On the Rocks
(Vagabonds #3)
Jade C. Jamison
On the Rocks
The explosive conclusion to the Vagabonds trilogy!
After playing second fiddle in the all-girl rock band the Vagabonds, lead guitarist Kyle Summers decides to break out on her own and puts together a band that helps her shine as a solo act.
But the road is uphill and success seems elusive. She begins to question herself and her talent, wondering if she should sell out to win the adoration of her old fans or stubbornly follow her heart and continue to languish in relative obscurity.
On-again off-again love interest CJ Slavin helps Kyle get her new band off the ground but refuses to commit to their relationship, once more leaving Kyle feeling alone, unloved, and unimportant, and those emotions lead her to do rash, irrevocable things on the road, things that could drive CJ away for good. Will they finally admit their feelings to one another and forsake all others or split for good, and will Kyle finally find the fame she’s been working her ass off for or will she leave it all behind, a broken woman?
Find out in the final tale of the Vagabonds trilogy!
When we parked at CJ’s apartment building, I knew I needed to say something so it wasn’t a shock when we got upstairs. I grabbed his bass case while he threw a backpack over his shoulder and carried a big suitcase in one hand, a grocery bag in the other. As we started walking toward the building, I said, “Umm, I need to let you know…I moved out.”
It was subtle, but I noticed a slight pause in his step. Oh. So maybe he would have a problem with it. Well, I’d known it would be awkward, but I didn’t want it to be any big deal. “Out of my place, you mean?”
I nodded but kept my eyes on the stairs I’d have to place a foot on momentarily. “Yeah.”
He was quiet for a few seconds. “Did you get your own place or…?”
“Yeah. I just… Well, I want to thank you for your hospitality, you know. For letting me stay with you.”
He muttered, “Yeah, sure,” but I could tell it was merely an automated response. He was still processing it all. It wasn’t until we were inside, lights on and everything we’d been carrying put down, that he made sure he had my attention. “Is something wrong? Is there somebody else?”
Oh. That plunged in my heart like a harpoon. I didn’t know if I felt worse for not telling him before—because it obviously meant more to him than I’d thought—or because he believed I’d cheat on him. Well…when I was home. No, it was more than that. I guess, in hindsight, I’d say we had an open relationship, whether I wanted it or not, whether I agreed or not. That was the only way I could have CJ and I’d been okay with it.
But I wasn’t happy with it anymore.
So I was stinging some that he figured I could just hang my heart up and stop caring. It didn’t work that way, not for me. He’d owned me from the first time we were together, and it wouldn’t be that easy to let go.
I felt like now might be a good time to let out a lighthearted laugh and call him silly, because of course he was the only guy for me. Then I thought it might be better to give him a wistful smile and just let him know that I needed some time to myself. But, instead, the rebel inside felt like balls out truth was the best way—the only way with the man I loved so fiercely that I ached to the core.
I did want to assure him, though. “God, no, CJ. There’s nobody else. But…” I shook my head, grappling for the words. “I need some space, something to call my own. We’re not building a life together here. This was never my home—it was yours—and, while I appreciate your generosity, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
There it was—something—and that goddamn something sent a chill bolting over the surface of my arms, making the tiny hairs stand on end. You missed something, Kyle. What was it? There was a change in his face, so subtle that I just couldn’t make it out. It was a flash in his eye or a twitch in his cheek or a muscle in his jaw…but it was there, and you better believe it registered with my subconscious. All my fucking alarm bells were going off—every last one of them—and they were blaring at me that I had just fucked up monumentally.
But CJ was, if nothing else, always a gentleman. What made him frustrating and hard to read (in spite of the klaxons ringing in my heart) was that he held his cards close to his chest. There was little room for guessing, and I suspect that even had I come right out and asked him how he felt right at that moment, he wouldn’t have told me. And maybe he was too shocked to say anyway.
He took a deep breath and I saw another subtle shift. It was like watching a door close in slow motion…
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Jade C. Jamison
Cover design © Mr. Jamison
Cover images © Ben Jamison and Shutterstock: MikeSilent and Vectomart
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Characters and names of real persons who appear in the book are used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Epilogue
“Go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down.” Ray Bradbury
“I Like It” ~ Lacuna Coil
Chapter One
IF YOU’RE A new fan and you—like the DJ I told you about at the beginning of my story—thought I was new to the scene, you’ve had quite an education thus far. But you’re probably wondering how I went from being the former lead guitarist of the girl band the Vagabonds to landing a song on the Billboard 200.
I’m telling you it wasn’t easy. There were times I wanted to quit. There were times I almost did quit.
But I didn’t.
I’m not a quitter. I’m stubborn as hell, and because I’m a rebel, I will usually do things to prove people wrong. Barbie wanted me to fail. I’m pretty sure Liz would have been okay with that too.
That wasn’t gonna happen.
Whatever my decision would be, Vicki had told me she was with me one-hundred percent. I knew she missed the Vagabonds, but I didn’t know if it was because she missed the touring and the parties or if she missed the music and the energy, creating something from nothing and then sharing it every night with a group of new amazing people.
That didn’t matter. What did matter is I finally knew that I had music I wanted to write and share, and I didn’t want it watered down. I wanted it loud and I wanted it hard.
I decided I had to start over. I could do one of two things—I could find a band that needed a guitarist (and maybe a drummer) and try to blend in…or I could start a new band. Considering it was Vicki and me—and also considering I wanted a new sound—the
most viable option seemed to start my own damn band.
So we started out by brainstorming one night—it was her and me around her mom’s kitchen table drinking beers and smoking cigarettes. Vicki wanted to come up with a cool name. I agreed that a name was important but, more than that, I wanted to settle on a sound. Vicki kept saying, “You write the music and I’ll drum out a beat.” That was when I realized that our new band would only move if I did the work.
I began writing again—first, the music, and I focused on making it heavier. Second came the lyrics, but it was hard to focus because CJ and I were inseparable whenever he was around…which was constant while Death Crunch was on break. The guys refused to call their time apart a hiatus. “A hiatus is what bands do when they’re breaking up but haven’t made it official yet. We’re just on fuckin’ vacation.”
So CJ and I had a fire that burned for each other, and being together just made it hotter…but a huge chunk of me was sad beyond belief, because I knew he wasn’t mine. As much as it felt that way when we were together, I knew he was only mine while he was at home. Once he was on the road again, he belonged to the road, to the women of the road…and that was where his heart was anyway. Just like me, he was alive when he was touring and sharing his musical genius with the fans—and home was just a break.
I tried not to pay attention to the lyrics he was writing, because they merely underscored what I knew. He was writing songs about strippers and backstage blowjobs, porn stars and partying. Their lead singer, also a good-looking guy, had a huge thing for porn actresses, and he’d been dating a semi-famous one for six months or so. I wondered if she was introducing my boy to her friends.
I couldn’t let myself think about it. Thinking about it would drive me crazy.
Instead, I tried to think about the shit my own professional life had devolved into. Aside from when CJ and I were tied in knots around each other, my life sucked. I was ready to move my music to the next level, but it seemed impossible to get Vicki to commit to rehearsal sessions. I’d already accepted the fact that I would be the sole songwriter—and that was fine—but I needed to rehearse. Playing the songs over and over by myself, just me and my guitar, was a bit like masturbating. It was good, but it got lonely, and it was never as satisfying as doing it the way it was meant to be done.
I was lying in bed with my head on CJ’s chest one night after we’d made love, and I was in that state of limbo—super sleepy but unable to nod off because too much was on my mind. One of my new songs was circulating in my head. I didn’t realize—until CJ asked, “What is that?”—that I was humming.
“Oh. That’s one of the songs I’m writing.”
I felt his hand stroking my arm. “What’s it called?”
I smiled. “‘Gonna Get Ya’.”
“Sing it for me.”
“I’m not going to sing it for you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not a vocalist.”
He was quiet for a few moments before he said, “Have you hired a new one?”
I inhaled. “No. I need a bassist and probably someone on rhythm guitar too. But first, I gotta get Vicki’s ass over here to practice. I need to hear what she does with this shit before I start thinking of pulling in new people.”
CJ shifted and so I opened my eyes and looked up. “I could play bass for you—for now. Not permanently…but just till you get someone for that position.”
I nodded and grinned. “Oh, I get it. Too good for my band, eh?”
He shook his head. “My shit’s too heavy.”
I gave him what I hoped was a miffed look. “Don’t think so. I’m moving away from the light sounds of the Vagabonds. I want heavier.”
“Still…I already got my own band, babe. This is your chance to really break out.”
I was overdue, actually. It had been close to two years since the Vagabonds’ last album had come out, and rumor had it that Liz was going to be releasing an album any day. Until I’d been told about Liz’s imminent success, I never would have guessed I was a competitive soul. But hell, yes, I was, and I was pissed that my project was nowhere near getting off the ground. As much as I wanted to blame Vicki, it wasn’t all the girl’s fault. After all, I’d struggled for months with writing, whereas Liz had already been doing it for years. It was natural for her.
But CJ had brought up an important point. I needed bodies to fill those empty positions.
For now, I’d settle for his temporary presence until I could get Vicki up to speed. Having CJ along for a few sessions would give me a great idea of the songs’ potential. “You free this weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, if your offer stands, I’ll have Vicki come over and we’ll get some serious practicing done.”
“All right, but amps down low. I got neighbors, remember?”
I rolled my eyes and kissed him. “Yeah, I’m no dummy.” But I was beginning to wonder what the hell was holding me back.
* * *
It might have been fear. The Vagabonds had been successful—particularly at the beginning—but, with each successive album, it was like our fans were dropping like flies. I was afraid that I’d release an album that no one would buy or want to listen to. That was a very real fear based on what I’d already seen happening with my previous band.
And if I couldn’t make it on my own, what the hell would I do with my life?
But I pushed past my anxiety anyway, knowing that being frozen by my questions about what might happen was counterproductive. I talked with Vicki and scheduled several practice times that she said would work for her and CJ planned to be part of them as well.
The first one was on a Wednesday, and CJ and I sat in his kitchen drinking coffee while waiting for her to arrive. When it was clear that she was either really late or just not coming, I texted her and then called but got no response to either.
“Let’s go do it anyway,” CJ said. I shrugged, feeling supremely disappointed. “C’mon, Kyle. I have a drum machine.”
“It’s not the same.”
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s not the same, but it’s better than an invisible drummer who does nothing.” I looked up at him from my cup of coffee, and the enthusiasm on his face was contagious. I smiled and stood. “Atta girl.”
We went to the second bedroom in his place, the one that didn’t share a common wall with any other apartment in the building. CJ had intentionally rented that particular apartment for that reason—he kept all his instruments and musical doodads in there to minimize noise, but he also reminded me on more than one occasion that he still had neighbors above and below—and he liked his apartment and wanted to stay. So, even though we’d be playing, we wouldn’t be cranking the music to the max; we’d play it just enough to hear. What was a bummer was he had a drum kit, but it was going to gather dust since Vicki couldn’t grace me with her presence.
After setting up, CJ said, “So…play me your favorite song so far.”
I didn’t know that I had a favorite, but I did have one that I thought would be popular—the one I’d been humming the night CJ had volunteered to practice with me and Vicki, the song I’d named “Gonna Get Ya.” So I played the first verse and chorus, and CJ fiddled with the knobs and sliders on his drum machine, producing a solid beat. “That work for now?”
I listened for half a minute and then nodded. “Yeah, I think that’ll work.” So I played along, and after I’d gone halfway through again, I heard CJ throwing down a bassline that made it start to sound like a real goddamn rock song. Hell, yeah. I grinned at him and nodded, playing with even more zeal.
“Now you gotta sing.” I was still smiling but I shook my head. “I want to hear the melody, Kyle. And I know you can sing, because you did backup for the Vagabonds. Just do it.”
He was right. It didn’t matter how un-frontwoman-like I felt—I could do it, and I needed to know if the words and the melody actually worked with the riffs I’d written. Just because I’d half heard them in my head didn’t mean sh
it. I wouldn’t know if they were great until I heard them—with the music. Unlike Beethoven, I needed to hear them outside my brain as well. Inside me, they were like unhatched eggs. Once we played the songs, they sprung to life and grew and I even changed them once I had them up against CJ’s bass…and the drum machine. I still wasn’t sold on the damn thing—yeah, it kept a beat but there was nothing spontaneous or artistic about it. So I looked up at him from my strings and said, “Yeah, okay. Let’s start from the beginning then.”
He grinned and nodded and just a few seconds later, we were playing the intro again. I never would have realized it, but all my lyrics had turned out to be personal. “Gonna Get Ya” had started out as just a rant on paper, expressing anger, mainly because Liz, a woman I never would have friended had I met her at random but who had turned out to be one of my best friends ever, had wound up pretending like I didn’t even exist. I’d known she was upset when I’d confessed to her that her last set of songs, the ones she’d written for the Vagabonds’ third album, had made me feel despondent, and things hadn’t been the same since. We’d never gone back to normal, whatever that might be. She’d pretty much put up a wall and decided to be done with me. In the press after our breakup, Barbie was very vocal about how much she hated me, but Liz avoided the question entirely…which somehow seemed to hurt more than Barbie’s tirades.
So “Gonna Get Ya” had become an anthem of sorts, not that I’d ever admit it to anyone. Liz was a hell of a songwriter—I’d never contested that—but I’d always felt like she was a mediocre music writer. I’d frequently put my spin on her music and that she’d rarely protested told me that she knew I was making her music better. Her lyrics? There was no question that she was an amazing poet…but her music often felt contrived and dated.
A tiny green monster had bubbled up inside me, though, as I watched Liz get all kinds of press while she promoted her upcoming album. I should have been happy for my friend; instead, I was angry and upset that my project hadn’t even gotten off the ground…so my song was basically my way of saying, “Enjoy it while you can, ‘cause I’m comin’ to steal your thunder.”
On the Rocks Page 1
