Risking it All: An M/M, rockstar, second chance romance (Kingston Brothers Book 4)

by Isabel Lucero

  Risking it All

  Copyright © 2020 Isabel Lucero

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchasing it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete the file and purchase a copy legally. This novel is for your enjoyment only and may not be resold or given to other people.

  Published and formatted by Isabel Lucero

  Cover Design by Robin Harper at Wicked by Design

  Edited by Kay Springsteen

  Contents

  1. Merrick

  2. Merrick

  3. Alejandro

  4. Alejandro

  5. Merrick

  6. Merrick

  7. Alejandro

  8. Alejandro

  9. Merrick

  10. Merrick

  11. Alejandro

  12. Merrick

  13. Alejandro

  14. Alejandro

  15. Merrick

  16. Merrick

  17. Alejandro

  18. Merrick

  19. Alejandro

  20. Merrick

  21. Alejandro

  22. Merrick

  23. Alejandro

  24. Merrick

  25. Alejandro

  26. Merrick

  27. Merrick

  28. Alejandro

  29. Merrick

  30. Alejandro

  31. Merrick

  32. Alejandro

  33. Merrick

  34. Alejandro

  35. Merrick

  36. Alejandro

  37. Merrick

  38. Alejandro

  39. Alejandro

  40. Merrick

  41. Merrick

  42. Alejandro

  43. Merrick

  44. Alejandro

  45. Alejandro

  46. Merrick

  47. Alejandro

  48. Merrick

  49. Alejandro

  50. Merrick

  51. Alejandro

  52. Merrick

  53. Alejandro

  54. Merrick

  Epilogue

  Merrick’s Statement

  Preview of On the Rocks

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Isabel Lucero

  1

  Merrick

  10 Years Ago

  “So, what’re we gonna do this summer?” Ali asks, taking a sip of beer.

  “Shit, it’s not like we have many options. We can have bonfires out at the circle of trees. Go to the mall or the pool.” I take a drink out of my own beer bottle. “I’m fine just hanging out here. Me and the guys set up in the garage and just play music. Maybe we can find some events to play at.”

  Ali nods and then puts the joint between his lips and inhales. He’s not real close with Jay, Carlos, or Sky, but they don’t hate each other either. Sometimes he hangs out in the garage when we play, but usually it’s just me and the guys, and occasionally some girls, depending on who’s dating who at the time.

  “Your brother’s not home, is he?” he questions, passing me the joint.

  “Nah. I think he’s at work.”

  Me and Ali sit on the steps leading to my backyard, drinking the beer he swiped from his mom’s house and smoking the joint we got from Leo—the known pothead of our high school.

  “You’re lucky you always have the house to yourself,” he says. “My mom’s always up my ass about something. I gotta clean, do homework, cut the grass, help my sister with something. It’s never ending.”

  I finish the beer and open another one. “Yeah, but at least you have a mom.”

  Ali cringes. “Sorry, bro. I forget. I’m grateful I have her, but. . .you know.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I get it. Elijah makes me do shit around the house, too. It’s not like I don’t have a parent figure. He definitely acts like my dad, so it’s not like it’s easy around here.”

  We’re silent for a minute, drinking and smoking, even though we both know we shouldn’t be doing either. We’re only sixteen, but it’s not like we’re the only people doing it. Our school is crawling with kids who are eager to do both. Some do it to fit in or be cool, but I started doing it in the hopes that it would keep certain thoughts at bay.

  My parents died when I was eleven, leaving my oldest brother to care for me and my other two brothers. It’s hard thinking about them and knowing they’ll never be around again. Sometimes you need their advice and guidance, especially as you grow older.

  I met Alejandro last year, and quickly started calling him Ali. He says he hates it, but I think he’s gotten used to it by now. He decided to get me back by calling me by my last name, but that doesn’t bother me.

  Any time I’m not with the band, I’m with him. We became fast friends, and soon after, I started having these feelings. . .these urges.

  Sometimes I want to kiss Ali. He makes me laugh constantly, and his smile makes me smile. My heart has threatened to burst out of my chest when I’ve been in his room and he started undressing. I’m not supposed to think about him like that, but I can’t help it. He’s the first person I’ve felt any sort of attraction to. At least like this.

  Sure, I’ve seen guys on TV who I’ve thought were good-looking, but women are pretty, too. I just don’t feel anything when I look at them. I feel everything when I look at Ali.

  Me and him can talk about anything. Well, almost. I haven’t told him about this. How can you tell your same-sex friend that you find him attractive? How can you admit to something that you don’t really want to acknowledge yourself?

  Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m gay, and I don’t know how to deal with that. So I drink and I smoke and I try to pretend I’m into girls. That’s what most sixteen-year-olds do, right?

  But there are moments, very brief moments, when I think Ali might like me too. Not just as friends, but as more. Maybe I’m seeing things that I want to see. Maybe he doesn’t glance at my lips when I talk. Perhaps that tiny little lip bite he did when I took off my shirt to jump in the pool was meant for someone else.

  “What do you think about Mindy?” I ask, drinking more of the bitter tasting beer.

  “What about her?” he asks, his voice dripping with disgust.

  I laugh. “You don’t think she’s cute?”

  “Fuck no!”

  “Why not?” I ask, laughing harder. “She’s got dirty blond hair, pretty eyes, and a decent body.”

  Ali scoffs. “So do you.”

  I sober up, sitting straighter and wondering if I heard what I thought I heard. Did he compliment me? My body? “What?”

  His eyes are wide when he looks at me, then he starts laughing. “I’m just saying. . .that doesn’t automatically mean someone’s attractive.”

  It takes a minute before my heart rate slows down. “Oh. Well, she asked me out.”

  “She asked you out?�
�

  “Why do you sound so surprised? I am attractive.”

  Ali rolls his eyes as he laughs. “Whatever, man. That girl asks out everybody. She’s just a slut.”

  “Harsh.”

  He shrugs, then takes a sip of his beer while I puff on the joint. “Why do you like her anyway?”

  I blow out the smoke as I answer. “She likes me.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not a good reason.”

  “Whatever, bro. Who do you like? I saw you with Stephanie the other day. What’s up with that?”

  “Nothing is up. She’s just a friend.”

  “Have you dated anybody lately? I can’t remember you ever having a girlfriend.”

  Ali tenses up a bit. “Girls suck.”

  “What are you? Eight?” I laugh.

  “You haven’t dated anyone either.”

  I think back as I finish the beer. “I went out with Jess.”

  “Dude. I was there with you guys at the movies. That was not a date.”

  “Okay, well, I made out with Rochelle.”

  “Making out is not dating.”

  “Why are you giving me shit?”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.” He laughs and chokes at the same time, sputtering out smoke.

  I finish another beer and he smokes the rest of the joint. We’re both feeling pretty good, laughing at stupid shit, and making plans for the summer.

  “You’re right, girls do suck,” I say after a couple minutes of silence, leaning back against the railing.

  He chuckles. “I know, but why do you say that now? I thought you were gonna go out with Mindy.”

  I watch him until he finally looks up at me. Our eyes stay connected for several seconds, and I start having those feelings again. I want to lean over and plant my lips on his. I want to taste his tongue and run my hands under his shirt and feel his body. I want to tangle my fingers in his long, wavy brown hair.

  “I don’t want to date Mindy.”

  Stuck in this staring contest, the air around us becomes charged with electricity. His head tilts just slightly, like he’s asking me a question without words. I figure now’s a good time to try to drop hints. If it doesn’t go the way I hope, I can blame it on the alcohol and weed.

  My eyes roam his handsome face. His skin is flawless and mocha tinted, and his eyes are like honey. I finally land on his lips. They look soft and plump, and they’re perfectly proportioned. His tongue swipes across the bottom one as I continue to stare.

  “Merrick.”

  The use of my first name feels different and instantly pulls me out of my daze. “Yeah?”

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Nothing. What do you mean?”

  “You’re looking at me like. . .”

  “Like what?” I ask, arching a brow.

  Once again he glances at my lips, and there’s nothing about the way he’s looking at me that gives off a friend vibe. He’s looking at me like he wants me.

  “Like. . .” he trails off again.

  “Like you’re looking at me?”

  We don’t say anything else. Instead, we slowly lean toward one another, each waiting for the other to pull away or ask what the hell is going on. Neither of us stops it.

  My lips brush against his. We’re cautious, taking our time. One peck leads to two. And then I put my hand on the side of his face and keep him in place as I slip my tongue into his mouth.

  He moans which gives me the confidence to keep going. Our kiss turns passionate, and both my hands cradle his face as he fists the sides of my shirt and yanks me into him.

  After a good thirty seconds, I ease away just slightly, but my hands are still on his face and his hands are still on my body.

  “Ali,” I whisper.

  The back door swings open, and the creaking sound sends me and Ali flying apart.

  “Merrick.” Elijah’s stern voice steals my attention.

  My heart hammers in my chest. Did he see? He looks surprised. Angry. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at me.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re smoking weed? I could smell that shit as soon as I got out of the car.” He looks past me and Ali and finds the empty beer bottles. “And you’re drinking?” Elijah huffs, his jaw clenching. “Alejandro, I think you need to go home.”

  Ali quickly stands up. “Sorry, Elijah.”

  My brother doesn’t say anything, he just steps to the side and lets Ali walk through the house.

  I wait for him to start yelling and listing my punishments, but he just stands there and watches me. His anger quickly settles into something else. Disappointment? Concern?

  “Go to your room, Merrick,” he says with a sigh.

  I stand up and slowly lift my head to meet his gaze. He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I suddenly want to break down and cry and tell him everything. But I don’t. I just walk past him and go to my room.

  2

  Merrick

  Present Day

  It’s been almost five years since I transitioned from unknown to world renowned. Music has been a huge part of my life for so long.

  I remember my parents listening to music, but I couldn’t tell you the names of the artists. I just know my mom liked having music on in the kitchen when she was cooking, and my dad played music both in the car and in his den. I was only eleven when they died, and I wish I remembered more of what they were into.

  After their deaths, and as I grew into a teenager, I would lock myself in my room and blast a mix of heavy metal, punk rock, and alternative rock. I taught myself how to play guitar and started to create music.

  Befriending Jay, Skyler, and Carlos in school was my saving grace. We were all musically inclined, and I started to focus my anger and pain into creating music with them. It started out as a hobby, something we could do after school and on the weekends.

  When people started taking interest in us after we’d perform for talent shows, we started performing locally at any event that would take us. We quickly realized people loved us and wanted to hear our music. They’d ask when we would be performing again so they could show up. We knew we had the potential to be something, but we had no idea just how popular we’d eventually become.

  My parents will never see me perform. They’ll never know I made it big and was able to see the world all before the age of thirty. Then again, if they hadn’t died, maybe I’d never have picked up a guitar to keep me from crying. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time in the garage with my bandmates trying to make music, because I would have been with them instead.

  It’s hard thinking about that. If my parents had lived, it’s possible I wouldn’t have the life I have now. But honestly, though I only have about six or seven years’ worth of memories with them, I’d choose them over this life in a heartbeat.

  My brothers are amazing. They love and support me like crazy, but sometimes you want your mom and dad around for certain things.

  While I wish they could see what I became, sometimes I wonder if it’s better that they can’t. Perhaps it’s best that they don’t know about things I’ve done or who I really am.

  Would they be proud of my accomplishments? I have no doubt about it. But would they accept me if they knew I was gay? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I accept me. How can I when all I’ve done is lie to myself and the people closest to me?

  My brothers don’t know. My bandmates don’t either. Only one person besides myself knows, and I’m pretty sure he hates me.

  So, yes, I’m rich and famous. I have the life people dream about. But am I happy? Not really. Not completely.

  This tour is coming to an end in a month. We’re finally going to be able to go home to our families or take a vacation to an island in the middle of nowhere. Sky’s doing the latter.

  I’m going home. I’m gonna see my brothers, visit some old friends, and try to get the guy who knows my deepest and darkest secret to forgive me.

  I’ve been in the tabloids and splashed across inter
net articles with a different woman in every city. Why? Because that’s what you want the world to see when you’re living a lie. You show everyone what you’re not.

  I’m a liar, and I don’t know how I’ll begin to set things straight. No pun intended. I want to live life honestly. I want to be myself one hundred percent, because it’s extremely hard to be happy when you’re constantly putting on a front for people. But it’s become second nature to be what everyone expects me to be, that I’m not entirely sure who I am.

  Going back home will be good for me. However, every time I think about coming clean to everyone, I think about how I risk jeopardizing not only my career, but the career of my bandmates if I come out.

  “Hey, man. You ready to go on? We’re up in seven,” Sky tells me, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Yeah, I’m good.”

  He grins, mischief sparkling in his eyes as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “I got four girls ready to meet us after the show. Dude, I’m telling you these girls are fucking hot! Their bodies.” His eyes bulge. “Even hotter than the girls in London. These Parisian girls are no joke.”

  I force a smile. “Okay, cool. Let’s get the show started, so we can hurry and be done.”