Taut Strings: A Rock Star Romance (River Valley Rebels)

by Gabrielle Sands

  “Charlie never showed himself to me the way I did to him,” Abel continued. “I never knew where I stood with him, and that feeling only intensified when he found out I was interested in him romantically. The songs on this new album? He wrung them out of me by manipulating my emotions, the highs and the lows acting as fuel and inspiration to our sessions that went on for days.”

  “Dude, why didn’t you say anything to us earlier?” Cole asked, moving to sit beside the singer and putting an arm around him. “We could have been there for you.”

  Abel let out a tired breath. “I knew things were fucked up between us. I didn’t want you to know about us because I was ashamed of how he acted toward me. Of how he could reject me so easily, only to invite me into his bed the next day. I don’t even know if I like men other than him. It just felt like too big of a mess to try to wade through, so I kept my mouth shut.”

  Abel rubbed his eyes. I’d never seen the singer raw like this. “And I’m not the best at communication, if you haven’t noticed yet.”

  That earned a gruff chuckle from Silas.

  “How did the fan know about you two?” I asked, trying to fill in the remaining missing pieces.

  “I’ve spent the past few hours trying to figure that out,” he said. “The only thing I can think of is…” he trailed off, glancing at Cole. “Amy walked in on us once, three years ago, when she was still with Cole.”

  The bassist’s expression darkened at the mention of his ex-fiancée.

  “She caught us making out on the bus and swore not to say a word,” Abel continued. “She didn’t have any evidence, but you know how rumors like that can blow up on the message boards. Especially, when it comes to shit like this.”

  After Cole’s breakup, our manager had told us he suspected Amy was spreading information about the band on various forums. To fuck with us or to find some angle where she’d get paid? We’d never given enough of a shit to find out. Unsubstantiated rumors about us popped up online all the time. Usually, they’d disappear without any intervention on our part.

  Cole’s face was pale. “Damn it. I’m sorry, Abel,” he said, shaking his head.

  The singer waved him off. “It’s done.”

  “But we’re not done,” Silas said. “Abel, I was so pissed at you, but I get it now. The fan hit you right where it hurt. But nothing she said is near enough to change our plans.”

  “We have to get Adeline back,” I agreed. “We have to get her back and keep going with her in the band.”

  Abel met my gaze, the whites of his eyes tinged with red. “Honestly, I don’t know if I can. I’m not even sure I can write anything half decent without him.”

  “But you wrote with Adeline,” Cole insisted. “You wrote a damn good song with her, and you wrote our first album. Your fear, your doubts—they’re in your head. I know you have it in you, dude.”

  “Cole is right,” I said as Silas nodded beside me.

  Abel closed his eyes and let out a long breath. When he opened them again moments later, they narrowed with determination. “I need to be the one to explain.”

  A smile pulled on my lips. Together, we were stronger. Together, we could fix the mess we’d made.

  “That is probably not a good idea,” Cole said. “You are going to be the last person she wants to see.”

  “You can’t try to justify what I’ve said. She won’t believe it. It has to come from me.”

  “He has a point,” Silas agreed. “She knows what we want and how badly we want her to join. Abel’s going to be her main concern.”

  Abel rubbed at his face, and Cole jerked his hands away. “Be careful. You shouldn’t touch your nose.”

  Abel glared at him. “You fucking did this to me, and now you’re concerned about preserving my face?”

  “We’ll have an army of angry fans after us if anything happens to the pretty lead singer,” he joked, casting Abel an apologetic grin. The singer punched him in the arm and rolled his eyes.

  “All right. We’re done moping,” I declared. “It’s time to make a plan for how we get Adeline back.”

  24

  ADELINE

  I trudged into the Crooked Stool like a zombie ready to be put out of my misery. After getting off the phone with Molly earlier today, I’d considered calling in sick, but then I remembered this was once again my main source of income. I couldn’t afford to slack off.

  It was five thirty pm when the door to the bar swung open and Liam walked in.

  I gave him a tired smile, and he smiled back before sitting down at the bar right in front of me. We hadn’t talked since the breakup, but the friendly expression on his face told me he was eager to make peace.

  “Hey, Ade, how’s it going?”

  I poured him a Guinness, his go-to drink.

  “It’s been better,” I said, giving him an honest response. I was too drained to put on a happy face when I felt the exact opposite inside.

  He frowned. “You’re done with the recording, right? Is that what’s bumming you out?”

  I shrugged. “Something like that.”

  His brows pulled together. “Look, I just want to apologize to you about how things ended. I was a dick. I know I didn’t do a great job of showing it, but your friendship means a lot to me. Can you forgive me?”

  I considered him for a moment. He had a few days’ worth of scruff on his face, and his eyes looked tired. I knew the baby was due in a few weeks, so I could imagine the rush he and Vanessa were in to get everything ready in time.

  The pint glass I pushed across the bar felt like a peace offering. Liam picked it up and dropped his other hand on the counter, palm up.

  “Friends?”

  “Friends,” I said after a moment, placing my hand in his and letting a grin unfold across my face.

  He laughed, relieved, and lifted the glass to his lips. “Cheers to that.”

  I cheered him with an imaginary glass and withdrew my hand. “So, how’s Vanessa?”

  “Fuck, Ade. Let me tell you—think twice before having kids.”

  I snorted. “It’s not even here yet, and you’re already complaining?”

  He groaned. “Van’s doing fine, but her family gives overbearing a whole new meaning. They either think we’re completely incapable of raising the kid, or they’re all hidden childhood development experts. I could write a book with the amount of advice we’re getting over FaceTime on a daily basis.”

  We fell into our familiar banter as Liam told me everything his in-laws had been advising them on. The distraction from my own issues was more than welcome, and I served patrons as I listened to his stories.

  When he quieted down and shot me a questioning look, I knew the distraction was over.

  “So what’s been going on with you?”

  I took my time closing out a tab for one of the regulars before turning to face him again. “You remember how you told me I didn’t have time to waste on pipe dreams?”

  He nodded, his face taking on an uncomfortable expression at his own old words.

  “Well, I should have listened to you, but I didn’t. Bleeding Moonlight asked me to join the band, and I was actually going to do it until everything blew up in my face.”

  Liam’s jaw was on the floor. “Holy shit, Ade! They asked you to join them? That’s huge.”

  “So huge that I should have known it was too good to be true.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I looked up at the ceiling.

  “Wait, what happened?”

  I described how the guys managed to convince me it was a good idea—omitting the part where I had slept with three of them—and how Abel eventually made it clear that I could never be up to task.

  Liam let out a long breath after I was finished.

  “Molly thinks I should talk to them,” I added as I wiped down the counter, “but honestly, I’m still too fucking raw about the whole thing. She says I should let them explain. Thing is, I don’t really want to hear it. I’ve already wasted enough of my time entertainin
g the idea of being a full-time musician.”

  “I agree with Molly.”

  My brows rose as our eyes met.

  Liam rubbed at his chin. “Ade, I really regret what I said to you that day, and the fact that you keep referencing that conversation makes me feel awful. I want to be honest with you. After looking inward, I realized I said those things from a place of envy, not friendship. You’ve always been a more talented guitarist than me. You have incredible stage presence. You can write kickass songs that sound better than anything I could ever write. I was envious of you because it’s been obvious for years you were meant for something more than the rest of us. We fucked around with Through Azure Skies, but you always took it seriously.”

  I picked at a cardboard coaster, fraying its edges. “Jesus, Liam,” I said after a while. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  “I don’t think I knew it consciously either, until saying those things forced me to take a hard look at myself.”

  This felt like a moment that required something harder than beer, so I poured two shots of whiskey and handed one to him.

  Liam slammed it back and continued. “I couldn’t keep playing with the band. I know that was the right decision for me and my family, but I shouldn’t have shut down your ideas the way I did. You have what it takes to succeed—the full goddamn package. Meet with them. You’ll either put the whole thing to rest and be free to look for new opportunities, which you won’t have any trouble finding, or you could discover that what went down with Abel was just a huge mistake. Either way, don’t give up on music. It’s what you were always meant to do.”

  I swirled my drink, watching the amber liquid coat the sides of the glass before settling back down. Maybe Liam was right. I could pursue my dream regardless of what happened with Bleeding Moonlight. Confidence was building inside of me like it hadn’t in years, but I couldn’t deny my need for closure. How had we gone from Ezra telling me he loved me to this? My feelings for them were as strong as ever, and the thought of not seeing them again made my blood run cold.

  This couldn’t be how we ended everything. It was time for me to answer my phone.

  When I messaged Ezra that I was ready to talk after closing the bar on Sunday, I didn’t expect to find Abel on my doorstep Monday morning. He looked as handsome as ever, and it took all the air out of my lungs. It’s like being away from him for almost three days had removed the small immunity I’d built up to his appearance.

  But being unbelievably attractive didn’t change the fact that he had acted like a huge asshole. I was on my guard.

  “Come in,” I offered, my voice clipped. He was looking at me with a weird expression on his face, but he stepped inside without a word.

  It was awkward as hell. I offered him a glass of water, which he refused, before leading him to the living room and settling down on the couch. I waited for him to say something, because I sure wasn’t going to start. He was the one who’d humiliated me, and I wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “Adeline, I’m a fucked-up, broken person.”

  I swallowed. He was fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

  “Most of the people in my life who I’ve gotten close to have left me behind. My parents, multiple foster homes, and of course, Charlie. Every day, I walk the narrow edge between thinking it’s my fucking fault they leave or that I’ve just been dealt a bad hand through no fault of my own. Most likely, it’s some combination of the two.”

  I grit my teeth. “Abel, if you came here looking for a pity party, you’ve come to the wrong place. Everyone has shit they deal with in their lives. My parents died when I was nineteen, leaving me to take care of my sister. Do you see me going around and using that as an excuse for being an asshole to people?”

  He physically recoiled at the intensity of my words. Like I said, I wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. My past isn’t an excuse for taking my shit out on you. I just want you to know that what I said in the studio had nothing to do with how I actually feel about you. Instead, it has everything with how afraid I am that I’ll fuck this up.”

  I sniffed but stayed silent, allowing him to continue.

  “At the concert, after you left me, a fan came up to me and said some shit that hit right where it hurt. Stuff about replacing Charlie with you, and how she thought I was the one who drove him to OD. My mother died from an overdose. I’ve spent most of my adolescence thinking I was at fault for that.”

  My eyes widened. “Fuck.”

  He shook his head. “I know. The woman didn’t even know what she was talking about, but somehow, she managed to find exactly the right mark. I spiraled.”

  Jesus. I hadn’t expected to hear that from him. I knew from Ezra that Abel had had a terrible childhood, but I hadn’t realized just how bad it must have been.

  His hand reached out to grab mine. “I feel awful because Silas told me about your audition and why you gave up on pursuing music. Just like the fan, I hit you right where it hurt. There’s no excuse for that. I’m so goddamn sorry. I want you to know that I am one-hundred percent certain that you have everything it takes to be in the band. I want you there.”

  I pulled my hand out of his. “Abel, I might find it in me to forgive you for what you said but that doesn’t mean I’m still considering joining the band.”

  When he pulled at the collar of his shirt with his newly empty hand, I realized that he was genuinely nervous. Abel, the illusive, enigmatic lead singer of Bleeding Moonlight, was nervous about how this conversation was playing out.

  “Why not?”

  I laughed, and it sounded hollow and unrecognizable. “This is a life-changing decision. I can’t make it on a whim or in the aftermath of a blowup, just because you’ve now delivered an apology.”

  “Are you worried about not having what it takes?” he asked in a careful tone.

  “No,” I snapped, my jaw firm. “Even if I’m starting to think I can be a successful musician, it doesn’t mean I want to do it with Bleeding Moonlight. If I’m going to do this, I want to feel excited about it, and honestly, I don’t right now. I feel anxious. Worried. Concerned that we’d be at each other’s throats within a few days again. That’s not the right way to start something this big.”

  He rubbed his knees, his expression pained. “I understand.”

  I tilted my head in suspicion. “You do?” I had expected him to argue.

  “I do.” He nodded. “I know I’m the difficult one. We’ve struggled to connect the way you have with the others. Let me prove to you that I can be a good bandmate. That we can work together. Write with me for a week, just us. I’ll come to your house every day before your shift at the bar, and we’ll compose as many songs as we can together. If at the end of the week you’re still unsure, I promise we’ll respect whatever decision you make.”

  The thought of songwriting with someone who cared about the music as much as I did was heady, but I forced myself to consider his offer critically. What if I ended up clashing again? Even if it went well, would it be enough for me to agree to join them?

  Abel must have seen the battle in my head playing out across my face. “You’ll co-own the rights to whatever we compose together, and you can choose what to do with the songs after we’re done. Release them or sell them—there are plenty of people who’d pay good money for unreleased songs that have my name attached to them.”

  I bit my nails. It was a good offer, even if we ended up nearly killing each other in the process. This could help me kick off my own career if I decided to go at it on my own.

  “Fuck. Okay.”

  His smile made me squirm. It was like looking at a solar eclipse. I knew I shouldn’t look directly at it, but I couldn’t turn away.

  “I promise you won’t regret this.” His hand found mine again, and this time, I remained still as his thumb moved in smooth circles across my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight.

  “Fine,” I croake
d and stood up.

  I really hoped he was right.

  ABEL

  We decided to start the very same day, so while Adeline was using the bathroom, I hurried to text the rest of the guys.

  “It worked. She agreed.”

  Over the weekend, after brainstorming a few ways to win her back, we’d all agreed that having her songwrite with me was the winning idea. The guys would stay away and let me prove to Adeline that she and I could work together. Selfishly, I also wanted to prove to myself I had more than one song in me.

  I needed to make this work to fix the mess I had made. I’d do anything to show her just how badly I wanted her to do this with us.

  “Okay, ready?”

  I slipped the phone in the back pocket of my jeans and lifted my gaze to her. She was beautiful, as always, wearing an old band T-shirt and cut-off jean shorts that put her toned legs on display. I had to use every inch of my willpower not to stare.

  “Yeah.”

  “I have an extra guitar you can use.”

  To my surprise, she led me to her bedroom, where two instruments leaned against the wall. I had thought we’d be working in the living room, but the cozy, intimate vibe of her bedroom immediately felt right. This must be where she composed her songs. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I felt sure I was right.

  She grabbed her guitar and sat down on the bed, motioning me to take the small armchair in the corner.

  “I’ve had this little melody in my head for a while. What do you think?”

  I smiled at how eager she was to jump right into it. I’d collaborated with enough famous musicians to know that half of them wanted to just fuck around instead of do any actual work. As I listened to her play the melody to me, I could tell there was nothing else in the world she’d rather be doing.