by Karen Cimms
“I don’t know.” When she looked up, her face was serious. “Just promise you’ll always love me the way you do right now—at this moment. That’s all I’ll ever really need.” Her hand floated up to his cheek. “Promise.”
Looking down at her, he remembered the first time their eyes met. At Kildare’s, when somehow, some part of him had known he was looking at his future.
“I can’t do that.” His voice finally broke.
Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open.
“I can’t do that because I know that every day I will love you more than I did the day before, for as long as I live.” His voice deepened with conviction.
“And that, Katie, I promise, will be the easiest thing I ever do.”
The End
Note To Readers
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About the Author
Karen Cimms is a writer, editor, and music lover. She was born and raised in New Jersey and still thinks of the Garden State as home. She began her career at an early age rewriting the endings to her favorite books. It was a mostly unsuccessful endeavor, but she likes to think she invented fanfiction.
Karen is a lifelong Jersey corn enthusiast, and is obsessed with (in no particular order) books, shoes, dishes, and Brad Pitt. In her spare time she likes to quilt, decorate, and entertain. Just kidding–she has no spare time.
Although she loves pigeons, she is terrified of pet birds, scary movies, and Mr. Peanut.
Karen is married to her favorite lead guitar player. Her children enjoy tormenting her with countless mean-spirited pranks because they love her. She currently lives in Northeast Pennsylvania, although her heart is usually in Maine.
@KCimms
KarenCimms
www.karencimms.com
Acknowledgments
While my name stands alone on the cover of this book, it was in no way a singular effort. In fact, without these people it might never have seen the light of day.
First I want to thank Liz Vigue. After reading several early chapters, she wanted to know more about Kate. Who was she and how did she become the woman in the story? And Billy? Why was he such a mess? I wasn’t sure myself, so I began to write Kate’s backstory. I sent her to college and gave her a cold, distant mother and a self-involved father. Then I dissected Billy and discovered his abusive parents and a weakness for drugs and alcohol. Kate, Billy, and Joey came to life. Each morning they piled into the backseat of my car, where they would speak over each other, trying to make sure I heard them as they told me their stories. Not until I was deep into what has become At This Moment, did they quiet down and begin to trust me. Those early chapters became the foundation for We All Fall Down, the second book in the series. So, thank you, Liz. Thank you for making me dig deeper, for your critiques and encouragement, and even for boggling my poor brain with Freytag’s Pyramid.
Thank you to my earliest readers: Patty Morgan, Diane Stone, Ione Connelly, Kerry Palumbo, Marge Ayers, Karen McMillon, Beth Yaroszeufski, and Ace Leccese.
I’m eternally grateful to my beta readers for their feedback: Sarah Streby, Amber McKenney, Allison Hart, Dena Williams, Judi Rae Kessner, Desiree LaDuke, Soraya Gimenez, Sarah Elmore, Amy Levasseur, Sally McGarry, Shasta Anderson, Rhonda Donaldson, Deirdre Popp, and Valarie Savage Kinney. Extra special thanks to Marcia Evans, Ann Travis, and Lydia Fasteland for really digging in. You guys totally rock.
Lori Ryser, thank you for all of the above and then some.
Amanda Cimms, you are a far better writer than I can ever hope to be. Thank you for your early editing skills, not to mention the champagne, flowers, and cupcakes you and Ace brought when I finished the rough draft. Garrett Cimms, thank you for an awesome cover design and for expressing my vision. (You’re also a great cover model.)
To my editor, Lisa Poisso, thank you for your professionalism and expertise. You not only guided me to become a better writer, you helped me make Billy and Kate much more vivid.
To my critique partner, Dr. Bella Ellwood-Clayton, thank you for everything. I hope I can be as big a help to you as you have been to me.
Thank you to my experts: Denise Cataudella for the “tour” of Brooklyn, Jennifer Sterner for the anatomy lesson, Blythe Holynski for seeing Kate through two births, and real-life rock star Glen Burtnik for answering all my silly questions. And thanks to all the musicians I’ve known over the years. For a girl who loves music, it’s been a pretty sweet ride. And to Nancy Blaha, thank you for helping me see through the fog, among other things.
Karen, Margaux, Garrett, and Amanda, thanks for enabling and encouraging me to be more than just “Mom,” although that will always be the best thing I’ve ever done. I love you all.
Most important, thank you to my husband, Jim. I couldn’t have written one word without your support. Thank you for taking on all that you have so that I could write every day. Thank you for your patience and your feedback, even when I hated it. Thanks for sharing stories that were hard to hear, but that I needed to know. You not only made me a musician’s wife, you helped bring Billy to life. You will always be my favorite lead guitar player. I love you.
Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek of:
We All Fall Down
Book two in Karen Cimms’
Of Love and Madness trilogy
Due for release this fall
Chapter 1
July 19, 2012
The short-term parking lot shimmered like an urban mirage.
Miami had been hot, but at least there was the occasional ocean breeze to punctuate the wet, heavy air. No such luck in Newark.
Fishing an elastic band from his pocket, Billy gathered his hair into a double loop, then leaned against the full-length windows of the terminal. The cool glass felt good against his sweat-soaked back.
Mirrored aviator shades covered his bloodshot eyes, but nothing could disguise the pounding in his head. The dizzying waves in the pavement and the familiar rocking motion of his latest hangover made him want to find a dark corner and sleep until this roller coaster came to a complete stop. And when it did, he’d like to get his hands around the neck of Stonestreet’s tour manager and personally thank him for booking such a goddamn early flight.
Unfortunately, since he’d been fired hours earlier, the opportunity was unlikely to present itself.
A long line of cars and shuttles cozied up to the curb, spewing fumes into the dense, still air. If Eddie didn’t show soon, Billy swore he’d leave the little shit’s crap all over the sidewalk and hail a cab. Five more minutes. Folding his arms, he closed his eyes and tried to sort out the last twelve hours, figure out where he’d gone wrong.
Mistake number one had been dropping acid. He hadn’t done it in years, but when Eddie showed up with a couple hits, he figured what the hell. He was no choir boy, and this tour was kicking his ass. One more night, then he would’ve been home free, at least for a couple weeks.
But what a night. He could still hear the roar of the crowd jammed into American Airlines Arena. When the band started playing “Escaping to Perdition,” he did what he always did, what he was paid to do: hang back and provide the rhythm and accents, but somewhere after the first verse, something snapped. Maybe it was the acid. Or maybe he was just sick of playing second fiddle to a hack who couldn’t even win at Guitar Hero without backup. Whatever the case, he lost himself in the music and before he knew it, he’d commandeered Mick’s big solo.
And he was wailing on that motherfucker.
Even now, baking on the hot sidewalk a thousand miles from Miami, he could still feel those notes pulsing through his fingertips. It was like being in a trance. Before he knew it, he’d
crossed Mick’s invisible line.
His fingers had flown up and down the neck of his Les Paul custom. The frets had all but disappeared and his fingers moved as if on glass. He’d become the music. Each note reverberated through him, shooting out like sparks.
Mick let him have his moment. And it was the way he’d always dreamed it would be. He was front and center—Billy McDonald—and the crowd went crazy. When he’d opened his eyes and realized twenty thousand fans were screaming for him, he’d fallen to his knees. And he hadn’t missed a single, fucking note.
The rest of the show was a blur, but the feeling stayed with him. It was the best night of his career—or at least it had been, until later.
The band was partying harder than usual back at the hotel, which was saying something. The booze flowed, the weed was plentiful, and there was more than enough high-grade cocaine and half-naked women to go around. It was tough sometimes, but he knew where to draw the line. The guilt he still felt from cheating on Katie twenty years ago would eat him alive if he let it. The risk of a few moments of pleasure wasn’t worth losing the only thing in the world that had ever really mattered other than his music.
He’d tried to stay away from the hard stuff too, and he’d sworn to Katie he’d quit, but he was only human. If he needed a little something to help him get by now and then, he wasn’t hurting anybody.
But last night? The shit had hit the fan. Fueled by whiskey and coke and twice as much resentment, Mick launched into a tirade about Billy stealing his solo. He’d tried to shine him on at first, but he wasn’t about to apologize to that horse’s ass. Everyone knew Billy was ten times better than Mick McAvoy on his worst day.
When things started getting ugly, he’d gotten up to leave. Mick threw the first punch. He missed, but it didn’t matter. Not since Billy was ten had anyone taken a swing at him and been able to walk away unassisted. One punch, and Mick’s feet had flown out from under him. He rolled ass-backward over a bench and onto the floor.
And after a couple roadies had helped him up, Mick fired him.
The rest of the night had been spent nursing his ego and a bottle of Jack. Things had been going so well. Last night’s show had been amazing. And now it was over.
A horn blasted, and Billy opened his eyes. Still no Eddie. He looked at his watch. It was a little past eleven. Plenty of time to get home, although the thought of facing Katie made his head throb.
Happy birthday, babe. I got fired! That was gonna go over real well.
The rumbling of his stomach brought him back to the present. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, although the thought of food nauseated him—or maybe it was the heat. If he hadn’t lost his license, he’d be on the road by now. In the meantime, he longed for a little hair of the dog and a shower. He’d been so out of it last night, he’d lost track of time. Not only hadn’t he had time for a shower, he’d almost missed his plane.
He dug a toothpick from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth. Maybe that would get his mind off wanting a drink and a handful of aspirin. Another horn beeped. He looked up as Eddie pulled to up to the curb.
After throwing his duffle bag and guitar cases in the back, Billy slipped into the front seat while Eddie loaded his bags into the cargo area.
“Sorry about last night, man,” Eddie said, navigating the rented SUV onto 78 heading west. “But you were amazing. Holy shit! You should’ve seen Mick’s face. Acting like the big man, giving you the spotlight, but I could see that little vein pulsing on the side of his head.”
Billy nodded. “It felt pretty good. I hope I get to feel that way again someday.”
“It’ll happen, brother. God doesn’t give you that kinda talent to hide it under a bushel. Know what I’m sayin’?”
Hide it under a bushel? Hardly. He’d been fighting for twenty years to make his mark, only to have just about every opportunity snatched right out from under his nose, thanks to one vindictive little bitch with a long memory and too much influence.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Billy muttered as he lowered his seat and closed his eyes. The cool breeze from the air conditioner was soothing on his aching head.
“Thanks for the lift. I was hoping my kid would pick me up, but I forgot he’s working at some camp in Colorado.”
“No problem. I enjoy the company. Hey, I’m a bit parched. You mind if we stop along the way for a little libation?”
Billy cocked an eye open. He needed a drink a hell of a lot more than he needed a nap. He turned to Eddie and grinned.
“I think I could be persuaded.”
