Tail Lights and Teardrops

By Connie L. Smith

Bruised and battered hearts can keep beating. But can they heal?

Preston and Nick endured the breakup of all breakups when Nick accused her of cheating on him. He insisted, and she denied while the rain pounded against her driveway and thunder roared in the distance. Then they both ran—Preston to a life of Rock & Roll, and Nick to a career in the Army.

Four years later, they’re damaged and broken almost beyond repair. He’s carrying baggage from his military days, and she bears the scars of living a lifestyle she’s grown to hate.

When Preston’s label forces her to take time away from music, their paths cross in a parking lot not twenty-four hours after her hometown return, anger and sparks flying in a confusing blend. But regardless of the feelings neither has been able to shake, too many lies and secrets stand in the way of the one thing they need in order to recover.

Each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Sep 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781939590541

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Tail Lights and Teardrops

Connie L. Smith

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this stripped book.

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Tail Lights and Teardrops

Copyright © 2015 Connie L. Smith

All rights reserved.

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ISBN (ebook): 978-1-939590-54-1

Inkspell Publishing

5764 Woodbine Ave. 

Pinckney, MI 48169 

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Edited By Vicky Burkholder.

Cover art By Najla Qamber

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated

Dedication

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Here’s to The Muppet Babies who endeavored to teach a toddler girl (and others like her) that a little imagination can go a long, long way. Gonzo, this one’s for you.

Prologue

I can’t believe you’re actually listening to this! My voice rose with my growing anger and fear, but I was barely audible over the roar of thunder and the heavy rain drenching my sundress. You know I wouldn’t cheat on you! Ever!

Nick shook his head while I yelled my defense, his fisted hands rising to brace against his temples. I can’t hear this, Preston! You know what you did! The loudest clap of thunder the storm had offered punctuated his words. At that point, I couldn’t tell what was rain and what were tears trailing down my face. And after everything we’ve been through!

Yeah! After everything! I moved forward so I could wrap my fingers around his still-lifted forearms. My attention stayed on his features even though he just scowled at my driveway. "Think of everything we’ve been through. Think of what I’ve been through. I saw him wince, but he didn’t peek at me. I need you, Nick. You’re the one thing I need. His chin dipped forward, and his arms went slack in my hands once he dropped his fists from his head. The one thing that makes everything else okay. I stepped closer, silently begging him to look at me. Please don’t do this to me."

If I’d been getting through to him, my success crumbled then and there. That fact was obvious when he brought his gaze to lock with mine, and his furious, hurt-filled eyes declared loud and clear he wasn’t about to listen to anything I could say. He’d already made his decision to give up on us, on me, without concern for any benefit of a single doubt.

Do this to you? He let out a laugh that was void of any sign of humor. To you? You cheated on me, Preston!

I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I promise—

Stop it! His arms jerked from my hands, and the rage in his eyes was like the nail in our relationship’s coffin. "I trusted you. I loved you. I believed in you above everyone else in my life, even when my family thought I was an idiot for it. Even when your family thought I was an idiot for it."

I sucked in a shocked breath. He knew my history, and I’d confided in him so many times over grudges members of my family held against me for things I’d never done. I’d talked to my older brother about the issues as well—my one blood relative who loved me, who I could depend on—but I’d never offered anyone as much of me in this situation or any other as I’d handed Nick. And he turned my trust against me?

All the tears he’d kissed away, only to switch sides and use that misery as ammunition to cause more pain. It hurt more than any other heartbreak I’d ever endured.

I’m done, he spat. I’ve been everything I could be to you, but I won’t be your doormat. That’s where I draw the line.

He was backing toward his truck even though his gaze lingered on my face, and each step he took brought the reality of the circumstances into clearer focus. What we had was really ending because he’d believed a lie someone told him over my denial, tossing me aside as if I’d never mattered.

I didn’t cheat on you, I insisted. I love you, Nick. Don’t you understand that? I refused a record deal because I’d rather be here with you than making music on the road. I sobbed, broken. I don’t know what to do. What can I do to convince you?

He shook his head in obvious disgust. Nothing. We’re done. I hope I never see you again. Then he spun on his heel and hurried for his truck.

Panicked, I ran forward, crying and shouting and begging. Nick, I didn’t cheat on you! I promise! Please! You have to believe me! He’d closed and locked his door by the time I reached it, and he didn’t look at me once through the window, no matter how many times my hands slapped against the glass. This is stupid, Nick! I didn’t do anything! When the truck started, I resorted to beating on the window with my fists in absolute horror. No, no, no! Wait! Just wait! Please!

But he didn’t. He backed out of the driveway and sped away.

And I stared from the middle of the road where I’d surrendered the chase, my mouth gaping open as his taillights faded in the distance. Once the final flicker of light was just a blur in the rain, I fell to my knees and braced my hands on the pavement. Shocked. Miserable. Devastated.

He left. We were over.

He left, over a lie he’d chosen to believe about an offense I didn’t commit.

I eventually pulled my hands from the pavement to hold them in front of me, then glared at the water covering them. Tears, rain. What was the difference anymore?

Chapter One

The beating on the door didn’t exactly blend well with the pounding in my skull since I’d done it again. Without question, I’d had too much to drink.

That kind of debauchery made up a big portion of the rock and roll lifestyle, and I could get away with ridiculous antics because I sang in a band. There were few consequences if I was unreliable or lived like a walking temper waiting to lash out, because I was a rocker and the behavior was expected.

The routine became my existence after the argument with Nick that kept tormenting my dreams. Every night, I’d travel back to my driveway for the screaming, crying, and accusing, reviving the heartbroken sting another time. At least today I could be glad the knocking on the door managed to end the revisiting before it reached my personal favorite part, the one where I collapsed in the road, sobbing without a bit of shame. That moment was beautiful in the same way having a flaming dagger shoved in your chest would be.

Words couldn’t describe how much Nick had meant to me, how much I depended on him, and how dull my future seemed without him. He truly was my everything. Then he was gone in a blur of rain and fading lights.

Four years later, there I was, hungover in a hotel room with someone beating on my door and the sounds of my alarm clock flooding the room. Once I realized the clock was going off, it was easy to figure out the melody it kindly blared at me. Although I loved the tune, Hinder’s Red Tail Lights, I still rolled my eyes at the cruelty of it all because that song proved the icing on the cake. Not only had I gotten my heart smashed to bits for something I never did, but I didn’t even get the luxury of writing the experience out. Line by line, minute by minute, Hinder covered the details almost perfectly. Figured, in the end. Disaster, and nothing else for me. Not even a hit number.

But I couldn’t be overly bitter since the song led to my band members referring to Nick as Tail Lights. That nickname made it easier in the days just after our breakup, giving me an escape from so much as saying his name, and it lingered over the years as an insult toward him and an outlet for my frustration and pain. He wasn’t Nicholas Williams, the man I loved. He was Tail Lights, the jerk who dumped me because someone lied to him.

I was only seventeen at the time of the split, but my band, Caliber, had caught the attention of an indie label by playing in a state festival that year. Which, to be honest, required some blind luck. I mean, how often does one of the top executives at a rock record label stop by a concert in Tennessee? I’d assumed the answer to that question was not very, and my four years’ worth of experience in the business verified the guess. Not often at all.

Truth is, I’d turned down the executive when he offered us a deal, and the rest of the band freaked out on me. I didn’t blame them because it seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but I couldn’t bring myself to jump on board a path loaded with weeks away from home and from the handful of people I cared about.

Embellishment. There was only one person keeping me from the prospect, and that was Tail Lights. I couldn’t picture a life for myself that didn’t include him on a daily basis, leading me to refuse the contract. But when my band members, my friends since childhood, basically begged me to think on it, I mumbled my agreement, even though I realized it was pointless. I knew I wouldn’t leave Knoxville and Nick, and no amount of consideration would sway my decision.

Until Tail Lights ambushed me in my driveway the second I got home, rain running down his face and accusation in his eyes. That instant changed everything.

If I didn’t have him, what was I staying for? My family hated me. Seriously. Hated me. Except my big brother, Matt, who’d always defended me against our other relatives. The reason they didn’t like me? My mom walked out on my dad, brother, and me when I was six months old, and the rest of the family never forgave me for it. If that detail doesn’t make sense, I can’t explain it since it’d never been logical to me either. I wasn’t the one to abandon a husband and two kids, so why did I have to deal with suspicious glances and condescending sighs?

But apparently, I had the audacity to look like my mother and inherit some of her traits. Due to those connections, everyone believed it was only a matter of time before I ditched them, too. There aren’t sufficient words for how it feels to be six years old, seeing your dad watch you with betrayal and aversion while waiting for the moment when you’ll walk out the door for good.

I hated my mom for a long time because of the burden she’d left me, and I never overcame it enough to tolerate her. Having her bail on us seemed bad enough. Knowing all the baggage I’d carried in consequence to her actions multiplied my resentment with every horrible comment or disdainful stare I had to deal with.

But I ultimately found one good factor in her abandonment. By the time I was in high school, she’d popped back into our lives and wanted to build relationships with Matt and me. Although I had no intention of meeting her halfway, she’d do just about anything for a chance of falling on our good sides to make amends.

When I managed to stand from my stooped position after the breakup with Nick, I rose with the belief that nothing remained in Knoxville for me, and I had no reason to refuse a music career. Only I’d never get Dad to sign the record deal. Despite the animosity between us and regardless of how he assumed I’d bail on the family, he was parental enough not to put his name on a paper that gave his seventeen-year-old daughter the opportunity to dive into a world of rock and roll.

Mom didn’t have the same priorities, and she’d see giving her consent as a chance for forgiveness. There’d never been any official documents involving custody after she left, making for little legal problem with her signature on the contract. By the time her approval could be an issue—if Dad decided to take the time to overthrow her authorization since he raised me practically my whole life—I’d already be eighteen. Any effort to protest would be useless. Mom’s guilt would be my ticket to a life of music and touring.

So I’d gotten in my car and sped off as quickly as Tail Lights had to get the contract and her signature, and by the time the day was finished, I’d left Knoxville behind.

Just like my family always expected I’d do. No matter how unfairly I’d been treated while I was at home, that thought shook me even after the years I’d spent on the road. How could I be angry with them when they’d been right all along?

Another knock startled me from those reflections, and I reached over to turn off my alarm.

Police! someone yelled from the other side of the door as soon as the music stopped. Open up!

Well, that’s unexpected, I thought, my eyes opening wider. What exactly had I done the night before to get a policeman at my door? Not at all sure about what was going on, I stood and crossed the room, all the while trying to find some reason for the odd wakeup call.

The second I opened the door, my gaze narrowed against the hallway’s light, which proved yet again that I’d undeniably had too much to drink. Rubbing my left hand over my face, my right hand still on the doorknob, I groaned. What can I do for you, officers?

Yes, officers. There were two of them, and I was squinting at them through bloodshot eyes.

I’m sorry, ma’am, the first one said, but we’re here to escort you from the premises.

I blinked. What? My band’s in the festival today. I didn’t mention how big of a deal the event was because the local officers probably understood without being told. Some of the most popular rock bands of the last four decades would be there. Were there, actually, since it was the second day of the concert. Caliber making it to the list of performers was huge, and we were scheduled to play at six that very night.

Can’t. The other man reached his hand out, and I noticed for the first time that he held a piece of paper. I grabbed it, but before I could read it, he’d begun explaining the details. It’s a restraining order. Vivian Rollings, the lead singer of Insurrection, filed it against you for an altercation you had with her last night. She complained you punched her, and she had a shiner to back up her story.

And then I remembered. And then I grunted. With that memory, though, came facts that made this scenario even more bizarre, so I shook my head and waved the paper in front of me. She slapped me first, after she got in my face for supposedly running my mouth about her. Like I wouldn’t insult her to her face.

Caliber had toured with Insurrection and another band called Divine Defiance for six of the last seven months. All three groups were fronted by women, making it kind of a Girls of Rock fiasco. The other bands were around long before Caliber was signed, and we had the smallest fan-base at the beginning of the tour. Because of those factors, Insurrection and Divine Defiance insisted Caliber start the show every night. We’d agreed since it didn’t really matter. We’d give the same stage presence and energy whatever time we played.

As it turned out, our stage presence and energy dwarfed the other two bands’ performances, and fans weren’t altogether shy about letting the acts following us in on that opinion. The change wasn’t a big deal among the groups at first, but with each show we played, our fame spread and our fan-base grew considerably. People who didn’t have a clue who we were in the earlier stops were screaming like maniacs for us just a few weeks into the tour. I guess someone was doing some YouTube posting or something, because crowds showed distinct familiarity with us after the first sequence of concerts.

Before long, fan reactions began plummeting as soon as we cleared the stage, some people literally leaving the arena once we finished. When the preference shifted so drastically in Caliber’s direction, the other two singers were not pleased. Essentially, the alphas had called me beta, and when the beta got the attention, the alphas couldn’t handle it. We spent a whole lot of time arguing during those months on the road, meaning I wasn’t disappointed to see the tour end.

Little did I know the bad vibes would extend to the current festival, which they did the night prior when Vivian charged at me, screaming about something I allegedly said about her. Of course I stood my ground, word-sparring at first. Then she slapped me, and I punched her. I would’ve done worse, but Grant—Caliber’s drummer—hauled me away before I had the opportunity.

The policeman who’d given me the restraining order visibly forced away a grin, the corners of his lips twitching while he shook his head. She had evidence to back up her claim. Do you have any marks?

I snorted. No, I don’t. She slapped me, and it wasn’t that hard.

But you punched her?

I’m from Tennessee. I don’t slap.

Be that as it may, the other officer said, she filed her report first, and she has a black eye to prove it. Along with some story about a can of Lysol being thrown at her head.