Rock My Christmas (FlameSmith in Love Book 1)

by Kitchell, Laura

  A sob convulsed his chest inward, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent it from escaping. Kendel had turned him into a bloody girl. He had something he could do about it. He’d go tear open that shipping box and toss her book into the rubbish bin.

  “Burn!” Dan called, anger ringing in his voice.

  A woman squealed, and Burn pivoted on his heel. He wobbled, caught a steadying hand on the bedroom doorframe then strode into the living room while the floor tipped like a ship at sea.

  He careened off the wall and nearly collided with Dan’s blonde. His flat mate had the model by one skinny arm and practically threw her from the condo before slamming the door.

  “Hey! That was uncalled for,” Burn accused.

  “Why?” His friend’s eyebrows lowered then attempted to meet above the bridge of his nose. “Who was she?”

  “No earthly idea,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.

  “You stink,” said Dan’s girl, drafting a tanned hand before her pert nose.

  “Yeh, well—” Burn couldn’t think of a single reply. He ducked his nose inside the collar of his shirt and sniffed. “Shit. I smell like puke. Odd. I don’t remember honking.”

  “Are you done with this piss up, or have you more drinking to do?”

  Burn blinked. “Dunno yet. Haven’t decided.”

  “Two in the bleeding afternoon and you’re already far gone on the piss.” His friend moved toward the coffee table and pointed at four neat rows of blow. One appeared partial, and a shortened coffee stirrer lay at an angel to it. “You’re back taking drugs? Have you had a hit yet today?”

  “Horses for courses, Dan the Man.” Burn crossed his arms over his chest and silently challenged his flat mate to hit him.

  “Kendel!” his friend roared, glancing toward the back of the condo. When she didn’t come, he asked, “Where the hell is she? Did you send her on an errand so you could fuck yourself up? She won’t put up with this shit.”

  “She’s gone!” Burn bellowed so hard he half expected his esophagus to turn inside out. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Damn it! He would not cry. “Fucking dodgy women.”

  “Gone where?” Dan’s voice came soft and questioning as he stepped from the seating area.

  “How the hell should I know? She couldn’t even bother to leave a forwarding address, apparently.” He staggered to the coffee table and sent the cocaine into a cloud with a single irate swipe. “Look what she’s brought me to. God damn it!”

  Dan’s girl came from the kitchen. He hadn’t noticed she’d left the room. He was worse pissed than he realized.

  “Here,” she said, urging him to sit then placing a wet cloth on his face.

  Bracing, jarring iciness pierced his skin like needles, and his heart jolted painfully. “Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Trust me, it—”

  “Oh, my God, I’m going to fucking kill you!”

  Dan backhanded him upside the head. “Cease. Good Lord, man.”

  He gasped, his ear ringing and his stomach roiling. “Shit, Dan. She told me to trust her.”

  “So?” she asked, pressing the iced cloth on his face.

  He inhaled sharply, instantly sobering by a lot. “So I don’t ever want to hear those words from a woman’s lips for as long as I live.”

  She took the cloth, dropping it to the table, and handed him a cup of coffee. “I made this for you. It’ll help.”

  He took a sip. “I’ve managed to run off another assistant.”

  “Splendid,” said his friend, sitting next to his girl. “Well done. Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

  Burn slowly shook his head and tried to will away the need to weep. The effort placed a burning pressure behind his eyes. “I am officially the most pathetic, naff wanker to walk the face of Earth. I mean, seriously, this takes the biscuit. I fell in love with her.”

  “With who?”

  “Kendel, you daft idjit. I’ve been falling since the second she walked in here, and I was too full of myself to realize it.”

  “Nice one,” Dan said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  Burn smirked. “Yes. Over here, we have Mr. Nasty Shatterly who hates the world and everyone in it. Inside, however, in the classic variety, we have this nerdy bloke who has always been a bit of a mug when it comes to pretty ladies. I can never seem to entirely murder him, and he rises up every time to bung me into some babe’s arms when I least suspect his motives.”

  “And you’re saying this happened with Kendel?” His friend’s eyebrows crooked into an incredulous squiggle.

  He nodded. “After you two left following the Christmas party.”

  “I don’t see you two together. She’s too intelligent.”

  “Get stuffed.”

  “Yeh?” Dan leaned forward. “Naff off, Burn, you self-absorbed asshole.”

  “Guys. Guys.” The blonde put an arm across his flat mate’s chest, urging him to sit back. “Maybe you could tell us what actually happened?”

  He planted his elbows on his knees then rested his head onto his fingertips. He wanted to wipe a fingertip through the dusting atop the table and rub the coca onto his gums. Instead, he used the wet cloth to obliterate it.

  Both his friend and the blonde waited, expectant but not judging. Maybe the time had come to learn her name. No. Knowing Dan, she only had another week at most before the bass player moved on.

  He sighed. He gave them the basics without going into detail, and finally said, “It wasn’t until she was walking out the door that I could admit I loved her. But, you see, I’d never said the words. Then she had gone and I was, well, basically snookered.”

  “Have you tried calling her?” asked the blonde.

  “For two days straight. Calls. Texts. My emails have been coming back saying they can’t be delivered. I’m the worst excuse for a rock star. No coolness here. Only a pile of desperate loser am I.”

  The tear he’d fought so hard to prevent escaped.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The ceiling stubbornly refused to disclose its secrets of life, so Kendel stopped staring at it and flung aside her blanket. Sleeping on John’s couch had begun causing her back pain. All the more reason to increase her efforts to find a new job.

  Here she sat, pulling her laptop onto her knees to seek another assistant’s job rather than to place resumes for business positions. The idea of donning a suit every day and going to an office put knots in her stomach.

  “It’s just too soon after graduation. That’s all,” she whispered.

  She glanced at her phone sitting at the end table’s corner. On the airplane to Louisiana, she’d turned it off. She hadn’t mustered the courage to turn it back on. Four days, her phone sat there. She probably had twenty attempts from Burn to contact her. She dreaded the real possibility that he’d made none. The idea that he’d let her go without a second thought kept her phone off.

  Against her better judgment, she looked to see if Marty had started looking for a replacement PA. She found no new postings for FlameSmith positions. Why did that reassure her?

  Her eyes wandered the postings but didn’t read them. She could only imagine Burn. In his underwear while rummaging through the fridge for something completely inappropriate for breakfast. Rearranging lions on his bedroom shelves. Fingering gel into his hair as he readied to go partying with his band.

  Disgusted, she snapped closed the lid of her computer and went to the kitchen for a glass of wine. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. Would they party in Los Angeles or fly to New York? She didn’t remember seeing a performance scheduled. Besides, V had flown to England, and Dan had given Marty off through the holiday.

  “Aargh!” She plunked a bottle of rose moscato onto the kitchen counter. Glancing over her shoulder, she checked to make sure she hadn’t disturbed John.

  She poured into a juice glass and mentally kicked her rear. She’d left Burn. She wasn’t supposed to pine for him. Yet he haunted nearly every waking minute.


  “We only had a week,” she whispered. How in love with him could she be?

  “You still beating yourself up over that guy?” John asked, shuffling past her laptop on his way to her. He rubbed his eyes.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “You didn’t. I’m not used to getting more than six hours of sleep at a stretch. Pour me some of that, would you?”

  She added wine to another juice cup and placed it on the table where he settled onto a chair with a grunt. “You sound old.”

  “I feel old. I’ll be thirty in a few months, but I feel fifty.” He scratched both hands over his scalp, leaving his auburn waves sticking out at every angle.

  She flipped on the bulb over the stove and joined him at the table.

  “At least you’re not crying anymore.” He put the glass to his lips and downed a third in a single swallow. “I couldn’t deal, Kendel. Don’t do that to me again.”

  She shrugged. “No promises.”

  “Why are you having such a hard time with this? You left him, right?”

  “Because he’d be perfect for me except that he’s famous as can be and on the move all the time. Sometimes he lives in Los Angeles. Sometimes he lives in London. You know I want a normal life with a normal guy.”

  “Yeah.” Sighing, he swirled the wine in his glass. “I figured you’d outgrow that little girl fantasy.”

  Kendel punched his shoulder, which he rubbed with a laugh. She said, “It’s not a fantasy. What’s wrong with knowing what I want?”

  “Nothing as long as what you want is realistic.”

  “How is a quiet life not realistic?”

  He shrugged. “For most people, it is. Not for us. We’re gypsies. We can’t escape our restless blood.”

  “We’re not gypsies. We’ve got red hair,” she said, tugging on a short clump at his forehead.

  He swatted at her. “Grandpa Joe. He was born into a Romanian gypsy family living in England. You can claim you want to build your life on a stone, but you won’t be happy. It’ll drive you crazy. You’ll ignore the call of freedom until you can’t and then you’ll become one of those women who abandons her husband and children.”

  She punched him harder.

  “Hey!”

  “I would never! I’m the most responsible person I know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Grandpa Joe. She’d always assumed she’d inherited this restlessness from her father. If her mother’s father was gypsy, it explained a lot. It explained everything.

  John offered a nod. “Okay, I’ll give you that. All I’m saying is you better figure out what you need as opposed to what you want before you go making yourself and whatever poor schmuck you marry miserable. If I were you, I’d take a real close look at why you went and took that job in California instead of starting your business career. I’m just saying.”

  He studied her a long few seconds while tracing a thick, callused finger around the rim of his glass. “When are you going to tell me about this guy?”

  “Maybe never.” Arching her eyebrows, she cut her gaze away and took a sip of wine. “I tell you what. How about I tell you about him when you tell me about your girlfriend?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Why not? Afraid your life will make someone as miserable as dad’s made mom?”

  He squinted at her then smiled and shook his head. “Mom was never miserable. If she had been, do you think she’d still be married to him and traveling in their RV without us as a reason to stay together? No, Kendel. Nobody was miserable. Not even you until you got a crush on your third grade teacher and we had to move halfway through the school year.”

  His words struck her like a blow. How had she forgotten that?

  He had another large swallow. “Don’t look so shocked. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You didn’t talk to dad for six months. That was impressive. I’ll give you that. But it’s like when you get an idea, you latch onto it so hard, and nobody can say or do anything to change your mind. I don’t know when you decided you wanted a so-called normal life, but you’re wrong. I’m not afraid to say it.”

  Her mind reeled. She remembered her handsome teacher and the day her dad came home and said he’d gotten a good job in Indianapolis. Looking back, she was amazed she hadn’t had a stroke from her rage.

  John finished his wine and set his glass in the sink. “I’m going to read in bed and see if I can’t get a couple more hours of sleep before dawn. Stay up as late as you want.”

  Numb, she sat and stared at her wine. A normal life? What an asinine idea. She’d attended elementary school when she’d concocted it. No wonder her brother had called it a little girl fantasy.

  Had her mother shared their father’s need to keep moving? Had that been one of the reasons she’d married him? She could only shake her head. She’d seen her mom in the wrong light. What else had she gotten wrong?

  “Burn,” she whispered.

  She’d hated college because it required her to stay put. Those last two years had tortured her. She dreamt every night of walking moors, riding trains, and visiting countries where she couldn’t understand a word said. Every morning, she’d forced the yearning into submission and worked toward the fantasy of a frustrated eight-year-old who no longer existed.

  “I’m stupid.”

  So much wasted time. John was right. Maybe at one time she had wanted the stability of one job, one house, one city. Now that she’d become a woman and experienced a tiny measure of life, she couldn’t ignore her needs.

  She had thrilled in boarding that flight to Los Angeles. Her blood had sung when she ordered her passport. She still tasted the awe of seeing that Korean stamp in it. Going overseas had made her nervous, but not scared. It had been a dream come to life.

  Now she faced the truth she had denied. The very idea of a normal life terrified her. She didn’t know how to do normal. Learning how to get around Hollywood without a car, getting what she needed to do her job in Korea, and being close to people she’d grown to love while surrounded by strangers had felt like home. That was her normal.

  “Burn.”

  She glanced at the microwave’s clock and calculated the time in Los Angeles. It was late, but not in terms of the band’s lifestyle. If they’d gone out, he’d be headed to the condo or getting ready for bed. This could be the best time to call.

  Leaving her wine in the kitchen, she went to her phone and hit the power button, praying Burn hadn’t brought home a plaything from whatever party he’d attended. Seconds went by and nothing happened. She pressed and held it. Nothing.

  Her phone had died.

  * * *

  “You look like shit, but at least you smell better,” said Dan at the kitchen counter, pouring a cup of coffee.

  “Good morning to you, too.” Burn accepted a cup and leaned on the counter.

  His friend barked a laugh. “Now you sound like Kendel.”

  “Sssh.” He pressed two fingers to his aching temple.

  “Your lion collection is spilling out, “Dan said, thrusting his chin toward the pink lion on the island.

  “It’s Kendel’s. I gave it to her for Christmas.”

  Cup in hand, his flat mate turned and picked up a shipping tube from beside his FedEx box. “What is this, anyway?”

  Burn held out a hand, took it, and tried to focus his vision enough to read the label. It came from Notre Dame. “My guess is it’s her MBA degree.”

  “We can’t keep it. Where’s her family?”

  He shook his head. “They’re scattered. It seems nobody keeps a home.”

  “Have you heard from her at all?”

  “Nary a peep.”

  Dan chuckled. “Nary a peep?”

  “I haven’t heard shite. Is that better?”

  “Quite. Did she ever mention friends? Colleagues from school?”

  “No. She talked of girls she studied with, but not by name. Wait. She told me her eldest brother keeps a house. He works on one of those oil dri
lls in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  His friend straightened. “That’s a good start. Do we know where?”

  “Damn this hangover. I can’t think straight.” He blew on his coffee then slurped a gulp.

  “Do you at least have a name?” Dan went to a laptop on the kitchen’s main counter and closed a news stream then opened a search screen called White Pages.

  “A name.” He tapped the side of his head then winced. His flat mate had brained him good yesterday. He wouldn’t complain, though. He’d deserved it. “A name. John. Shit, I can’t believe I remembered it.”

  “John Price. Bloody great. Could he have a more common name?”

  “Sure. He could be John Jones.”

  “Blatant. Okay, so it makes sense that he lives along the coast. Bad news. The coast is huge.” He typed in his filter. “A hundred twelve! No fucking way!”

  “Hold on. She said he’s five yours her senior.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-four. Based on her passport, anyway.” Hope sparked to life, but huddled in fear. What if they found her? He refused to simply forward the tube and the book to her. He wanted to hand them to her in person. Needed to see her. Longed for a chance to change her mind. “She probably won’t want me to go to her.”

  “Worry about that when we find her. Okay, this is better, but still too many. Fourteen between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty. It would help if we could narrow the search down to a single state.”

  “Bad luck. If she told me, my crap brain isn’t giving over that detail. I wish we had a way to learn if any of these John Prices have a sister named Kendel.”

  “There isn’t, but I have an idea.” His flat mate pulled a cell phone from a pocket in his pajama bottoms. “Do you remember when Jay hired a private detective to follow Celeste when he suspected her of cheating and it turned out she’d gotten a job? I wonder if he still has that detective’s number.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Happy New Year,” Kendel greeted, smiling at her brother as he shuffled into the living room from his bedroom.