by C. L. Roman
He rubs his eyes and laughs.
He mumbles, “The hits just keep on comin’.”
In one motion, he wraps his arms around her and hugs her to him, “Oh, my Melodie, I don’t know what’s in store for us, but I know it’s going to be quite an adventure.”
She looks up at him, her eyes gleaming in the light, “Seth, there’s one more thing. This was on the kitchen table.”
Melodie steps back and holds a folded, worn piece of paper out to Seth.
She says, “I didn’t open it, but you should know that it’s just like the paper from my dream. Old, delicate, almost transparent.”
With shaking hands, Seth takes it from her and carefully unfolds it.
The writing is so washed out, barely able to be seen on the page. Seth looks at Melodie, who is watching him intently.
His voice is shaking, “I don’t want to mess it up.”
She encourages him, “You’re doing great, honey. What does it say?”
Seth’s hands are shaking uncontrollably. Melodie’s covers both of them with hers, “Don’t be afraid. This is a gift.”
Seth nods, “I saw her last night, Mel. She talked to me.”
Melodie’s mouth slowly curves up into a smile, “I know.”
Tears rush down Seth’s face, the emotions of the last days finally erupting from him. “I miss her so much.”
She takes the paper and sets it on the end table as she gently guides him to the sofa, “Sit down, honey.”
She sits beside him as he gently lays his head on her shoulder and cries. She strokes his hair and whispers words of encouragement and love.
In a few minutes, Seth sits back up, his face streaked with tears, his eyes puffy.
“Okay, I have to do this.”
Melodie’s face is tear-streaked, too. He wipes one of hers away as it glides down her cheek, “Sweetheart, you don’t have to cry with me. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head, “Yes, I do. I feel this, too.”
He snuffles once more, “Okay, let’s do this together.”
He retrieves the paper, again gingerly holding it in his hands.
Squinting, he reads, “Everything is back home. I can rest now. I will watch as your life with Melodie unfolds. Love each other, cherish each other. You were meant for each other. Please tell my Seth that I love him and miss him more than he’ll ever know. Tell him that I’m with him every day. And, my dear Seth, tell him one more thing…lay off the biscuits and gravy or I’ll find a way to thump him in the head like I did when I was there! Love, Grams.”
Seth and Melodie look at each other, blank-faced, then burst out laughing.
Sometimes, there really are no words…
A Note From J.C.
I hope you enjoyed Fate’s Melodie! Thank you for taking the time to read it. Your support means the world to me!
Many of my books and stories to date have been rock star romance. Music is one of my biggest passions. While I am not a musician, I have interacted with many through music journalism over the years. When the idea of a lost heirloom was agreed upon for this anthology, at first I had no clue what I would write.
Then, the thought of an heirloom (or two) being passed down in the form of a musical instrument just resonated with me. Music is the universal language that brings people together. Musicians and songwriters have the gift of turning emotions, thoughts, and ideas into that language that we all can share. So, in this story, the guitar being passed from generation-to-generation is not only an heirloom, but a symbol that music will always live on…
—JCL
About the Author
JC Layne is an avid music fan, reader and geek. JC combines her love and knowledge of music with her love of fiction in her novels. By day, JC holds a technical job in a large company. Writing is the outlet that balances out her techie left side brain and creative right side brain...and hopefully keeps her sane.
JC's primary genre has been rock star romance, but she has expanded into other genres and will continue to do so. She has been part of several contemporary and erotic anthologies and loves the opportunity to write with other amazing authors.
JC lives in Charlotte, NC with her five fur babies. She is a die-hard Carolina Panthers and South Carolina Gamecocks fan and a writer for various music media outlets.
More stories by J.C. Layne:
Face in the Crowd
To others Laney Mason may just be a face in the crowd, but from his first glimpse of her, Jace knows she is perfect for him in every way. Can it really work between them? Whatever it takes, Jace won’t give up on his shot at love.
The Back on Track Series
Finding Their Rhythm (Prequel)
Two young boys. A friendship that lasts a lifetime. A dream that they refuse to give up on.
Perfect Timing (Book One)
Mitch Lansing is so over the Rockstar life, and he’s ready to settle down. All he has to do is convince the perfect woman that he’s perfect for her.
Missing a Beat (Book Two)
The perfect pair face off against a vengeful ghost from his past. Can they put a stop to her sinister plans before she succeeds in changing their lives forever?
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The Sinful agreement
By
Faith Starr
Doing the right thing for someone else occasionally
means doing something that feels wrong to you.
- Jodi Picoult
Acknowledgments
A big thank you to Caitlin from Editing by C. Marie. I hunted you down and am so grateful I did.
Cheri Roman for providing amazing feedback. The manuscript took a different and more exciting route thanks to your suggestions. I look forward to working with you again.
Tracie Roberts for providing the beautiful cover art for Legacies of Love.
Jennifer Wedmore for bringing me and the talented authors of this anthology together to make it a reality.
C. L. Roman, Olivia Hardin, Tawdra Kandle, Terri A. Wilson, L.E. Perez, and J.C. Layne for contributing to Legacies of Love. Thank you all for making the process easy and for working together so brilliantly. To more anthologies as a team!
My three wonderful kids for giving me time and space to let my creativity shine. I love you forever and always.
My amazing husband who lets me bounce ideas off him and contributes his own to incorporate into my stories. For his patience and encouragement for me to follow my passion for writing and not give up, even when he sees how stressed to the max the editing process can make me. I love you.
My higher power for inspiring me to continue to follow my dream.
—FS
Chapter One
Abigail
The dim light shadowed his thin frame, partial comb-over, and protruding belly as he reclined in an arm chair across from me. With the blindfold now removed and him in full sight, bile rose in my stomach. The asshole wore a look of satisfaction while zipping up and buttoning his dress slacks. I didn’t want to think about what lurked underneath them. Fortunately, it hadn’t come to that—nor would I let it, no matter what the circumstance.
I sat upright on the bed and hurriedly pulled the thin straps of my cocktail dress up my arms, allowing the delicate fabric to settle on my shoulders. Disgust filled me. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard to wash down the awful taste in my mouth.
“You’re free to leave now, my dear girl.”
Liar. My freedom had been stripped away from me three months earlier when I agreed to his sordid deal. The good news: I only had to endure three more months of his torture, and trust me, I was counting each and every second until that day arrived.
“See you at work in the morning. There’s a dinner tomorrow night—I’ll have something sent to the office for you to wear.”
Of course he would. He always did. Whoever purchased the formalwear he gave me had slutty taste, and expensive, too—not that he couldn’t afford it. He made more money in a day than I wo
uld ever make in my lifetime. The bastard had ginormous power and the wealth to buy whatever he wanted. Technically speaking, in a sense, he had bought me too, along with all his other possessions.
“Don’t look so disappointed, my dear girl. You should be basking in joy. We both got a happy ending.”
My eyes flicked to his. He had to be kidding me. Maybe that sick fuck had gotten a happy ending, but nothing in my life that included him could be described as happy—unless it made Irma better. That would be the only happy ending that could justify my current living hell.
The locket hanging on the gold necklace around my neck instantly reminded me of my end goal in all this. It was the main reason I never took it off. I didn’t want to lose sight of my objective, which was Irma, or more importantly, my inner strength.
I scooted off the bed, bringing the dildo with me. I didn’t trust him to clean it properly. I collected my heels and dashed to the door of the penthouse, stuffing the toy inside my purse while doing so.
“Good night, my dear girl.”
Dear girl—his pet name for me. Those two words would be permanently struck from my vocabulary in the not-near-enough future.
Barefoot, I hightailed it to the elevator, almost hyperventilating by the time I stepped inside. I put my shoes on during the ride downstairs.
The door opened to the grand lobby of the expensive high-rise. Marble covered the floors, holding my attention as I walked across it, my shoes tapping with every step I took. The few people who passed by me gave me a once-over and glared, some whispering comments. Based on my attire and youthful appearance, I wouldn’t have blamed them for thinking I was a high-end escort. Not that it mattered—there was nothing they could think about me that I hadn’t already thought about myself by that point. Either way, I didn’t acknowledge any of them, unable to exit the building fast enough.
Standing outside in the cold air, I hailed a taxi. I wrapped my arms around myself to try to keep warm, breathing a sigh of relief once I was finally on the way home. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue to follow through with this agreement. The worst part was feeling like I had no choice but to grin and bear it. In my case, it was just bearing it; there was no grinning involved.
When the driver stopped in front of my building, I handed him some cash and hurried inside. I wanted to disinfect my body even though the old man’s hands had never touched it. The fact that he’d seen what had taken place made me feel just as filthy.
“Masturbation is a dirty thing, Abigail. You are a naughty girl. Now turn over for your punishment. I hate that you make me take the belt to you. When will you learn not to be a sinner?”
My muscles tensed at the painful memory of my mother lashing me with the stiff leather. I so wished those damn memories would fade, or better yet, disappear for good.
Making my way down the hall to my apartment, I almost crashed into my neighbor. He was carrying a large bag of garbage, and a woman dressed in almost nothing was giggling by his side. He was probably taking the bag to the chute—perchance the woman, too. She certainly looked like trash.
Like I was one to judge in my present state.
His eyes burned through me, perusing my body, my snug-fitting black dress giving away everything underneath it. How humiliating, though his date had on less than I did. Here’s to looking at the bright side of things.
I didn’t pay him any mind; I never did. We had passed each other multiple times in the hall, at the gym located downstairs in the lobby, and at the mailboxes. That’s not to say I didn’t notice how breathtakingly handsome he was. Brown wavy hair—the color of a rustic wood cabin, the bluest of eyes—jaw-dropping beauty like the feathers on a Victoria Crowned Pigeon, and a body with more definition in it than Merriam-Webster had words—yup, I had noticed him all right, but he would never know it.
“Hey.” He acknowledged me with a tip of his chin to go along with his one-word greeting.
His hot mess of a date jabbed him in the arm. “Stop flirting.”
Try speaking more quietly if you don’t want others to hear you, dimwit.
Sadly, pretty much nobody got a response from me these days unless it was my sister or mother—the latter out of absolute necessity. Lack of self-esteem could do that to a person, especially when the decline in perceived self-worth was self-inflicted, the result of doing a good deed. I had basically abandoned my entire social circle, now living a prison sentence with the old man being the only person holding the key to set me free.
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on an antacid to settle the burning in my stomach. I went through so many of the damn chewables I now bought them in bulk—so pathetic, but not being the type to wallow in self-pity, I instead tried to look at the positive…wait, what’s the positive in this again? Oh yeah, the locket dangling from the gold necklace around my neck.
Inside my apartment I stripped off my dress and took a long hot shower, bringing the dildo with me—strictly for cleaning, not for pleasure. I scrubbed every inch of my body from head to toe, feeling violated even though the only hands that had touched me were my own, the evil traitors. This was how pitiful things had become.
Chapter Two
Gabriel
The hot neighbor with long chestnut locks didn’t give me the time of day. She never did. Whenever I saw her, she was either wearing a fancy, albeit revealing, dress, or office attire, unless downstairs at the gym. Something was off with her. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, though. Secretary by day, call girl by night? Interesting fantasy, but my gut told me otherwise. Either way, it was too bad I had this bimbo attached to me for the night instead of my sexy neighbor. That was one piece of ass I wanted to tap.
“Are you sure you aren’t up for another round of fun?”
The blonde leech tugging on my arm distracted me from my thoughts about the luscious woman next door. This female annoyance had served me well, but now I intended to expedite my exit procedures. It should have been right after I’d fucked her. I didn’t understand why I still had her around.
“Sorry, I’ve got an early meeting in the morning.”
She waited for me to drop the garbage down the chute. Then she wrapped her arm around my waist.
Sorry, darling, your fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips won’t help your cause.
We’d both gotten what we wanted, show over—at least for me it was. It’s not like I owed her an explanation or anything. I had been getting drinks with a buddy after work, and she happened to be sitting at the bar next to us all by her lonesome. We said hello, had a few cocktails, shared a few laughs, my friend left, she came home with me, the end. Nothing more to the story.
“Fine. How about this weekend then? Are you free?”
Great. I picked another winner.
“I’ll give you a call.” I knew I wouldn’t but said it anyway. I didn’t even have her number, nor did I want it.
She beamed, clearly taking my words to heart.
I bid her adieu at the elevators, giving her a small wave as the door closed.
Aah. I’d finally gotten rid of her.
Back in my apartment, I showered and changed my sheets, cleanliness and condoms being key when it came to me and the ladies.
In bed, I tossed and turned. I had a lot riding on my meeting in the morning, though I wouldn’t be with the company long. I had other plans, but still, I gave my all in every situation I encountered. I’d gotten lucky in securing my current position, especially after having recently earned my MBA. Jobs weren’t easy to come by fresh out of school. I wanted to think my father hadn’t played a role in getting me the job, wanted to think it was all me, but I wasn’t sure. I never would know either because I’d never ask, and he’d never tell.
My alarm went off bright and early. I had a workout scheduled with my trainer downstairs in the gym. I debated whether to cancel but knew he would already be en route to my place, which meant it was going to be a long-ass day to say the least.
“Good morning. What the hell
happened to you? You look like shit.” Bo inspected me from top to bottom.
“You do too—but then again, you always do.”
“You’ll pay for that,” he shot back with a smirk.
“Bring it on.” I didn’t know why I was digging myself deeper into a hole when my body already screamed from exhaustion.
“For your smartass comment, I will. On the treadmill. Let’s go.” He clapped to get me moving.
This was pretty much how we greeted each other on a regular basis.
I trudged over to the machine. Bo stepped onto the one next to mine and set the pace for both of us.
“How are things going at the club?”
Bo managed a private adult club. It was where we’d met.
“Going great. There’s a play party this weekend, lots of fun to be had. Let me know if you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it.”
He chuckled at my prompt reply.
After finishing with cardio, he worked me to the bone with weights. By the time I went upstairs to shower and dress for work, my second wind had kicked in.
I must’ve been radiating positive energy because I kicked butt in the meeting. I nailed it and wanted to celebrate. I called my younger brother, Davey, prior to leaving for the day to see if he wanted to meet up for dinner.
“I’d love to, but I have a class tonight that I can’t blow off. How about a raincheck?”
“Yeah, sure. Give me a call when you’re available, Davy Crockett.”
“Fuck you.”
My brother was currently pursuing his MBA. I was much closer to reaching our goal of becoming partners in our father’s company than he was, which meant my father was riding my ass and putting a shitload of pressure on me to perform at my present job to prove to him I could handle the challenges that lay ahead of me.
