Lost Avalon: A Finding Nolan Novel, #1

By K.S. Thomas

Blaise has to make a choice. Face his demons. Or face losing her. Both seem impossible.

 

Fame, fortune and a future paved with rock 'n roll gold – To the outside world, Blaise Nolan has it all. With his brooding good looks, haunting voice and troubled lyrics of a soul gone lost, it's no wonder his band Finding Nolan has been climbing the music charts with back-to-back hits. Only Blaise didn't wind up brooding, haunted and lost by accident...

Avalon Jennison has been the girl next door since she was five. The best friend since she was eight. The band manager since she was sixteen, and the keeper of his secrets always. Ava's been there every step of the way, helping Blaise live his dreams while keeping his nightmares at bay. But the years of putting Blaise's needs above her own are about to be over.

 

He's haunted by a past he can't escape. She's tormented by a present she can't change. The only way to survive is out.

 

But the only way to fall in love…is stay.

 

*All Finding Nolan Novels are stand alone stories. However, due to recurring characters and the way each story builds on the one before it, they are best read in order.*

 

**CONTENT WARNING ~ ADULT LANGUAGE**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Never Did Point North Publishing
• Release date: Sep 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502264220

K.S. Thomas

Originally born and raised in Bremen, Germany, I currently reside in sunny Florida with my teenage daughter, our coyote, a three-legged roo, and a tamed wolf (AKA, our dogs). I like to think we have a bit of a Gilmore Girls thing going, except my kid is obsessed with dance not books, and I’m (much to my increasing disappointment) appropriately aged to have a teenager.    I love coffee and yoga and the ocean and cooking and asking 'none of my business' questions whenever possible. While I spent my childhood certain I could be a Disney princess, sitting here, surrounded by my crystals, smudge sticks and tarot cards, eager to get out to my garden and walk on the earth in my bare feet and chat with the lizards about not eating my plants, I’m pretty sure I grew up to be the witch. The good sort. And, obviously, I write romance novels. That is, after all, what brought us together. Our love for...well, love. And who can blame us? Love has the power to bring out the best and the worst in us. It can make us strong or be our greatest weakness. It can make us move mountains or make us do some of the dumbest shit in the history of dumb shit. In short, love is entertaining as hell.

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First and foremost, I have to say thanks to Clare and all the others over at RIAM. I decided on a whim to join the group and participate in the challenge of writing a romance in a month, and I’m so glad I did because I had a blast. Oh, and I wrote this book – BONUS!

Running a close second (and nearly tied for first) for my unwavering appreciation are Avalon’s awesome Betas ~ Alyssa, Stephanie, J.C., Debbie, Nancy and Tawnya! Thank you all!!

As always, I owe an ocean of gratitude to those I love and am lucky to be loved by  

Your support means more to me than you will ever know O.

Last, but certainly no least, I would like to thank YOU!  Thank you for reading this book. I hope you enjoy Blaise and Ava’s journey as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Stay caffeinated ~

K.

CHAPTER ONE

AVA

Somewhere in the black abyss that surrounds me, I hear my phone ringing.

Hello?

Silence. I sit up and blink several times, trying to wake up and adjust my eyes to the darkness.

Is anyone there?

I hear someone swear under their breath.

Then, Ava? I’m lost. I need you to come and find me.

Automatically my eyes sweep the room until they catch on the bright red numerals of the standard hotel alarm clock.

Shit, Blaise. It’s fucking four o’clock in the morning. But I’m already peeling back the warmth of my comforter and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. This is so typical. What are you looking at right now?

Um, there’s a big green stripe on the wall. It’s really fucking ugly. He does his wheezy drunk laugh, the one I hate. On the plus side, at least I know he’s in the building. The halls of the hotel are lined with a thick olive colored band over a shimmering champagne. It’s tacky as hell and reeks of expensive, but then those are the types of places we’re staying in these days.

Are there any doors around? Any numbers on the walls? I’m busy pulling on a pair of sweats more suitable for roaming the hotel at night than the boxer shorts I put on before I went to bed.

No, no numbers. Then he groans loudly, and I hear the distinct sound of rushing liquids.

Are you taking a piss right now?! I slide out of my sweats again. I know exactly where he is.

No. Then the undeniable sound of a zipper follows.

Just don’t move. I’ll be right there. I’m already making my way through the penthouse suite we’re staying in and heading straight for the doors. When I pull them open, there’s Blaise standing right beside one of the two extremely large flowerpots placed on each side of the double doors and looking all kinds of busted. 

I glance up at the security cameras and give an apologetic smile before turning my attention back onto Blaise.

You’re pathetic, I grumble as I hold the door open and step aside for him to stumble in.

You’re amazing. He grins sheepishly as he goes by.

Too bad you won’t remember that in the morning. I sigh. He’s exhausting. Come on. You need a shower. You smell like a fucking whorehouse.

I take Blaise’s hand and start to lead the way to the bathroom. Considering he’s been standing right outside of the suite and was unable to find it, it’s highly unlikely he’ll be able to locate the shower if left to his own devices.

Careful, I hiss, snatching away the floor lamp he randomly selects to use as a walking stick on his way through the living room. Keep it up and you’ll wake the guys. After all, the penthouse suite is home to the entire band while we’re in town. Not just the lead singer.

It, this chaotic current state of living, all started in my garage seven years ago. This was after nearly three years of my pushing Blaise to bring his crazy brilliant talent out of hiding. When he finally did, he found three guys to do it with. Derek Sills on the guitar, Royce Lemmi on bass and Angel Hollis on drums. Together they make up what is now known worldwide as Finding Nolan.

The name is laughable really since it’s a running joke that Blaise is always missing. Back in high school he’d get lost in thought and wander off track somewhere and wind up sitting on some bus stop bench with no recollection of having walked there. These days when he gets lost, it’s mostly due to alcohol. Either way, it seems that as long as I can remember, I have been stuck with the task of finding Nolan. Blaise Nolan that is. People have been finding the band all on their own ever since word of their music started making the rounds back in our junior year of high school.

Nights like tonight I wonder if fame has really been a good thing for Blaise. Music, sure. Music is a part of him, the best part probably, but celebrity and success have proven more challenging than I expected. Maybe because I foolishly believed that a future worth looking toward would keep Blaise from always facing back. I was wrong. If anything, his past seems to haunt him more the closer he gets to getting everything he’s ever wanted.

Stop that. This time he’s holding a glass candleholder up to his mouth like a trumpet. I catch him just before he’s about to blow. Hands in your pockets, now!

I’d rather put them in your pockets. He leers at me, his eyes dropping down to my ass.

You’re shit out of luck. I don’t have any. I shake my head in disgust. Booze brings out the worst in him.

No problem. Before I know what’s happening, I can feel his cold, clammy hands slide into the back of my pants.

What the fuck, Blaise? I spin around and shove him hard in the chest. As a result, he loses his balance and goes tumbling over the edge of the couch, over the cushions and then rolls onto the floor where his face makes impact with the coffee table and brings him to a stop.

Shit, Avalon. I think I’m bleeding. He’s cupping his left eyebrow with his hand.

Fucking fantastic.

Come on. I reach for his free arm and start dragging him to his feet. It’s a fucking miracle Royce hasn’t woken up yet. He sleeps about as soundly as a fireman on duty.

Then, finally, we make it into the master bedroom with the door shut behind us. Gently, I move his hand to check his eye. He automatically moves to put it back and I slap it out of the way. Let me take a look at it, you big baby.

He frowns but stops moving long enough for me to see that it’s nothing more than a minor scrape.

You’ll live. Now then, let’s get you hosed down. I point toward the attached bath. It has a huge walk-in shower with multiple massaging shower heads I’ve been looking forward to exploring. Only I hoped it would be under very different circumstances. And without Blaise.

I watch as he trips his way through the doorway, gradually stripping out of his clothes as he goes. The pants come off easy enough, but his shirt winds up stuck around his head. He looks like a four-year-old still learning to undress himself.

Hang on, I grumble as I go to yank the impromptu blindfold off his head. I’ve seen him naked about a million times, so it isn’t the sight of his bare ass that strikes me when he turns around to step into the shower. It’s the long, bloody scratches trailing down his back.

Have a good time tonight? I ask dryly as I reach in to start the shower for him.

Uh-huh. His eyes are closed tightly as he lets the hot water run over him.

Now that he’s standing still, I also notice several red marks on his chest. Teeth marks. Why the hell he always seeks out women who draw blood for pleasure, I’ll never understand. It’s an even bigger miracle that the frequent checkups he requires due to his non-stop extracurricular activities, continue to come back clean. Apparently even during a drunken stupor, Blaise always remembers to strap on a condom.

Tired and wasted, his remaining energy is draining fast and he’s already resorted to resting the back of his head along the tiles to keep him steady.

I quickly pull off my own t-shirt and climb into the shower still wearing my bra and boxers. The steam and water make the materials cling to my skin almost instantly, a feeling I don’t particularly care for.

Hold out your hands.

He follows orders and I squirt a huge dose of shower gel into both of them. Alright, now wash. Start at the top. At least that way, even if he isn’t thorough, the soapy water will travel down and wash the rest of him by default.

While he busies himself with running his hands in small circles over his chest over and over again, I reach for the shampoo. His hair always smells the worst after nights like these. The stale smoke from the bars, mixed with whatever rancid perfume his groupie of the night was drenched in and the traces of liquor combed into his hair via his fingers, make for a wretched combination.

I massage his scalp and dark brown hair thoroughly, all the while checking repeatedly to make sure he’s still awake. Then, after the final rinse off, we’re done at last.

With a towel draped around his hips, I walk Blaise over to the king-sized bed and lay him down on top of the covers. He’ll get hot in two seconds flat and kick them off anyway if I bother tucking him in.

Blaise is asleep before he even hits the pillow.

I kiss the top of his head, which once again smells like only him, and proceed to tiptoe from the room. I’ve barely taken two steps when I feel his hand clasp my wrist.

Stay, he whispers. Please, Ava.

I look down at my wet shorts and soaked bra and exhale loudly. Okay, I’ll stay.

He scoots himself backward, making room for me. Before I bother getting into bed, I reach into the suitcase closest to the bed and pull out the first T-shirt I can find, slip it over my head and then shimmy out of my wet bra and boxers. The wet panties I’ll just have to live with.

I settle onto the bed beside him while he wraps both arms around me tightly like I’m his security blanky. Which, essentially, is exactly what I am to Blaise.

I take a deep breath of surrender and reach up to softly stroke his hair the way I know he likes it. Then I watch as he falls into the same restless sleep that plagues him night after night.

Between both of our addictions, neither one of us ever seems to be at peace anymore. The only question is, which one of us will get sober first? And how will the other survive when we finally do?

BLAISE

Ava. God, she smells good. Why don’t all women smell like this? Melissa definitely did not smell like this. Or was it Melanie? Shit. Who fucking knows? I can barely remember what her face looks like, much less her name. But I definitely haven’t forgotten the stench of her perfume or the cigarettes. Why do they all fucking smoke anyway?

None of that matters now though. It never matters. Not until after. Not until Ava shows up to clean me up again. One of these days she won’t show, and I know it. Maybe that’s what I’m waiting for. Maybe that’s why I’m doing it.

CHAPTER TWO

AVA

When I wake up the sun is already spilling in through the small slits in between the heavy hotel curtains. Blaise is still passed the fuck out and I’m not about to do anything to change that. As carefully as I can, I slink out from under his arm and in one fluid motion, find myself crouching beside the bed.

I sit completely still for several long moments, waiting to see if Blaise will begin to stir, but he remains motionless on the mattress. Certain that it’s safe to do so without getting caught and possibly reeled back into his bed, I creep across the room and quietly open the door just wide enough for me to slither through.

I’m so preoccupied with trying to make a soundless exit, I don’t even notice Royce standing in the kitchen, watching.

Does it count as a walk of shame when you’re only going down the hall?

My head shoots up at the sound of his voice. Shut it. It’s not what it looks like.

He grins. Oh yeah?

I watch as his smug expression disappears behind a large mug.

Is that coffee? I’m sure my eyes light up just saying the word. Coffee. Mmm. There are few things in life that bring me more joy than coffee. It’s sad, I know. But nights like the one I’ve just had, are a dime a dozen in my world and coffee is my rock, my life source, my happy place.

Royce tips his head to the side toward the machine in the corner of the kitchen. Just brewed it. Carmel blend, the one you like.

Oh my GOD, you don’t know how happy that makes me. I clench my jaws together in a creepy, teeth bearing smile from the excitement, and flap my hands up and down as I run to the kitchen to fix myself a big fat cup of it. If I had the energy, I’d probably break into a full-on happy dance, as it is, that will have to wait until after the caffeine sets in.

Seriously though, why were you sneaking out of Blaise’s room? Everything okay?

Oh yeah, I nod dismissively, Totally fine. We were just hanging out after he got back late from partying and I guess we both just crashed at some point. Anyway, didn’t want to wake him. You guys have a show tonight and we all want Blaise well rested for that.

Royce studies me a second longer than necessary for someone who’s just planning on taking my story at face value, but he doesn’t question me any further.

So, nobody else up yet? I take a sip and hope he’ll just follow along as I move the conversation off course. He does.

Angel’s working out and Derek is outside on the terrace talking to Sammy. Derek’s wife. Out of the group, he’s the only one who’s seen the value in settling down even as thousands of women are throwing themselves at him.

Gotcha. You guys order breakfast yet?

He shakes his head. Don’t think anyone’s gotten around to it.

I smile, grateful for something to focus on. The small talk with Royce is running thin and thoughts of the night before are already bounding in, begging to be overanalyzed in ways I simply don’t have the drive to do yet.

In the mood for anything in particular? I reach for the menu and begin to scan our options. I know Blaise will probably wake up craving something fried and carb-loaded, which naturally makes me want to order poached egg whites and fruit. I’m spiteful like that, but fully aware of it, so I’m going to need Royce to help tip the scale back from total bitch-mode into somewhat balanced where breakfast choices are concerned.

Is it weird that I’m craving biscuits and gravy?

I make a face. A little. Sausage is gross. But Blaise hates it too, so I’m still willing to work with it.

I think Derek mentioned something about wishing Sammy was here to make him waffles...and you know all Angel is going to eat is meat. Mister protein and all.

I smirk. Royce wasn’t nearly as helpful as I’d hoped, given he didn’t offer up even one suggestion Blaise would eat, but I’m prepared to accept my spiteful side and run with it. I’m damn near giddy as I reach for the phone on the counter and call for room service.

Good morning. We’d love to order some breakfast, please. We’re up in the penthouse. Names are Finding Nemo, my idea of a joke, and Excalibur, and Blaise’s. Awesome, okay, I think we’re going to do this platter style since we’re not a very decisive group. Sorry. Let’s have some biscuits and gravy, waffles, poached eggs, u-huh, with hollandaise – oh do you do any kind of like a breakfast quinoa dish? Definitely some of that then! Let’s see...oh right, meat....no, just straight breakfast types. Whatever you’ve got, oh, actually let’s go with just ham and sausage. Well, that should definitely be more than enough...oh wait, can I add some sort of fruit? Just seems like we should at least look like we’re eating healthy. Great. Yes, that will be perfect. Thank you.

Royce is looking at me like I’m crazy. How many people are you expecting for breakfast?

Oh please, I’ve seen how you boys eat. It’s a fucking miracle you guys look the way you do. Any normal human being would not be walking around with rock hard abs after consuming your diet. Of course, I blame it on all of your extracurricular activities. I hear you can burn a shit-ton of calories during sex.

I notice your abs are fine.

I smirk, Well duh, how do you think I came to my conclusion?!

Royce snorts. So, is that what you were doing in Blaise’s room? Burning calories?

No, you ass. I have a boyfriend, remember? One I haven’t actually spoken to in nearly three days and on occasion forget about myself. Not that I’ll ever admit that to Royce.

Are you sure he’s really your boyfriend? Because I just don’t see it. He has his back to me, pouring himself a second cup of coffee, but even from behind, I have a pretty clear mental image of his doubtful, slightly sarcastic expression. Not that I blame him for having doubts. I have plenty of those myself.

Lee and I aren’t exactly an obvious match. Sure, we both work in the music business, but even in our industry, rock and country are often worlds apart. Plus, where Lee is still busy hitting the pavement day after day, playing gigs in bars and at county fairs waiting for his big breakthrough, I’ve already made it. Obviously, I’m not in the band, but I’m still reaping all the same benefits, minus the pesky side-effects like being chased down by the paparazzi or having psycho fans steal weird shit, like my toothbrush or underwear. And yeah, that happens more often than you might think. In fact, I think it’s part of the reason Blaise and Angel both go commando nowadays. That, and it’s one less thing to have to take off. Which is considered a valuable perk to both of them.

Anyway, outside of music, we don’t really have much binding us together. Other than the fact that I love his mother’s dog. It’s the