No More Yesterdays: A Rock Star Romance (Rocked in Love Book 2)

by Jessica Marlowe

  “Hey.” Jack returned to staring.

  Curt looked at her. She gave him a go on gesture as she sat on the barstool next to Jack. Curt quietly left the bar.

  Jack glanced at her. “I’m not very good company tonight.”

  “I can help.”

  A humorless laugh tore from Jack’s throat. “If only that were true.”

  The bartender came over and gave her a smile she was well acquainted with. He was definitely interested, but she wasn’t, so she kept her smile small. The bar wasn’t well stocked. “Bourbon neat.”

  Jack looked at her with raised brows.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I hadn’t pegged you as a whiskey kinda girl.”

  The bartender placed her drink on the bar. “Thanks.”

  Before she even had her wallet out, Jack laid a twenty on the bar.

  “Thank you.” On top of all his obvious qualities, he was also a gentleman. Emi was a sucker for a gentleman. No wonder she’d broken so far out of her shell with Jack. Good looks, money, talent, and charm had never swayed Emi before from her traditional views on dating, only sleeping with a guy after a respectable amount of time. But she’d been in such a horrible place after what Sully had done Nicki had feared her friend might never recover. She owed it to Emi to interfere now. But only a little. She took a sip of her drink. Gross.

  Jack hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since she’d been on the road with them. Women did more than look at him, but he gently removed their straying hands as he’d done with her. Jack was a goner for Emi. “You need patience with Emi. She’ll come around.” Jack barely glanced at her, but she could tell she’d struck a nerve.

  “I told her I’d give her all the time she needed.”

  “She told me.” Nicki swirled the bourbon around in the glass. The amber liquid appeared deeper in the low light of the bar. “You think you’re being patient, but you keep pushing her to talk. That won’t work.”

  Jack glared at her. “We’re a couple. We’re supposed to talk.”

  “Of course, but not about everything all at once.” She touched Jack’s arm. “She’s not like us, Jack. Emi has been on her own for a long time and has perfected self-sufficiency.” Nicki waited for Jack to look at her before continuing. “I believe you’re being patient for a man who’s used to women falling at his feet.” She held her hand up when he went to protest. “I know you’re not a jerk, but women do fall at your feet. Non-rock star guys have to work harder to get a girl. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Jack shrugged. “That’s not my fault.”

  “I know. But you got used to a certain time frame with previous relationships, and if you use that to measure your relationship with Emi, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.”

  Jack turned his glass but didn’t drink. “Go on.”

  “You need herculean patience.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “We are all spoiled compared to Emi. My family isn’t perfect, but I love them. I spent years wishing my mother was different. She’s not openly affectionate, but I know that she loves me even though she never supported what I wanted. She wanted me to want what she wanted for me. Like my grandmother had done to her. I resented it and was angry, so I pushed them away. Then I met Emi, and I was just grateful to have them.”

  Jack nodded.

  “You’re going to need the kind of patience Emi was forced to develop at seventeen, trapped in a hospital bed because she couldn’t walk. The kind that pushes you not to give up when you have a setback during your rehab, when all you want to do is rush back to normal.”

  Jack took a sip of his drink. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  “Emi told me you asked to read her books. Have you?”

  “I started one, but I wanted to enjoy every minute I could with her.”

  “Did she tell you how she picked her pen name?” Nicki knew Emily hadn’t. She’d never told Nicki, but Nicki had figured it out.

  “No.” Jack looked miserable.

  Nicki pushed her drink away. “You know why I call her Emi?”

  Jack continued to stare at his drink. “It’s her nickname.”

  “No. Because the one time, very early on in our friendship, I called her Em, she took my head off. Screamed at me never to call her that again.”

  Jack turned to her and sat up.

  “Know what else? No one calls her Em.” She let that sink in. “Not Vince, Eddie, or Trina, her oldest friends, not me, not her bosses, and most notably, not that fucker.” She stood. “Except you, Jack. I’ve heard you call her Em at least a dozen times. I wonder what that means?”

  Jack looked intrigued.

  “I know you don’t think she’s being open with you, but you have to understand something.”

  “What?”

  “In the two weeks you’ve known her, she’s told you more personal stuff than she shared with Sully in six months. There’s still a lot you don’t know.” As she walked past him, he turned on the barstool, and Nicki stopped in front of him. “Two things, Jack, the internet is an amazing source of information.”

  Jack nodded. “And the second thing?”

  Nicki faced him. She was wearing sneakers, so even though he was sitting, she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “If you hurt her, I’ll cut your dick off with pinking shears.” She smiled sweetly and left.

  J

  Jack ran out of the bar. When the elevator didn’t open immediately, he took the stairs. He fired up his laptop, grabbed a bottle of water, and sat at the small table. His palms were sweating and his mouth dry. He felt like he was invading Em’s privacy, but he needed answers. He opened the web browser and typed Emily’s name into the search bar.

  Dozens of results appeared. The first result announced her engagement to the fucker. He scanned down the page until he found what he was looking for. He hovered over the link. He knew he should wait until she told him, but Nicki had suggested this for a reason. She wanted him to figure something out without her having to betray Emily’s trust. He stood and paced the small room. He was a fairly big guy, but the room seemed to have shrunk in size since he’d checked in. He needed fresh air but wanted to be alone, and he’d promised Jeff he wouldn’t leave without protection. This sucked.

  He’d read just a little. Jack took a deep breath, sat, and clicked the mouse. His eyes filled with tears as he read the headline.

  Two Survivors Pulled from Burning Wreckage

  Jack sat back. God, she was just a kid. He remembered what he’d been like at seventeen: carefree and unjaded. She’d lost that in a heartbeat. Then he remembered the title of the first book she’d written. In a Heartbeat. And how she’d described the accident to him on the cab ride to The Rock House. “In the blink of an eye, my family was dead.” Jack grabbed his duffel bag and pulled out Em’s books. He’d placed a Post-it on each book to remind him of the order. Blink of an Eye was her second book.

  Jack’s stomach turned over. He laid the books on the table in order. Night & Day, Bring Me to Life, Dating 101, Surrender, Submission, Full Circle. There was a definite progression. Jack took a deep breath and read.

  Atlantic Herald

  Monty Wall

  Monday, August 7, 2006

  In the early morning hours of August 6th, Ryan and Emma Prescott were killed when their SUV was hit head-on by a drunk driver. Their two children, Riley and Emily Prescott, were pulled from the burning vehicle by Glen and Roy Kincaid, brothers returning from a fishing trip, who’d stopped to assist.

  The siblings were transported by air to Atlantic Valley Hospital. Marguerite Ogilvie, spokeswoman for the hospital, described their conditions as critical. No further details were given.

  The driver of the other vehicle, Calista Horn, sustained a concussion, fractured ribs, and a broken wrist. She was arrested at the hospital and charged with two counts of vehicular homicide and DWI. She is the wife of Dirk
Horn, Mayor of Woodrich Park in Gloucester County. Her three children were at home with their father when the accident occurred.

  Jack was glad he hadn’t drunk because he would’ve thrown up. The cold description made his skin crawl, and he broke out into a sweat. It wasn’t the first accident he’d read about, not even the first of someone he knew. A couple of musicians they’d met early on in their touring career had been killed when one had fallen asleep at the wheel driving overnight to their next venue. That had been a shock. They were young and healthy, and drugs or alcohol hadn’t been involved.

  But he was in love with Em. Reading about her, delivered in such a cold way, sent a shudder thought him. His scalp tingled, and he had trouble breathing. He wanted to punch something. The hotel didn’t have a gym, so he couldn’t work off the intense anger flooding his system. Fuck it. He picked up his phone and tapped Jeff’s number. It was almost eleven, but he didn’t care.

  Jeff answered on the second ring.

  “I’m going for a run.” Jack hung up and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. When he opened his door, Jeff waited dressed in sweatpants and a zippered jacket.

  “Let’s go,” Jeff said.

  Jack followed him down the hallway. He knew Jeff was armed, but he couldn’t see the outline of his gun anywhere.

  They ran in silence for the next hour until Jack burned off every ounce of rage. Returning to his room, he downed two bottles of water, wolfed down a protein bar, and showered. Unable to sleep, Jack grabbed his laptop and resumed his search.

  He spent the next hour reading over a dozen articles about the accident, her parents’ obituary, Riley’s death, and Em’s hospitalization. There was no mention of any other relatives. She was truly alone. Jack’s heart ached at all she’d gone through.

  Still not satisfied, he typed Calista Horn into the search bar, and a shitload of articles assaulted him. At first, he thought he typed her name wrong, but they were all about her, her husband, or the trial. Holy fuck, he’d never even considered that Em had to sit through a trial. The first few articles detailed her injuries, arrest, and bail hearing. The headline of the fourth screamed:

  Calista Horn Wants to Be Tried

  Atlantic Herald

  Monty Wall

  Tuesday October 10, 2006

  Calista Horn, responsible for the death of three people while driving intoxicated, has declined the plea offered by the Atlantic County’s District Attorney, Walter L. Herman. Ms. Horn’s attorney, William Davis, had no further comment.

  He read four more articles, detailing the Horns’ idyllic life. Since her husband was a politician, there were no shortages of publicity photos of their family or him and his wife at fundraisers or charity events. Other than having killed three people, the woman was a paragon of a wife, mother, and daughter. No one had a bad thing to say about her.

  He didn’t want to like her; she’d killed Em’s family and had almost killed Em. He clicked page two, and his heart stopped. Oh Fuck.

  Husband Abused Me Daily

  Atlantic Herald

  Monty Wall

  October 31, 2006

  In an exclusive interview, a tearful Calista Horn recounted the years of spousal abuse she suffered at the hands of her soon-to-be ex-husband, Mayor Dirk Horn.

  Rage suffused his blood when any woman was abused, but this seemed like she was making an excuse. Like getting in her car and driving drunk wasn’t her fault. He hadn’t expected to feel anything other than hatred for the woman who’d killed Em’s family and destroyed the life she’d had. But he did. Anger battled with empathy, and empathy won. Fuck.

  He skimmed the rest of the article. Mayor Dirk Horn was a complete bastard. Verbal abuse had begun shortly after their wedding and had slowly escalated to physical and psychological abuse. Calista had feared for her children. Jack hoped there was a ring in hell for a bastard like Horn.

  As he read, a numbness spread throughout his body, and his fingers and toes were cold. He took a few deep breaths trying to clear his head. His brain felt like someone with a jackhammer drilled into it. He wanted to throw his laptop across the room. A burning fury replaced the numbness. Jack jumped out of bed and dressed to go for a run. He couldn’t stay here. Fuck Jeff; he’d go alone.

  When his phone blared out “With You,” Jack froze. Shit. If Em was calling him at two in the morning, she’d had a nightmare. “Hey, baby, you okay?” He tried to keep his voice even.

  “No. Nightmare.” He could hear the tears in her voice. “Sorry I woke you.”

  He felt like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Researching her like this was selfish. He should confess, but she was already upset about her nightmare, and he didn’t want to add to it. “I’m glad you called. I wish I could be there with you.”

  She sniffled loudly into the phone. “Hold on.”

  Jack heard her blowing her nose and mumbling to herself. His anger drained away, and he slumped on the bed and waited.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She hadn’t said she wished he was there, and he reminded himself he needed to be patient.

  “Is it okay if we don’t talk about it? I know you want to know everything, but I can’t.”

  “Of course.” He adjusted the pillow and settled back against the headboard. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “I looked up your venue for tomorrow. It’s kind of small for you guys, isn’t it?”

  Jack smiled. It pleased him that she took an interest in what he did. She asked questions about their gigs and venues. “Some are even smaller. The Pavilion is in the middle. We’ve had a ton of requests from our fans to play in areas that don’t have an arena, and we wanted to use this tour to try and hit places we’ve never played.”

  “Like New Hampshire?”

  “Yeah. I kinda prefer the smaller to mid-size places. Don’t get me wrong, playing an arena that holds twenty thousand plus people is mind boggling, but the smaller places have a different energy. I don’t know how to describe it.”

  Emily chuckled. “Kind of like an orgy as compared to a one on one?”

  Jack burst out laughing. “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, an orgy, while fun if you’re into that kind of thing, seems less personal than one on one.”

  He had to stop reading the stories she’d written for him and focus on her books. He hoped that wicked sense of humor of hers shone through. “That’s it exactly. I’m grateful for our success, and playing to huge crowds has an unmatched energy, but I miss the smaller places we used to play.” He loved that she could make him laugh. “So, do your books have orgies?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Well, I haven’t gotten to them yet, because my incredibly beautiful and sexy girlfriend wrote me stories I can’t seem to put down.”

  “So, a few stories for your spank bank, and it’s my fault?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” He laughed at her fake huff of disgust. At least he hoped it was fake.

  “I’m just kidding, Jack. Please unclench. You said you’d read my books, and I know you will.”

  Whew. “So, do they?”

  “No, I don’t do orgies or multiple partners, in my books or real life, so don’t get any ideas there, rock star.”

  He laughed. She hadn’t called him rock star in a long time. She used to say it to remind him they couldn’t be together, but now it held a more playful tone. He liked it. “Never.”

  She stopped laughing. “You’ve never had a three-way?”

  Shit. He didn’t want to lie, but was she really asking? “Em…”

  “Enough said, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” She yawned into the phone. “I’m gonna try to go back to sleep.”

  “Okay, but call me if you have another one. Promise?”

  “Promise. Thanks, Jack. This helped.”

  “Love you, baby.” He quickly disconnected the call.

  He woke Saturday morning still thinkin
g about Em’s accident. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do any more research, but something nagged at him, and he found himself scanning the web for more details. This time, he entered Emily’s name and the word trial. The first result was a picture of Em being helped out of an SUV and into a wheelchair by a man and a woman. There was a house in the background, and whoever had taken the photo had to shoot around several gigantic men in full Marine dress uniforms. He clicked the link to the article.

  Atlantic Herald

  Monty Wall

  Tuesday, February 5, 2007

  Emily Prescott, the lone survivor of the horrific crash that claimed the lives of her family on August 6th of last year, returned from the first day of the trial. Her guardians, First Lt. Griffin Boyer and his wife, Ellen, attended the trial, along with several other Marines. None of the parties would agree to an interview.

  Lt. Boyer was business partners with Miss Prescott’s father, Captain Ryan Prescott. Lt. Boyer and his wife petitioned for custody after the accident.

  The Boyers’ have placed several “No Trespassing - Violators Will Be Prosecuted” signs on their property. Two reporters were arrested Friday for rummaging through their trash located in the back of the residence. Several of their neighbors have put up similar signs.

  It has been learned by this reporter that several former members under the command of Captain Prescott have donated their time to form a blockade in front of the Boyer residence. One such member, Lance Corporal Ron Gilles, was arrested for assaulting this reporter when asked for a comment. One was given but cannot be printed here.

  Judge Garrison has issued a gag order on the trial.

  Jack hurled the laptop across the room. It broke in two when it collided with the wall. Motherfucking parasites. No wonder she wanted a quiet life. If the first article was any indication, the trial had been a fucking circus. Why couldn’t they have left her alone? Jack swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He fully understood why she shied away from any spotlight.