Making Waves

By Carly Fall

Making Waves is two short stories taking place on the magical and mythical Dasia Island.
Both stories were previous published in the Hot Summer Nights Anthologies in 2013 and 2014, which are no longer available.

In Perfect Harmony

Lyrik Perry, head of the band Moonlit Road, is ready for a vacation after the band’s year-long tour comes to an end. Wanting to get away from the temptations of drugs, sex and rock n’ roll all around him, he remembers a time five years ago when he’d truly been happy—on Dasia Island—and decides to go back, hoping he’ll find the woman he left behind, but never forgot.
Harmony Ryland has suffered a debilitating loss. After overcoming her shock of Lyrik stepping back into her life, they share the memories and laughter of their past.
As one of Dasia’s mysterious legends comes true, it helps Harmony move on. Yet, a phone call forces Lyrik to make a decision: does he give up his band, or Harmony?

Laws of Attraction

High-end criminal attorney, Jared Greer, has spent his adult life working for his father’s legal firm and chasing the next big client. The legal world is shades of gray, and he doesn’t think about right and wrong when representing a client—he thinks of the paycheck. His hard work has paid off, and he lives a lavish lifestyle filled with expensive cars, a luxury penthouse, and the best of everything.

He takes a private jet to Dasia Island for a meeting about possible representation with a CEO of a toy company accused of knowingly producing toys that killed 15 children. As Jared and his assistant, Monica, work through the case documents and share some of what Dasia has to offer, their passion on the magical island makes Jared consider the way he lives his life, especially if he wants Monica in it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carly Fall, LLC dba Westward Publishing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310815492

Book preview

Prologue

One Year Ago

G oodnight, Los Angeles! Lyrik Perry slurred into the microphone, as the deafening roar of thousands of cheering people assaulted him. He made his way offstage with a quick wave to his adoring fans, only stumbling a couple of times, his focus on getting his next line of cocaine and sucking down another shot of whiskey. The stage lights went dark, and the backstage lights illuminated, allowing him to see the path ahead. After the drugs and booze, he’d hit up a few of the girls for some sex.

The perks of being a fricking rock n’ roll god.

Hey, man! You ready to light it up?

Lyrik looked at his band mate as he accepted a towel from a roadie and wiped the sweat from his face. Hell, yeah! Where’s the coke? I'm coming down and need a few lines.

Steve motioned him to follow, and they went back to the dressing room containing a bank of mirrors on one wall and a few couches. One table was littered with booze and two mirrors piled with cocaine, ready for consumption. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the table and took a long pull. It burned on the way down, but added to his buzz almost immediately.

Taking up the razor, he lined up two bumps for himself, rolled the hundred dollar bill sitting next to the tray and inhaled the white powder, getting even higher.

Hell, yeah! he screamed, as Steve took the bill from him. Where’re the girls?

Next door. In Boston, they ate up all the drugs, so I told security to keep them away from our stash.

Sweet.

He took his whiskey and went next door where at least a dozen women, mostly hand-picked from the audience tonight, sat around on couches sipping their cocktails. In a while, they’d all be naked, and it would be one big orgy. His cock pulsated at the thought.

One particular woman caught his eye. Her olive skin and long, dark hair reminded him of someone from his past, but he pushed thoughts of her away as the emotions made his stomach ache. She’d been good and pure, not like him in the least bit.

You, he said. Come over here.

She giggled and stood up, her long legs peeking out from a small white skirt.

What’s up, Ly? she asked, her finger tracing over his bare, sweaty chest to the top of his jeans sitting low on his hips.

Pushing his hair off his forehead, he said, I need someone to wash my back in the shower. You interested?

Her eyes glittered and she nodded.

He slipped his arm around her waist. Let’s go.

Don’t you even want to know my name? she asked.

Not really.

Sure. What’s your name, sweetheart?

Melody.

He stopped in his tracks. Not only did she look like the woman from his past, her name was also similar. It made him feel dirty, because he never would have acted like this in front of her.

He turned to her and took another swig of whiskey. Melody, this isn’t going to work for me.

Her face fell, obviously disappointed with his remark. What do you mean?

You! he said to a blonde. You want to take a shower with me?

The blonde nodded, stood and put her drink down, and sauntered over to him, her hungry gaze raking over his body.

Hey! Melody yelled, as the blonde bounced past her and launched herself at him.

Sorry, Lyrik mumbled, pulling the blonde down the corridor to the showers.

No, even though he was a train wreck waiting to happen, he still had enough sense to preserve that memory. It stayed sealed in his heart, perfect and untainted, and despite his out of control life, he would always keep it that way.

1

T hank you, Cincinnati, and goodnight!

The lights went down as the seventeen-thousand-person crowd roared. Lyrik set the microphone back into the stand and walked off the stage.

Nice show, Ly, one of the roadies said as he handed him a towel.

Thanks, man.

Lyrik continued his trek into the bowels of U.S. Bank Arena while wiping down his face and chest. The air hummed with excitement for the after-party, the big event that signaled the end of Moonlit Road’s year-long tour.

Walking into the dressing room, he sighed. The rest of the band apparently had intentions of celebrating all night long. Two bowls full of pills sat on the table, one labeled up the other labeled down. Four lines of cocaine sat ready to be snorted next to the pills, and the bar had been fully stocked. Six girls giggled and laughed on the couch, each showing so much skin that it left little to his imagination.

Steve came up behind him. Good show tonight, Ly. Way to end the tour.

Thanks. You killed on that riff.

We all slayed it tonight, another band member, Frankie, said.

Lyrik watched each of them snort a line, then join the gaggle of women on the couch. Despite being sweaty messes, the women clamored to them. His other two band mates walked in, grabbed some pills and booze, and headed for the women as well.

He popped the top on a 7-Up and took in the scene for a bit, not having any interest in joining them.

They’d been at the top of their game for eight years now, and frankly, he felt tired of the life.

The five men in the band had grown up together and had been playing music since they were sixteen, practicing in his basement under the direction of his parents, both folk singers. After graduating high school, they toured around Ohio and Pennsylvania, and became famous out of sheer luck when the representative of a record company had gotten laid over from his flight and hit up a bar in Pittsburg where the band had been playing.

Turning around, he headed for his motorhome. His sobriety had become more important to him than any party, and honestly, he just wanted to be alone.

Walking across the parking lot, he eyed the thirty-foot brown beast. He didn’t remember leaving the lights on, but maybe his assistant, Jill, needed access for some reason.

Opening the door, he climbed the two stairs, then turned around and locked it. He glanced around the space. The cluttered kitchen table had papers on it containing songs he’d written, or was currently working on. Jill must have done the dishes for him and cleaned up, as they sat stacked in the dish dryer and the marble countertops gleamed.

He kicked off his boots and unbuckled his jeans, letting them fall to the floor, and dug his toes into the plush brown rug. He’d spent a lot of cash on the RV and had it outfitted to his specifications. He appreciated all the fine amenities like the leather couch, the oak cabinets, and the safe where he could lock up his guitars. Stretching his arms over his head, he smelled his own body odor, and headed for the shower.

The hot water rained down on him, and he felt the excitement and adrenaline from the show dissipate. What would he do next? For the past year it had been all about getting to the next city, doing the next show, and staying healthy enough to keep up with the rigorous schedule. He hadn’t given any thought of what would happen after the last concert, but perhaps he should have. All he knew was he needed a break from the band, and the rock n’ roll touring lifestyle of a different city almost every night. Not to mention the drugs, booze, and groupies.

At age thirty-two, he had more money in the bank than he knew what to do with. He had no permanent home as he lived out of the