by Mandi Beck
Stoned
Copyright © 2016 by Mandi Beck
Editing by
Lisa Christman with Adept Edits
Cover design by
Sommer Stein with Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Cover photography by
Lauren Perry with Perrywinkle Photography
Interior design and formatting by
Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
STONED
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Excerpt of LOVE HURTS
To my boys, Ran, Jake and Linc.
And for those brave enough to take on a fight that so many can’t win.
“When you meet the one who changes the way your heart beats,
dance with them to that rhythm for as long as the song lasts.”
–Kirk Diedrich
Stone
HEAD SWIMMING, HANDS CLAMMY, AND with cold sweat trickling down my spine, I stand on the stage with the lights beaming down on me, hotter than the fucking sun. With the music humming through my body, I let the deafening roar of the crowd wash over me like a balm to my toxic soul. I would kill for a fucking line of blow right now.
This should be more important than any high. Then again, so should she. I shake my head to rid myself of that shit and the world of hurt that goes along with it. There’s no time to waste on things I can’t change, not on this stage anyway.
I smile at them, raise my arms, and motion with my hands for them to give me more, and they do. I feed off their energy; the stadium is alive with it and I need it to breathe life back into me. Not that I fucking deserve it.
Reaching for my mic stand, I bring it to my mouth and give them my “rock star” smirk. The one that says I’m the guy your mama warned you about and the one that your daddy has dreaded since the day you were born.
“Hello New York!” I yell into the mic, making them go even crazier. “Are you guys ready to rock?” Behind the drums, I give Lawson the cue to start the countdown and the show begins despite the fact that my heart isn’t really in it tonight. She isn’t waiting in the wings for me.
Two hours later we head off stage toward the dressing rooms and the after parties that I love a little too much. Wiping the sweat from my face, I almost miss her standing there with her back against the wall, that sad damn look on her face that I put there. Willow was here. I was crazy to think she wouldn’t be. With new- found confidence I watch as she gives the guys a wave as they greet her. Knowing that something isn’t right with us, the boys are smart enough not to linger.
“Willow.” Her name leaves my mouth on a strained breath. I was sure that I would have to hunt her down and beg for forgiveness after the shit I said to her. The accusations I hurled all while tears streamed down her face. Shit I can barely remember because I was so fucking high. Words that I thought I’d said in a dream, only when I woke up to find her gone, I knew it wasn’t a dream. More like a goddamn nightmare, and I was living it.
“I need to get my things out of the hotel room, and I don’t have my key. My name isn’t on the reservation so they won’t give me one at the front desk. I wasn’t sure if you were planning to leave right after the show or not, so . . .” She trails off. “I won’t take long, and I’ll leave it at the front desk for you, for when you get back.”
All of this is said in a cold, detached ramble that I’m not used to hearing from my Wills. Her face looks drawn, her eyes red-rimmed. I broke her and that kills me. We’ve been together for years, and in one night, I threw it all away. And for what? I can’t even remember right now. No, that’s not true. It wasn’t just one night. I’ve been throwing her away every damn night for months. Chasing that high, letting the paranoia seep in where it didn’t belong.
“I just need to grab my stuff and then I have a flight to catch.” She’s so . . . empty. Void and despondent. It stabs at my insides. Bile churning with the knowledge that I snuffed out her light.
“You—you’re leaving Wills?” The pain I feel at that rocks me.
Shaking her head at me, I see the tears glistening in her hollowed out eyes.
“Don’t. Don’t call me that! The only reason that I’m even still here is because my purse is in the room with my phone and ID in it. Otherwise, I would be home by now.” There’s an underlying thread of hysteria and damning heard in her words.
It hits me then just how big of a bastard I really am. I hurt her, forced her to walk out on me last night, all because of my insecurities, my need to occupy that place of numbness, my heaven and her hell. And now she tells me that she had no phone, no money, no clothes. Nothing.
“Where did you stay last night, Wills? Where did you go without your purse?”
She flinches mildly and then shuts down again. “Don’t worry about it, Stone. I’m not your concern anymore. You don’t have to take care of my ‘needy ass.’ I can take care of myself.”
I can see the anger flaring, red creeping across her beautiful face, but I can also see her lip quivering as she recounts the hurtful things I said to her last night. Wor
ds meant to hurt but that were in no way true. I was a dick, I screwed up, and I know in my heart she won’t give me a chance to make it right. I pushed her too far for too long, and now she’s done.
“Willow, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I was drunk and stupid. Please, baby, let’s talk about it. As soon as the tour is over we can go away just you and me.” There’s desperation in my voice, fear lacing my words. I can’t lose her. I’m not me without her.
“I’m finished talking. I am sick of being accused of things I would never do. I am over walking on eggshells with you, afraid to upset you. Worrying that I’ll end up alone in our room again, in another strange city that I followed you to, wondering where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing. Hoping this high won’t be the one that you take too far. I’m done with all of it. I love you and I have stood by you, putting up with all of it because I wanted to support you. To be there for you because I know that you are under a lot of pressure, but now I’m done. I’m going home. I see now that I never should have left.”
This is all said with such finality that I feel panic bubbling up inside me. I open my mouth to beg her to stay and talk when a trashy-looking blonde walks up and slides her hand up my arm.
“Stone, I thought you were going to call me,” she whines as she strokes her fingers back and forth over the tattoo on my arm, the willow tree that I got as a surprise for my girl long ago. I snatch my arm away from the blonde and look up at Wills, my eyes wild.
“Baby, it’s not what you think. I swear to you, Wills, it isn’t.” I have no clue if that’s the truth.
“Save it, Stone. I heard you loud and clear last night. You’re not made for one woman. I was stupid to think that you were. Can you please just give me the key so I don’t miss my flight?” Her voice is laced with the anger and pain that she’s feeling, that we’re both feeling.
“Will—”
“Please!” she cries out, stomping her foot. I’ve never seen her this way. So emotional yet detached at the same time.
The blonde still standing there, watching it all.
I shake my head, imploring her with my eyes, since my words don’t mean anything right now, begging for her to not do this. Taking in a painful breath, I pull out my wallet and take out the room key.
Handing it over to her, I try one more time.
“Willow, please don’t leave. Not like this,” I plead with her.
She takes the key card from me with a trembling hand, careful not to touch me when she does.
“I’ll be out of the house by the time you get back into town. I’ll leave my keys over at the studio with Addy,” she says, looking right through me.
She flicks a glance over at the girl who still hasn’t moved and then back to me.
“You got what you wanted, Stone. You’re single and free to do whatever and whoever you want without having to worry about sneaking around. Don’t keep her waiting—she looks like a sure thing.”
With that little parting remark, I watch the woman of my dreams walk away and out of my life. There isn’t enough music in the world that could make the pain of losing her go away. This isn’t where our song ends; I won’t let it. Only I’m not sure I have much of a choice. And just like that, my heart stops beating in rhythm.
Stone
I RAISE MY FIST TO pound on the door again when it flies open. Judge stands with a phone to his ear and gestures me into the suite that he’s sharing with Lawson. Squeezing by him, I toss my duffel onto the floor and drop down next to Law on the couch. He gives me a high five and puts a finger to his lips to indicate we need to stay quiet while Judge handles whatever on the phone. I nod in understanding and drop my head back and close my eyes, my head heavy from the pills I just took but my mind feeling light. Free. This fucking tour has lasted forever. The longest eight months of my fucking life and I’m ready to be done with it. Ready to be home with Wills.
I’m jostled by an elbow in the ribs. “Yo. What the fuck, man?” My eyes bounce around a little, my vision dancing before focusing on Law.
“You high, Stone?” he asks, concern evident in his tone.
“No. Just tired.” The lie slips from my lips effortlessly. I’m so used to it now. They need to stop riding my ass. Watching me and asking every five fucking minutes if I’m using. I make every show, sing the songs, never miss a beat, so what it matters, I don’t fucking know. His eyes narrow, assessing me, trying to decide if I’m lying. Judge breaks our stare down.
“What’s with the duffel?”
I pull a cigarette out and light it, taking a drag before answering “I’m going home. Willow’s gonna be pissed that I haven’t been home yet. She hates being there alone.”
Law opens his mouth to say something when there’s a knock at the door. Blowing smoke rings, I watch Judge go and let whoever it is in. I’m not sure who called a band meeting, but we’re all here. Arrow enters the suite with chin lifts in greeting.
“You look like shit, man,” Arrow informs me, as he folds his lanky build onto the love seat across from me.
“You’re a real sweet talker, you know that?” Flicking ashes into the empty beer bottle on the table next to me, I watch him eyeball me just like Law did.
“Stone is going home . . . to Willow,” Judge informs them.
Ro’s head swings in Judge’s direction and then back to me. “Willow is home?” The disbelief in his voice pisses me off.
“Why the fuck wouldn’t she be? She’s pissed at me, but it’s Wills. She’ll be there.” Rising from my seat, I go to the bar and fill a glass with ice, cracking open the bottle of Johnnie Walker that Judge always requests in each of our rooms. Mine was missing this trip. It didn’t go unnoticed. I’m glad his is still full. Once I’ve drained the glass I refill it, taking it back to the couch with me. The warmth of the smooth liquor mixing with the relaxing effects of the Oxy I popped before coming down here, and I feel good. Numb. Until I look up and see them all watching me, their looks a mix between disgust, pity, shock, and trepidation.
“What? Why the fuck are you all staring at me?” I bellow. “Always fucking watching me. I’m sick of it.” Shaking my head, I take my seat, careful not to spill my drink as I fall back into the supple leather, my legs stretched out in front of me.
Ignoring my question, Ro speaks up. “Bro, she left more than eight months ago, dropped her keys off at the studio with Addy, and none of us have talked to her since. We even hired a PI who can’t find Willow,” he says carefully. “Have you heard from her at all? Has there been new news from the guy Addy hired?”
“No. I’m positive she’s there though. Where the fuck is she gonna go, Ro? This is my Wills; she wouldn’t just quit me. Her aunt’s dead; we’re her only family. She didn’t leave,” I tell him in exasperation.
“She didn’t just ‘quit’ you, Stone. You pushed too fucking far and forced her out,” he spits out. He’s still mad at me for Willow leaving. He hasn’t said it, but I know he is. His soft spot for her a little more than brotherly I think, and it’s really starting to piss me the fuck off.
“You don’t know shit, Arrow. Wills is at home. You’ll see.” I’m sure of it. She has to be.
“Stone, bro, maybe it’s time to get some help. Judge and I will set it all up, and I’ll do all that I can to fin—”
I interrupt Law and shoot to my feet, “I don’t need help with anything. Not with Wills, or anything else.” Slamming back my drink I put the glass down and scoop up my bag. “I’ll be in Austin if you need me. If not, I’ll see you in a couple weeks when we head back out.” Without another word I stalk out of the room past all of their condemning fucking looks and slam the door behind me. The walls rattling from the ferocity. Fuck them.
The car comes to a stop in front of my house at the end of Comanche Trail. Dane, my bodyguard, turns from the passenger seat. “You gonna be okay, Stone? I can stay here tonight if you want.”
Reaching for the handle with a trembling hand, I shake my head no. I just w
ant to get inside, get my hands on Willow, and get out from under the prying eyes of Dane so that I can find my stash and pop an Oxy, maybe two, and just chill with my girl. I’d love a fucking line right now, but that’ll have to wait ’til later when my contact here in town drops some off. Can’t fly with that shit and can’t make any stops on the way home because Dane would lose his fucking mind, so I made arrangements.
“Nah. I’m good. Just gonna Netflix and chill with Wills, don’t need you around for that,” I tell him with a smirk as I step from the vehicle.
“Stone, Willo—”
“Is here.” My voice holds more confidence than I feel, but I’m all about if you believe it, it will be. And I need it to be.
I slam the door before he can say anything else and throw my hand up in a wave as I make my way up to the front door. Sliding my key into the lock, I rush into the eerie quiet of the house, the only sound the beeping of the alarm as I go to the wall to disable it. Duffel dropped at my feet, I place my guitar case down and step over it and walk into the kitchen. No Willow. From there I head into the living room, noticing that there’s a picture missing from the mantel, and no Willow. Bounding up the spiral staircase I crash into our bedroom and throw on the lights. My heart frantic, my gaze touching on everything, but seeing only the things that are missing. No book on her nightstand, no jewelry on the dresser, no picture of her parents, no music journal. Stalking to the dresser I start yanking open drawers leaving them hanging haphazardly. No panties, no shirts, no pajamas. There’s a roaring in my ears that has me unable to hear a fucking thing other than my out-of-rhythm heartbeat as I rip open the door to the bathroom. No perfume, no lotion, no brush. I move to her closet. No dresses, no pants, no shoes. No. Willow. No fucking Willow.
“No. No. No. NO!” My yells echo around the bathroom, ricocheting in all of the empty spaces and bouncing back to slap me in the face. “No.”
Determined to find her, I dash out of the room and barrel down the stairs into the basement studio and wrench open the heavy door. No custom-made Martin, just an empty stand. No laptop. Just a music-less room. No Willow. With my chest heaving, struggling to get my mind right, I slide onto the piano bench, placing my forehead to the cool, polished wood. Finally, I admit to myself what I’d already known. What I knew the moment I called and the phone was disconnected. What deep down I’d known from the moment I watched her walk away but denied because who the fuck was I without her? Willow was gone. She’d left me. And there was not one single person I could blame other than myself. Raising my head, my gaze lands on the framed picture that she put on the piano in every place we’d ever lived in. The picture that was left behind. The picture of us on the red carpet for the very first time. Our hands are locked and Willow beams up at me in pride, her smile so beautiful, the happiness radiating through the photo. And me, looking down into her upturned face, love and need reflected in my gaze, in the way I touched her. Her favorite picture, and she left it . . . and me.