by Aria Cole
I wrapped my arms around Delilah’s waist, pulling her in closer for a moment. Our foreheads connecting, I closed my eyes and inhaled a breath of her comforting scent. Honey, lavender, pure sweetness, Delilah. “I can’t believe this day is here.”
“They grew up so fast.” Delilah rested her hands on my cheeks, guiding my gaze to meet hers. “You look handsome today, father of the bride.” She pressed up on her tiptoes, leaving a heartfelt kiss on my lips.
“I’m the luckiest man alive. Thank you my love. Thank you for spending your days with me, thank you for loving me. You know I have looked at you in a million different ways over the years and I have loved you with each and every look. You walk into a room and you still take my breath away. Thank you for making my life so full, and God bless you for doing the heavy lifting and giving me our beautiful children,” I uttered, feeling like my heart was the fullest it’d ever been.
I knew if the new groom loved my darling little girl half as much as I loved her mother, she would be a happy woman forever.
“I love you, Cash. And if you ruin my makeup on my daughter’s wedding day, I will murder you in your sleep.”
“Is it too late for me to tell them I do not give this woman’s hand?”
Delilah laughed. I was sure there wasn’t a sound sweeter. That laugh had gotten me through a lot over a lifetime.
When I’d torn a rotator cuff and had to sit out a season, she’d been the only nurse I’d wanted.
When I’d watched her comfort our children late at night when they had a fever or growing pains, I’d known she was the right choice.
When my dad had passed at the age of ninety-two, she’d been there, holding me while tears burned behind my eyelids, knowing never again would I hear him call me son.
“We should have had more boys.” I scrubbed at my face, willing the tears to stay put.
“You’ve only got to do this once.” Delilah smiled softly, her fingertips straightening my bow tie.
“Once is all I’m gonna live through,” I said, just as the doors to the small room opened and my daughter slipped out of the room, eyes meeting mine instantly.
“Daddy.”
“Daphne.” I held an arm out to tuck her into my body. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” I kissed the crown of head through the puffy white veil. A few tears finally slipped down my cheeks as I thought about walking her down the aisle in the next few moments.
Delilah caught my eye, swiping her thumb across my cheek and chasing away my salty tear tracks. “I love you,” she mouthed softly.
My heart tore through my chest. Pulling them closer, I thanked the stars I’d been blessed with so much in my life.
“My beautiful family. You’re my everything.”
THE END.
First Two Chapter’s From Rock Hard by Kat Austen
Chapter One
My music was an extension of my soul—the tone of it a reflection of my mood. But the heart of it was him. It always had been, and I guessed it always would be.
I was playing to a sold-out audience at one of the large theaters in Los Angeles, but at the last minute, I had changed my line-up of songs for the night. Instead of the softer fare of nocturnes and lullabies I’d planned on, I’d exchanged Chopin’s and Mozart’s most eloquent pieces for Tchaikovsky’s and Beethoven’s most heartbreaking composures. I couldn’t play light songs when my heart felt heavy. I couldn’t give the audience beautiful pieces when my world felt forlorn.
I couldn’t play his song to an audience who wouldn’t understand.
The last few haunting chords of Medtner’s “Night Wind Sonata” were echoing through the auditorium when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Chills spilled down my spine, puddling in my feet as I focused on hitting the last notes.
The crowd’s applause exploded through the room as the final note reverberated around me. Usually I slid from the bench a few moments later, took a bow, and whisked off the stage. Tonight I felt glued to the bench, my fingers stuck to the keys.
That strange sensation abated just enough so that I could move again, though just barely. Pulling my shaking hands off of the keys, I forced myself to rise from the bench. The audience was still applauding, starting to rise to their feet as I attempted the same.
I’d been playing to crowds since I was six—I’d been performing to sold-out crowds around the country for the past few years—but never had I felt like this before. Trying to collect myself as I moved to the front of the stage, I concentrated on holding my composure when I’d never felt less composed. Shaking hands, wobbly legs, pit in my stomach, shivers down my spine . . . I’d experienced this kind of sensation before, but never in this kind of context.
I’d felt it the first time I looked at him and he looked back. The first time he’d reached for my hand and tied his fingers through mine. The first time he’d kissed me, that time after piano practice. I’d felt it a million other times, but I’d only felt it with him.
As I took my bow—the pitch of the applause increasing as I did so—I just noticed a figure drifting out of one of the rows and moving up the aisle toward the back of the theatre. It was a man’s frame moving in an achingly familiar way.
By the time I’d lifted out of my bow to see the crowd again, he was gone. A conjuring of my imagination. The ghost that followed me wherever I went.
As I left the stage, I reminded myself he was gone.
Chapter Two
“Men suck. It’s official. If a girl like you can’t keep a guy, there is literally no hope for me.” My friend, Sydney, shook her head and took a drink of her margarita.
“Just to confirm, you know for sure that he was cheating on you?” Our friend Jessie twisted on the stool to look at me straight on.
Exhaling, I pulled my phone from my clutch and scrolled through a few messages until I found the one I’d been sent a few days ago from a number I didn’t recognize. I refused to look at the picture, but I made sure Jessie and Sydney got a good look.
Jessie’s eyes narrowed. “Two-timing, sorry bastard.”
Sydney winced like the image was grotesque. “Dude, if that’s what he looks like beneath that fancy composer’s tuxedo, let that violin-playing hussy have his pasty, blubbery ass.”
“He’s all hers,” I said, tucking my phone back away.
“Hans was crazy about you though. I don’t get it. Why the sudden change of heart?” Jessie pulled the olive from her martini and popped it into her mouth.
“Oh, please, it didn’t have anything to do with his heart. He was thinking with his dick when he fell into bed with Tits McGee there,” Sydney chimed in, which worked for me. I wasn’t eager to hash out my most recent failed relationship with anyone, my two good friends included.
Hans and I had been dating on and off for a couple of years. He was the conductor for the world-renowned Los Angeles symphony, twenty years my senior, and had a golden reputation in the upper circle. My parents had been thrilled when they found out I was seeing Hans Vandenberg, visions of musical-prodigy offspring dancing through their heads.
No doubt they’d been devastated when I told them we’d split. They probably would blame me for ruining it even if I showed them the photo I’d been sent of him asleep and naked in bed with some other woman. They always seemed to prefer the ones who treated me like crap over the only one who’d ever treated me the way a person who claimed to love someone should.
“I bet you’re relieved you didn’t let him finally wear you down, right, Elodie?” Sydney had to nudge me to bring me back to the present. “Way to hold out on a guy for two years. You made his true colors come through.”
“His true colors being pasty with a splattering of really unattractive body hair,” Jessie muttered.
“Truthfully, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Hans and I were never good together. He or I should have called things off months ago.” I shrugged like that was that, because it was.
Other than looking good on paper, Hans and I had never made
sense. I’d never once looked at him and felt my stomach drop, and I knew all he’d seen when he looked at me was a young girl he was hoping to add to his rumored lengthy list of bed mates.
That was part of the reason I’d held out for so long—I didn’t want be one of a hundred others, or even one of a few. I wanted to be the one of one. The one he’d waited for. I wanted to be someone’s The One.
“Okay, so I’ve got a brilliant plan for Operation Over Hans VanPastyAss.” Sydney tipped back what was left of her drink, lifting her finger at the bartender. “We’re going to get good and mildly drunk, then we’re going to go see My Mortal Affliction from the front row, baby”—Sydney pulled a trio of tickets from her purse, fanning them in my face—“we’re going to get on our knees and worship that god of a lead singer of theirs, probably flash him a few dozen times, then we’re going to make out with some really fine specimens before we allow our heads to hit the pillow tonight.”
My eyebrows came together as I studied the concert tickets. I’d agreed to meet my friends for a drink after my earlier performance, but I hadn’t planned on anything else after this. As it was, I was already checking the time, hardly able to wait to crawl into my bed and put an end to this day.
From the friends’ texts I’d had to field who were just finding out about Hans’s and my split, to avoiding my parents’ incessant calls encouraging me to work things out, to the concert where I’d felt haunted by a ghost during the last few minutes, I was ready to put this day to bed.
“I’ve got early practice tomorrow,” I said.
Jessie lifted her finger at me. “You’ve always got early practice. That’s no longer an excuse to dodge life.”
I blinked, offended. “I’m not dodging life.”
“Correction, you dodge the fun parts of life.”
My mouth fell open a little as I looked at Sydney to back me up, but all she did was lift her hands and keep her lips sealed. I wanted to defend myself, but they were right. Other than the endless hours I spent playing piano, my life wasn’t very exciting. Outside of these two dragging me out for the occasional good time, my social calendar was pathetic.
I had no idea who this My Mortal Addiction was, what kind of music they played, or if I’d even like it, but having my friends call me out stirred something inside me. They were right. I’d spent enough time waiting for my life to really get started. Enough time feeling like an empty shell.
“Well?” I finished the last of my wine and slid off of my stool. “Ready when you are.”
Books by Kat Austen
Wilde Fire
Educating Emma
Love Child
Savage
Bonus Book: Bending Bethany
When Bethany Howard meets international soccer star Jenson Abbot at a bar one night she never expects it will change her life forever. University classes and late nights spent studying fill her hours, but Jenson is determined to show her what she's been missing. She thinks it's only a one night stand, but Bethany is anything but a fling to Jenson. He's been waiting for someone to make him feel the way she does, her sharp tongue and delicious curves undoing him from the beginning.
Jenson is hellbent on proving he is the man for her, the only man that can make her eyes light up when she laughs and her body sing beneath his hands. But can Jenson convince Bethany that there's more to him than meets the eye? Or will his flirty grin and dogged persistence put her off men forever? Jenson is determined to find out, because he's got one last play tucked in his pocket, The Panty Play.
Warning: Bending Bethany is a whirlwind week of syrupy sweetness with the nerdy girl next door and the MVP soccer star she can't quite shake. Be prepared to be wooed all over again!
Chapter One
Bethany
“Come on, Bethy, you never do anything fun! It’s nose stuck in a book all the time for you.” My sister pouted as she tore through what was at least a dozen slutty dresses in her closet. “This one would look perfect on you.”
I narrowed my eyes, taking in the short, black, glittery number. “That is not a dress, it’s a shirt. Everyone will see your bits and pieces. You don’t actually wear that in public, do you?” My eyes widened as I looked at the flimsy material. That so-called dress was long enough to fall just barely under my behind. If I moved, people would see everything. “I’m not wearing that.”
“Does that mean you’ll go?” Her eyes lit with a mischievous sparkle.
I sighed, frowning as I fingered a glittery red dress she’d tossed on the bed. “Yes, but you’d better find something longer. I’m not looking like a call girl.”
“You’re such a prude. A little cock never hurt anyone,” my wayward sister teased.
“I swear, I don’t even know how we’re related.”
“Believe me, I think that all the time.” She buzzed out of the wardrobe, heading to the bathroom. “Now, what are we going to do with your hair?”
She pulled curling irons and flat irons and a thousand products out of a basket.
“Can you give me some supermodel curls?” I’d never wielded a curling iron in my life, but my sister’s glam make-up and perfectly wind-blown waves always made me yearn for just one night of glam.
“Yes! Mermaid ringlets would be gorgeous. Maybe we can even add a little color! Let me do some highlights!” she squealed, and I groaned.
“No highlights.” I shook my head firmly. “I’ve never colored my hair. Why would I start now?”
“Because tonight you’re a new you. Try something else on for a while. Hair is only temporary.” She shrugged, and I huffed, checking out the streaks of magenta coursing through her dark locks.
I nibbled on my bottom lip, glancing down at the sensible Chucks on my feet, the cross body I wore nearly every day, then back to one of her fancy clutches on the bed.
“Can I carry that?” My eyes gleamed as I finally felt excitement pulse to life inside me.
“My McQueen?!” She stuck out her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes at me. “Swear on everything you hold dear to love it and cradle it like your firstborn child?”
I laughed outright. Taylor had always been fashion-obsessed, but I had no idea she felt that strongly. “I promise. And you’re off your rocker. I think you should know that.”
“Shut up, little sis.” She popped a kiss on my forehead, using the endearment she’d been using since we were little. We were only a year and a half apart. I for one didn’t see much of a distinction, besides, to most outsiders my maturity probably far outweighed hers.
“One night only, then tomorrow morning it’s back to the books. I have to pass that midterm or I’m screwed for the rest of the class.” I felt the anxiety coiling in my stomach again.
“I know, I know, if you don’t pass it, then what have you been working for all these years,” she mimicked. It was the excuse I often used.
“Well, I’m just saying. I’m not staying out late, and don’t ask me to do shots.”
“No shots? Boo!”
I grinned and shook my head at her boundless enthusiasm. “No shots. Now, what dress am I wearing?”
Two hours later and I found myself at the bar, a line of shots spread out before the two of us.
“Bottoms up, little sis.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I voiced my dismay before lifting a lemon drop shot to my mouth.
“To a wild night! And maybe a little sausage for both of us.” She winked before throwing the shot back, leaving me giggling uncontrollably, and choking down my own.
“Next!” Taylor called, slamming her glass down and lifting the second she’d ordered for each of us.
“‘I’m not even done with this one!” I swallowed a sip, the sour confection rushing down my throat.
“Come on, big girl panties up. Let’s do this.” She tipped the shot glass to my lips, and I swallowed the remainder of the liquid. I slid the empty glass across the bar and lifted the other. “YOLO.”
“For a big sister, you sure are a bad influ
ence,” I grunted before gathering courage in my stomach and taking the other shot in one long gulp.
“Sisters?” someone said from behind me. “Another round on me!”
“What, no—” I turned to find a handsome guy, hair still wet from a shower, and bold dark eyes eating up the space between him and us.
“Why, thank you.” My sister cooed while leaning forward to give him a very generous view of her cleavage.
“Ah, here we go.” I knew that look. She’d found her plaything for the night.
“I’m Luc, wanna dance?” His gaze honed in on my sister’s breasts.
“Taylor Howard and I would love to,” she flirted shamelessly, lifting her hand out to his. He placed a kiss on it, and the cheesiness of the move almost made my stomach turn.
“Go, dance, be merry. I’ll be here.” I waved her off, turning back to the lemon drop the bartender had just placed in front of me. “Thanks for the drink!”
Taylor and Mystery Boy had already disappeared into the quickly thickening crowd.
“He does that a lot. You may want to warn her,” a voice rumbled from over my shoulder. I sighed, thinking if barhopping meant fending off creepy men all night, I would be retiring much earlier than even I expected.
“She’s fine. She does it all the time.” I waved off his concerns, not even bothering to match a voice with a face.
“I’m Jenson.”
