Broken Road (Limelight Series Book 1)

by Piper Davenport

  2017 Piper Davenport and Jack Davenport

  Copyright © 2017 Trixie Publishing, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States

  Broken Road is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover Art:

  Jackson Jackson

  Tracey Jane Jackson

  Cover Model

  Jason Amare

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Praise

  Back Blurb

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  The Road Back – Sneak Peek!

  Meet Mack!

  A Nun Walks into a Bar

  About Piper & Jack

  Thanks to my ever faithful critique ladies, Liz Kelly, Amanda Washington,

  Anna Brooks, Trudy Dowling, Kim Brewing, Sarah Smith, and Kim Gill.

  You are amazing and we couldn’t have done this without you!

  All it took was one page and I was immediately hooked on Piper Davenport’s writing. Her books contain 100% Alpha and the perfect amount of angst to keep me reading until the wee hours of the morning. I absolutely love each and every one of her fabulous stories. ~ Anna Brooks – Contemporary Romance Author

  Get ready to fall head over heels! I fell in love with every single page and spent the last few wishing the book would never end! ~ Harper Sloan, NY Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  Piper Davenport just reached deep into my heart and gave me every warm and fuzzy possible. ~ Geri Glenn, Author of the Kings of Korruption MC Series

  BACK BLURB

  Life on the road is hard, love on the road is even harder…

  Lucy Haddon is rock royalty. She’s the daughter of one of the biggest rock stars on the planet and is now in charge of her father’s empire, including planning the most anticipated reunion in rock history. She’s no stranger to the dangers of touring life, but has always managed to stay out of trouble by following her own set of rules. Her biggest rule… no dating musicians...even when it comes to her teenage fantasy.

  Bad boy drummer “Bam” Nelson’s band has just been offered the opportunity of a lifetime… the last thing he should be thinking about is women. The meteoric rise of his band and the crash landing of his last relationship has left him burned out and closed off, but when a red-headed rock princess walks into his life, he realizes she could be the one to finally heal the wounds of his past.

  He just has to convince her to break her own rule.

  For Scott & Jess

  You two helped inspire this book and we’re so glad you’re our forever friends.

  Love you guys!

  Bam

  I WAS IN hell. It was partially a hell of my own making… however, recognizing this didn’t make my current predicament any easier.

  The muffled sounds of the customary “end of tour debauchery” thumped through the wall behind me, but I wasn’t quite done working yet. Our final show of the tour wasn’t until tomorrow night, but the band was celebrating early. It sounded like the makings of another in a long line of notorious bashes being thrown by the “Reigning Crown Princes of Southern Rock,” or whatever the press had labeled us this week.

  Hadley, our manager’s saintly assistant, had worked out an arrangement with the theater to give us access to the large rehearsal room, currently being used as our own personal night club, and a small dressing room that had been set up for my scheduled interview. My eyes scanned my temporary prison, which had been furnished with two folding chairs, a small glass table, and a craft services cart containing, bottled water, beer and a basic deli platter.

  Rainbow meat.

  Sitting on a round, plastic platter was a familiar variety of sliced bread, bright orange triangular cheese slices, and what we not-so-affectionately called “rainbow meat.” This culinary abomination earned its name due to the fact that it took on an iridescent hue after sitting out in the open for too long. I related to the sad contents of the platter. I, too, was a piece of meat that had been out too long. Everyone in the business knew to stay away from the rainbow meat. Everyone that is, except Sheila Roberts; SPIN magazine’s writer of the year, notorious star fucker, and the very last person on earth I wanted to talk to. She was a tall bottle-blonde with the best tits her expense account would cover.

  “Hi, Bam.” Sheila’s voice dripped with fake sincerity. “Thanks so much for meeting with me. I hear the tour has been amaaaahzing!”

  I instantly disliked this woman. I should have been excited that SPIN wanted to do such a big piece on Roses for Anna, and that they had sent their ‘hottest’ reporter. I should have been excited that our first headlining tour had been sold out in almost every venue we played. I should have been happy about the success of last two singles. And I most definitely should have been excited the final show of the tour was tomorrow night… but I wasn’t. I was fried.

  “No problem, happy to finally get to sit down with you,” I lied. I knew why she was here and what she really wanted to talk about.

  Lately, the main goal of the press was to dig for information regarding my relationship with Melody Morgan, the reigning “Queen of Pop.” When I was told that SPIN wanted to do this interview with only me, without the band, I agreed, but only under one condition: “Absolutely no fucking questions about Melody.”

  Those were the exact words I’d spoken to our manager when Chas informed me this interview was going to happen. He assured me that ‘Sexy Sheila’ would only be allowed to ask questions about the tour, the new album, and general band history. I didn’t fully trust him, and the band was pissed at me for doing the interview alone, but what could I do? This is what the label wanted, so this is what management wanted.

  “Let’s jump right in, I’m sure you’re dying to get back to your party,” Sheila said.

  That actually couldn’t have been further from the truth. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a room full of phonies and money men. God knows I could blow off some steam, and I’d sure as hell earned it. But how? Get drunk, bang a groupie, get into a fight? The truth was, I was bored and tired of all of it, and for the first time I was trying to put all that shit behind me and keep my cool.

  “Take your time, Miss Roberts. Can I get you anything? A drink perhaps?” I offered.

  “Um no, I… I’m fine, thanks.” Sheila studied me with renewed interest. “I’m sorry, I expected more of
a―”

  “Bad boy?” I provided.

  “Well, there’s no shortage of stories regarding the exploits of Roses for Anna, but now that I’m face-to-face with the ‘Notorious B.A.M.,’ you seem a touch more gentleman than wild man.”

  “Yeah, we know how to kick up a little dust from time to time, but we were raised to say ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am,’ and to always offer a lady a drink,” I said smiling slowly.

  This was all true, but I also knew when to lay on the southern charm, and I hoped my politeness would keep Sheila within the proper bounds during our interview.

  Sheila set her digital recorder on the small glass table between us and hit record. She took a deep breath, looked at me with a staged intensity, changed her tone to what I assumed was her best “fuck me” voice, and began, “Childhood friends rock their way from the Deep South to the top of the charts. How does it feel to be the heartthrob at the center of it all?”

  I now hated this woman.

  “I don’t know about being the center of anything,” I countered, shifting uncomfortably. “But yeah, Jimmy, Zeke and I have known each other since we were kids.”

  “In Alabama right?”

  “Yes ma’am, Elwood Alabama to be exact.” I poured on the southern accent and flashed her a sly grin. I didn’t want to be here, but I knew how to play the game. “Jimmy and I have known each other since seventh grade.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “Well… funny story, we met… sort of… rescuing another kid from getting the shit kicked out of him. He was a skinny little runt with thick glasses, and some eighth graders were doing their best from, shall we say ‘liberating him from his lunch money.’”

  Sheila laughed.

  “Jimmy and I didn’t know each other, or this kid, but we both saw what was going down from opposite sides of the cafeteria. We locked eyes, jumped in, pulled the bully off, and proceeded to teach him a lesson about picking on weaker people.”

  She cocked her head. “Wow, you sounded more like a gang than friends.”

  “We were worse,” I admitted. “We were a band. Jimmy and I hit it off and bonded over music right away. We loved all the same bands, mostly from the 90’s… especially RatHound. Jimmy wanted to play bass and sing like Rex Haddon and I wanted to play the drums just like Jack Henry. Hell, I wanted to be Jack Henry. I even started growing my hair like his. Jimmy thought that was cool so we started our first band. The skinny kid with the glasses became our first guitarist. He was a great player but he never could fight for shit.”

  “So, Edward isn’t your original guitar player?”

  “No, no, no,” I said with a chuckle. “Edward is el numero tres. He’s been with the band for almost a year now. He came in to help out with the guitar tracks on the last album and ended up sticking around. He’s great, but to be honest with you I think he’d rather be somewhere quiet with a glass of scotch and a big ol’ book about art or something.”

  Sheila smiled. “When did you guys meet Zeke?”

  “Junior year of high school—not that we were going to school much at this point. I’ve always loved to read, but never cared much for getting up early.” Surprisingly, I started to drop my guard a little. “We were at a backyard party and Zeke was singing for another band. Jimmy was reaching his vocal limits and really wanted to concentrate on his bass playing. We saw Zeke’s band play and, truth be told, we didn’t like him much, but he had a PA system and a lot of confidence. He also said he could get us fake IDs, so naturally he was in the band.”

  “Was Zeke already a great singer back then?”

  “Zeke?” I laughed. “He didn’t sing so much as he… drunkenly yelled, with a lot of enthusiasm. He got good pretty quick, though… once he figured out the girls paid more attention to him when he actually sang well.”

  I started to relax a little more. Maybe I had been too hard on Sheila. Maybe she really was here to talk about the band and not all the recent TMZ bullshit. Maybe SPIN magazine wasn’t interested in digging for dirt.

  She continued, “Growing up in small town Alabama, did you ever think you’d end up writing hit singles, selling out shows across the country, and dating pop stars?”

  And here she goes pulling out her shovel.

  “Um, yeah… I guess we had pretty big dreams right way… but uh…” I stumbled on my words. She had shifted the weight of the conversation just enough to trip me up. “We’re really happy to have gotten here, together.” I tried to recover and hoped the interview wasn’t going in the direction I’d feared.

  “That’s great,” she said, flatly.

  I got the impression this wasn’t the answer she was looking for. She more than likely wanted me to take all the credit for writing our last two singles and successfully spearheading our first tour as a headlining act. I could see her mentally shifting gears before she started the next line of questioning.

  “So it’s been a few months since your very public split with Melody Morgan, how are you doing?” she asked with obvious fake concern.

  I stiffened.

  “I’m doing great. Everything is cool. Thanks,” I responded, as dryly as possible, hoping she would hop off this trail as fast as she hopped on.

  “Given the high level of her celebrity status, was it tough for you to be romantically attached to the current ‘queen of pop,’ or was the additional publicity good for you and the band?”

  “Um, well, neither. I try my best to keep my personal life and band life separate, ya know?” I once again tried to politely steer her back on course, but I was quickly losing my patience.

  “Have you spoken to Melody lately and is it hard for you to hear your hit duet on the radio playing every hour, on the hour?”

  “Well, I don’t really listen to the radio, and we’ve been really busy working on our new album, and the tour—”

  “It’s just that it seemed like the whole world was really rooting for pop star and the rocker to make it the distance, and you seemed so in love,” she continued.

  Sonofabitch! This woman is relentless.

  It was obvious she wasn’t going to let this go and had no intention of talking about the band, our music, or our album… she really only wanted dirt. Gossip has become the biggest money maker in the entertainment industry, and this so called “journalist” wanted to make a name for herself through the flaming wreckage of my last relationship.

  “Well, like I said, I don’t talk about my private life, and have been focusing on our new album and this tour, so maybe we could just talk about that.” I was now officially done being polite. I had been very clear with Chas about not answering questions about Melody and I couldn’t believe the nerve of this so-called-journalist.

  “Yes, of course. I absolutely want to talk about the new album, let’s do that,” she continued. “Did your recent breakup influence your songwriting on the new album?”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, I was on my feet. I was ready to tell her that the interview was officially over, and that she could kiss my ass, but at that very moment, Jimmy came bounding through the door.

  “Hey Baaaaaam, you’re missing the party, maaaaaan!” Jimmy yelled through his ear to ear grin. Each of his hands contained an empty beer bottle, held high above his head. He was clearly wasted, which was nothing new these days. “Come join the festivities, brother.”

  I seized this opportunity to make my exit.

  “You know what, Sheila? Jimmy’s right, I really should get back to the party. Thanks for your time, we’ll have to do this again sometime really soon.” Before Sheila could manage to get another word out of her shocked face, I had grabbed Jimmy by the arm and exited the room.

  “Hey man, what the hell!” Jimmy protested.

  I pushed through the double doors leading into our party suite. I deposited Jimmy on the nearest couch, between two of our road crew, relieving him of his two empty bottles, and grabbing a fresh longneck from a nearby bar tray.

  “Well, that’s more like it,” Jimm
y said and took a pull from the bottle.

  I scanned the sea of faces and red plastic cups for Chas Chambers, the band’s manager, the architect of the SPIN interview and the current object of my full wrath. At 6’ 8”, Chas was easy to pick out of a crowd. He was a massive man, who had been a champion bare knuckle boxer in his native Manchester, England, before going into the business of band management. His fighting background had served him well in the business and as much as I couldn’t stand him, I couldn’t argue that he got things done. Zeke had insisted that we hire him as the band’s manager two years ago. Until then, I had managed the band, but Zeke felt like this gave me “too much power” and so made an ultimatum; hire Chas, or Zeke would quit.

  I should have let Zeke fuckin’ quit.

  Lucy

  I WIPED MY sweaty palms over the waist of my little black dress and took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe my parents were making me do this now. I mean, I could… this was my job, but I would have preferred a quiet, private meeting, over a conversation directly following a show… which I’d missed. I couldn’t even tell the band what I thought of their performance, which was important when trying to convince them to do something for you.

  “Talk to Roses for Anna about opening up the tour,” Dad said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, baby, you.”

  “No problem,” I’d said, but internally I’d sighed. I didn’t argue. This was part of my job description after all, and it was a job I loved. I was good at it. I’d been raised on the road, raised with some of the best (and worst) people in the world. Taught to survive on my wits, humor, and talent. I had this.

  But it was Bam Bam freaking Nelson. If there was a sexier man on earth, I’d be hard-pressed to name one, and now I was going to have to have a conversation with him. Would I be able to resist his “Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am, let me remove your panties with my teeth, ma’am” charm? Not that he was offering, but what if he did offer? I sighed. God. I paused my walk down the long hallway to squeeze my legs together. He checked every sex box on the planet (including mine if I was lucky). But then on top of all that, my dad actually had the nerve to warn me about him. As if I didn’t know about his reputation or didn’t have the good sense to stay away from musicians. But this was Bam Nelson, so perhaps he did have a point.