ALMOST EVERYTHING
Page 1
ALMOST
EVERYTHING
♫~♫~♫
A ROCK AND ROLL FOREVER NOVEL
BOOK THREE
~~~~
MARY J. WILLIAMS
© 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Mary J. Williams.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the Copyright owner and publisher of this book.
First E-book Printing, 2018
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
♫~♫~♫
Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is an opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.
Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.
Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.
HOW TO GET IN TOUCH
♫~♫~♫
Please visit me at these sites, sign up for the Mary J. Williams newsletter or leave a message.
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MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS
♫~♫~♫
Harper Falls Series
If I Loved You
If Tomorrow Never Comes
If You Only Knew
If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)
Hollywood Legends Series
Dreaming With a Broken Heart
Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open
Dreaming of Your Love
Dreaming Again
Dreaming of a White Christmas
(Caleb and Callie's story)
One Pass Away Series
After the Rain
After All These Years
After the Fire
Hart of Rock and Roll
Flowers on the Wall
Flowers and Cages
Flowers are Red
Flowers for Zoe
Flowers in Winter
WITH ONE MORE LOOK AT YOU
One Strike Away
For a Little While
For Another Day
For All We Know
For the First Time
The Sisters Quartet
One Way or Another
Two of a Kind
Three Wishes
Four Simple Words
Five More Minutes (The Sisters Quartet Christmas)
Six Days (The Sisters Quartet Wedding)
Rock & Roll Forever
Almost Paradise
Almost Blue
Almost Everything
Almost Home
Coming Soon
Almost Like Being in Love (A Rock & Roll Forever Christmas)
Coming in 2020
One Pass Away—The Next Generation
Hurts So Good
Hurt Somebody
Hurt Me Now
Hurts Like Heaven
AUDIO BOOKS
More Books Coming Soon
ONE PASS AWAY SERIES
After the Rain – click here
After All These Years – click here
HOLLYWOOD LEGENDS SERIES
Dreaming with a Broken Heart – click here
HARPER FALLS SERIES
If I Loved You – click here
If Tomorrow Never Comes – click here
If You Only Knew – click here
If I Had You – click here
TABLE OF CONTENTS
♫~♫~♫
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HOW TO GET IN TOUCH
MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS
AUDIO BOOKS
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
♫~♫~♫
LOVE HURTS. LOVE scars. Love wounds, and mars.
“Amen, brother,” Morgan McCloud muttered to the singer on the radio.
As he glanced in the rearview mirror, Morgan caught his reflection. Blond hair, in need of a trim, came from his mother’s side of the family, warrior Vikings who survived on brawn, guile, and ruthlessness—all traits he found a use for at one time or another in the past ten years.
Along with the color of his hair, Morgan inherited his green eyes from the mother he barely remembered. She was more of a vague dream than reality.
Distinctive characteristics, he masked his hair and eyes for years with a shaved head and colored contact lens. Normally clean shaven, Morgan rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. When he discovered his facial hair grew in a non-descript brown, the beard became another piece of his disguise.
Why change so much of himself when he spent the first eighteen years not giving a lot of thought to how he looked? The answer was simple and complicated at the same time.
All in the name of love.
The song ended. Craving silence, Morgan turned off the satellite radio. Too bad he couldn’t quiet his brain as easily.
Love hurts. No argument from him. He had the scars, the wounds and, like the lyrics alluded to, he was marred for life. Once, he would have added love is a sham, a fool’s game, a travesty. Now, he shrugged and told himself he was too cynical, too numb to care one way or the other.
Part of him still believed in love. The musician, the songwriter, the singer. But not the ruthless businessman. As he buried the artist deep beneath his newer persona, he could envision a day when the lie became the truth
Times changed and fragile organs mended.
Yes, a woman broke his heart then stomped on each aching piece until nothing was left but dust. While Morgan’s memory was long, he’d used the heat of betrayal to forge the beginning of an empire.
The days when he let emotions rule his head were long gone. Laser focused, he reminded himself of debts paid and those left to settle. He wasn’t concerned his emotions would get in the way, simply curious how the final journey would play out.
Five years spent acquiring the tools he needed to take down his enemies had hardened his heart. Didn’t hurt to carry around an I don’t give a damn attitude. No more running, no more looking over his shoulder.
Morgan was finished letting someone else call the shots. He’d laid the groundwork for his return to his hometown. After decades of running Lake Darwell like their own private amusement park, the fat cats who forced him out were about to get the shock of their lives.
Rolling down the window, Morgan took a breath of Upper Michigan air for the first time in what seemed like forever. Except for a brief, bitter taste, five years earlier, he hadn’t been back.
When he left the first tim
e, he changed his name and his appearance—not for himself but for someone he thought needed protecting, someone who he believed loved him the way he loved her.
Turned out, he was wrong on both counts.
The road curved right and headed up a tree-lined incline. Didn’t matter how long Morgan was away, he remembered what waited over the next rise. His pulse spiked in anticipation—proof his detractors were wrong. Ice didn’t run in his veins. His blood was warm and still pumped through his heart.
As Lake Darwell came into view, Morgan pulled the SUV off the road, shutting off the engine. Resting his arms on the steering wheel, he removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of weary eyes.
Long days and late nights were par for the course. Had been since his focus turned from the art of making music to the business of acquiring money.
Morgan smiled when he thought of his rock star glory days with the band Razor’s Edge. Short lived, the perks provided by their brush with superstardom were everything and more a kid with dreams of reaching the top of the music heap could imagine.
The band’s rise had been meteoric. Their fall just as fast. Morgan wasn’t there the moment Razor’s Edge split up. The guilt he felt for jumping a quickly sinking ship was tempered by the knowledge the end would have come even if he’d stuck around to the very bitter end.
He had regrets where his old friends were concerned—too many to count. If he could go back…
No, Morgan told himself, shaking off his wayward thoughts. To dwell in the past was a weakness. The softer side of his personality lurked beneath the thick, hard fortress he’d erected around his emotions. However, the man he was today bore little resemblance to the kid who reluctantly joined the other members of Razor’s Edge on the ride of a lifetime.
Morgan’s phone rang, a welcome distraction from his trip down memory lane. He checked the screen. When he saw Dionne Trask’s picture, he answered.
“Everything in place?” he asked his assistant, right-hand woman, and trusted friend.
“Last piece fell less than an hour ago. I simply wanted to double check before I called.”
“More like triple checked,” Morgan said.
“What was the first thing you told me the day we met?” Dionne didn’t wait for his answer. “Mistakes cost money. Remember? Then, you added the tasty bit. In five years, we’ll be able to live like royalty.”
“Well, shit,” Morgan snorted. “Wasn’t I an arrogant prick.”
“Still are,” she said with the confidence of someone who knew under his prickly exterior was a man who could laugh at himself. “Kept your word, though. You’re on your way to stinking rich, and I’m damn comfortable. The queen of my own little world.”
Stinking? Morgan smiled, then sniffed at his shirt and grimaced. After a long transatlantic flight, he should have stopped over in New York to shower and change. Instead, he hopped another plane to Detroit, slid behind the wheel of the spanking-new SUV Dionne arranged for him, and drove straight from the airport to Lake Darwell.
The six-hour road trip helped clear his head but did little to improve his personal hygiene.
As if reading his mind—a handy if often disconcerting talent—Dionne chuckled.
“The keys to the house are in the glove compartment. The renovations are complete, last of the furniture arrived yesterday, including towels and bedding. The pantry and refrigerator are fully stocked with your preferences.”
Morgan didn’t doubt Dionne for a second. Efficient was her middle name.
“Plan was to walk around town. Stop in a few shops. Set the gossip train rolling.”
“Alter the plan, slightly. Wait a day. Take a shower and eat a decent meal.”
“Food sounds good,” he admitted. “Or, I could whet my appetite by scaring the crap out of the head of Lake Darwell Mutual.”
Beyond the time Morgan tried to open his first checking account and Sheldon Pugh, bank manager, and all-around snob, made him feel his piddly amount of money wasn’t worth the bank’s time of day, he didn’t have a beef with the man. In the end, Morgan decided to keep his money stashed at home—a fact that came in handy when the night he was unceremoniously escorted past the city limits with the instructions not to come back.
“Throw your weight around?” Dionne asked. “Act important? Offer to trust the bank with a good chunk of capital then send him a, fuck you, middle finger at the last second?”
“Hey,” Morgan protested. “I’ve never been a money tease.”
“True,” Dionne conceded. “But admit the truth. As the proverbial poor boy who made good, you’re tempted.”
“Maybe,” Morgan said. “A little.”
“Where would be the challenge? You can put the fear of God into one meager bank manager with both hands tied behind your back.”
Morgan’s lips twitched. Dionne knew him well.
“Everyone needs a hobby.”
“Try knitting,” she teased. “You’ll enjoy the evisceration process more after a good night’s sleep.”
Though right on the button, as always, Morgan hesitated to follow his assistant’s sound advice. His reasons were what some might call silly bordering on childish. But he’d imagined his return to Lake Darwell a thousand times. He wanted things just so when he brought down the hammer.
“I personally programmed your GPS. Nothing but backroads. Isolated house, as you know. You can open and shut the front gate with the passcode on your phone, then drive straight into the garage. Unless some nosy parker possesses x-ray vision, your anonymity is golden.”
“Overkill?” he asked.
“Yes,” Dionne told him without hesitation. “At times, you think too much. Understandable, all things considered. What you need to do is—”
“Loosen up. Take a freaking vacation. Have fun. Get laid.”
“Have fun and get laid are redundant—or should be if you know what you’re doing.” Dionne snickered. “But, yes. I vote for all of the above.”
“Pot calling the kettle black,” Morgan muttered.
“You know I’m black, right?” Dionne asked, referencing her proud Jamaican ancestry.
The hue of her skin—a gorgeous chocolate brown—and his—plain Scottish white—was an on-going joke between them. Morgan once said he didn’t notice color, which sent Dionne on a tirade that made a lasting impression.
“Of course, you notice color. Everyone does,” she told him, fluffing her natural curls. The streak of red at the time was a fashion statement she’d since abandoned. “Treat me different from someone with white skin, or red, or yellow? Then we’ll talk.”
So far, the talk hadn’t come.
“The pot is just a pot, Dionne,” Morgan reminded her, tongue in cheek. “Not a racial slight.”
“If you say so,” she sighed as if dealing with a small, uneducated child.
Morgan could picture Dionne, sitting in her office, feet up on her desk, one ridiculously expensive shoe tapping a beat only she heard. Her smile would be subtle, a bit secretive, as she looked out over the Manhattan skyline while enjoying their familiar banter and sipped a glass of after-work Napoleon brandy.
“Take my advice,” she told him. “Lay low tonight. Give your body and brain a break. Tomorrow’s soon enough to conquer the world.”
Morgan’s gaze sharpened on the buildings below. Though he wasn’t averse to the idea, for now, the world would have to wait. He had old business to deal with before he turned his sights toward the future.
Suddenly, Morgan felt the whirlwind of the last month catching up with him in one fell swoop. He’d learned how to light a candle at both ends without feeling the burn. Today was a different kind of tired.
The end of his long, hard-fought journey was in sight. Except instead of waging war from a distance, he was about to jump into the trenches.
Morgan didn’t know what he would find or how the battles would play out. One thing was certain. No matter how much pain was inflicted, or blood was los
t, in the end, he would win the war.
In the end, Morgan would be the last person standing.
“What are your plans for the evening?” he asked, absently massaging a kink from his neck. “Dinner for one while curled up in front of a Sex and the City marathon?”
The question was superfluous. Dionne was a social animal. She didn’t believe in long-term relationships—so many men, so little time. However, when she was with someone, she was with him all the way, mind and body—she rarely slept alone.
“You’re funny,” Dionne chuckled at Morgan’s absurd suggestion. “Last time I spent a night home by myself, puberty was a distant promise. You, on the other hand, need—”
“Sleep,” he interrupted before she could sing a familiar refrain.
“After you find a bed partner.”
“Been there, done that.” The night before last, to be exact.
“I said partner, not receptacle,” Dionne scoffed. “Any beast can copulate.”
“She enjoyed herself.” Morgan always gave as good as he got.
“Did you?”
Coming from his assistant, a woman whose salary he paid, some might think the question at best, rude and intrusive. Those people didn’t understand how Morgan and Dionne operated. They had an unusual dynamic that went beyond boss and employee. Friends? Yes. But more.
Put them in separate rooms with no prior coaching, both would say, without hesitation, they were family.
Morgan didn’t give Dionne’s query a second thought beyond rolling his eyes. As a brother would when faced with an annoying, but loved, younger sister.
“Sex is always fun, Dionne. Otherwise, why bother?”
“Did you laugh? Or talk? After, did you stay for more than a cursory minute or two? Did you cuddle?”
Morgan suppressed a groan. At times, his hard-as-nails, take no shit assistant was such a freaking girl.
“I don’t cuddle.”