by Maya Hughes
Rocked
Maya Mughes
Copyright © 2017 by Maya Mughes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Designer: Natasha Snow
Contents
Newsletter Signup
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
Newsletter Signup
Blinded Sneak Peek
About the Author
Also by Maya Mughes
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For my sisters, who have been my rocks during this tumultuous year. Love you!
1
The sound of charcoal scraping across a newly stretched canvas always brought Keira back to her first days in the art studio. She’d been so unsure then, with her sketch pad tucked under her arm. She’d left her camera back at home, that was where she felt comfortable, behind the lens, but she wanted to tackle a new challenge and her mother didn’t believe her talents should be wasted capturing scenes, but through creating them. A keen, longing hit her dead center in the chest as she thought about her mother. It had been two years since she passed and nearly that long since she’d put her camera down, except for the rarest of occasions.
She glanced up at the clock.
“Okay, everyone, it looks like our time has come to an end. I wanted to thank our model, Jaxon, for agreeing to pose for us today.” Everyone clapped as Jaxon shrugged his robe back on, with a dramatic bow. The class wrapped up with students packing away their materials. He’d been a good subject, not too much movement, hadn’t needed a break and he hadn’t gotten a boner, which you wouldn’t think would be an issue when you’re standing in front of twenty art students, but surprisingly, it happened. A lot.
When it happened, after the shock wore off for everyone, she redirected the students to focus on the form, not necessarily the function of the human anatomy. But some made it difficult with their impressive…displays. Thankfully, that hadn’t been an issue today. He tied his robe and waved to the class before departing. He worked as a backup dancer, but didn’t have any tours lined up, so his physique had gotten a few women and some men in the class a bit hot and bothered. She can’t say she didn’t take a couple of longer glances herself, but he wasn’t her type. He was just way too perfect from his bright white pearly teeth to the way his hair looked like it had never been mussed in his life.
“Thank you everyone for a great semester. I’m sure you’re all anxious to know if there will be summer classes.” Keira was anxious as well and hadn’t heard anything from the department yet. “But we still won’t know for a little bit longer. You’re all on the class mailing list, so they’ll send you any updates about summer courses. It was great working with all of you this spring and I hope to see your art up in a gallery someday.”
The class clapped as they finished gathering things and gave her hugs and wished her well for the summer break. The end of these classes hit her with mixed emotions. Bittersweet because it was another group moving on and amazing to see the progress so many of them made. A lot of people thought they’d never be able to draw, let alone create the artwork they could accomplish by the end of the term. The adult community classes held a special place in her heart. It was always humbling to be a part of someone discovering their passion for art. The students filed out of the class and Keira checked the room over to make sure everything was in order. She turned out the lights and closed the door on another semester.
Keira had discovered her passion when she was five years old. Scribbling on your math homework instead of solving the problems meant a one-way ticket to the thinking chair. But her teacher had seen something in her art and encouraged her to use it whenever she could, just not on her math homework. Drawing, painting and photography became her best friends throughout school. Going to college for art had probably been a mistake. She should have majored in something useful like finance or computer science, but those never held her attention. Plus, she sucked at math.
Unlike a lot of her friends who’d graduated and went on to give up on their art, even in the few years since graduation, she had landed this community art class gig. It sure beat being a receptionist at a gallery or something like that. At least, she could help others create and sometimes carve out a little time for herself to create a few pieces of her own. Pieces that were almost sure never to see the light of day. She checked her mailbox in the office. A single white envelope sat inside. Hands shaking, she picked it up and shoved it into her bag.
Nothing like getting a letter determining whether or not you’ll be able to eat this summer on the last day of class. She jumped into her car and hightailed it back to her apartment.
This was not a letter to open on campus. She could see it now, full time instructors and worse tenured professors taking pity on her, if the classes had indeed been cut as the rumor mill was saying. It sucked not having a steady gig, but if you weren’t producing art there were limited choices for an art major. The thought of trying for another gallery show turned her stomach. The last experience had left a sour taste in her mouth and probably permanently stunted her artistic growth.
Nothing like an ex to not only break your heart, but ruin something you’d once been passionate about. Teaching others art came naturally, but the showing part, that was where the gnawing pit of uncertainty reared its ugly head and made her want to crawl under a rock. She had a bit gallery opening scheduled last winter with her ex, Paulo, also showing his sculptures. They were both abuzz with excitement over it, that lightheaded feeling rushing to her whenever she dropped off another set of prints. While her mother never approved of her photography, it always held a special place in her heart. Her dad gave her the first camera she ever used and she still had it to this day. She’d taken the pictures for the gallery with that camera. She’d even taken off the winter semester of community class instructing to make sure that she’d have everything finished in time. She’d finally be a featured artist in a major gallery opening.
Then things started to fall apart with Paulo and she found out the reason she’d been included in the show to begin with. It wasn’t because they admired her talent, it was out of freaking pity. After a particularly nasty fight, where he’d had way too much to drink, he’d thrown it right in her face. The only reason she’d gotten a spot in the show was because he’d made it a stipulation of his participation. Throw his girlfriend a bone, not like she could get a spot on her own. The weight of the crushing devastation nearly brought her to her knees. Her chest got so tight, she dropped down onto the floor. Better that than passing out. He stormed out and she brought her knees to h
er chest, tears dropping down onto her jeans.
She contacted the gallery, the next day to let them know she was pulling out of the opening. Her throat still scratchy, she placed that call and managed to keep her voice even as the tears were back. So stupid! They tried to ask why, but she didn’t even want to let them know she knew. The embarrassment made her want to crawl under her bed and never come out. All those months wasted, no money coming in, and then she’d pulled out of the opening. Not her smartest move.
But she couldn’t have taken that spot knowing the only reason she was even featured was because she was sleeping with Paulo. It would have been more embarrassing to show her work and have no one interested because she wasn’t good enough. He was the one they wanted. They tried to get her to stay in, but the humiliation radiating off her as she gathered up her folios from the gallery, making them back off. It was all she could do to get out of there before breaking down in tears in her car. The overly large photo prints mocked her from where they were lined up along her living room wall. Capturing someone through a lens allowed her to see them in a way she could never capture with her drawing. But now even that had been ruined.
Ripping open the envelope, she’d been dreading since she saw it in her instructor’s mailbox, Keira hefted her bag up higher on her shoulder standing next to her car in the parking lot outside her apartment building. They cut her class! They cut her summer funding. The classes she’d depended on teaching to be able to—you know—eat and live this summer just evaporated. She'd hoped for a miracle, but this year it wasn't in the cards. The applications she’d put in all over town had returned absolutely nothing. She ran her fingers through her hair and leaned her forehead against the roof of her tiny clunker. The level of being screwed raised exponentially when she opened the door to her apartment and picked up the notice that was slipped under her door. A three hundred dollar rent increase effective next month. Perfect!
Being an art instructor wasn’t exactly the ticket to the big bucks, but she’d cobbled together a good portfolio of classes she offered throughout the year to keep her afloat. Summer was rough, but she’d managed to find a way over the past couple of years. It seemed her luck had run out. And selling art work, she’d never been good at putting her stuff out there to begin with and when she finally ginned up the courage, everything had fallen apart. She preferred to guide and shape the work of other artists now. But she’d have to try to sell her stuff, unless she wanted to be homeless.
Keira threw her bag down on the couch and opened the fridge and hung her head. She’d forgotten to go grocery shopping. Pulling out some pitiful looking take out container, she sniffed it, shrugging and stuck it in the microwave. Maybe she could put some stuff online to sell or maybe do some event photography. The timer beeped and she took it out, shoveled a huge forkful into her mouth and started to chew. That was when she saw the huge patch of green fuzzy mold hanging out in the corner of the container. Gross! She thought it was broccoli.
Spitting out what was still in her mouth into the trash, she promptly threw the rest of it away. Stomach growling, she cautiously sniffed the only other container in the fridge, after searching the contents extensively, she popped it in the microwave and waited. Her phone vibrated across the nearly empty counter.
Mark: Going away party tonight. Don't be late! And a special performer may stop by.
She’d completely forgotten and holy shit! Did he mean who she thought he meant? There was a musician she’d seen at a few small venues and festivals over the past year. She couldn’t get his music out of her head. He didn’t have an album yet, so she’d tracked down some recordings of his stuff and a single had been released recently. His musical ability was only rivaled by how hot he made her. Not many women went for the redheads, but on him, it looked good. Red hair, blue eyes, golden brown freckles, fingers that flew across the guitar strings like nothing she’d ever seen before. What wasn’t there to like? For some reason, he’d decided that her friend Mark’s bar, The Bramble, was going to be his LA pit stop and every time he’d performed there, she’d missed him. The last time, she’d literally run into him as he came out of the bathroom on his way out of the bar. Until tonight!
His first single seemed to be on repeat with the Top 40 stations in town and she almost hated that more people were getting to know him. She enjoyed having one of those undiscovered talents in her playlist that she could pull out to blow people away. But people with talent like him didn’t stay out of the limelight for long. Hopefully, the tickets wouldn’t be too expensive next time he came through town because she was sure he’d be playing stadiums in no time. He was opening for a big band this summer. Her lack of musical knowledge failed her when she tried to think of one of their songs. But she didn’t care, she’d buy a ticket to their show just to see him perform. Now she needed to confirm that he’d be playing tonight.
Keira: Is Eric Newcastle going to be there?
Mark: Maybe…
Keira: Don’t toy with me, Mark! Is he going to be there?!
Mark: He’s not going to not be there.
Keira: I swear it Mark, next time you nude model for one of my classes I’ll make sure it’s 50 degrees in the room.
Mark: Who said I’m going to model for you again? That was an act of desperation that I’ll never have to repeat.
Keira: Never say never.
Mark: Never!
Keira: Damnit Mark! Just tell me!! Will he be there?
Mark: Yes.
Not even bothering to take her food out of the microwave, she snatched up her bag and sprinted out of her apartment. She barely took the time to lock the door as she flew down the stairs taking them three at a time. She dropped her keys twice trying to get them into the ignition. Eric Newcastle! The level of freaking out, going on in her brain, was off the charts. Her palms were clammy, heart racing and stomach churning. Please let that be because of nerves and not the moldy takeout.
Attempting to maintain a speed that came close to the speed limit, she pulled her car into one of the spots in the alley behind the bar. Being friends with the owner had its perks, one was not needing to look for street parking. She grabbed her bag out of the passenger seat and ran to the door of the bar. Slowing down, as she passed the large windows at the front of the bar, Keira made a beeline straight for the door. The sign for The Bramble swinging in the wind and it called to her. Free drinks…free food…she wasn’t sure if a drink was the best way to settle her stomach, but she needed to calm herself and free drinks were another perk of knowing the owner. Maybe the liquor would kill whatever toxins she’d ingested from the take-out container of doom.
2
Sitting in his dingy apartment, Eric strummed his guitar. Glancing around, he’d miss this place in a weird way, with its non-working AC, peeling paint and the ever present smell of beef jerky that filled the hall outside his door.
His bedroom door opened and Julie—or was it Jill—wandered out in her clothes from last night.
“Hey,” she said, giving him a weak smile.
“Hey,” he said, going back to his guitar. He didn’t normally stay the night with a woman, especially one that he picked up at one of his shows, but he’d made an exception last night, since he was leaving town and moving out of the apartment.
“So, I had a good time last night.” She said, fidgeting in front of him.
“Yeah.” His fingers glided across the strings as he worked on a melody that had been stuck in his head.
“I was wondering if maybe—“
“Listen, I’ve got a gig to get to and it’s my last day in this apartment, so I’m going to need you to leave.” He stood from the couch and laid his guitar in his case. He turned and she stood there with her mouth hanging open. Not the most attractive look for her. Last night was fun, but he knew the kind of woman she was. He was a notch in her belt and nothing more.
“That’s it?” He hoped she wasn’t going to go psycho on him. The label would be pissed if she freaked out and brought any bad
publicity. They were completely sold on him as the nice guy broken hearted guitar player. He’d been warned that this image was not something to stray from and he did not want to piss them off right now.
“Yeah, that’s it. Unless you wanted me to sign your shirt or something.” She immediately brightened and he gritted his teeth. She pulled a sharpie from her bag and thrust it at him. He signed her shirt and she practically bounced out of the apartment. He shook his head. If someone told him a year ago, he’d be pissed because some groupie was using him for sex he would have laughed his ass off. Now it wasn’t exactly funny anymore.
This was his last day in the apartment he’d scrapped together money to rent a little over a year ago. Things were changing, he wasn’t even sure where’d he’d end up in the coming weeks, let alone at the end of the summer. He slid Vicki, his guitar, off his lap and onto the couch. It was his most prized possession, that guitar had belonged to his father. The last thing he had from him. His dad left it on the coffee table the morning he disappeared.
He hefted his duffle bag onto his shoulder and picked up the case with the other hand. This place had been home to him for almost a year, which was longer than he’d been in one place since he left home. He’d just gotten in that morning, jumped off the tour during a short three day break to play a going away party for a friend and meet with his record label in the morning. The duffle had the last of his things he’d left behind before heading out onto the tour.