Taut Strings: A Rock Star Romance (River Valley Rebels)

by Gabrielle Sands

  The line between his lips tightened. “You wrote almost half of it. You are the song’s co-writer. If we release this, your name is going to be in the credits, so you better get onboard with all that quickly and cut the bullshit.”

  My brows inched together. “I wish you would have told me that when we started on this.”

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not thinking about shit like that when I’m writing. Neither should you. Are we making art here, or are we having a business meeting?”

  “Fine. Let’s keep going,” I blurted out. What were the chances of them ever using this song? The rest of the band hadn’t even heard it yet. Still, I bristled at his sharp words. At how he seemed to have no patience for my concerns.

  I played him my suggestions, and he seemed receptive to most of them. The irritation I was nursing fell away as I focused fully on the music, and I thought I could see some hardness shedding from him as well.

  It sounded like a real song, and most importantly it sounded like Bleeding Moonlight. Somehow, with just the two of us, we had managed to get the sound right, and as we played through the track over and over again, pride warmed my chest.

  Abel surprised me with a rare smile. The sight of it was electrifying and raised the hairs on my arms. His green eyes flickered, and just like before, the barriers between us lowered in a temporary truce.

  He began to sing.

  “We are shattered pieces no one would call whole

  Together, we become

  A grotesque work of art

  Feeding on each other’s misery

  Sons of broken homes

  Left to no one

  Born of nothing

  We create our kingdom of ruin, crushed hearts, and broken bones

  Is this love or hate?

  The lines are blurred

  Pull back the skin and check the wounds for answers

  You won’t find them here

  Sons of broken homes

  Left to no one

  Born of nothing

  We create our kingdom of ruin, crushed hearts, and broken bones”

  My jaw went slack as an unexpected understanding spread through my mind. Abel had revealed something to me. Something I didn’t think anyone else in the band knew.

  “Abel, I…” My voice dried up. Did I have a right to ask?

  He was watching me, waiting. The walls were still down.

  “Were you and Charlie together?” I expected him to deny it, to shut me out, but he simply sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded.

  “The rest of them don’t know. The thing between me and Charlie, it was…unstable.”

  My head began to spin. What did this mean? Was Abel gay? Bi? Why would he keep his relationship with Charlie a secret from his closest friends?

  He moved to put down his guitar and then changed his mind and pulled it closer, as if it were a shield. I recognized that instinct as something I often did myself.

  “Charlie thought that to write great music, one had to feel the full range of emotions. He said it was no wonder some of the greatest musicians relied so heavily on drugs to feed their creative energies. Drugs helped create extremes, but I was always categorically against them, having been raised by an addict. So Charlie made me feel in other ways.”

  His voice trailed off to a whisper. Pain was radiating from him, still fresh and potent. The backs of my eyes prickled as my own emotions threatened to overwhelm me.

  “He’d call me names, tell me my work was shit. He was verbally abusive for days on end, isolating me from the outside world, and I’d let him, because somewhere along the line I started believing that without it I couldn’t make music. When I got close to my breaking point, he’d flip a switch and become compassionate and kind. He’d bring me back from the edge and show me that in my despair I had managed to create something great.”

  I reached for his guitar and tried to pull it gently away, but he moved out of my grasp. “It was that heady mix of contrasts that got me hooked on him.”

  I got the sense that telling me all of this was a compulsion he couldn’t resist.

  “I’d tell him that I loved him, and he’d humor me, never rejecting me outright, but never giving me a clear answer. Some days, when we were working on this album, we’d spend most of the day in bed. He’d be loving, almost tender. He’d make me think we were finally together, only to ignore or scream at me the next day. He knew how to play me like an instrument.”

  Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched him try to remain composed.

  “When I found out he was dead, my heart broke. It’s still broken. He was the first man I ever loved, and maybe he’ll be the only one I ever will love. But a part of me was also glad.”

  “Abel, I’m so sorry. It sounds like he was awful to you,” I said, sniffling. This time, when I tried to lift the guitar away, he let me. I put it to one side and kneeled by his feet, placing my hands on his knees, ready to accept the pain he was sharing.

  Abel’s hand found my cheek. “I never thought I’d write another song after he died. I didn’t write anything new until that night we met here. Who would have thought you’d be the one to show me I could still be do it,” he said in a low voice.

  His index finger trailed the ridge of my nose. “Maybe, I should have known. You and your unbelievable talent appeared out of nowhere and swept all of them away. I think I knew it before they did. I saw you, and I could tell that you would make them fall in love with music all over again, and I hated the whole thing. Hated how you’d make them want to keep going. I tried to be contrarian, to resist, to deny…”

  He slid down from the couch to the floor before me, his legs bracketing my frame. My hands slid from his knees to rest on his thighs, and our faces were less than half a foot apart. The air was charged.

  “But I can’t deny it now,” Abel breathed. “We just wrote a song together.”

  The intensity of his attention on me was almost too much. His eyes, his goddamn eyes, were so magnetic that I didn’t think I’d ever be able to look at anything else again without feeling like something was missing. He searched my face for something and if I knew what it was, I would give it to him a thousand times over.

  “You don’t even understand the power you have over us all,” he said.

  We were inching closer, my heart hammering louder and louder in my ears.

  “I don’t have anything,” I whispered. “I’m a nobody.”

  “You’re becoming somebody to us.” Lips parting, he slid his gaze to my mouth.

  The door behind us flung open, and I scrambled away, scared out of my mind by the sudden sound.

  Kyle, the sound engineer stood in the doorway with his arm wrapped around a young woman. His eyes widened as he took in the tableau before him. “Shit! I’m sorry. I was sure the place would be empty now.”

  “It’s okay,” I rushed to assure him, but my words came out ragged. “We were just…wrapping up.”

  The woman by him stood there with her mouth agape. “Oh my God. Are you Abel Donovan?”

  Abel’s face went from startled to annoyed to his normal unreadable expression in the span of a few seconds. “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “I’m such a huge fan,” the woman squealed, and I took in the band T-shirt and leather pants she wore. The shirt wasn’t Bleeding Moonlight’s but it was another metal band. “Can I get an autograph? And a picture?”

  The woman dug for something in her purse, and I hurried to put my guitar back in its case. As I turned to leave, Abel and I shared a look. His mask was back on. Whatever warmth I’d seen in his eyes only moments earlier was gone.

  Tonight, things between us had changed. I just wasn’t sure if it was for better or for worse.

  ABEL

  Be nice to the fans. Be nice to the fans.

  The chant had been playing on loop in my head for the past ten minutes as Kyle’s date insisted on getting about a million pictures with me before asking me to sign on the upper curve of her righ
t tit.

  Have fun staring at my name while you’re fucking her tonight, Kyle.

  The sound engineer seemed almost as pissed about this development as me, his blatant attempt at impressing the redhead had gone horribly wrong. I supposed she was impressed, just not with him.

  Finally, there was a break in her long monologue about how much she loved our last album, and I used the opportunity to tell her I needed to head home.

  Kyle insisted on walking me out.

  “Hey, Abel, can we keep this between us?” he asked, his tone laced with barely disguised frustration and flavored with a hint of fear. “I know I probably shouldn’t have brought her here, but she really wanted to see the studio, and I thought it would be a good way to end the night.”

  “Who the fuck am I going to tell?” I turned on him, pissed about the interruption and no longer constrained by the presence of a fan. “The studio manager? If I were you, I’d be less worried about him and more worried about me. Pull that shit again, and you’re gone. And don’t even think about fucking her in there and getting your fluids all over the couch. Understood?”

  His face had gotten progressively redder as I spoke, and he gave me a jerky nod when I finished. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get her out of there right away.”

  Without saying goodbye, I got into my car and drove home, irritation coursing through my veins.

  Despite taking it out on Kyle, I knew it wasn’t just his little visit that pissed me off. It was everything preceding it, and how I no longer felt like I knew what the fuck was going on.

  I had just written a song.

  This thing that had been hanging over me, the fear that I could no longer write, had finally budged, so why wasn’t I ecstatic?

  The answer came quickly. It was because I’d just spilled all my dirty little secrets to someone I was supposed to be staying away from.

  The rush from composing with her had clouded my mind. I couldn’t believe how well we worked together, how effortless it was. With Charlie, song writing had been war. With Adeline, it was peaceful surrender.

  What was I supposed to do with this new knowledge? In less than two weeks, we’d no longer be working together.

  In fact, I’d no longer be working with anyone at all.

  At home, I realized my hoodie was gone. I hadn’t taken it back from Adeline, and the thought of how it might smell like her after she had used it made me not want it back at all. Everything about her was intoxicating—her scent, her face, her body, and her talent, and I couldn’t afford to turn into a drunk.

  I had to stay away, but today I’d done the exact opposite, and in the moment, it had felt so fucking good.

  Guilt gripped me like a vise. What kind of a sick bastard was I? Charlie had died less than two months ago, and even though whatever there’d been between us had been troubled, I had loved him for years. My grief and my feelings over his death were a densely tangled mass, impossible to unravel and understand.

  Why hadn’t I seen how deep his issues ran? In those last few weeks, the rest of the guys had wanted space from him. They couldn’t deal with his toxicity, so they tapped out, but I couldn’t afford to do that. I wanted to write, and I’d believed with my entire being that I could only write with him.

  He was so volatile—so angry—while we worked together. I felt his pain, but my attempts to comfort him were pushed aside with vitriol that threatened to seep into my veins and kill me like slow-acting poison. Still, while the guys had no way of seeing what was going on with him, I was right there on the front lines. And I’d done absolutely nothing.

  The more time I spent with Adeline, the more confused I became. Now that I knew I could still write music, my conviction to break up the band was wavering, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

  I tore off my clothes, littering them across the floor before collapsing onto the bed. A feverish chill ran across my skin, and I immediately thought of Adeline rubbing her arms as I walked into the studio today.

  She’d looked at me with a mixture of apprehension and fascination. I liked how her big gray eyes widened when I said something undoubtedly rude. The rapid rise and fall of her chest when she got angry. The way she sucked on her bottom lip when she was concentrating on a tricky guitar solo that I told her she couldn’t nail.

  I shouldn’t notice these things, but I did, and as my hand drifted toward my hardened cock, I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt.

  She was undeniably beautiful, and the thought of being inside of her made my hand pick up speed. Would she feel as soft around my cock as her skin had felt beneath my hand today? Would she gasp and shiver when I pushed my way into her tight cunt? Or would her nails leave marks down my back?

  I came with a grunt, hot cum spurting over my hand, and imagined Adeline lapping it off.

  So what if I was attracted to her? If I wanted to fuck her? She didn’t mean anything to me. Not like Charlie did. With her, it was purely physical. The things I’d revealed tonight? A simple moment of weakness. Maybe if I’d talked to the guys about Charlie and I earlier, I wouldn’t have opened up to her.

  Where did all of this leave me? I could tell the rest of my band was into her as well. Judging by the satisfied expressions Cole and Ezra had worn most of the day, something may have happened between them already. I didn’t know if Adeline was open-minded enough to sleep with both of them, and I didn’t give a shit.

  Or at least I shouldn’t.

  Still, my traitorous mind went there. If she was willing to screw those two while we were working together, maybe she’d be willing to add me to the rotation?

  Of course, only for the sole purpose of getting this craving out of my system.

  I pounded my fist on the pillow in frustration, feeling no better than a petulant child. I was Abel fucking Donovan. Why was I pining so hard for her?

  No, I was better than this. All I had to do was get through two more weeks, and then I could forget Adeline and her beautiful, expressive eyes.

  18

  ADELINE

  I spent the next day distracted, tired from the lack of sleep and confused about what I had learned from Abel.

  I couldn’t believe the rest of the guys didn’t know about his troubled relationship with Charlie, but I knew it wasn’t my place to talk to them about it. That was Abel’s story to tell, and he had shared it with me before doing so with his oldest friends.

  I suspected I knew why. He communicated best through music—his guard had lowered when we’d really gotten into the process—and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’d never intended to reveal his secret to me. It just happened. Music had a way of making honest people out of us.

  Halfway through the day, Cole asked if we could talk outside. I followed him down the hall, my eyes catching on how his toned back flexed beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He cast a look over his shoulder at me and winked, easing my thoughts. We came outside, and as soon as the door slammed behind us, his hands found my waist. He pressed me against the wall of the studio, leaning in close.

  “Tell me there will be more.”

  I reached up and buried my fingers in the softness of his hair. His eyelids fluttered in pleasure before he forced them open, pinning me with his heated gaze.

  “Tell me, Adeline. If you say you don’t want it again, you’ll need to make me believe it. If I sense the slightest hesitation in your refusal, I won’t back down. We won’t back down.”

  I trailed my fingers from his hair down to his cheeks, his short beard, his soft lips. He let me touch him, his expression unwavering, with only his heavy breaths giving me an indication of the effect I was having on him.

  Why should I deny myself this? There was joy and pleasure for all three of us in this arrangement, and a distraction for me. When we were together, I didn’t think about the difficulties of my life or what would come next after they left. I simply felt and lived in the moment, unburdened and exhilaratingly alive.

  I sighed. “You’re sure this won’t affect t
he recording process?”

  A curl fell into Cole’s face. “It might, but only for the better. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve done for us by just being here. We’ve never worked together this well before.”

  Abel’s words flared in my memory. “I could tell that you would make them fall in love with music all over again, and I hated the whole thing. Hated how you’d make them want to keep going.”

  What did he mean by that? I’d been so absorbed by the revelation regarding Charlie, I hadn’t had an opportunity to truly process those words.

  Cole continued, oblivious to my thoughts. “There is something here. I know you feel it, too.”

  Of course, I felt it. I’d felt it enough to initiate this whole thing, and despite my subsequent protests and denials, I didn’t think I was strong enough to walk away.

  “I’m worried about what would happen if the others find out,” I confessed, still hung up on how Silas and Abel would react, and even more confused about my feelings toward the singer after last night. We had almost kissed. I knew he’d been emotional and upset, but what was my excuse? If he knew I’d slept with Cole and Ezra, would he still want to kiss me?

  The corner of Cole’s mouth inched up. “If the others find out, I think their first question will be to ask if there’s room for more. Whether that’s a problem or not is…entirely up to you.”

  My eyes widened, and my pulse hammered in my ears. Was he implying what I thought he was?

  Cole held my gaze, daring me to consider the meaning of his words.

  Room for more. He believed Silas and Abel would want to join us in this…arrangement. And what about me? What did I want?

  I shut my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the answer that suddenly seemed a lot easier to give.

  This thing between Cole, Ezra and I… Once was never going to be enough.