Encore Worthy: a Mountains & Men prequel novella

by R. C. Martin

  Copyright © 2016 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Cover Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs ©2016

  www.pinkinkdesigns.com

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Also by R.C. Martin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Dedication

  To my dear friend Larisa, who helped me realize that Sage and Millie were worth more.

  I see the demons in your eyes and I want to dance

  Can’t stop the beat I hear from one haunted glance

  Take my hand, baby, don’t let go

  I’ll set you free, baby, won’t let go

  All night/One song

  This room/My home

  I’ll set you free, baby, don’t let go

  Tonight/Just give me tonight

  I DON’T BELIEVE IN love at first sight. Love is messy. It’s complicated. It’s fucking crazy. How can you tell, with just one look, that you’re staring at someone you love? How can you guess, in just one moment, that you’ll go through shit and back just to make her smile? Can you seriously guarantee, without even knowing her name, that you’re ready to take on her demons? In an instant, are you brave enough to give her yours?

  I don’t believe in love at first sight. When I saw Millicent for the first time, I wasn’t thinking about forever. I remember thinking how gorgeous she was. She looked so fucking hot in that short skirt with those long-ass legs. Then I took one look into her dark green eyes and I felt it—felt her music. She barely smiled as we were introduced, so cool and seemingly unimpressed. That’s when I knew I had to have her. For just one night, I wanted to feel her burdens, her pain, her heart; I wanted to get lost in the notes of her melody, and I wanted her to shatter as she screamed my name.

  I should have known better; should have known that one night was never going to be enough. I felt her music and it permeated through my soul. The second I walked away from her, I couldn’t deny that she had left a mark. In an instant, lyrics were pouring into my head. I pulled out my phone without hesitation, recording myself singing the words, the melody coming to me as effortlessly as if it were my next breath.

  I finished the phrase, believing that the words could be true. I pocketed the promise of a new song, thinking of how I could get my temporary muse alone and naked. She deserved a damn fine fuck for serving as my inspiration. Little did I know that she was anything but temporary; that one night would never be enough. She was worthy of more than a moment, more than a song.

  Millicent Valentine was, and will always be, encore worthy.

  I NEED A DRINK.

  Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with that woman. My mother is not a mom. She hasn’t been for a really long time. I moved away—no, ran away—after I finished high school, just so that I didn’t have to feel obligated to spend any extra time with her. Sure, Colorado is a far cry from New Jersey, and maybe the distance between us is a little dramatic, but I’m happy here. Well, I’m generally happy here. Then she calls me. Like clockwork. Every two weeks, always on a Saturday night—as if she knows I don’t have a life.

  Every conversation feels the same. She wants to know how work is going. She wants to know if I’m eating enough. Then she proceeds to bitch and moan about her own damn, miserable existence. She does it in such a way that if you were anyone other than me, you’d think she was talking about something as casual as the weather. But I am me; I’ve known the woman since birth. Listening to her talk about her life is like listening to her tell me why I owe her thirty minutes every other Saturday—because she brought me into this world and she sacrificed everything to make sure I stayed in it.

  Fuck. I need a drink.

  Sometimes, I’ll remember having a real mom. Sometimes, when I least expect it, I’ll be five years old again; I’ll picture us playing together at the beach, my father snapping our picture with one hand, his cold brew in the other. Sometimes, I’ll remember what it was like to have a family. Then, in the blink of an eye, I’m twenty-six again. Suddenly, I’m a woman who was abandoned by her father at six, a daughter who was left with a lifeless woman for a mother, and I feel just as alone as I always do.

  Talking to Natalya Valentine every two weeks is just a sad reminder of where I come from and a horrifying picture of what my life could turn into if I’m not careful.

  I take a deep breath before I insert my key and unlock the door to my apartment. I know my roommate, Sarah, is home. I saw her car in the lot on my way in. She’s been living with me for a week and I’ve already managed to alienate her. I don’t know her story. I don’t know why she moved to Fort Collins or what she does from day to day. It’s kind of hard to bond when you’re avoiding each other. It’s my fault and I know it, but I can’t figure out how to fix it.

  My last roommate, Jess, was hardly ever home. She was totally dedicated to her studies, which had her on campus all the time. I respected her immensely for her dedication. Our desire for knowledge was something we had in common. Well, just about the only thing we had in common. She also had a boyfriend, another reason she was hardly ever at home. She only brought the guy around a few times. He had shit aim when he pissed drunk and I sure as hell wasn’t cleaning up after him. She wasn’t a big fan of being on clean up duty when she was nursing her own hangover, so they made a habit of crashing elsewhere on the weekends.

  She moved out just after graduation with plans of pursuing her master’s degree. A friend of a friend told me about Sarah and it wasn’t long before my empty spare room was filled. It just so happened that I was going when she was coming, so our first meeting was pretty pathetic. Our second encounter was even worse.

  I’m a little OCD. I can’t help it—it’s in my nature. So, when I got home last Saturday and found that she had totally destroyed my kitchen and stolen my stash of chocolate chips in order to make cookies, I lost my shit. I’m not a warm and fuzzy person, but even I’ll admit that I was a total bitch. It’s entirely possible that she was baking with the hopes of sharing with me—I’ll never know.

  What I do know is that she’s not as bad as I made her out to be. I think I might have called her a thief and a sloth during my rampage, but she’s neither. She replaced all the ingredients that she used the very next day. Sarah’s also really quiet and tidy; she just gets a little messy in the middle of her process. I have to remember that not everybody’s brain works like mine and not everyone is as damaged as me. She totally seems like the warm and fuzzy type.

  Making my way down the hallway to my bedroom, I spot her in the bathroom getting ready. She looks really pretty—her long blonde waves draped down her back, her toned, voluptuous body in a short pink dress with a jean jacket. She’s finishing up her makeup, which makes her bright blue eyes pop. For just a moment, I admire her glow.

  I’ve been told I’m quite beautiful. I’ll admit that I consider myself to be an attractive person, but I most certainly do not glow.

  �
�Hey,” I say as her eyes meet mine in the mirror.

  “Hey.”

  I stop, willing myself to try and make conversation. It’s the least I can do, considering the way I’ve treated her thus far. “You going somewhere?”

  “Yeah. Josh, Aria and I are going to The Brew Cycle. There’s a band playing tonight that I wanted to check out.”

  “Oh. Cool.” I nod, already unsure of where I could possibly go with this conversation.

  It’s not that I’m completely inept when it comes to talking to people, but I spend a lot of time in my head. In an instant, I know this conversation can only go one of two ways. Either I make a comment about her plans, which might come across as a desperate desire to receive an invitation; or, I inform her that I plan on staying in and drinking a bottle of wine while I reread Anna Karenina for the billionth time.

  And if that doesn’t sound pitiful, I don’t know what does.

  Deciding to quit while I’m ahead, I don’t say anything more as I turn to continue my journey to my room. I don’t get two steps before she’s speaking again.

  “Do you want to come?”

  I stare at her for second, taken aback by her invitation. I wasn’t expecting this chain of events at all. I don’t go out much. Every once in a while I’ll get together with a few of the professors that I work with and we’ll get drinks. It’s as close as I’ve ever been to a clique. I don’t have a group of friends that I spend a lot of time with. My work is important to me and it’s easy for me to get lost in it. That, or a good piece of literature—which totally makes me sound like the loser my mother thinks I am.

  Honestly, what mother calls her daughter on a Saturday night?

  God dammit—I need a drink.

  Sarah lifts her eyebrows at me in question and it’s decided. “I can be ready in ten minutes.”

  “Perfect. We’re leaving in fifteen.”

  “WHERE THE HELL is Keith?” I mutter as we finish our set up. We go on in less than twenty minutes and the son of a bitch still hasn’t shown up yet.

  “He’ll be here. Calm down, Sage,” mumbles JJ, his attention glued to his Macbook.

  “JJ is right,” says Maddox, clapping a hand on my back. “Keith’s just being a dick because he didn’t get his way at rehearsal last night. He’ll show.”

  I shake my head as I look around the stage at the rest of the guys. Derrick, on his throne behind his drum set, shrugs without a word. Knox props up his guitar and then looks out over tonight’s crowd. He grimaces at me before he jerks his chin, signaling for me to look over my shoulder. Keith is strolling in with his bass guitar and some chick draped all over him.

  Fuck.

  “I need a drink. Do me a favor, make sure he’s got his shit together,” I grumble before exiting the stage.

  I don’t know what Keith’s problem is lately, but he needs to get a fucking grip. Now is not the time for playing games. We’re finally getting somewhere with the band; our hard work is going to pay off. I can feel it. We sound better now than we ever have before.

  Mountains & Men started like all the greats do—in a garage. There weren’t always so many of us and we’ve seen a few guys come and go along the way. Maddox and Knox have been with me since the beginning. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Their family moved into my neighborhood when I was twelve. Maddox was thirteen and Knox was fifteen. I don’t know how I managed to score an in with the Bradley Boys—maybe they took pity on me, as I had two sisters and no brother to boast of—whatever the case may be, we’ve been almost inseparable ever since.

  Even though I’m the youngest in the group, Mountains & Men has always been my baby and I’m the voice that drives our sound. We all have our role to play and I’m their leader. I’ve earned the damn title and the guys respect that.

  Most of them, anyway.

  Keith is really starting to be a pain in my ass. I put up with his shit because we can’t afford to lose him. I swear, our bass slot is cursed. We’ve been through three bass guitarists since our conception. It’s fucking ridiculous. Keith has managed to stick around for a while—but he better get his act together before he pushes me too far.

  I make my way to the bar, avoiding Keith along the way. I take a deep breath and admire the crowd instead. We’re the opening band tonight. It’s not the best slot, but we were requested by name when the band who was supposed to perform backed out. We’ll never turn down an opportunity to play.

  The Brew Cycle is one of our regular gigs. Derrick made sure of that. It’s a pretty cool spot, right on the edge of Old Town—just blocks away from campus and all the nightlife that’s always buzzing with people in this town. The venue itself is classic Fort Collins—bikes and beer paraphernalia all over the place. While the dream is to play at venues far greater than this, I’ll never take nights like this for granted. I love this place.

  I order a beer, as I always stay away from the hard stuff before I go on. I don’t perform drunk or high or any of that shit. For me, it’s all about the music, the energy, the crowd—I don’t need anything other than the thrill I get just from being on stage, and I’ll never compromise my sound. Most of the guys don’t perform drunk, either. They may have a few drinks—and I sure as hell won’t stop them; I’m not their fucking mother—but we all know our limits and we don’t play sloppy. We play hard and then we party hard.

  “Hey, Rockstar.” I hear her voice just as she taps my shoulder.

  I turn, unabashedly happy to see her face. “Sarah! You made it,” I cry as I pull her in for a hug.

  I live and breathe Mountains & Men. It’s who I am. That said, it doesn’t pay the bills just yet. By day, I work a part time gig at Little Bird Cafe, also recently named Home of Brandon’s Bakery—that’s how I met Sarah. She’s new, been around for about a week now. It didn’t take long for me to decide she’s one sweet-ass chick. Case in point, she came to see us play tonight.

  I step back, curling my fingers beneath hers as I lift her arm and give her a proper once over. I’ve seen the way my boss, Brandon, looks at her. She’s most certainly off limits, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t look.

  “Damn, babe. Remind me not to introduce you to the guys. Their girlfriends would kill me,” I tease.

  Truth be told, only two of us have girlfriends. Maddox has Andrea. Well, today, at least. They break up about once a week, so they really don’t count. Then there’s JJ; his woman’s name is Violet. I swear he’s going to marry that girl. The rest of us are just a bunch of single fools playing the field. Knox is the worst. He’s about one notch away from being a fucking man-whore.

  Sarah laughs at me, shaking her head as she lets go of my hand. “I brought friends,” she says, turning her attention over her shoulder. “These are my neighbors, Aria, and her boyfriend, Josh.” I shake both of their hands and thank them for coming.

  Then all I see is her.

  Her long legs, tucked into that tight, frayed jean skirt.

  Her narrow hips, begging to be guided in a side to side sway.

  Her perfect tits, smaller than average and perfect for biting.

  Her straight hair, hanging past her shoulders.

  Her sweetheart lips, just plump enough to suck on.

  Her eyes, green and gorgeous.

  Her eyes, haunted and mysterious.

  There are demons in those eyes . . .

  “ . . . my roommate, Millie.” I nod, hearing only the end of Sarah’s introduction.

  “Hi,” speaks the vision before me. A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, pleased to know that the name Sarah just spoke into my ear belongs to this woman.

  I can tell as I take her hand that she’s completely unfazed by me, but that will change. I see the demons in her eyes and I know we’ll dance.

  My smirk morphs into a smile at her cool touch. She’s not convinced, but I am.

  Fuck, yes—a challenge.

  When I let her go, I feel her melody start to swirl around in my head. My heart rate kicks up a notch, the thrill of t
his chase—of this composition—amping me up. I don’t hear the overhead music, I don’t hear the hum of the crowd, I hear her—I hear Millie.

  I will myself to look away, knowing I’ve got to get back to the guys. Before I go, I bring my lips to Sarah’s ear. “Your roommate is a fox. Put in a good word for me, alright?” I grin at her as I begin to back my way through the crowd. I look at Millie one last time before I turn my back on them, pulling out my phone as I go. I’ve got to get this out . . .

  I hit record and the words tumble from my lips.

  I see the demons in your eyes and I want to dance

  Can’t stop the beat I hear from one haunted glance

  Take my hand, baby, don’t let go

  I’ll set you free, baby, won’t let go

  All night/One song

  This room/My home

  I’ll set you free, baby, don’t let go

  Tonight/Just give me tonight

  “I thought you were going to get a beer?” asks Knox as he jumps from the side of the stage upon my approach. I shake my head and chuckle, pocketing my phone. “What the hell happened to you? Ten minutes ago, you looked about ready to make heads roll,” he mutters with a frown.

  “I’m getting laid tonight, bro,” I state boldly.

  His face breaks out into a grin as he laughs. “Why am I not surprised? Point her out to me later and maybe I’ll be nice and keep my distance,” he adds with a wink. “Come on, the guys are waiting on us.”

  GOD, HE’S FUCKING sexy as sin!

  As I wiggle my hips in time to the beat of the music, I close my eyes and run my fingers through my hair, desperate for touch as the sound of his voice washes over me. I love to dance, love to move my body in ways that are inexcusable anywhere else—except the bedroom. It makes me feel sexy, beautiful, and desirable, like every woman should feel. But dancing to the cadence of his voice?

  He’s an arrogant little shit, I just know it. I saw it in his eyes when we were introduced—those icy blue eyes, framed in those horn-rimmed glasses. Who the fuck looks sexy in those things? He does, and he knows it. I felt it in his touch when he squeezed my hand. I saw it in that cocky smirk that tugged at those lickable lips.