by Karen Cimms
We All Fall Down
Of Love and Madness, Book Two
Karen Cimms
Lone Sparrow Press
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Note To Readers
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Surprise!
Excerpt
Copyright © 2016 by Karen Cimms
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at karencimms.com
Cover designer: Garrett Cimms
Cover photographer: Lisa Hopstock
Interior designer: The Write Assistants
Editor: Lisa Poisso
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States by Lone Sparrow Press.
ISBN: 978-0-9974867-3-5
Foreword
We All Fall Down is the second book in the Of Love and Madness series. It is not a standalone and it is strongly recommended that you read At This Moment before reading this book to fully understand and appreciate these characters.
It is not a typical romance, but it is a love story. It is dark, and it is gritty. I hope you’ll trust me.
The third book, All I Ever Wanted, will complete the series.
To my favorite lead guitarist
I love you, Guman.
Thank you for filling my world with music.
Parting is all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell.
—Emily Dickinson
Chapter One
July 19, 2012
The short-term parking lot shimmered like an urban mirage. Miami had been hot. At least there had been the occasional ocean breeze to punctuate the wet, heavy air. No such luck in Newark.
Billy fished an elastic band from his pocket, gathered his thick, blond mane into a double loop, and leaned against the windowed walls of the terminal. The cool glass felt good against his sweat-soaked back. As for the rest of him? It was like standing in front of an open oven door.
A steady line of cars and shuttles cozied up to the curb, spewing fumes into the still, dense air. If Eddie didn’t show soon, Billy swore he’d leave the little shit’s crap all over the sidewalk and hail a cab.
Mirrored aviator shades covered his bloodshot eyes, but nothing could disguise the pounding in his head. The dizzying waves rising from the pavement and the familiar rocking motion of his latest hangover made him want to find a dark corner and sleep until this rollercoaster came to a complete stop. And when it did, he’d like to get his hands around the neck of Stonestreet’s tour manager and personally thank him for booking such an early flight.
The opportunity was unlikely to present itself, since he’d been fired hours earlier.
He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the last twelve hours and ruminate on what he’d done to fuck up this time.
Mistake number one had been dropping acid. He hadn’t done it in years, but when Eddie had shown up with a couple of hits, he figured what the hell. He was no choirboy, and this tour was kicking his ass. One more night and he would be home free, at least for a couple of weeks.
But what a night. He could still hear the roar of the crowd jammed into AmericanAirlines Arena. When the band started playing “Escaping to Perdition,” he did what he always did, what he was paid to do: hang back and provide the rhythm and accents. But somewhere after the first verse, something snapped. Maybe it was the acid. Or maybe he was sick of playing second fiddle to a hack who couldn’t even win at Guitar Hero without backup. Whatever the case, he lost himself in the music and before he knew it, he’d commandeered Mick’s big solo.
And he was whaling on that motherfucker.
Even now, baking on the hot sidewalk a thousand miles from Miami, he still felt those notes pulsing through his fingertips. It was like being in a trance. Before he knew it, he’d crossed Mick’s invisible line. His fingers had flown up and down the neck of his Les Paul custom. The frets had all but disappeared, and his fingers moved as if on glass. Each note reverberated through him, shooting out like sparks.
Mick let him have his moment. And it was the way he’d always dreamed it would be. He was front and center—Billy McDonald—and the crowd went crazy. When he opened his eyes and realized twenty thousand fans were screaming for him, he fell to his knees. And he didn’t miss one fucking note.
The rest of the show had been a blur, but that feeling? No one could take that from him. It was the best night of his career—or at least it had been, for about three hours.
Stonestreet was a hard-partying band, and the end of a grueling nine weeks on the road was as good a reason to party as any. Limos deposited them at the hotel, where the booze flowed, weed was plentiful, and there was more than enough high-grade cocaine and half-naked women to go around.
It was tough, but he knew where to draw the line. The guilt he felt from cheating on Katie twenty years earlier had never left him. The risk of a few moments of pleasure wasn’t worth losing the only other good thing in his life. He tried to stay away from the hard stuff too, but he was only human. If he needed a little something now and then, he wasn’t hurting anybody.
But last night? Last night, the shit had finally hit the fan. Fueled by whiskey and coke and a few hours’ resentment, Mick had launched into a tirade about Billy stealing his solo. Billy tried to shine him on, but he wasn’t about to apologize to that horse’s ass. Everyone knew that on his
worst day, Billy was ten times better than Mick McAvoy could ever hope to be.
Things had gotten ugly. He’d been getting up to leave when Mick threw the first punch. He missed, but it didn’t matter. Not since Billy was ten had anyone taken a swing at him and walked away in one piece.
His fist connected with Mick’s jaw. Mick’s feet flew out from under him, and he rolled ass-backward over the bass player, who was on his knees doing lines of coke off some groupie’s tits.
It had been pretty comical until Mick fired him.
The rest of the night had been spent nursing his ego and a bottle of Jack. Things with the band had been rough, but last night’s show had been amazing. And now it was over.
Billy glanced at his watch. A little past eleven. Plenty of time to get home, although the thought of facing Katie made his head throb.
Happy birthday, babe. I got fired! That was gonna go over real well.
The rumbling of his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten, although the thought of food nauseated him—or maybe it was the heat. If he hadn’t lost his driver’s license, he’d be on the road by now. In the meantime, he longed for a little hair of the dog and a shower. He’d been so out of it last night he’d lost track of time. Not only had he not had time for a shower, he’d almost missed his plane.
He dug a toothpick from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth. Maybe that would get his mind off wanting a drink.
A horn blared.
“Finally,” he muttered as Eddie pulled up to the curb.
He threw his duffle bag and guitar cases in the back and slipped into the front seat while Eddie loaded his suitcases into the cargo area.
“Sorry about last night, man,” the drummer said as he navigated the rented SUV onto 78. “But you were amazing. Holy shit! You should’ve seen Mick’s face. He was acting like the big man, giving you the spotlight, but I could see that little vein pulsing on the side of his head.”
“It felt pretty good. Hope I get to feel that way again someday.”
“It’ll happen, brother. God doesn’t give you that kinda talent to hide it under a bushel. Know what I’m sayin’?”
“I hope so.” Billy lowered his seat and closed his eyes. The cool breeze from the air conditioner soothed his aching head. “Thanks for the lift. I was hoping my kid would pick me up, but I forgot he’s working at some camp in Colorado.”
“No problem. I enjoy the company.” They drove in silence for a few minutes before Eddie spoke again. “Hey, I’m a bit parched. Okay if we stop along the way for a little libation?”
Billy cocked an eye open. He needed a drink a hell of a lot more than he needed a nap.
“I think I could be persuaded.”
Chapter Two
Kate hadn’t even opened her eyes, and she was already hot and sticky. She squinted at the neon-green numbers on the bedside clock, but they just blinked back. She had worked well past midnight, then driven home in a horrendous downpour. Too keyed up to sleep, she’d finished off a half bottle of wine and waited for Billy to call.
But 3:13 had come and gone. No call. No “Happy Birthday.”
It was the first time he’d forgotten. After almost twenty-four years, she should be glad he remembered her birthday at all. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
Usually whenever Billy was away on her birthday, he would call at exactly 3:13, the moment she had been born, and sing to her. And when he was home, he’d kiss her awake, then sing “Happy Birthday” while making love to her in a way that still took her breath away.
She’d waited about twenty minutes, then given up and gone to sleep
Forty-two. Where had the time gone?
They were still married. Considering Billy’s line of work and that he was often away more than he was home, they’d probably set some sort of record. They had two beautiful children, and she was already a grandmother. Although to be honest, having become a grandmother at such a young age usually made her shudder. Especially since most of her friends from high school had teens and tweens. Some even had toddlers.
She stared up at the ceiling. Don’t go there, Kate. Some of the old resentment bubbled to the surface. She’d wanted more children. They’d agreed to have more children. Then after Devin was born, Billy had gone and had a vasectomy. Without even discussing it with her! Yes, she and Devin had both almost died, but the doctor had said she could have more children.
She’d been devastated when she found out, and even though she could almost understand his reasoning—he wouldn’t risk losing her again, he’d said—she hadn’t been sure she could forgive him. Every now and then, when that feeling of loss would overtake her, she had to wonder if maybe she hadn’t forgiven him after all.
Enough wallowing. It was her birthday! She threw off the sheet and climbed out of bed to look out over the back yard and fields beyond their two-hundred-year-old home. A hazy sun hung high in the sky. She must have slept a lot later than she’d intended.
“Guess I needed it.” She stretched her arms over her head, feeling tiny pops along her spine.
She slipped into a pair of running shorts and a tank top, pulled her hair into a high ponytail, then made her way down the narrow, U-shaped stairway. Charlie, her yellow Lab, trotted close behind.
The clock over the stove was blinking too, so she dug her cell phone from her purse. It was already after ten. If she was going to get in a run, she better get moving before it got any hotter.
Outside the air covered her like an uncomfortable second skin. This might be her shortest run ever. She leaned against the porch post and pulled her knee up to her chest, stretching her hamstrings. Then did the same on the other side. Dipping forward for another stretch, she reached for the newspaper lying on the porch, and nearly dropped it when she read the headline. Her story had made the front page. That was a first, although it was the last story she’d want receiving good play.
“Must be a slow news day.”
She shivered in spite of the cloying heat and plopped down on the wicker settee, recalling her editor’s summons just twenty-four hours earlier.
“Kate!”
Her heart clenched as Sully bellowed her name through his glass-walled office. John “Sully” Sullivan was a sonofabitch. He was a dyed-in-the-wool, old-school, no-nonsense journalist, and he made no bones about the fact that he wouldn’t have chosen a fluff reporter like Kate for his newsroom team when The Belleville News got bought out by the Examiner. If it had been up to him, she probably wouldn’t have even been offered a job in the mailroom.
It had never been her intention to be a reporter. It just happened. After a blowup with Billy over money a few years earlier, she’d taken a part-time job for a local printer, who also happened to own two weekly newspapers. After a while, he had her doing some proofreading and then typing social news items, such as weddings and births. When he found out she’d wanted to be a writer back in college, he let her do a few feature stories. Nothing serious. Just feel-good pieces about local people. At best, she worked twenty hours a week. Even then Billy hated it, but had come to grudgingly accept her new interest. Except of course when it interfered with their time together. He wasn’t so understanding then.
But everything changed when the owner died. Thinking he was doing Kate a favor, Mr. Holmes’s son included her continued employment as part of the deal when he sold the newspapers. Since there were no part-time positions, and nothing available in the features section of the newspaper, she was more or less dumped into the newsroom.
Young Mr. Holmes seemed so proud of what he’d done on her behalf, Kate didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t really want the job. Despite having only a semester at Rutgers and no journalism background, she toughed it out as best she could, certain Sully resented her. Why else would he give her such boring, crappy assignments? Not that she wanted to be an investigative reporter either. Truthfully? She didn’t know what she wanted.
She summoned her best smile before stepping through the gates of hell.
“Yes?”
Sully frowned at her over horn-rimmed bifocals. “Sedge Stevens. Why haven’t you done a profile on him?”
“The junkman?”
“Is there another Sedge Stevens?”
“No, but—”
“‘But’ is not an answer.”
Flooded with insecurity, she felt sixteen again, standing before her mother trying to explain something she’d said or done but too nervous to find the words.
“Yes sir.” Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat. “I guess I don’t understand why you’d want a profile on Stevens.”
He planted his elbows on his desk. “If you had one ounce of news judgment, you’d see for yourself that Stevens is a ticking time bomb.”
She wasn’t sure she agreed with him but nodded anyway.
“How many township meetings has he been to this year?”
“All of them.”
“Why?”
She rocked from one foot to the other. “Because the township wants him to clean up his property, and he wants them to mind their own business.”
“And?”
“And . . . they’re threatening to condemn the land?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling?”
“So then what was your question?”
“Um . . .”
“Your question, Kate?” His complexion resembled that of a winter tomato.
“My question was why do you want a story on Sedge Stevens?”
“And do you know the answer?”
Nerves caused her voice to ratchet up at the end of every sentence, making each sound like a question.
“You want his side of the story?”
Sully removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
She shifted her weight again. If he yelled at her for that, she’d know for sure he had been possessed by her mother. Which would actually explain quite a lot.
