(Complete Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances #1-5)

by Michelle Mankin

  “Oh Mom.” My expression revealed my despair. “What happened?”

  “He tried to cook. He left an empty pan on the burner. We’re lucky the damage wasn’t worse.”

  “Mrs. Grayson.” Ramon cleared his throat. “You are welcome to come home with us.” My eyes shot to his. “My house is only a home because you’re in it, mi cielo.” He knew without me saying what my questioning glance had meant. He returned his attention to my mom, and my legs trembled, not from the trauma of the fire and my father’s condition, but from Ramon’s words and the fierce sincerity in his gaze.

  “I appreciate the offer. The house is smoky, but it’s perfectly livable. The kitchen is ruined of course. We’ll have to get it renovated. But I’ll have some safeguards installed this time.”

  “You don’t think a nursing home would be a better place for him?” I asked her.

  “It will likely come to that point.” Sadness flashed in her gaze, but she blinked it away. “But for as long as I can, I’ll keep him at home.” She stressed those words, and a look of understanding passed between her and Ramon. “I think the familiar environment and routines are beneficial.”

  “Are you sure, Mom?”

  “I’m positive. He’ll be alright. We’ll both be alright.” She put her arm around my dad but glanced back at me. “It’s good to know you’re close. I’m so glad you’re back in OB. I love you, sweetie. Your dad does, too. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  Ramon put his arm around my shoulder as I watched my mom usher my dad back into the house. The curious crowd had mostly drifted away by the time Ramon led me away from my house and escorted me to his SUV.

  “Ramon,” I began after I took my seat, glancing over at him.

  “We’ll talk at home. There’s a lot to say, and I want to say it where I can focus my full attention on you.”

  I watched him intently as he circled to his side of the car. My eyes were always drawn to him. Hope brightened in them, even though night had fallen by the time he pulled the vehicle out of the drive.

  • • •

  Ramon

  I turned her around to face me at the top of the stairs. My erratic pulse settled as soon as I touched her warm skin. The evening had gone from the heights of making love to her and hearing her speak the words I most wanted to hear to the depths of uncertainty since that phone call. I decided to address the thing that I thought put the most shadows in her eyes first. “Your dad loves you. He hasn’t forgotten you. He was looking for you, Karen. He was worried about you. I know that it’s upsetting that he didn’t recognize you as an adult.”

  She nodded but dropped her chin. I lifted it and smoothed a lock that had escaped her braid. “Do you remember when you asked me about the past, when I told you that I would change the parts with us?”

  “Yes. That’s not something easy to forget.”

  “Well, I want to tell you what I meant. I hope I can explain things in a way that will help you believe me when I tell you that I feel the same way about you that you said you feel about me.”

  “I don’t know how that can be, not when you’re still seeing other women.” She lifted her chin out of my reach.

  “What are you talking about?” My gaze hardened. “There’s been no one else for me since you tumbled into my arms.”

  “But Vanessa…”

  “Vanessa St. Regis? The talent scout from Black Cat Records? Please.”

  “She called the other day, and her texts…”

  “Oh.” I raised a brow. “So you were jealous.” My lip curled. “You shouldn’t have been, mi cielo. She just wanted my music. She didn’t get it or me.”

  She looked a little stunned. Inside, I was putting things together. I understood now why Karen had started to withdraw from me, from everything, even surfing after that phone call from Vanessa. Still, it stirred hope inside my chest that my affection, mine and mine alone, meant so much to her.

  “Back to my explanation. As good as the things we shared over the years were, they weren’t enough. They weren’t even close to what I really wanted.” My expression softened. “When I was eighteen I met the prettiest girl. The best girl for me. But being young and dumb, I stepped aside to let my best friend have her. Stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of stupid things. I should have fought for you right then. I wish I had, but I didn’t know all that much about love at the time. I had never had an example like you did with your parents. I only knew what it looked like when it didn’t work, like with my dad, and Gonzolo and his wife. But I know now what love is because of you. It burns bright inside of me when I’m with you, even brighter when you’re in my arms. I’ve felt the comfort of it in the darkest of places when I hit rock bottom, like in Malibu when you came to me. I see it in your pretty face, in your smile. I hear it in your laughter. I feel it in the way you respond to me, though those are only small parts. The bigger part is in your heart and your beautiful soul. That is the prize I’m after. Nothing less. I want you, all of you, for my own.” I raked back my hair, desperately wanting her to get what I was trying to say. “Denying what we share is like trying to escape a riptide by swimming straight to the shore. You only end up getting tired and swept further away from what you most desire.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “I know you, Karen Grayson. I’ve always held the key to your heart. I’ve kept it safe. I can’t forget you, and I’ll never give you up. How could I when you are the missing part that makes me whole?”

  She reached up to remove my hands. For a moment fear surfaced, thinking she planned to reject me, but I should have trusted her, knowing her the way I did. She brought one of my hands to her mouth, then the other one, pressing soft kisses into each palm and closing my fingers around them as if to keep those tokens of affection there. I gazed into her pretty eyes as she finished.

  “It was never like this with Dominic. I was young and naive. I thought I wanted a man to treat me like a queen, like my father treats my mother. I thought the way things were between us back then was the way love should be. But after being with you, really being with you, I know I was wrong. What I really needed was true understanding, like you’ve always shown me. Deep down soul level knowledge of one another. That’s the foundation my parents have. That’s love that will stand trials and the test of time. Dominic and I never had that. I’m not sure he ever really wanted it. I think he only wanted me to conform to his idea of who he thought I should be. I felt like he was always asking me to give up parts of myself in order to keep him. He never encouraged me to follow my own dreams the way you always have. He never found my true heart. I doubt he would have recognized it. When I propositioned you about making a baby, I thought what I needed most was a child, and I do want one. I do want a family someday. But what I want the most is someone who knows me, someone I can be myself with, someone who accepts me the way I am, someone whose love completes me. You are that to me. What I need most is you.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  Karen

  “This is crazy.”

  I laughed, and put my hand over my belly where our baby grew. “I am crazy. Don’t tell me you are just figuring that out!” He paddled closer and shook out his hair, making me close my eyes and squeal. “You’re an ass, Ramon Martinez.”

  “Maybe, but I’m your ass, mi cielo.”

  “You look beautiful, Sunshine.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “A wetsuit might end up being the new rage for California weddings.”

  I smiled. Today was one of his good days. I was learning, for the most part, to enjoy them and not worry about tomorrow.

  “You ok, Mom?”

  “Yeah, it’s just been a long time since I’ve been on one of these things.” Straddling her board, she took my hand and squeezed it. “How’s the baby doing?”

  He. She. Merman or mermaid, we didn’t want to know until the delivery.

  “Kicked twice since we’ve been out here,” I informed her, and she beamed, so excited
about being a grandma. Almost as excited as Ramon and I were to start our family.

  “Yo.” Ash arrived, hair slicked back from his face. Linc and Simone paddled up behind him, together on the same board. Simone leaned close and straightened my only wedding accessory for the nautical part of the ceremony, a blush dahlia over my ear, the type of flower I’d had in my bouquet all those years ago. Homage to the wedding that had preceded this one and to a fallen soldier everyone in attendance had loved in their own complicated ways.

  I glanced at the shore and at those who stood on it. Franklin. Enrique. Gonzolo. Luna. “I hope they don’t feel left out.”

  “They don’t,” Ramon said. “They know your inner circle’s out here. Let’s do this. Luau on the beach with everyone in OB afterward.”

  He turned to Diesel. Who knew the guy had a license to officiate weddings?

  The bassist spoke the traditional words while we floated on the water. The sun started to slip beneath the horizon as the short ceremony ended.

  “You may kiss the bride,” Diesel announced with a twinkle in his eye, tucking his shoulder length hair behind his ears and grinning widely.

  Ramon lifted a brow. “Finally,” he said before pulling me toward him using the leash attached to my ankle.

  “Hey, surfer wife.” His lips curved, and my heart flipped the way only he could make it do. “I love you.” Then he kissed me to make it official.

  OCEANSIDE

  Rock Stars, Surf and Second Chances - Book 3

  Michelle Mankin

  Love is the good in me

  Where there is love

  There is hope

  Where there is hope

  There is light

  Where there is light

  There is a way

  Tomorrow Today

  – Fanny Bay

  Prologue

  * * *

  Fanny - 2013

  The Dolby Theatre. One of the largest stages in the nation. One hundred and twenty feet wide. Seventy-five feet deep. On one of the biggest nights of the year.

  Oscar night.

  Mesh bronze accents. Plush seats trimmed in plum velvet. Pure old school Hollywood glam.

  Ultra cool.

  What wasn’t?

  Me. Fanny Bay Lesowski. A twenty-year-old with red corkscrew curls and a slight Canadian accent. Even my name was the opposite of glamorous.

  Under the striking silver looping ovoid structure, which supported and disguised an immense lighting grid, I felt tiny and insignificant. Clenching my fingers tighter around the mic in my hand, I willed my body not to tremble. But I was scared. I didn’t belong here. Not really. Not center stage at the Oscars with dozens of cameras trained on me following my every move.

  Fanny Bay, don’t let your nerves get the best of you, I reminded myself, my stomach swirling anew. Remember, you’ve done this song in front of cameras and audiences plenty of times since the nomination. The trick was fooling my brain into believing that this was just one more performance, not one in front of countless celebrities and rock stars much less fifty million worldwide viewers.

  Breathe in Zen. I closed my eyes and inhaled positive energy.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Breathe out all the negativity. I exhaled for three counts and opened my eyes.

  Better.

  My surroundings seemed less intimidating with my mind cleared. My tense muscles loosened as I compiled a list:

  1. The capacity inside the historic venue was only thirty-four hundred. I focused on that manageable number.

  2. I had done similar shows before—minus the enormous television audience of course.

  3. I wouldn’t be alone. My half-sister Hollie would arrive soon to occupy her reserved aisle seat three rows back from the stage. She would be radiating positive energy and cheering for me. Our mother would be here, too. I believed that, truly I did.

  Actual venue capacity. My experience. And most importantly, my support network. This was doable. When I broke overwhelming things down into less intimidating pieces, a Zen technique, it usually set me back on track.

  “I love you, Mama.” I brought my hand to my mouth. “Tonight’s for you.” I pressed my lips to the Claddagh ring that had once been hers but now encircled the first finger of my right hand. The metal was cold, like my life had often felt since she had left us.

  Blinking back tears, I tried to envision her standing right beside me lending me her strength. But that was difficult to do. Nine months, three weeks, two days since we had scattered her ashes. The loss still felt fresh. My emotions bubbled too near the surface and with them a pain too raw to soothe.

  Focus lost, I returned the mic to its slot on the stand and backed away. I suddenly didn’t feel like singing her favorite song about making your tomorrows today anymore.

  “Do you need something, Miss Lesowski?” The well-meaning sound technician assigned to me suddenly reemerged from the shadows. Navy ball cap on his head, the brim low and his eyes sparkling with eagerness to please, he had been hovering nearby since I had taken the stage for my allotted ten-minute window of rehearsal time.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Best to give him something to do so I could try to regather my thoughts. “Would you mind taking my guitar?” My Martin D18-E, a six-string acoustic-electric featured a solid Sitka spruce top, mahogany back and sides and a Fishman F1 Aura plus pickup system. I smoothed my fingertips over the handsome finish of the beautifully crafted instrument any musician would be proud to play. I loved the warm tones it made, but mostly I loved it because it had been a gift from my mother. “Be careful with it,” I cautioned making eye contact with him as I unclipped the strap and relinquished my treasure to his care.

  “I will, Miss Lesowski. Promise.” He gave me a reverential nod and retreated with the guitar. As he did a flash of platinum blond caught my eye.

  It can’t be, I thought. Only it was. It truly was.

  Ashland Keys of the Dirt Dogs.

  My heart leapt to my throat.

  Holy shit.

  I had hoped, maybe even allowed myself a little daydream about a chance meeting, but the last I had heard things had still been up in the air as to whether his band would actually perform live tonight. My eyes bugged out of my head as I stared. The drummer of the Dirt Dogs was even more handsome in the flesh, though he looked less like a rock legend right now in a crisp, white, button down shirt and dark denim jeans and more like a cover model for some upscale clothing catalog.

  What to do? My heart hammering with indecision, I panicked as he moved closer eclipsing a stack of amps with his wide shoulders and over six feet frame.

  I was a big fan of Ashland Keys.

  Ok, maybe more than just a fan.

  He was the reason I had gotten interested in music. I had his pictures—the band’s pictures, I reflexively downplayed my obsession—pasted all over my room. I had been to so many of the Dirt Dogs’ concerts that I had lost track of the count. Well, actually it was ten. The laminated ticket stubs lined the inside of the top desk drawer in my room, but don’t tell. And I had indulged in a couple—okay, a lot—of farfetched fantasies in which the rocker and I met, bonded and instantly fell madly in love. If my mother had been alarmed by my fascination with the band and a man eleven years older than me, she had never let on. Though, I suspected my biweekly guitar lessons had been her way of channeling my fixation into something more constructive. Certainly nothing edifying in my stepfather’s reaction. He had made his disapproval of Ashland Keys and his group of surfers turned rowdy, antiestablishment rock stars abundantly clear. But then again Samuel Lesowski didn’t approve of anything that I did—that is until my nomination for best original song alongside the super successful Dirt Dogs.

  Not that I desire my stepfather’s approval, I reminded myself. I didn’t need or want anything from him. He was hardly the benevolent benefactor with a heart for the downtrodden the public perceived him to be, and that he had fooled my mother into believing in the
early days of their relationship. In fact, he was an egomaniac with disturbing sadistic tendencies.

  “I’m marrying him for you, Fanny Bay,” my mother had told me while holding her hand over a belly that had yet to swell. “For you and this little one so we can have plenty of food and a comfy bed to sleep in rather than an old car.”

  That had been fifteen years ago, but I actually missed the rusty 1998 Buick LeSabre land-barge that had temporarily served as our home.

  More specifically, I missed her and the life we’d had together before my stepfather had entered it. Just the two of us, a typical day starting with me at her feet in the wee hours before dawn peeling potatoes while she cooked breakfast for the men working the oyster beds. Later I would take a glorious nap next to her in the backseat of the car before the evening found me standing in the shadows backstage watching her perform in the small local theater. It had been a hard way of living, yet it seemed to me that we both had been happier in those days.

  “Ashland, baby, wait.” A high-pitched woman’s voice screeched through my thoughts like a scratch on one of my mother’s vintage records. Shifting, I saw a brunette wearing ass-baring leather shorts clattering after the rock icon in her three inch stilettoes. He turned, irritation bristling his brow as he took a step backward to avoid her. But she had momentum. She barreled into him smashing her ridiculously huge boobs into his chest while grabbing hold of his upper arms—well as much of his biceps as she could curl her red tipped claws around. “Come back to the dressing room,” she whined. “Do a couple more shots. Let’s play some, honey.” She tipped her head back and batted her glued-on lashes at him. “My sister and I were just getting started. I’ll do you while she does Linc.”

  “No thanks.” He frowned, and her overly made up face registered surprise as he decisively set her away from him.

  “Whatever you want then. We’re easy, honey. We’ll do the whole band if you’d like. You can watch. Everyone knows how you like to.”