by Rylee Swann
He and I both cut records and started getting airplay. Downloads of our songs broke records, and I guess while no one was looking, I became about as big as Fringe had. Uncle Milo and Uncle Dave realized it was time I branched out on my own, that I shouldn’t be in anyone’s shadow any longer. I thrilled to the idea and so did Fringe, but it meant a parting of the way for us. I’d be touring in one direction and he in the other.
There’d be no time for us.
It broke my heart, but at the same time, I saw this as an opportunity to have experiences apart from him. Hell, I’d been with him since I was twelve years old. I couldn’t help wondering what other guys might be like. I took on the role of the bitch and with the heaviest heart did the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life.
I broke up with him.
Oh, how lost I was without him.
Going our separate ways, we had fame and fortune, but the pain of not being with Fringe never stopped hurting. I was only nineteen and thought I’d made the right decision, but the pain was unending.
In a weak moment, I called him once. He didn’t answer and I didn’t have the courage to leave a message. I cried myself to sleep that night and in the morning, eyes bloodshot and puffy, I vowed to myself that things had to change. I broke up with him to experience life but I hadn’t even made an attempt to do just that. I thought, maybe, that the pain would lessen if I met someone else, if I let someone else touch me the way only Fringe had.
I tried dating but never got past a lunch or a dinner and could count on one hand the number of times I saw the same man more than once. Nothing felt right. Or good. A kiss at the door turned my stomach. The thought of going further than that unbearable. There was nothing wrong with these men except one thing.
None of them was Fringe.
A lot of my anguish went into my songwriting but a part of me hated that I was telling the world all about my private hell, my pain. They ate it up though, and gave me several number one hits. Despite my success, I couldn’t go on like this. I thought I was losing my mind.
In my desperation, I called Divine.
“I still love him,” I cried.
“Then get him back. He’s not dating anyone either. You two belong together.”
I sniffle unceremoniously into the phone. “I hurt him. What if he won’t take me back?”
“Listen to me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”
I smile through my tears but it comes out more like a grimace. “No, never.”
“That’s right, you know I got your back. If he says no at first, convince him. It’ll just be his macho bullshit anyway. He loves you, Dawn. I know it.”
“How can you know—?”
“Hey, don’t question me. Didn’t I know the first time? Wasn’t I right? Think about it. What do you have to lose?”
“My dignity?”
She snorts into the phone. “Go get him back.”
I take in a shuddering breath, my voice sounding tiny when I breathe, “Thank you.”
That was five months ago, when Divine helped me realize with cold certainty that I had made a mistake. The biggest of my life. I had to get him back, if he’d have me.
The second I had three days off in a row, I booked a flight to where he was performing and wrangled my way inside his hotel room to wait for him. I knew his bandmates, so it wasn’t that hard to do when I told them I was there to win him back. They got someone to open the door for me. Hell, I’ve had my life subjected to the public eye since birth, what’s one more time?
I sat nervously in a chair in the sitting room of his fancy suite, texting my friends back home. By the time I heard the doorknob turning, I was a wreck.
When he entered and I was finally in the same room as him after so much time, I knew this was where I was meant to be. Just looking at him made my heart lighter. I noticed a silver bird hanging from his ear. The piercing was new. Could it be a raven, I couldn’t help wondering.
I had my speech prepared and didn’t give him a chance to react to my presence. “I was wrong. I’m so sorry. I’m in love with you. Always was and always will be. I’m begging you to forgive me. To take me back.”
I stood, chewing my lower lip and wringing my hands together while Fringe stared at me. I couldn’t read his expression but, at least I didn’t see that awful rage that consumed him the last time we saw each other. The silence lengthened and I grew uncomfortable under his gaze.
“Fringe? Please say something? At the least tell me to get the fuck out?”
I guess hearing the last words he said to me coming out of my mouth broke through to him, and his stony demeanor crumbled. One side of his mouth quirked up and he crossed the room in a couple of quick strides. Gathering me into his arms, he crushed me against him almost to the point I couldn’t breathe, but I wasn’t complaining. I was in heaven.
“You got a lot of nerve showing up here tonight and breaking into my room. But you always had balls.”
I yanked him to me for a kiss, then we laughed and held each other until Fringe turned serious.
“Don’t you ever fucking hurt me like that again. I won’t risk my heart like that, understand?”
“Yes. Oh god, yes, I promise you. I’m so sorry. I’ll take forever making this up to you.”
“Eh, not forever. A few years’ll do it.” He remained silently serious for a moment more before breaking into a beautiful smile.
Now, here in the packed Air Canada Centre, Mom is taking her final bows and leaving the stage. I’m alone again in the spotlight with the crowd on their feet, clapping and screaming. The stage lights dim again and a stagehand hurries out to me with two tall three-legged stools. He adjusts the mic stand to the proper height and dashes backstage.
When the lights are brought back up, I’m sitting on one of the stools and Fringe is sitting on the other, a guitar in his hands.
We gaze into each other’s eyes as the crowd just about dies.
“Good evening, Toronto,” Fringe says into his mic. “I thought I’d stop by and help Dawn celebrate her birthday. It is nearly midnight.”
I laugh as the crowd cheers and Fringe plucks out the beginning of “When Raven Calls.” We sing it together in that same beautifully elegant two-part harmony we did the first time for my uncles. Tears of joy make the lights of the stage and the blur of the audience look like it would in a dream.
This night cannot get any better.
I’m wrong.
It does.
When we’re finished, we say our thank yous to the crowd and I wait for Fringe to make his departure like we planned.
Instead, taking his mic, he gets down on one knee in front of me. A drum roll starts and from my stool I glance at my band to find them all grinning like lunatics.
Like a dolt, I’m clueless about what’s going on and with my hand covering my mic, whisper urgently to Fringe. “This isn’t what we rehearsed. What are you doing?”
He laughs and in the palm of his hand holds out a small black box.
My mouth drops open, understanding slowly dawning.
“Happy birthday, Raven Dawn.” He opens the box to reveal a good-sized diamond engagement ring. “Will you do me the great honor of saying yes to my proposal of marriage? Will you marry me?”
The crowd is unnaturally silent. You could literally hear a pin drop in the arena.
I stand, tears streaking down my face, and nod, unable to find my voice.
“Baby doll, I think they want to hear you say the word.”
“Yes, oh yes, I’ll marry you!”
The roar from the crowd is deafening as Fringe sweeps me into his arms and presses his lips to mine.
It took almost a lifetime for the two of us to get to this place but I wouldn’t change a second. Isn’t the ride as important as the destination? There is, however, one thing I am certain of.
When two rock and roll rebels like us come together, it’s forever.
THE END
CLICK HERE to download my bestselling novella LOVE
R WANTED: JENN & TONY for FREE! You’ll also join my Tasty Treats Club and be the first to know about new releases, free book offers, sales, exclusive giveaways, early sneak peeks of new releases, cover reveals and more!
Continue on to read a special sneak peek of my recent release, LOVER WANTED.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thank you for reading ROCK ‘N’ ROLL REBEL. I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? Reviews are so important and can make or break a book. You hold the key to helping me reach my life-long dream of writing for a living!
I’d also like to invite you to connect with me on all my social media channels. I love hearing from my reader friends!
Facebook | Goodreads | Bookbub | My Website
Pop in my exclusive Fan Group on Facebook! We have so much fun there!
https:// www.facebook.com/ groups/ RyleeSwannTastyTreats
Thank you so much!
You ROCK!
Rylee Swann
And now, continue on for that promised Sneak Peek!
A SNEAK PEEK
Interview with the Dom
CHAPTER ONE
Caroline
“Fine… I quit.”
Oh my god. Did that just come out of my mouth?
Shit. It did, and from the look in my boss’s eyes, I’m not sure who’s more surprised, me or him.
Did I mean it?
Hell yes I did.
I think.
No… I’m very serious. No way in hell am I staying here. Not if my integrity is going to be challenged, my talent used to dirty the world instead of helping make it more transparent. Not if my word isn’t good enough. My beliefs. The lines I draw in the sand.
Even though I want to throw myself across the desk, snatch back the words, this is the right thing to do, my heart and gut knows that at least. But there’s also a part of me — the part with gray matter and in-depth knowledge that security is important — is hoping that the pencil dicked man before me will be the one who throws himself across the desk, that he’ll beg me for forgiveness, beg me to stay.
After all, I’m one of the hardest working journalists at this newspaper. I’ve won awards, for goodness sakes. Sure, they were local and state awards, but I’d been the one who freaking won them... because I research the shit out of assignments and make sure my sources are sound. While I realize we’re not The Wall Street Journal or the Times, we’re well respected by New Yorkers…
No. That isn’t true. Once upon a time, we’d been well respected by New Yorkers. Not anymore.
Lifting my chin, I stare at Russ, who is staring right back. “Fine,” he says without even blinking his eyes. He leans back in his chair. “You know, if you’d be a little bit more…” his eyes flick to my mouth, “nice, we’d be able to work something out. Licking balls is always better than breaking them.”
I stiffen. It isn’t the first sexual reference the prick has tossed in my direction, but it’s certainly the most overt. I’ve been called a man beater, man hater, and my favorite, the ice queen. That’s just fine. I’d much rather be thought of as icy than some warm, ooey gooey pile of doormat.
“I’m reporting you to human resources.”
He laughs and leans forward, picking up his phone and punching a button. “David…” he says to the HR Director and punches another button for the speaker phone. “I’ve got Caroline Murphy here. She wants to report me for harassment.”
A chuckle comes over the speaker, and I pat my pockets, searching for my cell. I’m going to record this conversation. I’ll get proof. I need proof. This asshole is going down.
Then David chuckles. “I told you to stay away from her. You’ll get frostbite on your prick.”
Russ raises an eyebrow to me and smirks. “Yeah. She’s currently hunting for her phone, I think. If she finds it, I’m betting she’ll try to record our little conversation. Want to bet? I’ve got ten dollars for it.”
David chuckles again. “Keep your money. It’s a sure thing. Just let me know if she finds it. I prefer to keep these types of conversations in the he-said, she-said realm.”
With an internal groan, I stop searching because I know my phone is on my desk, still in my bag. I hadn’t thought to grab it prior to storming in here. Apparently, my realization is evident in my expression because Russ leans forward. “I think we’re safe. Just wanted to warn you that she’d be in to see you soon… one way or another.”
Without a word, I stand and turn away.
“Well, you and your sweet ass will be missed,” Russ says, David still on the line. “The place won’t be as pretty now that you’re gone.”
The verbal punch in the gut is tremendous, and if my lips hadn’t been pressed together, air would have probably whooshed out of my lungs. I swallow hard, pushing down the panic and insecurities, the disappointment. The anger. I know how this works. I did an article a couple years ago on why women didn’t report this type of harassment. Not a single source would allow me to print her name.
Now I know why.
I’ve heard other people say it, but I’ve never thought it would pertain to me. And not just the harassment. They say that it didn’t matter how much effort you put into a job, or even how well loved you are to your co-workers or even bosses, that you’re just a number and your dead body wouldn’t even be cold before you were replaced.
It’s true.
Still silent, and with as much grace and dignity as I can muster, I walk out of the door. I could throw a fit, stomp and scream and curse. They’d just laugh, I know. And I hate being laughed at. More than anything, I hate that.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
The words become my mantra as I walk past my fellow journalists, the people I’ve worked with for eight years. I’d been with the Gazette since I graduated New York University, the ink barely dry on my journalism degree.
At first, I was given small stories in the lifestyle section, but within a year, I’d proven myself worthy of bigger assignments. Intensely curious, I pounded the sidewalk as hard as I pounded my keyboard, letting nothing stop me from getting the story.
I’ve been happy.
Hell, I’ve even passed up better offers with bigger newspapers because I’d felt some foolish loyalty to this damn place. The past owners had taken the chance of taking on a newbie, teaching me the ropes. I stayed and stayed… until…
Until my small newspaper was bought out by a bunch of morons a year ago, and they slowly began turning it into a gossip rag.
And the meeting this morning had been the last straw.
“Caroline…” Russ said during this morning’s assignment meeting, his dark eyes fastening on me. “There’s rumors that Justin will be in town to meet up with Selena. Need you to follow up on that, get pictures. You know the ropes.”
Seriously? My stomach churned, the acid that had been building up over the past twelve months threatening to either burn a hole in it or burst from my throat. And I was sure, as mad as I was, that if it was the latter, it would be pea soup green and my head would immediately twist around on my shoulders. I was so angry, the “Exorcist” priest wouldn’t have come within a mile of me.
“You seriously want me to track the whereabouts of two pop stars?” I’d asked, my fingers nearly breaking my pencil in half, unable to believe it. There was so much going on in our world — politics, human trafficking, natural disasters, missing children, murders — and this was what he wanted us to care about?
My fellow journalists had stirred in their seats but had said nothing. Like me, they were concerned by the direction the newspaper was being taken. Like me, they’d sat back and said nothing as we slowly raced toward the finish line of true news and entered the new race of trashy entertainment.
“Yes. Rumors of their reconnection is trending. I want us to be the first to upload something… pictures, quotes, whatever… online, then we’ll keep the front page open for print.
I’d gaped at him. “What about the nursing home fire?”
The bastard had only shrugged. “They’re old. Irrelevant. People will be sad for about three full seconds, then be clamoring for the latest gossip. Remember, in this new social world, our readers are searching for a distraction from real life. That’s our job. Give them what they want.”
“Says who?” I’d countered.
He’d pierced me with a hard glare. “The man who signs your paycheck.”
For the rest of the meeting, I’d seethed. Grinded my teeth. Then, when it was over, I’d marched my pencil skirted clad ass to his office. And… that hadn’t worked out very well.
Now, I’m tossing what few personal belongings I have in this damn place into a box.
“What happened?” Marvin asks, pushing his glasses up on his nose.
I toss a picture of my cactus into the box. “What does it look like?” I know I’m being an ass to the older man, but if I give up on this badass façade, I’ll break down into an ugly cry in seconds.
“It looks like you quit,” Marvin says, picking up my stapler. “Can I have this?”
I bark out a laugh. Everyone is constantly borrowing it, and it had become a running “where’s Caroline’s stapler today” joke.
“Sure. Just think of me kindly each time you slam your hand down on it.”
He sticks it in the pocket of the cardigan sweater he’s wearing. This one is blue. Marvin has exactly five sweaters and wears them on a rotating basis, like clockwork. Even in the summer, he wears one in the air-conditioned office, only taking it off if he has to step outside.
Monday is brown — shit day, per Marvin. Tuesday is burnt orange. Wednesday yellow. Thursday green. And Friday — today — a bright blue. If I ever forget what day of the week it is, I’d only need to glance at Marvin’s desk.
I’ll miss that.
I’ll miss him.