side.

  “You know I want you to succeed. You know you are my priority.”

  “Do I?” His eyes narrowed. “You seem awfully focused on yourself lately. That is when you aren’t on the phone talking to Ramon.”

  “I could care less about the VP position for myself. I want the higher income for us. One of your primary motivations for signing up for these tours seems to be the extra pay.” From the expression on his face, I knew that my guess was true. “As for Ramon, he is a friend. That’s where it stops. We’ve had this conversation about him many times before. You know I’m not the type of woman who would interest him.”

  The spread ‘em, kneel and play for him type.

  “Maybe. But how do you think I feel when I see all of the gossip about my wife and the mega rich rock star played out in the media? I had hoped the speculation would end when you sold the shop and we moved out here. But it hasn’t.”

  “That’s not because any of it is true. It’s only because he’s such a big celebrity now. I don’t hide anything from you. My friendship with him is totally transparent. Most of the time when he calls, or I call him, you are sitting on the couch right beside me.” The lines of communication had been reopened between me and the Dog’s guitarist since that day in his Malibu home. He had proven himself a supportive friend. He had cleaned up his act with the drugs, too, from what I could tell. He was never impaired when I talked to him, or on the rare occasion when the band had a show in the city and the three of us met up for dinner, but he was by no means reformed. He had simply exchanged one vice for another. Women. He seemed to always be with a new one, but never long enough for me to learn their names. Or ask. Or care.

  “You are the basis for our friendship,” I reminded my husband. “Our families and OB are practically all we talk about.”

  “I know.” His gaze softened. Finally. “I’m sorry. I trust you, baby. I couldn’t leave you alone like I do if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have been able to accomplish half the things I have if it weren’t for your support. I love you, Karen.”

  “I love you,” I replied automatically and I meant it, but I would have been lying if I said I loved him the same way I had at the beginning of our marriage. It seemed that in a lot of ways a sense of duty was paramount for both of us.

  Yet, he had all of me, all that was left anyway, minus the dreams, family and Southern California shores, I had left behind for him.

  But now, I wondered how much of him I had anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ramon

  “Chica, we are done here.” I slapped the fake blonde on her scrawny naked ass, an ass I had thought was passable before I had fucked her.

  “But I want to meet Linc.” Her bright red lips formed a pout. Not a single smudge. I never kissed them anymore. I fucked ‘em sure, but I had to have them turn away from me.

  “Talk to my manager. He’ll take care of it. Now beat it.” I had to be a ruthless asshole or they started mentally measuring us for wedding bands. I gave her the imperious lifted brow and watched her scurry to retrieve her scattered clothes. All I had to do was refasten my jeans. I hadn’t really been interested to begin with, less so when she pulled out a pen and paper and tried to hand them both back
to me during the act, reminding me that she wasn’t who I had been pretending she was with my eyes closed. Everyone was a bigger disappointment, every encounter ended up being just another regret.

  The door clicked closed.

  But I’d heard the escalating roar of the crowd. The stomping of their feet reverberated through the cinderblock walls. Like me, the opening band had shot their wad. It was only minutes until the Dogs went on. I moved to the brightly framed makeup mirror and looked at myself, giving my reflection the same disapproving glare I had given the groupie on her way out.

  “Pull yourself together, Martinez.” I snagged a handful of guitar pics from the bar and slid them into my jeans pocket. I had a ninety-minute performance to get through, longer if we had three encores like we’d had the previous night. But you never knew with New Yorkers at The Garden. One night you might rock it out, the next they could decide you were yesterday’s news. You had to earn their approval every time.

  But that wasn’t why I needed to give myself the pep talk, or why I’d let the groupie in to try to take the edge off.

  Karen was coming to the show, without her husband. Patch had taken off again on another extended tour without considering how she felt about it. She had been in tears when she had called me. She had tried to back out of coming to the show because he wouldn’t be there with her and wouldn’t like her spending time with me alone.

  “Fuck that,” I had told her, one of the few times I had spoken out against St. Dominic. “You deserve a night out. You’re one of my best friends. I need to see you. We’ve been planning to get together for months. The last thing you need to do when you’re feeling depressed is to be alone in your apartment. Come,” I had cajoled. “We can hang out with Ash and Linc the whole time if that will make you feel better.” I hadn’t mentioned that they would be so wasted they wouldn’t really be effective chaperones.