Drop Beat (The Heartbeat Series Book 2)

by Ryleigh Sloan

  I accept.

  He comes into view. He’s not wearing a shirt, and as always I feel my breath catch at how gorgeous he is. His room is dim except for the pale blue flickering of what I can only assume is the TV illuminating his face. I didn’t notice a TV when I was there, so I’m guessing it was hidden behind the panel wall. He’s leaning against his headboard, and I realize it’s late.

  “Can’t say I’m not disappointed you aren’t in the lingerie I bought you, but ice cream flannels make me just as hot. Hmmm, just thinking about how I could lick you all over…”

  Shit a brick! I forgot I was wearing my pj’s.

  “Ha-ha, very funny. I called to say thank you for the cupcakes. You do know you bought them from my competitor.”

  “Competitor?” He looks confused, and I don’t blame him.

  “Well, she’s not exactly my competitor, but she is the town baker and because of her I can’t start my own bakery.” I’m rambling and not making any sense, but I’m deflecting from my pj fail.

  Keller leans forward. “Yeah? You’d like to open up your own bakery someday?”

  “More like a coffee shop where I sell my pastries etcetera. I think it would be cool.”

  “What would you call it?”

  Is this really happening? How am I living in a world where a famous drummer is interested in my little life?

  “That’s a good question. I haven’t thought about it yet. I kind of always figured I’d name the shop once the final touches were in place and it ‘spoke’ to me.”

  I feel a blush stain my cheeks. This guy is definitely going to think I’m bonkers for talking this way.

  But instead of Keller’s snort of laughter like I was expecting, he nods. “Makes sense. It’s kinda like that when I work on a song with Kade. The title only becomes apparent when we’re done.”

  Resting his phone on his knees, he stretches over to his bedside table and pulls out a drumstick. Leaning back against the pillow again, one arm tucked behind his head, he absentmindedly twirls the drumstick around his fingers.

  “If you couldn’t be a drummer, what would you do for a living?”

  Something flashes across his face so fleetingly that I don’t have time to figure the emotion out.

  “I don’t ever want to think about that. It’s literally all I live for.”

  “Wow, that got dark fast.”

  He quirks a smile. “It did, didn’t it? How about if I told you I studied sports physiotherapy?”

  I can’t help the snort that leaves me. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” He draws out the word as if it’s a question. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  I think about it. “Well, I guess not. I just figured you’d do something more…” Man, he does look good twirling that stick.

  “More?”

  I pick at invisible lint on my pj’s. “I dunno, I figured you’d do something in engineering or that kind of thing. Bulky work.”

  “Bulky work? Maddie, are you sexist?”

  The light blush turns flaming. “No, I…uh, it’s just with your muscles…”

  Keller bursts out laughing. “Fuck, I miss you.”

  I’m stuck for words. I mean, I should be doing cartwheels right now, but I still don’t know where I stand, and the last thing I need is to come across as needy. So I deflect.

  “So, you keep sticks in your bedside table? I would’ve thought it would be jammed full of condoms.”

  Keller smirks. “Well, it is.”

  “Yeah? You haven’t run out yet?”

  “I haven’t fucked anyone since you, Maddie.”

  Holy fucking shitballs. My tummy flips as I wonder if maybe he’s starting to feel as hung up on me as I am on him.

  “Yeah? You strike out?”

  Although I’m teasing him, I hold my breath as I wait for his answer.

  “Just no time. We’ve been working on a new song, and we have a music video coming up in a few weeks that we’re hashing the video concept out for.”

  And there goes my stomach, plummeting my hopes to an untimely death. I feel like I should get off the phone so I can go lick my wounds and beat my head with a mallet until I remember I signed up for this, but I don’t want him to know I’m upset, so I change the subject. “Tell me something about you I don’t know.”

  “Like what?” He smiles.

  “Tell me about your family.”

  “My family?” He scratches his lip with his drumstick and continues twirling it while thinking. It’s really distracting and does the trick. “Well, right now I’m thinking of disowning my family.”

  I laugh. “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t think you want to know this story.”

  “Now I definitely have to know.” I grab a pillow, propping my phone against it, and lie down on my stomach, resting my chin in my hands.

  He proceeds to tell me how he was watching his nephews and there was a glitter ball incident. When he gets to the part where he had to fish poo out of the tub, the tears of laughter are rolling down my face.

  “Oh my God I would pay big money to see that.” I wipe my eyes.

  “Well, don’t bank on it. From now on, I’ll be preapproving the toys.”

  We laugh and I feel so much better. Like the wound isn’t so deep now.

  “Tell me something about you. What would you do if you couldn’t bake?”

  “I’d open a garage.”

  “You mean like an auto shop?” His brows draw together.

  “Yes.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah? You like fixing cars?”

  “Are you sexist, Mr. Cannon?” I shoot his own line back at him.

  He chuckles. “No, you just never cease to surprise me, that’s all.”

  His smile is full of pride, and I wish I could just go with the flow with these things instead of overthinking it to death.

  Keller stifles a yawn.

  “Shit, you’re tired. I should probably let you go.”

  “It was good chatting with you, Maddie.”

  “Good night, Keller.”

  Sixteen – Demons

  Keller

  “The fuck!”

  Shannon jumps back, removing her hand that was just trailing lazy circles on Bronson’s arm as tears glisten in her eyes. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that she wanted me to catch her at this exact moment. Shannon won’t cheat on me, this much I’m sure of, but she has been playing games with me lately because as she puts it, I’m not giving her enough attention.

  I know I’m not. And I feel like a dick for it. I finally got a job that may lead to some doors opening. Playing drums in a band has been my dream since I could beat two sticks on a tin can, so when this job came up, I grabbed it with both hands. I didn’t realize then that it would mean having zero time for Shannon between school and traveling to set things up behind the scenes for numerous gigs. That’s why I brought her along tonight. I figured if we could spend a little time together and she sees what I do, things might be a little easier on the both of us. She might even be able to get a dancing gig too, and we’d get more time together. I guess I was wrong.

  “Keller, this isn’t what it looks like.”

  No, sweetheart, this is exactly what it looks like. You’re trying to make me jealous. I reach for Shannon’s arm. “We’re out of here.”

  She jerks her arm free and takes a few stumbling steps back.

  “Oh, so now I’m good enough. Now that someone else is interested, suddenly you want to be too?”

  Fuck!

  “I told you I’d be back in ten minutes.”

  “I’m tired of waiting around for you, Kel.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. I’m trying not to get pissed because she’s got a point, but goddammit, we’ve had this fight more times than I can count lately, and it’s getting tired fast. So is this little jealousy ploy she’s pulling.

  I flick my gaze over to Bronson, who’s leaning against my truck with his arms folded, the smirk on his
face signaling his enjoyment.

  “Can I help you?” I spit through gritted teeth.

  “Nah, I’m just waiting around to see if I can help your girl out. She looks like she could do with some ‘needs’ taken care of.”

  The temper I’ve been holding on to snaps, and blood races to my extremities and up my neck. I try to fucking count, and sing in my head, and do anything to calm the rage, but then Shannon takes a step into the douchebag’s arms and I fucking lose it.

  I rip Bronson away from Shannon as I pull my fist back and wind the fucker straight on the jaw. He goes down hard, and Shannon turns away, covering her face as she screams. Now I’m really fucking pissed. Pissed that she got to me, pissed that she pushed me too far. Pissed that I have no control, and pissed that she had to see me drop the loser.

  Bronson gets up and shakes his head.

  He stumbles a few steps, and I steel myself for him to come at me, but he just shakes his head again like he’s dazed and staggers off inside without another word. Shannon calls out to him, but he just ignores her.

  Bronson got me this gig. He heard I’ve been helping bands set up all over the country, so he contacted me. Initially it was just to help set up and break down for tonight’s gig, but since Justin, the drummer of Bronson’s band, Dark Purple, snorted some bad coke and was carted off to hospital, Bronson asked me to step in. Although now I’m not sure if I’ll still be playing.

  “Why’d you have to always settle things with your fists, Kel?” Shannon cries.

  “Why’d you have to antagonize me like that, Shan?”

  Fuck! I clutch my hands to the side of my head, the roar ripping out of my mouth before I take a swing at the truck. The dent I leave on its side is a testament to my lack of control.

  I shake out my fist, and Shannon hugs her waist as she starts sobbing. “You’re scaring me.”

  I fucking loathe myself right now. The fear and distress on her face slices through me like a bone shaver.

  “Shit, Shan, baby, I’m sorry. You know I’ll never hurt you.” And I won’t. It doesn’t matter how badly I lose it, I could never lay a hand on her.

  I plant my ass on the ground and place my head in my hands. I need to get out of this relationship. Not for my sake—for Shannon’s. I will never hit her, but it doesn’t mean she should live with a guy who can’t keep a lid on his temper.

  Her arms wrap around me, and I can smell the booze on her breath. “I’m sorry, Kel. I just wanted you to feel what it would be like to lose me, that’s all.”

  I don’t say anything to her. Now’s not the time. But one thing is for sure, if she needs to resort to jealousy to get my attention, something has gone seriously wrong in our relationship.

  I place a kiss on her forehead as a pang of regret hits me like a wrecking ball. Shannon and I grew up together; her father used to work for my dad and our mothers were always hanging out. We spent nearly every day riding our bikes or fishing in our creek and eventually started dating in the tenth grade. Things were so much simpler back then. She didn’t sign up for this life.

  Pete, the lead guitarist of Dark Purple, gestures that it’s time for me to join them onstage, and to say I’m surprised I’m still getting to play with them after what went down with Bronson is an understatement. Shannon looks at me with her sad eyes but lets my hand go. As much as I want to believe she’s okay with me following my dreams, I know this is just the guilt talking. I head to the back of the stage and get behind the drums, rubbing a finger absently over my bruised knuckle. I better not have fucked up my ability to play. Bronson flicks his gaze to mine but quickly turns back, strapping on his guitar. He steps in front of the mic, swaying slightly on his feet. Fuck, I think I concussed him. How’s he going to sing?

  We’re just about to start performing our first song of the set when someone screams fire. We all immediately look to the back of the warehouse. Smoke filters up in the air, and pandemonium erupts as people start running toward the one exit.

  I scan the crowd for Shannon and find her crouched in the middle of the stampede, her arms covering her head as people push and shove their way around her. I hop off the stage and fight my way through the terrified people to get to her, yelling her name.

  Flames lick at the side of the warehouse, creeping higher to engulf the rafters. The smoke intensifies, and I cough into the sleeve of my leather jacket. The next few seconds play out like a bad movie as the wooden rafters above the stage catch fire. The sound of flames cracking and popping against the wood is deafening. Shannon covers her ears as her screams intensify. I know she’s not going to be able to walk to the exit—she’s petrified. When she was five, her mother was at work and her father left her alone with her one-year-old brother to go play poker at a neighbor’s. When she got hungry, she tried to heat up a can of soup on the gas stove and the kitchen caught on fire. She and her brother hid under the bed until firefighters rescued them. The trauma of that experience has never left her, so much so that even now she won’t sit next to a campfire.

  I scoop her into my arms and race toward the exit, looking behind me to see if people are getting out. Bronson is still onstage. He looks confused as he sways toward the steps leading off the stage. Oh, shit! Did I fuck him up that badly? We clear the exit, and I place Shannon on the bed of someone’s truck.

  “Are you okay?” My eyes run over her body, checking for injuries.

  She hiccups a sob. “I’m okay.”

  “I’ve got to go back for Bronson.”

  I turn to head back into the warehouse, but Shannon’s fingers wrap around my arm. “No, Kel, don’t leave me.”

  “Shan, I’ll be right back.”

  “I can’t. I can’t.” She starts hyperventilating.

  “Shan, baby, I have to get Bronson. He’s gonna burn.”

  It takes her a second but she lets go. I race back into the burning warehouse. My stomach plummets when I see Bronson lying facedown on the stage, a smoldering rafter across his back and fire closing in all around him. Smoke stings my eyes as I make my way to the stage, my heart pounding in my ears. When I reach him moments later, I make a decision that will haunt me forever. Move Bronson or let him burn to death. I move him.

  Paralyzing him for life.

  My eyes spring open, and I lift my hands to my face. My body is soaked with sweat, and my fingers are shaking. The nausea that usually accompanies the dreams slams into me full force, and I swing my legs off the bed. It takes me a while to remember that I’m safe in my house and not in the abandoned warehouse where we were supposed to put on the illegal show that night. I scrub a hand over my face, then reach for the sweats lying in a heap on the floor, pulling them on before I head to the bathroom. Turning on the cold tap, I splash water on my face, avoiding the mirror. I know what I’ll see there, and I can’t face myself right now.

  On trembling legs, I head back to the bed, wishing it was all a nightmare I could shake off, but the bottom line is the reality is so much worse than the dream, and the only time I escape is when I’m performing or inside someone.

  Inside Maddie.

  I reach for my phone on the nightstand. It’s a little after 3:00 a.m. which makes it midday in South Africa. I fucking need this. I pull up the chat with Maddie.

  ME: Hey, I’ve been thinking of you. How would you feel about slipping into one of the gifts I sent you and we can have a video call?

  Not the smoothest proposal I’ve offered, but it’s the best I can do while my whole body still trembles.

  I stare at the screen, chewing my lip as I wait. Ten minutes later I can see Maddie is texting me back.

  MADDIE: Hang five.

  My phone rings with a video call, and Maddie appears on-screen. She’s wearing the beanie and the orange oversized glasses I sent her. A laugh rips free, and even though I still feel like I’m going to puke, the remnants of the dream slowly ebb away.

  “That wasn’t exactly what I was going for.”

  Maddie cocks her head and drags her teeth over he
r lip, hiding her smile. “No?” She fake looks around the room. “I’m not sure what else you could’ve meant.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Very funny. Why don’t you slip into one of the lacy numbers I sent you, and I’ll tell you just how I’m going to trace every single pattern with my fingers, or my tongue. Whichever you prefer, sweets.”

  Fuck, I need this so much, just seeing her face in those ridiculous fucking gag glasses has the tension in my shoulders easing up. I settle back against the headboard.

  “Do I look crazy to you? You are famous.” She points an accusatory finger at me. “People will hack us. Didn’t you hear what happened to Jennifer Lawrence, and she’s gorgeous. As in flawlessly gorgeous, as in…” She chews her lip and glances into the distance. “I think someone once described her as a Sunday picnic. I am not a Sunday picnic with chocolate-covered strawberries and dainty little snacks, I am more like Wednesday-night spaghetti bolognaise with too much sauce. Not elegant at all. Nope, I’m not that girl.”

  Fuck, she’s so adorable when she goes off on her little tirade that I can’t even be disappointed she won’t have phone sex with me despite the fact that I haven’t had sex with anyone since she went back to South Africa. I made it seem like it was because I was too busy, when the reality is, I can’t stop thinking about her.

  “You’re right, you aren’t a Sunday picnic, you’re a fucking buffet and I can’t wait to eat you again.” Jesus, what the fuck did I just say? I groan inwardly. I probably shouldn’t have called when I’m so messed up, but I needed to see her.

  “Wow, I bet that sounded way better in your head, huh?”

  I laugh. “So much fucking better.”

  “What about a compromise where I can show you the lingerie somewhere where Big Brother isn’t watching?”

  “I like the sound of that. What do you have in mind?” I smirk.

  “Go to the wedding with me.”

  Fuck! “Blair’s wedding?”

  “Yeah, is there another wedding we’re both invited to that I don’t know about?”

  “No, uh…it’s just…uh…” I can’t breathe.