Missing Beats

by K. L. Shandwick

  Missing Beats

  First published in 2016 by K.L. Shandwick

  First edition

  Copyright: The author as named on the book cover.

  Cover design: Russell Cleary

  Editing: Trish Bacher

  Proof: Andie M Long.

  Beta Readers: Sarah Linlott, Elmarie Pieterse, and Kim Gray.

  Cover Picture: Eric David Battershall

  Cover Model: Drew Truckle

  Formatting: Erik Gevers

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Disclaimer: This ebook has explicit reference to sexual situations and is intended for adult readers aged 18+.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, band names and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or celebrity names are used within the fictitious setting. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, band names or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue Kane

  Other Books by K.L. Shandwick

  Social Media links

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Debra Hiltz, Donna Salzano, Tammy Dove, and Ann Meemken

  Special thanks to Tracie Podger, Susan Ward, Nancy Pracht, and Joanne Swinney for their tireless patience with social media support, and to Joanne for allowing me to brainstorm my ideas during the writing of this book. You are all amazing and I am eternally grateful for your support.

  When I started writing just over three years ago, I never dreamed I’d be able to write a book. This book is my thirteenth book. Being able to continuing writing has only been possible by my readers and supporters. Please find me on social media, follow me on Amazon and sign up to my newsletter to find out the latest from my works in progress, or just a place where you can hang out with me. If you read my books please leave a review, it helps indie authors to be more visible on social media. Your thirst for my books is what keeps me writing. Thank you for your faith and support for what I do. To my loyal readers who have read everything I’ve written, I’m truly in awe of your support and to those of you who are new to me, I hope I don’t disappoint.

  Prologue

  I had loved Kane Exeter since I was six and a half years old; I just didn’t know it until later. We met for the first time in Germany when both of our fathers served as military personnel stationed overseas. Kane was an alpha boy even then; his thought processes were head and shoulders above his peers. He was always taking charge and organizing everyone.

  As he grew up, that natural leadership combined with his smart as hell brain, had taken him to places I could only dream about. Kane had no time for girls back then so I counted myself privileged that he was my friend. The reality was that he saw me as one of the boys when they were a goalkeeper short for the barracks under nine’s soccer team.

  It may be clichéd to say, but Kane and I just clicked. My brother Matt, who was nine at the time, and my twin brother, Jacob, were his best friends until he started calling around for me to hang out with him—about six months later—without my brothers. Both of my siblings attended band practice and Kane didn’t play, so he hung out with me instead. It’s strange how things turned out. They practiced their musical instruments religiously and it was Kane who became a rock star.

  Being around him as a kid was effortless, and as young as we were, the special bond that formed between us made us practically inseparable. Somehow we instinctively knew what the other was thinking and had an easy friendship that kept us close. He was my god as an impressionable little girl and he always made me laugh.

  Although my name is Josephine, my family called me Josie, but Kane, he always called me Jo. In my head, I heard that as the boy’s name, Joe. It fluffed my seven year-old ego that he thought of me as an equal—one of the boys as it were. Looking back, we had a pretty secure and idyllic lifestyle on our military campus until the notice came for our fathers to return to their USA army bases, tilting our small world on its axis.

  We had no idea then how quickly our little lives would change. No one really thought much about us kids when we were suddenly transferred back. Our endings were abrupt and without closure to those we’d become attached to. Not being able to see Kane every day after that felt like a bereavement to me.

  I knew from those left behind, that promises made to keep in touch with them rarely transpired once people departed and moved on. They were never heard from again. Mom told us, in a matter-of-fact tone, that the army couldn’t afford to care about the effects on individuals and that our country and its people had to be protected. She said sacrifices had to be made. I was never sure if that was something she was told, if she’d made it up or if it was something she believed, but because of the nature of our fathers’ work, Kane and I became emotional casualties of war in our own right.

  When we packed up and headed back to Maryland there were tears and promises made that we’d see each other often. Although we were in the same state and the intention was there at the time from our parents, the next time I saw Kane was when he was almost twelve years old. Kane’s father, Samuel, had become a fallen hero during a later tour of Iraq. We traveled to Baltimore to see him and his mom.

  As we pulled up at his house, nerves tore at my tummy. Part of me wanted to catch the latch on the car door and run to find him, while another part was dreading our reunion because I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing and make him feel worse than I imagined he was already feeling.

  When I entered his sitting room my eyes were immediately drawn to Kane’s tearstained face. An instant pang of sadness shot through my body and left me in shock at the sight of him. The reality and my imagination of how he’d look were poles apart. His grief-stricken, tired appearance had ravished the golden-skinned little boy I remembered, draining him of any color.

  My aching heart almost broke with how sad I had felt once we found ourselves on our own in a corner of the room and he let his tears flow unchecked again. Hot tears stung my eyes while the lump in my throat grew bigger and I did the only thing I could have managed at that moment, hugged him—tightly. He hugged me back like he never wanted to let me go again, clinging so forcefully I struggled to breathe normally. I felt everything he didn’t say in that hug, not just physically, silent distress seared my soul.

  “It’s so good to see you, Jo. I’ve missed you every single day,” he sniffed, stepping back one pace to look at me. I’d never seen this version of Kane. Heartbrok
en and lost. His voice warbled from his grief. He looked so fragile.

  “Me too. I’ve missed you too. I’m so sorry about…I love your letters,” I said, quickly holding my hand out for him to take. The change of subject to something safer worked to a point, and I was glad because he stopped crying and gave me a sad smile. Skirting around the topic of his dad, at that point I made eye contact, the pained look he had, grabbed my heart and squeezed it tightly. “I feel I know all your friends from how you write about them, but it makes me feel sad and miss you more. I’ve wished for something to bring you back to me,” I said, before quickly realizing it was a stupid thing to say given the circumstances. “I mean…I didn’t wish for—”

  “Oh, I know. It’s not your fault…I just…miss him,” he said, cutting across my inept attempt to recover from the idiotic timing of my comment. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. I realized that I should have finished my sentence before about his dad.

  Reaching up, I held his face between my hands and wiped his tears again. I just wanted to do something to comfort him. Looking into those huge, blue eyes, brimming with tears made me cry again. I’d spent almost a whole week before the funeral anticipating that moment with him, and when it came I’d hated it.

  Helplessly watching someone you love suffer like that is possibly the hardest thing to bear. It felt so much worse because I had to do it in a room full of adults that were all solemn and dour. The fact that I was only going to be there for one day made it even worse. The last thing I had wanted to do on this earth that night was walk away from him again. That wasn’t my choice; I had only turned ten years old and had no say in the matter. Years passed and life went on without Kane, but I always had a thousand memories of him stored at the back of my mind.

  Chapter 1

  Hedonism

  “Why Hedon1sm for a band name? Well, Louise…it is okay to call you that, right, honey?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye and a sexy-as-fuck smirk on his face. He reached over and placed his hand on her knee and she giggled uncontrollably.

  “Of course,” she replied, slightly breathless, her hand rising to rest at the center of her bust.

  The music show presenter’s body language was embarrassing as she squirmed in her seat, obviously loving the interaction between them. It was plain to see that she was unable to stay still while the rock star she was interviewing seduced her with his tongue to the point where I thought she was going to climb over and straddle him.

  “Well for those who don’t know, hedonism means the pursuit of happiness—sensual self-indulgence. I’m all for indulging in anything that makes me feel good—and it’s a sexy name. We’re a sexy number one band that sings songs about sex, so we changed the ‘I’ in hedonism to the number one. It suits us perfectly, don’t you think?” he continued, leaning back and placing his arm along the length of the sofa without an ounce of embarrassment.

  Goosebumps stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t seen my childhood friend since the day of his father’s funeral, but I had never forgotten him. It was a pure fluke that I caught his appearance on the show. I had only just put the TV on and had been about to curl up on my oversized, squishy sofa for another exciting Friday night of chick flicks and popcorn. Scrolling through the channels I had suddenly hit the music channel and was immediately drawn to his image on the screen.

  Looking very different, yet somehow incredibly familiar, Kane Exeter—my Kane Exeter, larger than life was sitting on a red, TV network studio sofa. A zap of electricity ran through my body and jolted my heart. It stalled momentarily while I caught my breath until it raced wildly in my chest again at the sight of him.

  I turned up the sound and walked closer to the television. Captivated, I listened to what he was saying. Oozing sex appeal and charm, he was flirting outrageously with the attractive female presenter while talking about his first big tour with his newly formed rock band, Hedon1sm. During the interview the presenter began running through all the places we could see Hedon1sm on tour, and when she mentioned Baltimore, Maryland, I almost fell through the floor. Excited beyond words, my mind went blank and missed the date she gave because I’d been so pre-occupied when he mentioned that he’d be in my home state.

  My heart skipped a beat when I heard he was going to be in my town and I stood rooted to the spot, completely paralyzed to see him after all these years. The last time I’d seen him he was a grief-stricken young boy, and I’d been unable to shake that image of him in my mind ever since. I’d always thought him a handsome boy, but the adult man-hunk version of the boy I once knew was so freaking hot I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

  Inked artwork covered the golden skin on his tight, muscular upper arms and shoulders as he sat back with one leg crossed over at the knee, completely owning the biker boots he wore. Muscular legs in his tight-fitted jeans matched the same muscle structure of his arms and shoulders. He looked so strong and fit and not at all how I remembered him. It was plain to see that Kane had taken care of himself. He’d turned into the guy no woman would pass in the street without checking out. His whole persona gave the vibe that he was a self-assured charmer.

  I stood mesmerized watching the screen, staring in shock while a hundred different emotions from hate to love, and frustration to elation wreaked havoc with my mind. My aching heart pounded wildly and filled with longing just from hearing his name again. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was so attractive—strike that, he was beautifully handsome and jaw-droppingly sexy. A dull ache formed deep inside of me, longing to be close to the boy I used to know—fame and looks had nothing to do with that particular void.

  Tears welled in my eyes and my throat constricted. All those years I had missed my friend, I’d kept him in a tiny corner of my heart, and suddenly there he was, in my face as some famous guy living a life a million miles apart from the ordinary life that I led. Next thing I knew I was sobbing like some lovesick teenager still staring at him having fun up there on my fifty-inch, flat-screen TV. I was bawling my eyes out because I never did get my closure with him.

  Suddenly the interview was being concluded as Kane continued to flirt outrageously. Changing position, he sat slumped back in the seat with his legs open and one arm behind his head, like he was talking to a buddy in his den. His torso looked ripped in his tight, white T-shirt and as he smoothed his other hand down his torso and rested it unconsciously over his groin, the presenter’s hungry eyes followed it. I could see he wasn’t aware of what he’d done, but the presenter certainly was. When I looked back at her she was biting her lip; she barely managed to say goodbye to the viewers, her focus returning to Kane.

  Instantly, a music track of theirs began to play and I eased myself back onto the arm of the chair and continued to watch in disbelief, totally enthralled by his amazing voice and fluid movements while he sang about drinking bourbon and fucking red-headed women. When the song finished, the next spot on the show was a band I didn’t know, and as quick as he’d come into my life again he was gone. I missed him, immediately. Switching channels, I found the old Bridget Jones movie I had thought about watching. By this stage I was restless and couldn’t concentrate on anything since I’d seen the boy that had left a hole in my world.

  Switching off the TV, I laid flat on my back on the sofa, closed my eyes and let my mind drift back to the past. His smile, the way he used to nudge me conspiratorially when he was teasing one of my brothers, like we were members of some secret club—memory after memory of the things we shared came flooding back.

  One memory stood out more than all the others. It was the night our parents agreed to a camp out in our back garden. It was safe because we were surrounded by soldiers, and to us it was a huge adventure—until darkness fell. All four of us lay in the tent and Matt, told a story about a bear eating some campers. I got scared and wanted to go home. My brothers teased me for being a girl. Kane defended me to them and he hugged me tightly after that because I was afraid of the dark—I felt safer because
he did that. Then there was that day we’d all bought ice creams and a swarm of ladybirds stuck to mine. Jacob thought this was so funny, but Kane had shared his ice cream with me after I refused to pick them off and eat mine like Jacob had suggested.

  I must have fallen asleep because the buzzing of my cell, on the arm of the sofa near my head, woke me. Groggily, I picked it up and swiped to answer without looking.

  “Hello, gorgeous, how is your weekend going?” When I heard Elliott’s voice it raised a sleepy smile.

  “Hi, how has your day, been?” I loved the way he always wanted to know about me. My previous two boyfriends only spoke about themselves like I wasn’t that important. With Elliott, he wasn’t just playing lip service in his greeting; he always genuinely wanted to know.

  “You first,” I offered.

  “You first,” he insisted.

  “Ah, well, it’s been lazy. In fact, you woke me up. I was taking a nap.”

  “Can’t have me there so you’re dreaming of me, eh?”

  I’d have liked to have said yes, but I was honest to a fault and I had been thinking about Kane right before I’d fallen asleep so I skipped the question. “When do you fly home?”

  “Tuesday. Why? Are you missing me?”

  “Sure,” I answered, honestly. Elliott was a really nice guy. A straightforward guy, and we’d been getting on well together until his company had sent him overseas to fix a problem with a huge construction project they were involved with in Europe.

  “Did you know it’s our six week anniversary today?”

  “It is?” I queried as I did a quick calculation in my head. The fact that he knew this information was endearing. I had only had sex with Elliott twice since we’d been together. I liked him. I liked him a lot actually. He was mature—almost thirty—and for a guy of his age it was unusual to find that he had no hang-ups or previous messy relationships. After he’d left college, he traveled extensively before settling down in a career. He was funny and sweet, a romantic, and he had rocked my world between the sheets. When I had been introduced to him at a party, I had thought myself lucky that he was interested in me.