by Arell Rivers
Table of Contents
Dedication
The Hold Series
Prelude
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
No One to Hold
Gratitude
About the Author
Other Books by Arell Rivers
Dedication
The Hold Series
Prelude
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
No One to Hold
Gratitude
About the Author
Other Books by Arell Rivers
For Doreen Dalli-Majana. There could be no other Aunt for Cole.
Hold ON
A prequel novella
Book 4 of THE HOLD series
Copyright ©2017 Tarnished Halo Publishing LLC
Published by Tarnished Halo Publishing LLC
2017 Edition
ISBN digital: 978-0-9982844-6-0
ISBN print: 978-0-9982844-7-7
Editing: Angela Polidoro, www.polidoroeditorialservices.com
Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey
Formatting: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs, www.pinkinkdesigns.com
Cover design: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs, www.pinkinkdesigns.com
Author photo: Elzbieta Kaciuba Photography LLC, www.elzphoto.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means including, without limitation, by any electronic or mechanical means such as information storage and retrieval systems—with the exception of short segments for reviews—without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, business establishments, organizations and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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2017 Edition License
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www.ArellRivers.com
Book #1: No One to Hold (Cole & Rose)
Book #2: Hard to Hold (Cole & Rose)
Book #3: To Have and to Hold (Cole & Rose)
Book #4: Hold On (a prequel novella) (Cole)
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Hold On
On the road, another stop
Show off my stuff, get my reward
Pay it forward, but don’t look back
It’s time to move on!
Faster, harder, rougher—hold on
Thanks to the gods of fantasy and lace
I’m on the prowl, she’s in my sights
Never stopping, go, go, go
Duck and weave and run!
Faster, harder, rougher—hold on
Body of a siren with too much fluff
An unseen mistress steering my show
That’s shared with a special lady
Time to hit my mark!
Faster, harder, rougher—hold on
Faster, harder, rougher—hold on
Faster, harder, rougher—hold on
For the ride of your life
Lyrics & music by Cole Manchester
I PUSH BACK from the table, placing my hands on my distended stomach. “Mom, I’m gonna miss these meatballs.”
She smiles at my compliment, while her sister, Aunt Doreen, replies, “Grandma’s recipe never fails.”
Seated around my parents’ Sunday dinner table are most of the important people in my life—my small family of four plus my aunt and uncle, and my cousins. They have always supported my dream, and now that dream is finally becoming a reality.
My younger brother, sitting in his regular spot beside me, jumps into the conversation. “So, this Noah guy went backstage to a bar you were playing in New York City, and said that Platinum Records is taking pity on you?”
Something about Jayson’s taunt makes me feel like I’m back in middle school, not the twenty-five-year-old man that I am. A man with a newly inked contract from the Platinum Records. I reach over and shove his shoulder. He turns to me, wielding a butter knife.
Mom’s stern voice freezes our antics in their tracks. “Boys.”
We both say, “Sorry, Mom,” in unison. This is something we have down to an art. The knife clatters to Jayson’s plate.
Shaking her head at her supposedly adult children—a gesture undermined by her grin—she says, “Help me clear the table.”
My brother and I collect the serving platters and carry them into the kitchen. I join Mom at the sink to rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher, and Jayson returns to the dining room for dirty dishes. We automatically revert to our old Sunday routine whenever Jayson and I are home.
After Mom and I finish loading, Aunt Doreen enters the kitchen and opens the fridge. “To celebrate your new career milestone, I made a red velvet cake for dessert.”
My mouth waters. How weird to suddenly long for something I’ve taken for granted all my life, something I’m about to enjoy with my family. Aunt Doreen is an expert baker, and her cakes are one of the many things I’m going to miss about home.
“Thanks. You know it’s my favorite.” While she pulls out a large, rectangular cake box, Mom removes plates from the china cabinet and I head over to the coffee maker. I know this choreography by heart, but it strikes me that I’ll have to learn a completely new dance now that I’m moving to Los Angeles.
Mom piles forks on top of the stack of plates. “So, you’re sure Dan has room for you in his apartment? I don’t want it to damage your friendship.”
I pour the water into the back of the machine. “Mom, we lived together for four years in college. It’s going to be fine. Besides, his roommate moved out a couple of months ago, so the timing’s perfect. With any luck, I’ll be going out on tour soon, and he’ll get the best of both worlds—I’ll pay my share of the rent and he’ll have the place all to himself.”
Jayson, who’s been bustling in and ou
t between the dining room and the kitchen pauses to make a face at me.
“Do you know when you’re going to be on tour?” Aunt Doreen asks with a smile. “Your uncle and I will want to buy tickets for as many shows as we can.”
Ignoring my brother, I return her grin. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen just yet, but I hope to cut an album and get out on tour sooner rather than later. And no buying tickets—you’ll have free tickets to any concert you want to attend.”
“The perks of having a nephew who’s a rock star.”
“That’s the plan.” Opening the cabinet with the coffee, I continue, “And I’m going to win a Grammy.”
“It’s good that you’re keeping your goals modest,” she teases.
Mom taps her sister’s shoulder. “Hey, Cole can do anything he sets his mind to.” She smiles at me. “I have faith in you, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek and give my aunt a dirty look, earning a throaty chuckle from her. Returning to my dessert duties, I add the coffee to the machine and turn it to brew.
Dad enters the kitchen. “The kids are getting restless out there, Jules. They know there’s red velvet cake for dessert.” He swats Mom on the butt, causing her to giggle.
“We’ll be right there,” she replies. The two share an intimate look, then he picks up the pints of ice cream Jayson had left on the counter and disappears into the dining room. Theirs is a one-of-a-kind love. Something I admire and cherish. Something for which I’m definitely not in the market.
Aunt Doreen takes a cake knife from the drawer, clears her throat and the two sisters squint at each other. My body tenses. This body language usually precedes some unanticipated concession by me. Busying myself by returning the coffee tin to the cabinet, I turn to escape the kitchen before…
“Cole.”
Shit. Not fast enough. “Yes, Mom.”
Mom starts, “We’ve been talking.”
I open my mouth, but Aunt Doreen jumps in before I can get anything out. “We know that you’re a grown man now, and you’re starting a high-profile career.”
“But I don’t want my son to have a bad-boy reputation,” Mom blurts out. She cups my cheek. “I didn’t raise you to be wild.”
Her sister moves in for the kill, placing her hand on my forearm for a brief moment. “Please be careful. Don’t get caught up in the lifestyle you’ll be offered.”
Mom drops her hand. “Promise me you won’t become one of those out-of-control stars we hear about on the news.”
My heart races. I need a cigarette. I’m flanked by two of the strongest women I’ve ever known, and their concern is both touching and intrusive. But it’s born from love. I glance from one pair of green eyes to the next and swallow.
Mom presses. “Promise me.”
I’m not giving up the perks of my soon-to-be-lifestyle—women and parties being at the top of the list. I’ve earned this. However, the set of their jaws tells me I’m not getting out of this kitchen without giving them my word.
“Promise,” she repeats.
I gauge the distance to the dining room. Too far. Mom crosses her arms, and Aunt Doreen follows suit.
Rubbing my hands up and down my legs, I mumble, “Okay, fine, I promise. I won’t get a bad rep.”
Dazzling smiles greet my capitulation. They pick up the dessert and dishes and leave me in the kitchen wondering how the hell I’m going to both honor and get around my vow.
Three years later
THE LAST NOTES of “Prowling” reverberate throughout the venue. Grabbing hold of the mic, I growl, “Good night, Phoenix! Thank you!”
After bounding off the stage to the sound of hundreds of people cheering, I hand my guitar to my roadie. I fucking love being on tour. And since I’m playing here again tomorrow, I’m staying in an actual hotel room tonight.
Jon Merkin, my label’s rep, waits for me to the right of the stage’s steps. He’s short and slight in stature, which sometimes causes people to underestimate his keen wit and killer instincts. All to my label’s advantage, of course. A really good guy. “Great job, Cole. You were on fire out there.” He holds his fist up for a bump.
I tap my fist to his, replying, “Thanks, man.”
“I know that Platinum already did its official thing, but I want to add my personal congratulations.”
It seems like only yesterday that I signed my deal with Platinum. My album is out now, and I have a team of people helping me with my career. I’m touring with a bunch of kick-ass musicians and selling out small and medium-sized venues across the United States. My first single, “Prowling,” has been at number one on the Billboard Hot 100 List for four weeks. Life is good.
Shaking my head, I reply, “I still can’t wrap my head around it.”
“Better get used to it.”
“From your mouth, Jon. Hey, thanks for putting me up in a hotel tonight. I love the tour bus, but it’s got nothing on a real bed. It’s been too long.”
Jon slaps me on the back. “Just make sure you actually get some sleep, killer.”
I wink at my rep. “Join me for a nightcap?”
“Sorry, man,” he says, shaking his head. “I have to head back to LA. But I’ll see you next week to film the video for ‘Prowling’. You’re really going to like your leading lady.”
“So I’ve heard.” My agent lined up the swimsuit model of the year to play that role. A smile creeps across my face.
Jon’s eyes take on a knowing, wicked glint. “Enjoy the hotel, Cole. You’ve earned it. See you next week.” With another quick shake of his head, he leaves the backstage area.
Once he’s out of my line of sight, I swipe a bottle of water off a nearby table and chug about half. Stripping off my wet T-shirt, I pour the rest of the water over my head. Damn, it feels like steam is coming off my body. Putting on a good show is as much about endurance as it is about the music.
Next to me, my drummer, Jeffrey, grabs a bottle of water and does the same. After shaking his flaming red hair like a wet dog, he points to the exit with his now-empty bottle. “Let’s get a drink.”
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
I don’t make it more than a few steps toward the door before a couple of blonde chicks materialize in front of me. They’re both wearing see-through white shirts with black bras, short skirts and stilettos. Knockouts, both of them. One has a rack that’s begging for my mouth, and the other woman’s ass is sheer perfection. The crew outdid themselves this time in granting these two backstage passes. “Well, hello ladies.”
Both of them smile up at me. The busty one swipes the tip of her tongue across her bright red lips. Yeah, I’m really going to like Phoenix.
“Cole,” she says, “you are—”
“So hot.” Her friend with the nice ass finishes. She runs her hand up and down my bare, wet chest, one of her blue fingernails tracing a water droplet’s path. I turn my head toward my drummer, who gives me a thumbs up. “Jeffrey and I are headed over to our hotel for a drink. Care to join us?”
The busty one responds, “We’d love to.” She licks her lips again, and my balls tighten. “Can we catch a ride with you on your tour bus? We’ve never ridden in one before.”
A rush of anticipation deepens my voice. “Sure thing, ladies.” I slant a sly look at my drummer. “Follow us.”
Flipping my wet shirt over my shoulder, I resume walking toward the exit, not bothering to hide my huge grin. I can’t imagine ever tiring of sampling the wares offered to me. We all get what we want—they get a night they’ll never forget and I get to fuck without any strings attached. Just in case, my PR company’s always around to handle any unpleasant fall-out. While not exactly following my promise to Mom and my aunt, my reputation doesn’t take a hit. Everybody wins.
The chicks fall in behind Jeffrey and me, joined by an ever-growing crowd heading out to the parking lot. “It’s been over a month since I’ve slept in a real bed,” Jeffrey says. “I can’t wait.”
“Me ei
ther, man. I hope I remember how to sleep in something that isn’t moving sixty miles per hour.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “Looks to me like you’re going to be doing your own driving tonight.”
By the time we arrive at the bus, our entourage has grown to about twenty people, mainly women. I bound up the stairs and turn around. “Welcome to the MPB! That’s the Magical Pussy Bus, for the uninitiated. We’re heading over to our hotel now for the after-party. C’mon in.”
Random groupies file in. When the two blondes join me at the top of the stairs, I take each of them by the hand. “Come with me, ladies.”
I position the one with the nice, round booty in front of me and Miss Boobs behind, and the three of us make our way to the bedroom in the back. Given that I’m the headliner, the bedroom technically is always mine, but I insisted that my band and I take turns. It’s only fair since we all have to perform every night. But I’m not thinking too hard about being fair right now. Even though the hotel isn’t far, I’m hyped up to sample what these chicks are offering. I don’t want to wait.
When we’re finally inside the small bedroom filled by the queen-sized bed, I grin at my companions. Threesomes never get old. Rubbing my index finger across my lips, I ask, “Did you ladies enjoy the show tonight?”
“Oh, yes,” Miss Boobs replies eagerly. “We got tickets for tomorrow night, too.”
I nod my head. “What are your names?”
“I’m Cathy and she’s Deirdre,” Miss Boobs says.
Smiling, I remove my wet T-shirt from my shoulder and wind up to toss it to the floor. Miss Ass—Deirdre—grabs my wrist. “Can I have that?”
If she wants my disgusting shirt, who am I to stop her? One less piece of laundry. “Sure thing, darlin’. All yours.” She quickly takes the shirt and stuffs it into her bag. Whatever floats her boat.
Cathy jumps in. “Cole, we’ve been dreaming about this for ages. Ever since your album came out.” While she’s talking, she steps back and removes her shirt. Her friend does the same. I reach out and take their shirts and place them on the top of the built-in dresser. Yeah, I’m a gentleman like that.
