Page 1 of For Puck's Sake

PROLOGUE

BREA

(The phone call . . . about seven months ago)

“This calls for a celebration, B! I’m so proud of you.”

Squealing in surprise, Dean lifts me into his arms, hands cupping my ass, holding me flush against his body as he spins me with ease in the middle of the sidewalk. He’s careful, mindful of Bessie, my guitar, of course, as he buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply. Adjusting the guitar strapped to my back, he makes a little throaty growl, squeezing my cheeks, and pressing his very noticeable erection into my stomach. My face warms despite the chill in the air as he buries his face in my neck, kissing me with open-mouthed kisses. I know what type of celebration he’s hinting at, and I’m so hyped for tonight, I might give him a taste. Maybe.

“Dean,” I say softly as the crisp fall Seattle weather turns my protest into puffs of smoke. I demand to be put down, tapping his shoulders, I pull away a fraction and he finally relents, placing me on my feet with a warm, sweet smile.

His dimples are hypnotic and downright criminal; Dean Haynes is boy next door meets hot musician. We only recently crossed the line into something more intimate between us. He wants more, of course, but I am hesitant. I’ve been deliberating back and forth with myself about whether or not this is my mad need to get laid over something more. Talk about drunk, sad woman problems.Honestly, I am still recovering from my last relationship and my heart . . . well, let’s just say, I broke it.

“It’s not every day that a rep from Solstice Records drops into a dive bar, not once but twice, to see you. It’s not every day the same rep brings her colleagues along with her the second time, only to offer you the deal of a lifetime. This is what you’ve worked so hard for these past two years, Brea. You are living the dream, baby. I’m happy I am here to witness it. You are a treasure.”

Dean walks backward in front of me, hands clapping animatedly with each word. He stops suddenly, wraps his arms around my waist, and pulls my body flush with his once more. It’s late, but there are still concert goers walking past, calling to me about how much they enjoyed my show. I try to smile but my face is squished against his lean, muscular chest, and I can’t help but laugh—this must look ridiculous. I wave, despite being in Dean’s arms. I’m riding an adrenaline high from a great performance and the exciting news I got after, so I don’t stop Dean when he lifts my chin and crashes his lips to mine, demanding entry. I oblige as my lips part and his tongue seeks mine. I let myself fall into the moment, his warmth pressed against me, the scent of leather, spicy cologne, and a hint of masculine sweat enveloping me. This is good, right? I’m letting go, accepting where my life is now, no longer wishing for something else, or to be someone else. I’m good. This is good. Repeat it long enough and it will stick. Yes, it is sticking.

Dean groans and breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine in a gesture almost too intimate. I look up into his brown eyes, smiling away my discomfort as I step back. I search for words—anything to say—realizing then I haven’t responded to anything he’s said in a while.

“This is good. Everything I’ve worked so hard for is finally paying off,” I say automatically, reaching for his hand. Yes, holding hands—I can do that.

With Dean’s hand in mine, I pull him behind me, picking up the pace, letting the joy of everything that’s happened to me tonight finally register. The downtown Seattle streets are not busy as we rush across the rain-slicked asphalt and onto the next block.

I let my thoughts wander as Dean continues to discuss the venues I’m scheduled to perform at over the next few weeks. Dean and I both perform in the same places on occasion, which is how we met two years ago. I am finally doing what I set out to do when I first moved to Seattle, new to the music scene around the city, singing and playing to whoever would listen. Lately though, Dean has performed less and less, content with being my roadie most nights, with the occasional cameo duet with me. Usually, I’m all ears, eager to hear what’s next, but tonight feels different. I’m on the edge of something, a turning point, and I don’t think it has anything to do with my freshly signed music deal. I need a distraction, and ending up back in my apartment with Dean in my bed is not it. Or maybe it’s exactly what I need. Deciding, I point us in the direction of the blue neon lights up ahead, my stomach rumbling in anticipation as Stacks comes into view.

“I think it’s late-night pancake time!” I announce abruptly, ceasing all business talk with a shout, making him laugh behind me.

“Alright. I get it, B. Pancakes it is then, my lady. It’s your night . . . well, morning,” he says with a wink as he gazes at his watch.

I shrug, uncaring about the time. I live the life of a musician. I go to bed with the sun and rise with the moon. It’s why Rid?—

“Do you have somewhere to be?” I question, cutting off my wayward thoughts. “We are going to be touring soon. This is our life now, D. Late nights that bleed into day. Sleep. Who needs sleep?” I spin, laughing manically. I clutch Bessie’s strap around my chest as I head toward Stacks, a twenty-four-hour diner that serves the best pancakes outside of my hometown.

Dean swings our arms as we walk side by side. This feels like the beginning of something . . . What it is, I don’t know. He’s comfortable and easy. I should be grateful to meet someone like him after the flashing lights of cameras, the constant attention of the press everywhere, the pain of just being alone all time when I was with?—

“B, there is nowhere else I would rather be than right here with you,” he says as he lets go of my hand and opens the diner door for me.

I gaze up at him in appreciation, grateful he saved my thoughts from straying into no man’s land. Thinking of Ridley, hockey, and the minefield of living one’s life with a professional athlete is dangerous territory.

“My lady.” He gestures with a wave of his arm for me to enter.

My phone rings in my pocket at the same time, making us both pause. Pulling it out, I narrow my eyes at the unknown number on the screen. I’m about to hang up and ignore it, when it hits me, it might be someone from the label, considering we only left them a few minutes ago. I hold up a hand to Dean, and with a nod he steps into the diner, letting the door close between us to give me some privacy.

“Hello!” I greet with as much energy as I can muster considering how late it is, and my sudden need to eat my weight in blueberry pancakes has to take a backseat.

The roar of a crowd is the first thing I hear, followed by muffled shouts through the line, a door slamming then the noise ceases. I hold the phone closer to my ear, I’m about to say hello again, but I’m stopped short by a slurred sob down the line.

“Luna . . . baby. Luna, ple—please talk to me. I need to hear your voice. Give me something, Angel.”

The sound ofhisvoice, even when drunk, is a balm to my soul, a balm I didn’t know I needed until this very instant. But it also takes my breath away, a sucker punch to the gut. My eyes widen in alarm. Dean takes a step forward, arm reaching for the door to get to me. My legs feel like jelly as his pleas wash over me. Reaching out I grab for the diner wall to help hold me up, making sure I raise my hand up in a ‘stay’ gesture to keep Dean inside. The last thing I need right now is for him to catch wind of who’s on the other end of the line. The first time they met, I didn’t see it, but I heard the commotion from backstage and well, there were fists involved.

My heart cracks wide open as my ex’s sobs transport me back two years ago, the same tears fell into my hair as he begged me?—

“You didn’t let me fix it, Luna. You didn’t let me fix us. I didn’t forget about your dreams, Angel.” He sniffs and continues, words broken as he sobs in between. “I need you . . . You left me . . . I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing. I let you go. Did . . . did you think I didn’t want to chase you, baby? Did you forget who loves you?”

I inhale a shaky breath, holding back tears. Frantic, panicked, feeling way too many emotions, I go into problem-solving mode. “Ridley, where are you? Is there someone with you? Tor? Devan? Where’s Bast, Rid? Lia?” I ask as my concern for him outweighs every other feeling I refuse to acknowledgeright now. If I do, I will break right here on the sidewalk. I can hear the faint sounds of someone calling him in the background, but Ridley continues to beg and plead with me to give him another chance.

“Rid, you promised no DWI’s tonight!” I hear Devan’s voice and sigh in relief. At least one of his best friends and teammates is with him. I note the dialing while intoxicated rule is still an inside joke between them. Unfortunately, Ridley is doing just that.

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