Fall with Me (Sixth Street Bands Book 2)

by Jayne Frost

  “I love it.” I cleared my throat. “But you shouldn’t have. This is a first edition.”

  She shrugged. “I recently got my first job on this research project my boyfriend held a fundraiser for.” She grinned. “I’m rolling in dough.”

  I knew for a fact that Mel’s salary was minimal. And I also knew how much the book cost. I was still gazing at the cover when she let out a gasp.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed, lifting the two-carat, star-shaped diamond pendant from the velvet box I’d stowed inside the bag. “I…oh…” She looked up at me, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful.”

  Any guy that tells you that chicks don’t like diamonds is lying to your face. At least, if my girl was any indication.

  “It’s got the coordinates of your nana’s star lasered into the stone,” I whispered as I fastened the clasp around her neck. “So she’ll always be with you.”

  Mel buried her face in my neck, her shoulders quaking as she let out a quiet sob. “Thank you.”

  “Somebody’s been really good,” Logan crowed. “Or really bad. What did you get her, Wikipedia?”

  “’Wikipedia’?” Swiping at the tears, Mel’s curiosity got the better of her, and she turned to the group. “Why do you call him ‘Wikipedia’?”

  “He’s a geek.” Logan wrinkled his nose. “Look at him.”

  Scrunching her brow, she examined my tattooed arms and day old scruff before swinging her gaze back to Logan. “Um, no, he’s not. I’m a geek. So I would know.”

  Logan smirked, taking a sip of his beer. “No, sweetie, you’re hot.” He pointed at me. “But he’s a geek. Or a nerd.” He scratched his head. “Or a geek-nerd.”

  Mel crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at the guy who was more like a brother to me than a friend. “He’s not a geek, or a nerd. Or a geek-nerd.” Reclining against my chest with that sexy-as-hell defiant look on her face, she fingered the pendant around her neck. “He’s perfect.”

  Money well spent.

  I discreetly shot Logan the finger.

  He scowled, shifting a wary gaze to Mel.

  Since he looked more intimidated by her than me, I dropped a kiss to the top of her head for good measure. “You tell him, angel.”

  “You’d better keep a hold of that one,” Cameron interjected with a chuckle. “She obviously suffers from the same disease my girl has.” He smiled down at Lily, tucked against his side. “Blind as a bat or some kind of brain damage.”

  Mel’s autumn scent enveloped me as I tightened my grip on her waist. “Oh, I’m holding on. For as long as she lets me.”

  The End…

  Read on for a preview of MISSING FROM ME by Jayne Frost

  Four Years Ago

  Sean

  Thundering footsteps followed the soft light spilling into my dark bedroom.

  “Dude, wake up!” Logan hissed, his face close to my ear.

  “Go away…I don’t have any condoms,” I grumbled, snuggling closer to Anna’s side. “Carry your ass to the store like a normal person and leave us alone.”

  He gave me a hard shake, his long fingers digging into my shoulder. “I’m serious. Get up.”

  Not. Happening.

  A frustrated groan escaped my lips when Anna twisted in my arms.

  “What do you need, Logan?” she mumbled, wiping sleep from her eyes.

  A swift kick in the ass.

  Rolling onto my back, I smothered my face with the pillow, hoping he’d get the hint. Of course, he didn’t.

  Cursing under his breath, he rooted around under the comforter.

  “Hey!” I snarled, tossing the pillow at him when his hand got too close to my ass. “Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.”

  Running an agitated hand through his blond hair, Logan glared at me.

  “Where’s your remote?” Anxiety piqued his tone when I didn’t answer right away. “For the TV, douche bag— where’s the remote?”

  Anna fumbled around on the nightstand and then handed him the clunky device. “What’s wrong with the TV in your room?”

  Ignoring her, Logan pushed buttons as he walked to the end of the bed.

  Anna sat up and slumped against the headboard, securing the sheet under her arms. “Make it quick. I have to pee.”

  Flipping through the channels, Logan’s shoulders sagged when he reached CNN.

  Cable News? Now he had my attention. The only thing Logan ever watched was MTV, VH1, or the Cartoon Network.

  I propped on my elbow. “What’s going on?”

  “Quiet,” Logan said, adjusting the volume.

  Buttoning my lip, I swung my gaze to the screen where a stone-faced commentator stood in a field, fat droplets of rain pelting her microphone.

  “… live footage from the scene of the tragic accident outside of Fredericksburg, Texas, this morning where two members of the super-group Damaged lost their lives in a fiery crash. At this point, we’re unable to confirm the identities of the deceased. Damaged, arguably the hottest band in the country, just completed… ”

  Smoke rose from the mangled wreckage in the background as the camera took a wide-angle shot of the area.

  Anna’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle her strangled gasp. “Oh, God…”

  We watched in silence for a couple of moments before Logan jumped to his feet. “What the fuck is she smiling about?”

  Tearing my eyes from the set, I glanced between him and Anna, confused. “Who?”

  “The fucking reporter,” he pointed at the television, “what the hell is she grinning for?”

  I cocked my head at the screen. Sure as shit, the reporter was smiling. Just a slight upturn of her glossy lips.

  Emotion clogged my throat as I snaked an arm around my girl. “It’s her job, man. She doesn’t…” Struggling to catch my breath, I pulled Anna closer. “She doesn’t know them.”

  But then, neither did we. Not really. Damaged hailed from Austin, our hometown. Over the last five years as their star ascended, our paths crossed on occasion.

  Our band, Caged, was one of the many groups on Sixth Street that loosely followed the Damaged blueprint. Since high school, we’d been playing the same bars where Damaged got their start, hoping a little of their magic would rub off.

  The news report abruptly cut to KVUE, the local ABC affiliate. Terri Gruca, the nighttime anchor, sat stoically behind the half- lit desk, her co-anchor nowhere in sight.

  “Thank you, Sandy.” Terri blinked into the camera. “We’ve just got word at the studio that Rhenn Grayson, lead singer for the Grammy winning band Damaged, and Paige Dawson, lead guitarist, were pronounced dead at the scene of the accident on highway 290.” She looked down at the copy wobbling in her shaking hand. “Rhenn’s wife, singer Tori Grayson, and drummer, Miles Cooper, were airlifted to Brackenridge Hospital via Care Flight. According to band manager, Taryn Ayers, Mrs. Grayson and Mr. Cooper are both in critical condition. The bus driver was also pronounced dead at the crash site.” Still photos of Rhenn and Paige appeared on a split screen in the background behind Terri’s head. “Our prayers go out to the families. After a brief commercial break, we’ll cut to the CNN studio for further updates on this tragedy, and a look back on the lives of these two gifted musicians.”

  My head pounded as a commercial for toaster strudel flickered across the screen. Smiling faces and cheery voices, touting the virtue of strawberry jam tucked inside a fluffy pastry shell. Somewhere, people were probably eating that shit.

  But not Rhenn or Paige.

  “They were twenty-four years old.” Logan murmured.

  Turning to face me, questions clouded his clear blue eyes. The same questions I’d seen everyday since the first time we met. About death, and why it visited some, while leaving others alone. Death is what brought Logan and me together, after all. Our shared bond. Two kids whose mother’s would never sit at the long table in Mrs. Varner’s classroom, passing out cookies. Because our mother’s had “passed.”

  That’s t
he polite term people used when someone died. The same folks made sure to tell you they were “sorry for your loss.”

  Which I always found funny, since my mother wasn’t lost. She was dead.

  Just like…

  Rhenn’s voice echoed off the walls in the small room, booming from the speaker on the worn out television set. Smiling his most iconic smile, he stood back to back with Paige as he crooned the band’s latest hit. I leaned forward to drink it all in. Because that’s all that was left now —bits of light and shadow caught on tape.

  Slithering from my loose hold, Anna stumbled to her feet. “I’ve got to pee.”

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I slipped my arm around her waist and then pulled her between my knees.

  Resting my forehead against her chest, I breathed deeply, her peach scent soothing me. “I love you, Anna-baby.”

  She sifted her fingers through my hair until my breathing evened out. Then she kissed the top of my head. “Love you too.”

  Reluctantly, I let her go and then watched her retreat into the tiny bathroom. Through the paper-thin walls I heard her crying softly above the running water.

  When she returned, her face was splotchy and her eyes glistened with leftover tears.

  Giving her a soft smile, I lifted the covers and she crawled in beside me.

  An hour later and we still hadn’t left the room. Like if we stayed here, it wouldn’t be real. But it was.

  When they showed the Care Flight helicopter on the roof of Brackenridge hospital for the second time, I finally snapped out of my haze.

  “Change that, will you?”

  I reached for the pad of paper I used to jot down lyrics, while Logan flipped the channel to MTV.

  Like everyone else, the music video channel was covering the Damaged story. But instead of reporting what everyone already knew, they were running a special broadcast about the three lesser-known bands that had followed Damaged up the ladder.

  A solemn voice spoke over a montage of snippets flickering on the screen.

  "While it stands to reason that Leveraged, Revenge Theory, or Drafthouse will fill the gaping hole left by today’s tragic event, a few lesser known groups from Austin have amassed quite a following.”Jolted by the familiar beat, my gaze snapped to the television where footage of Caged onstage at The Parish flashed on the set.

  “One such group, Caged, is currently playing the same venue where Damaged got their start some five years ago.” The camera panned to the front of my drum kit where the band’s logo—a lion inside a gilded cage—shimmered under the lights. “Like many of the smaller Sixth Street bands, Caged is still fighting for notoriety outside this small, but illustrious, stretch of road.”

  “Oh my God,” Anna whispered, squeezing my hand. “That’s you.”

  Guilt flooded my insides, sweeping away the momentary jubilation.

  They’re dead, I reminded myself, turning my attention back to my lyrics.

  Voices dying on the breeze, eyes now see what no one sees.

  Will you be among the masses, forever frozen as time passes. Pondering the morbid compilation, the incessant ringing roused me from my next thought.

  “Answer your phone, dude,” I grumbled to Logan’s back.

  He glanced down at his hand, as if he just realized he was holding the phone. Swiping a finger over the screen, he took a deep breath before lifting the device to his ear.

  “Hey, Chase.” Pushing to his feet, Logan paced, his gaze flitting to the television every few seconds. “Of course I heard.” Stopping in his tracks, he listened intently. “Tonight?” He glanced at me, brows drawn together over his ice blue eyes. “I don’t know. Let me talk to Sean first.”

  Tossing the phone on the bed, Logan dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “That was Chase. He wants us to do a set tonight.”

  My stomach twisted as the shock rolled through me. “Why tonight?”

  Logan’s eyes met mine, conflicted. “There’s going to be some kind of candle light vigil.” He cleared his throat. “They’re expecting music, so someone’s got to take the stage.”

  Might as well be us.

  I could almost hear his unspoken thought.

  “What do you think?” he asked, chewing the hell out of his thumbnail.

  Looking past him to the screen, I watched as people gathered on Sixth Street. Some wandered aimlessly, tears streaming down their faces. Others stood reverently in front of the poster of Damaged that hung next to the entrance to the Parish. All of them needed closure.

  Pushing aside my reservations, I shrugged at my best friend. “Whatever.”

  Logan nodded, grabbing his phone. He gazed at the screen one last time and then he wandered from the room.

  When Anna followed, I assumed she was going to get something from the kitchen. Burrowing into the pillow, I threw my arm over my eyes.

  “Sean?” Anna rasped, jerking me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah?”

  I peered at her from behind my arm and she gave me a watery smile.

  Face ashen, she looked shocked to the core.

  Holding out my hand, I said, “Come here, baby.”

  She crawled next to me, sinking onto her heels at my side. Slashes of light peeked through the slats in the worn mini blinds, turning her red hair into a fiery halo.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Twisting the hem of her t-shirt, a tear spilled onto her cheek. “It’s not like I knew them or anything.”

  “You didn’t have to know them, baby.” I brushed the moisture away with the pad of my thumb. “They meant something to you and you’re sad.”

  “I know.” She sniffed, fiddling with her emerald ring. “But it’s not like, you know, family.” Our eyes met and I knew what was coming. I could almost see the thought forming on her lips. “Not like your mom, or…”

  I watched the column of her throat as she swallowed. The rise and fall of her chest. Anything to avoid the pity in her eyes.

  Sliding a hand in her hair, I pulled her close. “That was a long time ago.”

  When her lips fell open to reply, I silenced her with a kiss. Cradling the back of her head, I reversed our positions. She moaned softly as I pulled her leg to my waist.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t…”

  Her breathy pant held no conviction.

  My fingers crept toward the wet heat at the apex of her thighs. Pushing aside the thin strip of lace, I parted her slick folds.

  “Why?” I brushed my thumb over her clit, smiling. “You got something better to do.”

  Searching my eyes, her brows drew inward. “No. I just…I want…”

  Anna wanted what I wanted.

  To feel.

  I slid my boxers down as I continued to stroke her. A whimper tumbled from her lips when I pulled away.

  “Shh.” Gripping the base of my shaft, I guided the tip of my cock to her entrance. “Is this what you want.”

  Past the point of embarrassment, grief, or anything but need, she nodded. “Now…Sean…please.”

  Burying myself to the hilt, I stilled long enough to push her t-shirt up. I sucked one perfect, pink nipple into my mouth, drawing hard on the taut peak. She cried out when I slammed into her again.

  Unable to hold back, I moved with purpose, each thrust deeper than the last.

  A jolt of pure pleasure raced up my spine as my orgasm built. Still joined, I rose to my knees, wrapping her legs around my waist.

  My eyes traveled down the length of her, from her quivering belly to the strip of auburn hair between her legs.

  She groaned loudly as my thumb grazed her tiny pearl.

  “Let go for me, baby,” I grunted, circling her clit with even pressure. “I need you to come.”

  I needed to come. To spill all the pain, and the loss, and the emptiness coating my insides.

  Gripping my arm, Anna’s eyes rolled back in her head. “Sean!”

  She tipped over the edge, all of her walls closing tight around me. Falling
onto my elbows, I followed her down, meeting the end of her with one final thrust.

  Anna cupped my cheek as the spasms wracked my body.

  Turning to press a kiss to her palm, I murmured, “I love you, Anna-baby.”

  Her fingers slid into my hair, and she guided me to the crook of her neck.

  “I love you too.” She breathed against my ear. “Always.”

  Acknowledgments

  Jeff—Love of my life. All of my life. Words and music, baby.

  Jim and Pat—Love you, mom and dad.

  Peyton & Jacob—I love you more than you know, and more than I can say.

  Bonnie Marie—Always in my thoughts. There’s a little piece of you in everything I write. Love you.

  And finally—to anyone who has touched my life, in big ways and small—thank you.

  About the Author

  So…Who is Jayne?

  As a writer you would think that would be a simple question…but it’s not. I spend so much time living in my characters heads, listening to their voices, that sometimes I forget about my own.

  I guess I should start with the basics: the backstory. I was born and raised in California. At this point, I’m usually asked what it was like to grow up near the beach, but sadly, I don’t know. I grew up in the “other” part of California. Perfect for an aspiring writer, if you ask me. You learn a lot about keeping yourself busy when the nearest house is a mile away…and it belongs to your grandparents.

  I spent all my time with my nose in a book, living vicariously through the characters, until I wrote a book of my own. I was ten at the time. It was a scintillating piece that cast the family pet as the protagonist.

  By the time I went to high school, I moved on to romance. Why? Because I met my very own prince charming. I wrote love poems in my journal about the green-eyed boy who stole my heart. He promised, the way all storybook heroes do, to sweep me away and take me on a grand adventure. And he did.

  We picked up and moved to the Lone Star State and began the story of us. The best stories begin without a road map or a compass. Veering off course makes the journey so much more interesting.