by Melanie Dawn
Then There Was You
Copyright © 2014 Melanie Dawn
Cover Design by B Design
https://www.facebook.com/pages/B-Design/455462861166349
Editing by Kathleen Lilley
Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats
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Cover Images provided by: Positively Posh Photography
(828) 446-0828
Cover Models: Damon Hamby and Sara Hilton
Permission for use of song lyrics for Elephantes, Then There Was You, and Reasons was obtained by Charlie McIver.
Permission for use of song lyrics for Thank You was obtained by Damon Hamby.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, or incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales, and persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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/use of these trademarks is no authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.
Warning: This book is intended for readers 18+ due to some explicit language and mature themes.
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
PLAYLIST
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
To anyone who has ever been a shining light in someone’s darkest hour
“No!” I screamed as I slammed my fist into the side of the metal phone booth. “It can’t be true!” My knuckle immediately throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. Falling to my knees, I cried out in agony, “Oh god, this isn’t happening!” This isn’t fucking happening! Blind rage took over my body, and I punched the floor relentlessly. Searing pain exploded in my fist, but that didn’t stop me.
Within seconds a guard had me in shackles, lifting me to my feet. He escorted me down the hall, while I writhed and howled like a caged animal, directly past my own bunk and straight into segregation. He shoved me into the tiny cell and locked the door behind me. I slammed myself against the wall. Please let this be a nightmare! My shoulder ached with pain, but I didn’t give a fuck.
Officer Blevins abruptly slid open the tiny window in the metal door. “Chris? You’ve got to calm down. Talk to me, man. What happened?”
I glanced toward his caring, steel-gray eyes, the only things I could see through that tiny fucking window, but I didn’t answer. How could I? The weight on my chest was almost too much to bear.
A sob escaped my throat, but I quickly tried to reel it in. I groaned, slamming my fist into the wall to redirect my emotions. I wanted to break the concrete blocks into a million pieces, just the way my shattered heart felt, so I kept pounding it over and over. I needed to give meaning to the pain I felt inside—a real reason to cry. The throb of my knuckles almost alleviated the agony in my heart. Almost.
“Chris, if you don’t calm down, I’ll be forced to call medical.”
I turned to glare at him. “I don’t give a fuck!” I howled. “Call them. Dope me up. Put me out of my misery!”
Officer Blevins stared quietly at me for a moment, hoping I’d calm down on my own. I glared back at him, chest heaving and jaw twitching, until he slid the window closed and disappeared.
I don’t really know what happened after that. Everything was just a blur. All I knew was that I completely fucking lost it. I couldn’t stop myself. I was flipping the hell out and had no control over my body or my actions. Blood was splattered on the tile floor. My knuckles were a fucking mess, and my shoulders hurt from ramming them into the wall. Why the hell can’t there be punching bags in these cells? I needed to pound the shit out of something.
I leaned on the wall, throwing my head back against the cinder blocks and closing my eyes. I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this!
I could feel the roar in my throat as I tried to push back the sobs that threatened to escape. With a growl, I pounded my fists backwards against the wall behind me.
Just then, as if the heavens opened up and sent me an angel, I heard the quiet voice that had been a balm to my pain for the past few months.
“Chris?”
Jeremy, my best friend and drummer, didn’t question my most recent alcohol binge. He just accepted it, knowing alcohol was the only thing that would numb my pain. He remembered my heartbreaking history with Kaitlyn, recalling how broken I was several years ago during the weeks following our brief reunion at the beach. So a few days ago, when I ran out of the grocery store empty-handed, Jeremy knew something serious had happened.
I collapsed onto the seat of the tour bus in despair, burying my head in my hands.
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh shit. You saw her, didn’t you?”
I nodded, barely able to contain myself. And that kid… oh god, that kid…
Tossing the most recent tabloids down onto the seat next to me, he grumbled, “I knew coming here was a bad fucking idea.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just sat there, agonizing over my most recent encounter with the only woman I’d ever loved while Jeremy stood over me, unsure of how he should respond. After several excruciating seconds, he sighed and patted me once on the shoulder. “Sorry, man,” he mumbled, and then trudged to the back of the bus, leaving me alone with my thoughts while we headed down the road toward Charlotte for our next concert.
I sensed that Jeremy somewhat grasped the depth of my feelings for Kaitlyn, but I knew he would never fathom the pain I’d have to endure in letting her go. So I sat alone on the bus, writing her that painful goodbye letter before making the fateful call to Beverly that would ultimately seal the deal.
Later that night, when we’d reached the Queen City, we sat at the bar in the Ritz-Carlton while Jeremy handed me a shot of tequila. I threw it back and asked for another one in an effort to take the edge off.
“That’s it,” he encouraged me. “Drink her memory away.”
So, I tried. Round after round, I tried to erase the tormenting thoughts of seeing her so happy with her family.
And day after day, since then, I hadn’t stopped trying. Every radio interview, every television appearance, and every other bullshit marketing ploy that Beverly had planned for us that week in the QC was excruciating. So when the morning of the Charlotte concert finally arrived, it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed.
“Mooommm!” Alexis called from her bedroom. “Where are my pink Toms?”
I could hear a couple of giggling girls in the background, and it thrilled my soul to hear such exuberance coming from Alexis’s bedroom. We’d had a tough year
with my divorce from Graham. It had taken a while to get back on track, but we were finally starting to heal. Graham was no longer part of our lives, and we could move forward.
I called back to her, “The last time I saw them, they were on my bathroom floor!”
“Thanks, Mom!” I heard several sets of shuffling feet running toward my bathroom, followed by more girly squeals coming from two of Alexis’s friends, Payton and Olivia.
“Your mom is so cool. I can’t believe she’s taking us to see Fifth Wheel in Charlotte!” Payton raved.
“I know! I can’t believe it either. I’m so excited!” Olivia sang one octave higher than usual.
“Tonight is gonna be epic!” Alexis sounded like she was about to come unglued with elation.
I shook my head. Teenagers. But, I had to admit I was pretty excited myself. I hadn’t shared the news with the girls yet about the backstage passes I’d scored for us. For sure, the night was going to be ‘epic.’ I danced my way down the hallway, caught up with anticipation, knowing I’d just stolen my teenage daughter’s word.
The best part about the night was getting to see Chris. The Chris. The one who changed my life so many years ago. I wondered if he’d even recognize me. Probably not. I was only twenty-four the last time he saw me. A lot of years had passed. Just thinking of the possibility that I had some influence over where he had gotten in his life was reward enough for me. It was so hard to believe that the sullen, brown-eyed guy who sat in my office fourteen years ago was the same hot rock star whose confident swagger on stage melted girls’ hearts. In my mind, he was still the teenager who sat across from me on that drab, brown corduroy sofa during our counseling sessions. Then again, sometimes it was hard to believe that I was once the woman, a mere six and a half years older, trying to help shape and mold him into the man he would become.
I strained through the pain in my hand, trying to shake it away before someone else thrust another pen at me. The muscles in my fingers cramped from signing so many pre-concert autographs while the bright flashes from everyone’s cameras only intensified my throbbing headache. I was struggling with a massive hangover that had sustained itself through an entire unsuccessful week of drowning out my heartache. It seemed as though I didn’t feel normal unless I was suffering from a debilitating hangover these days. Seeing Kaitlyn again at the grocery store was painfully bittersweet. The image haunted me—that hard dose of reality of seeing her content with her family, smiling and laughing. Then, having chosen to walk away for good, it suffocated me like a vice grip; the pain was unbearable.
I wasn’t sure how in the hell I was going to make it through the concert. I was just going through the motions in the pre-party meet and greet. Hugs, signings, pictures, smiles. Next! Hugs, signings, pictures, smiles. Next!
Don’t get me wrong. I loved my fans. They were my favorite part of the whole journey. But, when all I wanted to do was drink some more then crawl back into the bed and sleep my painful memories away, pasting a smile on my face for the public’s eye was just too much.
The line for the backstage pass ticket holders snaked around the large open room. Rows and rows of enthusiastic fans waited patiently for their chance to talk to their idol. The air was stuffy; I could already feel the sweat beads forming on my lower back. Too many bodies were cramped into one room with not enough ventilation, but that didn’t stop the laughter and giddy squeals from all of the capricious teenage girls vying for a chance to get their picture taken with their rock god, Chris King.
I observed Chris from a distance as he interacted with all of his adoring fans, young and old. I loved the way he smiled with that same signature half-grin adorned by the deep dimple that I remembered from years past. I watched the way his dark brown eyes twinkled under the flashing lights. He rolled the sleeves of his button-down Affliction shirt and secured them with the button tabs, and then he wiped his brow with the black bandana that he kept tucked in his pocket.
He took time to take pictures and talk to everyone, never making anyone feel rushed. He was sweet, funny, and at times, a little goofy. My heart smiled at the thought of the man he had grown into—the man he had always aspired to be.
While I studied him, he’d periodically fiddle with the cross that hung from a chain around his neck and adjust the black leather cuff around his wrist. Sometimes he’d bend down to hug his youngest fans, drawing attention to his dark washed jeans, accented by polished metal rivets and sharply contrasted stitching. Occasionally he’d run his hand through his messy, brown faux-hawk and tug at the small black gauge in his ear. Every once in a while he’d pinch the bridge of his nose as if to assuage a pounding headache.
He was a little taller than I remembered and donned quite a few more tattoos than the last time I saw him at Fairbanks, but the smiles he flashed didn’t quite reach his eyes. The sparkle of hope that I remembered wasn’t there like it used to be, so I wondered in what ways time had changed him.
When we finally reached the front of the line, the girls rushed ahead of me to snag their hugs and autographs from Chris. I stood back, watching him interact with Alexis. He never realized she was the same sweet baby girl that I’d talked about all those years ago. I’d kept a picture on my desk of me cuddling her in a soft, pink blanket. Seeing them now, it was hard to believe how quickly time had passed.
“Mom, mom! Come here. Meet Chris.” Alexis was waving frantically as I shook my head out of its sentimental fog.
Standing a mere ten feet away, I watched as he leaned toward her and heard him ask, “What’s your mom’s name, Alexis?”
Alexis looked at him with stars in her eyes before squealing in true fourteen year old fashion, “Omigod, you remembered my name!” Gaining her composure almost immediately, she continued, “Oh sorry, her name is Salem.”
Chris peered at me, smiling. It was the first time he’d taken notice of me since I’d been standing there. He obviously didn’t recognize me right away because the look on his face remained pleasant, but unknowing. My heart fractured just a little.
Salem. That name struck a nerve in my subconscious, but I let it go. Over the years I’d resigned myself to never bring up painful memories and had learned to just stop thinking altogether. I didn’t allow the thoughts that associated themselves with that name to infiltrate my mind.
I smiled at the beautiful woman, immediately noticing her reciprocated grin. Perfect teeth. Dimples in her cheeks. The way her eyes lit up with joy. They were a striking shade of green. Something seemed familiar, but different.
I motioned to her. “Well, come on over, Salem. We need to get a picture of you with the girls, too.”
As she approached, I noticed her long, tanned legs extending out from under a short, but classy skirt.
“It’s good to see you again, Chris,” she said as she put her soft hand in mine.
What the…?
My brain scrambled for a distant memory that my heart immediately remembered because it began pounding in my chest.
“Wait… Salem?” I asked. No fucking way. It can’t be. My eyes darted to the girl standing beside her. “Alexis?” I looked back at the woman whose striking green eyes suddenly unlocked a memory from my past.
Just then, as if someone flipped a switch inside of me, I blurted, “Oh my god, Salem Honeycutt!” Grabbing her in a big bear hug, I gave her a tight squeeze. “Holy shit! I can’t believe it’s you! You really came to see me?” I released her and took a step back, certain my mind was deceiving me.
“Yep. It’s me. I’m here,” she offered through a slight chuckle, wringing her hands self-consciously. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Wow. Salem Honeycutt, my former detention counselor. The reason I’m here today. Holy shit. We stood and talked for a few more minutes. The longer we stood there, the more the cobwebs were dusted from my faded memory. At one very shitty time in my life, this woman was a fucking godsend.
“Mom?” Alexis interjected, staring at me, utterly shocked by the scene unfolding before he
r eyes. “You. Know. Chris. King?”
I grinned. “Yes, honey, I know Chris.”
Alexis and her friends shrieked with delight and began bouncing around in a group hug.
Shaking his head as if he were in awe of seeing me again after all this time, Chris said proudly, “I’m so glad you came to see me. I finally made it to the big time. I always said I’d get here, and you were one of the few who ever truly believed in me. And now look, I really made it.” It seemed as if the thirty-two year old rock god vanished, and the teenager with the desperate need for approval had replaced him.
“I never doubted you for a second,” I marveled, gently tucking a fallen strand of my curly, brown hair behind my ear.
Chris shook his head in awe and grabbed me again, encompassing me in his arms. “I’m so happy you’re here… so glad you came.”
I enjoyed the moment for a few more seconds, inhaling his keen and crisp masculine scent, then quickly pulled away to look him in the eyes. “I’m very proud of you, Chris.”
His eyes were glassy. “Thank you. That means everything to me,” he whispered.
“It was great to see you again,” I told him as I blinked back the tears that stung my own glassy eyes. “Can’t wait to see you on stage.”
We walked away, letting the next group of girls in line get their opportunity to meet him, but as we turned the corner, I began to wonder why seeing him again suddenly felt as though I’d ripped a Band-Aid off my soul.
The girls were too busy dancing and giggling through the arena to be concerned with the tempest of emotions that were swirling through my mind.
We were almost to the entrance of our section when a big, burly security guard stepped in front of us. “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to stop you right here.”
