Page 1 of Broken Bridges

Chapter 1

LEWIS

Four months. Six days. Ten hours. That was how much time had passed since I’d gotten down on one knee, proposed to the love of my life,and had been hit with a heartbreaking, soul-crushing...‘no!’. After drowning my sorrows, I’d arrived home...and he was gone. That had been the last battering my heart could take.

In the past six months, I’d lost my band, my grandfather, and my lover. New York, the city I’d adored, had taken everything I’d cherished away from me. It had broken my spirit, crushed my soul, and left me shattered. I had sixty days to clear out of my place, Pop’s condo in Brooklyn. I had to sell it to pay off his mountain of debt. With no other family nearby and my friends pursuing new dreams, there was nothing left for me on the East Coast. I’d had enough failures, losses, and delusions to last a lifetime. I needed to escape. Get a new life. Start afresh...again.

But as I stepped off the plane in Los Angeles, six days before Christmas, I questioned my sanity. This was maybe even too far-fetched for me.

Auditioning for The Flintlocks, a rock band who were more popular and more successful than my former group, The Saylors, had ever been, was ludicrous. I doubted I had the level of talent they were looking for. But the chance to write songs, record another album, and hear the tracks on the airwaves again had been a dream of mine for more thanten years. I’d given twelve years of my life to The Saylors. We’d amounted to less than nothing. We’d been a one-hit wonder. Our albums had never taken off. Our continual fights and arguments, different creative ideas, diverse interests, and total dysfunction had destroyed us. Yet another family of mine had fallen apart.

At thirty years old, I’d learned too many valuable life lessons. I refused to be taken advantage of anymore, I wouldn’t let my ideas go unheard, I wouldn’t be complacent...and I’d never be blinded by love again.

I wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes, so something had to change.

Was a new band and city the answer? Who fucking knew? But I had nothing left to lose.

I grabbed my duffel bag off the luggage carousel and collected my bass guitar from the bulky items counter. Weaving through the busy crowd, I made my way outside and jumped in a taxi. As the driver headed toward Ashlem Studios in West Hollywood, my head spun, and doubts pummeled my mind. This is madness. But then my thoughts reset with new resolve. My ex, Emilio, was wrong. I was hungry for success but our views on what that was differed. He wanted fame and fortune—I wanted happiness, a family, and to live off my music. I’d always known who I was and what I wanted. Following my heart had often led me astray. But now that was dead. So nothing would hold me back. Not anymore.

I can do this. I need this.

As I stepped out of the taxi, winter sunshine and a faint cool breeze hit me. I tightened my grip on my guitar case and stared up at the small chrome Ashlem Studios sign above the entrance to the two-story brick building. I pulled off my beanie, ruffled my fingers through my chin-length, shaggy blond hair, and closed my eyes.

Pop, wish me luck.

Taking a deep breath, I strode through the heavy glass doors. I walked across the glossy tiled foyer, checked off my name at the reception desk, then climbed the stairs to the second floor. Butterflies stirred low in my gut like a restless orchestra ready to play as I headed along the corridor lined with platinum album awards and photos of artists. One day, I’d grace the walls of a record company. One day.

The door to the audition room swung open. A petite chick who looked about twenty, dressed in black tights and a red tartan skirt, and carrying a bass guitar, walked out of the studio.

“Good luck.” She grunted and threw me a daunting smile as she passed me. “You’re gonna need it.”

That didn’t help my nerves. “Um...thanks.”

“Lewis?” Hayden, my former bandmate, and closest friend, stood in the doorway. He hadn’t changed—he had the same short brown hair and cut physique as always. He greeted me with open arms. “Holy shit, man. It’s been too long.”

“It certainly has.” A year seemed like a lifetime. I dropped my bag on the ground and gave him a big, tight hug, slapping him on the back. My God, it was good to see him. I missed him like crazy. Nothing like traveling to the other side of the country for an audition and the rare opportunity to see my best buddy who lived across the river from me in Manhattan. “How’ve you been? How was tour?”

“Fantastic.” He stepped back and ruffled my hair. “Look at you with long hair.”

“Fuck off.” Chuckling, I slapped his hand away. “I just haven’t gotten my ass to a barber in months. It’s grown out.”

“Dude, don’t cut it. It’s awesome.”

“O-kay.” I gave him a sideways glance to make sure he wasn’t joking. “Thanks. I think.”

“I mean it. It suits you.” He play-punched my arm, then took a long, slow, deep breath. His eyes lit up as he flicked his finger at nothing in particular in the hallway. “So, what do you think of this place?”

My chest swelled. “I can’t believe you guys work with Ashlem and you own a recording studio back home.”

Since he’d left The Saylors five years ago to join Everhide, the world’s largest rock band, he’d found his rightful home as their drummer. He’d been close friends with Kyle, Gemma, and Hunter for years, and belonged with them more than anyone else. Now they owned their own label—EH4 Records—and would produce the album for The Flintlocks. Ashlem, one of the largest independent artist entertainment management groups on the planet, would handle distribution, promotion, and the tour.

“It’s still surreal.” Hayden rubbed the back of his head. “Every day, I pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“I would too. I’m so happy for you.” I really was. He deserved every success. I missed him and hated that we didn’t see each other often anymore. He had a new life, a wife, and a kid. But no matter where in the world we were, we’d always be friends.

Hayden thumbed toward the studio behind him. “You ready for this?”

My pulse jumped. Nausea swirled in my gut. A cold sweat had broken out on the back of my neck. Why was I so nervous? I’d played for years at bars, music venues, and festivals, and had performed at some big shows when we’d had our hit. This was ridiculous. Pushing my fluster aside, I nodded. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I can’t thank you enough for thinking of me. How have the auditions been going?”

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