No Quarter: NOLA's Own, #2

By Kelli Jean

“All of his pain, I was always the cause of it.”

The sweet reunion of soul mates can take Phil and Kenna only so far.

She has spent years armoring herself against grief and loss, while Phil’s demons grew strong in the face of his anguish. Now there’s the very real chance he’s going to lose her.

He'd make any sacrifice for Kenna, but when his past rears its ugly head, there might be nothing The Madman can do to fix the rift growing between them.

Kenna speaks of forgiveness. Deep down, he’s afraid he’s too weak to find it.

If he doesn’t, his demons will rip them apart.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelli Jean
• Release date: Jun 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513096865

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by Kelli Jean

All rights reserved.

Cover Designer: Renee Ericson/RE Creatives

Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Visit my website at www.kellijeanauthor.com

For Dad.

For Jon-Erik.

For Jackie, Landyn, and Freya-Jean.

Part I

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Part II

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Special Thanks

About the Author

Kenna

Sitting up, I dragged the towel over my skin, hoping I got all of Phil off of me. I felt filthy and used, like trash. And that was exactly how he’d wanted me to feel.

It’s how he feels about himself.

I no longer cared. If he could treat me like that, then he deserved to feel like trash, too.

Quickly and as quietly as possible, I grabbed my dress off the floor and shrugged it on. I didn’t bother with my bra, panties, or my pumps. I left them where they were. I opened the bedroom door and shut it. Without a sound, I slipped down the stairs, grabbed my purse from the island counter, and headed out the side door.

Through the backyard, I sprinted, spurred on by the cold wet grass beneath my feet. Open the gate. Shut it. These were the soft motions of a broken mind.

It was three in the morning, so the house was dark and silent. I crept up the stairs, desperate to avoid any explanations to my two dearest friends about the fucked up episode I’d just suffered at the hands of the man I had given my soul to.

In my room, I turned on the lamp on my nightstand and opened my balcony door in the hopes that some clean air would come in and purify my putrid frame of mind. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I pulled out my ashtray and a spliff before smoking it down to the tiniest of roaches. I just needed to dull my wits at this point.

On the balcony, I heard branches rustling against the railing.

Stoned and numb, I got up. As I took off my dress, I could feel where I’d missed spots of his semen. The fabric pulled at my skin with the movement, making me itch. My chest was so tight that I felt the need to scream at the top of my lungs until it loosened up. I was so gross, so cheap, and so disgusting.

I think I hate him.

That was what hurt the most.

Heading into the bathroom, I saw my reflection in the mirror, and I loathed it. I hated the sparkly green eye shadow, the clumped mascara, and the smudged eyeliner that had streaked from the tears I couldn’t hold back. I opened my medicine cabinet, took out my jar of coconut oil, and smeared a glob of it all over my eyes, scrubbing a little too hard.

Get it off, get it off, get it off.

The dried patches of cum stretched and cracked over my skin and I tried to scratch at them.

Stupid! Get in the shower.

The water was scalding, and I hoped it would boil some of the filth out of me. Sinking to the bottom of the tub, I rested my face on my knees as I wrapped my arms around my shins and wept. Once started, there was no holding back. God-awful sobs tore their way out of my chest, and I wailed, snorted, and choked around them.

What do I do? Do I leave him over this? Am I even capable of leaving him? The next time I see him, do I try to explain to him what I was trying to tell him? Do I even want to see him again?

Of course, I want to see him again. I want to kick him in the nuts and punch him in the throat! I want to tell him he’s a horrible son of a bitch with psychotic tendencies!

He snapped like a fucking twig! We had a perfect fucking date until he completely misunderstood me and flipped right the fuck out. He’s a fucking head case! I never wanted to know how those women had been treated at his hands. I wanted to know if they had wanted what I had with him. I wondered if any of them had given him a sense of happiness or love.

How could he do this?

The water turned tepid. On and on, I wept.

By the time I had cried enough, the water was icy. My skin erupted into goose bumps, and my teeth chattered. Too tired and emotionally depleted to move, I made the decision just to wait until I became acclimated to the cold temperature.

However, I wasn’t allowed to acclimate.

Silently, someone shut off the water and draped a towel over me before lifting me into his arms.

Phil.

Burning with self-righteous fury yet filled with great elation that he was here, I realized, I’m officially as fucked in the head as he is.

He sat down on the toilet and cradled me to his chest, pressing my soaking wet head to his shoulder. Holding me, he gently rocked us back and forth. Pressing his lips to my Third Eye, he filled me with his sadness, regret, and a sense of unconditional deep love.

My chest loosened entirely, and I drew in an enormous breath. If you ever treat me like that again, I will leave you.

I know, he replied softly.

I never wanted to know what it was like to be them. You didn’t let me finish what I was saying. You let your fucked up emotions take over and went into a rage.

I did, he admitted.

You ruined one of the most beautiful nights I’ve ever had.

His heart began to pound beneath my cheek. Baby Girl—

"You made me feel like I was garbage, I continued, my tone dull and matter-of-fact. You made me feel used, and worse, you made me feel unloved. There was no joy or pleasure in being with you. And then you made sure I was humiliated by jizzing all over my back."

He swallowed thickly. Yes.

I never deserved that.

No.

That…that was some diabolical shit, Phil. No, I still had some tears left in me. "You called me a coward again. You made me want to leave and never, ever come back. You made me hate you—"

His arms tightened around me, and he sucked in a deep breath. Kashmir!

What?

"Stop, please! he begged. I deserve this pain—I know I do—but you’re fuckin’ terrifyin’ me! His breath was rapid and shallow. How do I fix this? Tell me how to fix this!"

I don’t know.

Abruptly, he stood up and walked us into my room, gently laying me down on the bed.

He straddled my hips, taking my face in his hands. Look at me, he begged. "Please, Kenna. I know I don’t deserve it, but please…"

Reluctantly, I met his gaze. He had been crying. He was still crying, and in the face of his suffering, my heart constricted painfully in my chest.

I love you, he said, his tone pleading for me to believe him. "You are nothin’ like them. When you said you wondered what it was like for them, I…I fuckin’ lost my shit. I couldn’t even begin to wonder myself as to why you felt the need to understand them, and I was so fuckin’ furious that you did."

I was only thinking of how they could have been with you and not loved you and wanted what you and I have.

He was stunned into silence. I couldn’t imagine him looking more taken aback than he did right then.

"That was what I was wondering," I told him softly.

One of his tears slipped from his eye and splashed down onto my cheek.

Do we still have… His chest jerked with a violent spasm. I’m so sorry, Kenna. I’m so, so sorry! Please—

Incredibly, I could already feel my heart healing from this hot mess. Reaching up, I cradled his face in my hands. At my touch, he closed his eyes, and more tears rained down upon my face. I pulled him closer until our lips brushed softly. With a thick moan, he deepened the kiss as my mouth opened beneath his.

I need you more than my next breath, he told me. You’re my other half, my reason for existin’ at all.

Phil pressed his Third Eye to mine, infusing me with his overwhelming emotions. It was hard to believe all of that was inside of him. Brushing his mouth against mine, he said, Never again, Kenna. I promise. I’ll kill myself before I ever hurt you like that again.

My eyes rose to his, and what I saw in them snatched the breath from my lungs.

How do I fix this? he whispered. What will fix this?

Forgiveness, I replied.

Do you forgive me then? He bit his lip to keep it from quivering.

"I can forgive you, but…can you forgive me?"

He sucked in a sharp breath. For what?

For letting you go.

My Dark God of the Universe sank back on his heels, his gaze searing into mine. I think so. I want to.

Pushing myself up, I drew my legs from between his thighs before bending my knees and wrapping my arms around them. It made me feel less vulnerable. "If you can’t or won’t, then there’s no point to this—us. It’s broken before it even starts. Our whole relationship, up to this point, you’ve blamed me for something that I’m not even sure I understand. It’s preventing us from moving forward."

He watched me in complete silence, but I saw the fear in his eyes.

Getting off the bed, I put on a pair of underwear and a tank top. Then, I dropped to my knees and crawled under my bed, looking for a specific box. Finding it, I pulled it out. I didn’t know why I was doing this. I was just a sucker for embarrassment, I guessed.

Maybe he just needs to see that I never really let go, that I never forgot him or what we started.

Digging down to the bottom, I pulled out my NOLA’s Junk scrapbook and passed it to him.

What is this? he asked.

Open it.

Inside, secured behind thin sheets of stiff plastic that graced these types of albums, were pages of pictures taken at their concerts, ticket stubs, interviews clipped from magazines, and other memorabilia.

"I didn’t let you go, Phil. You took a part of me with you. I’ve followed your career like a rabid fanatic even though I’ve tried to keep it on the down low. Only three people know how stupid-obsessed I am with NOLA’s Junk—well, with you in particular. Check the back."

Phil gazed into my eyes, something churning behind them that I couldn’t decipher. He looked back down and flipped through to the end where he found the envelope addressed, A Love Letter to a Madman. His fingers traced over the handwriting.

Is this for me? he asked softly, glancing at me.

Yes, I replied.

Can I read it?

It’s yours. I have to warn you though. I was eighteen when I wrote it, so I hope you can excuse the adolescent semantics. I was young and ridiculous.

Giving me a soft smile, he assured me, So was I.

Reaching for and grabbing my cigarette case, I headed for my balcony, giving us both some breathing space. I heard him gently remove the letter from the envelope. I was blushing, and my heart rate picked up. I took a seat on my papasan chair, folding my legs underneath me, and lit up another spliff.

The mattress groaned and creaked as he lay back on the bed, the sound of the paper crinkling as he opened the pages.

After all these years, I still knew that damn thing by heart.

Dearest Phil,

Tonight, as Lili and I sat in the car, listening to Adopted Son, I heard the ending to A Madman’s Love Letter, and Lili swore, you’d written that about me.

It got me thinking, What if that dirty song was written with me in mind? You did call me baby girl. A part of me thinks that you probably call all the hot chicks who throw themselves at you that—not that I think I’m hot, but that’s not the point. Does this mean you still think about me? Could it be true that you still think back on that night?

I now wonder what I would say to you, if I ever had the opportunity to see you again.

So, here goes…

The night I met you was the most amazing night of my life. Not only was the NOLA’s Junk show fucking awesome, the fact that I got to meet my favorite front man of the best heavy metal band ever was pretty fucking epic.

But then…you touched my hand, and you stole my heart. Colors I never knew existed bloomed into full view when you looked into my eyes, and an amazing brightness filled my universe. I fell in love with you in that exact moment. I loved every second I spent listening to your voice, your laugh, and every touch you gave me. When you pulled me close to you and kissed me, you stole my soul.

And I haven’t been the same since. I feel as though I’m just going through the motions of life, not truly living one. While I can understand and appreciate happiness and laughter and see joy in others, it’s as though I can only feel it vicariously. It scares me—that I have no sense of that within me and haven’t since that night.

When we got kicked out, I knew a part of me was missing. I had left it with you, and I will never again be whole unless you truly find your way back to me.

I know this sounds so stupid, but it’s how I feel. And I’ve spent a lot of time and effort trying to convince myself that I wasn’t anything special to you, that I was just another chick you were hoping to waste some time with. I think it would benefit me greatly if I could just forget how connected to you I felt in that one moment. I constantly tell myself that it was one-sided, the desperate imaginings of my mind brought on by the unholy crush I’ve had on you for so long. But even still, it meant the world to me. You mean the world to me. It was the best damn birthday of my life, and I can’t think of anything else that could ever top it.

Three weeks after my birthday, I lost my mom. It’s been rough for me lately. But what has helped pull me through these times is the sound of your voice. I listen to Adopted Son several times a day. I won’t lie. I think I’m obsessed with it. Your voice always makes me feel strong and safe somehow. It has ever since I first saw you guys play the crap stage at the music festival. So, if for nothing else, thank you for that. You will probably never know just how much it means to me—to be able to hear the most wonderful sound that is your voice—but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m not sure a restraining order could be considered an autograph.

I’d also like to tell you that I’m so proud of you and Our Boys for working your asses off and getting as far as you have. It’s been an amazing journey, seeing NOLA’s Junk take over the metal genre. With the album and the shows, you guys will be global soon. I just know it, and I’m so happy that I have been able to witness it from almost the beginning.

In my heart, there are two hopes—or wishes—that I hold on to. One is for me—that one day you remember that you told me not to go anywhere and that you’d come back and find me once more. The second is for you and NOLA’s Junk to make it huge. I want you guys to take over and become the biggest heavy metal band on the planet. The world needs to hear your voice, to hear NOLA’s Junk’s music, because there really is nothing better. Of the two wishes, I would choose the latter because if your dream of making it big comes true, then I will still have your voice to keep me strong, and so will everyone else.

And I’ll always have the memory of how it felt when you stole my soul.

Love Always,

Kenna

I was so mortified that he was reading that right now. I should check my underwear for the set of balls that had sprung out of my crotch. What was I thinking, giving him that?

The joint was dead, so I flicked it over the railing just as he stepped out onto the balcony. My balls grew bigger, and I looked up at him. A light was shining out of his eyes, and it had nothing to do with the fact that the sky was turning to dawn.

Holding out his hand to me, he said softly, Come here. Taking my hand, he pulled me to my feet and led me inside to sit on the bed. Sinking to his knees before me, he asked, Can I keep it?

Of course.

Wrapping an arm around my waist, he whispered, You didn’t let me go.

No.

I’ve been angry for so long because I thought you didn’t care enough to hold on. With the heel of his right hand, he rubbed the spot on his chest above his heart. "But you really were with me the whole time. I was just too pissed and hurt to realize that that’s what it was."

I really was. I smiled. Well, a big part of me anyway. The other part was here, obsessively watching your videos, clipping magazine photos, and—

Don’t. He choked up. "Don’t downplay this, not this."

All right.

He shook his head. "What you did…you willingly gave up bein’ with me because you wanted me to live my dream. It wasn’t like you walked away from us. You chose loneliness and heartache, so I could make somethin’ of myself."

Of course I did. I love you, Phil.

All this time, I blamed you, he whispered, tears streaming down his face. "You made a sacrifice. You really felt for me what I felt for you…if not more so. I always believed I loved you more out of the two of us, but you…you were willin’ to give up on us, so I could be me. I’m so sorry."

It’s all right.

It’s not. A part of me held you responsible for my pain. He swallowed loudly. I blamed you for my actions in the past. And tonight, when I thought that you…

Taking his face in my hands, I told him, It’s okay.

How?

Because I love you. Maybe I can’t express myself as well as you do, Phil. You’re the one with the poet’s soul, not me. But I love you just as much as you love me. Can you forgive me now? Can we put the past behind us? Because I really want to make new memories with you and not mourn the ones we weren’t able to have.

More than anythin’, I want to make some fuckin’ beautiful memories with you…for the rest of our lives.

Then, let’s do that.

I wish I had been able to do that from the get-go.

I shrugged, feeling utterly exhausted.

I guessed he sensed this because he rose to his feet.

Can I stay here with you?

Like he’d go if I said no. He’d probably sleep on the floor or the balcony before he’d actually leave. Wack job.

Yes, I replied, pulling back the covers.

Before I was able to scoot beneath them, he grabbed my elbow and drew me to my feet.

No clothes in bed. Nothin’ between us, okay?

I nodded, stripped, and then crawled into bed. A few seconds later, he joined me, pulling my back to his chest and curving his body around mine.

Phil?

Yeah, Baby Girl.

How the hell did you get into my house?

Chest vibrating with laughter, he replied, The balcony. I saw your light on, and the door was open. So, I climbed onto the porch roof and pulled myself up.

Of course he did.

Oh, damn, that feels amazing.

I reached down to touch myself—it felt that good—only to have my fingers thread through some thick-ass hair. My eyes snapped open as I was fully awake now, and I glanced down to see one leg draped over Phil’s shoulder, his dark head between my thighs.

Oh, fuck… I moaned as I closed my eyes again, arching higher into his mouth.

He slipped a long finger into me and then another. I bucked against him, my hands fisting in his hair. His tongue stroked softly over my clit, and I detonated on his fingers and tongue so hard that starbursts exploded behind my eyes.

Kissing his way back up, he stopped at each breast—tonguing, sucking, and scraping his teeth over my nipples—until the fire between my legs burned hot and bright once more. After trailing soft kisses up my chest to my neck and my face, he captured my lips, his tongue pushing my own flavor into my mouth.

His arms snaked up under my back, and the bulbous head of him pressed into my slit. I needed him so badly, needed to feel him stretching and filling me. Whimpering, I lifted my hips, trying to take him into me.

Pulling me up as he sat back on his heels, in one smooth move, he impaled me completely. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, my back arching so that I could take him deeper.

"Fuck. Nothin’ feels as good as you do, Kenna, he said against my throat. Squeeze me tight—ohhhh, I love that."

His teeth nipped at the sensitive flesh below my ear, and then he swirled his tongue over the sting. My head dropped back, and I rocked against him. He punched his hips up, hitting his spot.

Fuck…yesss.

Does it feel good? he growled in my ear.

Ungh… I groaned in reply.

His hands speared through my hair, curling into the scalp until I felt a slight sting. From collarbone to chin, he licked my throat with a sensuous long stroke of his wet tongue.

I fuckin’ love the way you taste, he told me. He sank his teeth into my chin, sucking gently. Every fuckin’ inch of you…

He slid one arm down my back as he pulled my head back further with the hand still fisted in my hair. All the while, his hips gently punched, punched, punched his cock into his spot. I bent backward, my chest offered up for him, as he curved over me and sucked my right breast into his burning mouth. Brilliantly tingles shot from the nipple to my core, and I unleashed an unholy moan. My hands inched up his neck to bury themselves in his hair. The pressure was building up in intensity, and I needed to feel more of him moving inside me.

Harder! I cried, wriggling in his lap.

Large hands grasped my ass. Working me up and down over his length, he continued with the steady rhythm of his thrusting hips.

"Oh, fuck!" I cried out. I was peaking, body and mind blown in a shower of sparkling sensations.

Mmm… he hummed, burying his face in my neck. "That feels so…fuckin’…awesome. I can feel you pulsin’ all over me. I love feelin’ you come on my dick. Fuckin’ love it."

My cunt spasmed at the dirty talk slipping from his mouth. It spurred another mini orgasm through my core. Maybe there was something wrong with the wiring in my brain, but I loved his filth.

Shit, he grunted. I ain’t ready to come for you. I owe you for last night. I need you to come over and over and over before you break me. His breath was hot and moist in my ear.

Already, I felt boneless and weak, languid and wrung out.

I ain’t done with you yet, he promised, creating another shiver to dance its way between my legs. Holding me loosely with one arm, he traced his fingers over my lips, his eyes almost black with desire as he stared into mine. Open, he commanded softly.

Panting slightly, I parted my lips, and he pushed his long middle finger into my mouth.

Suck, he told me.

I was so turned on by what he was doing that I obeyed. Sucking and swirling my tongue around the digit, I could tell he liked it because he filled up my cunt just that much more.

Stop, he whispered as he slowly pulled his finger out of my mouth. His hand skimmed its way around my waist to the crack of my ass, sliding between my cheeks.

I tensed up. No one had ever touched me like this.

He never took his gaze from mine. You ever been fucked in the ass before? His voice, deep and throaty, held a dangerous ring to it.

N-no, I breathed.

He bit his lip as his finger found the puckered ring of muscle, rubbing gently. "I’m gonna fuck you in your ass one day soon."

Breathlessly, I replied, Okay.

Does that scare you at all?

I shook my head. No.

Then, why are you so tense?

Maybe a little bit, I admitted.

You’re still gonna let me though.

Yes. I will let you do whatever you want to me as long as I can feel the love in your heart.

Relax, he whispered. He pressed his lips to mine. When his tongue breached my mouth, he pushed the tip of his finger into me.

What a fucking bizarre sense of invasion.

His cock swelled a fraction more.

Have you ever… I asked him, trying to distract myself from the weirdness of it.

No, he replied softly, his eyes roaming my face for my expression. One last first to have with each other.

His lips possessed mine once more. When he felt me relax enough, lulling me with the sweet play of his lips and tongue, he pushed his finger in deeper.

"Fuuuck, he groaned loudly. I didn’t think your cunt could get any tighter." He pushed in to his third knuckle and started moving his hips once more.

Oh. My. God. This is fucking phenomenal!

My hips rocked against him, in time with his thrusts, and a deep moan escaped me.

"You fuckin’ like it, don’t you? he growled in my ear, his fist in my hair forcing my face to turn. Answer me!"

Yes! I cried out.

He slowly pulled out his finger and pushed it back in.

Oh, shit! I cried.

"It’s mine, he snarled. I’m gonna fuck your last virgin hole. It’s gonna take my whole cock, and—fuck, it’s like a vise."

Both my cunt and my ass convulsed with that promise.

"More," I begged.

After pulling out to the tip of his finger, he then inserted two.

Like that? he murmured, his lips skimming over my cheek.

My hips were rocking on their own now as I was being simultaneously fucked in both ends. He pulled me into him until there was no space between us from groin to chest. Pounding into me, the rhythm of his cock and fingers rode in synchronicity.

I think I can make you come with my cock in your ass, he informed me.

Do it, I hissed back. I want you to.

Mmm…I think I’m gonna love tryin’. All of you gets so tight and hot.

I was about to implode. It might be possible for me to come just from the graphic dirty talk he spewed.

"Shit, you are tryin’ to break me. Can you squeeze me any tight— He sucked in a sharp breath as I clenched hard on him. Fuck!"

Bearing down on him set me off. My ass began tingling fiercely, sending shooting sensations to my cunt, my nipples, my clit, and to his spot, and I was flung wide open inside as a powerful orgasm combusted through me. My head dropped back, the bones in my neck turning liquid with it, and the guttural cry I emitted sounded harsh to my own ears.

Phil crushed me to him, pumping with fast, long strokes. His teeth sank into my shoulder as he screamed with the force of his own orgasm. Inside me, his cock jerked with a violence I hadn’t felt before.

Clinging to each other tightly, we stayed frozen like this for some minutes as our hearts returned to a normal rate, and our breaths became smooth and even.

Phil gave a gentle kiss to the spot he’d bitten.

I love you, he whispered, giving me a one-armed squeeze, his fingers still inside me.

I love you, too, I told him, so much.

Swelling up with his breath, he said, Last night, I was so scared that I’d never hear you say it again.

Just let it go, babe, I whispered. I kissed his cheek. Do it for me.

Jumping in the shower, I was happy to find that there was hot water.

Sighing with relief, I said, I hope Alys and Lili had hot water when they showered this morning.

Alys stayed with X last night, Phil told me, stepping in behind me. You were in here a long time.

That statement gave me pause. "How long were you here?"

Long enough to make you feel creeped out, I’m sure.

Tell me.

I was here the whole time, Kenna. When I walked out of my bathroom, you were gone, and I knew that there was the very real possibility that you weren’t ever comin’ back. I was in the backyard when I saw you turn on the light in here. You were sittin’ on your bed when I got on the balcony.

That wasn’t the branches hitting the railing then. You were very quiet about it.

I came barefoot.

You sneaky fucker! I accused.

Well, I wasn’t going to waste time puttin’ fuckin’ shoes on!

Why didn’t you let me know you were here?

He took a deep breath. I deserved to see the pain you felt, the damage I’d caused. But I didn’t think you needed to freeze when the water got cold. Your teeth were chatterin’ somethin’ awful.

I leaned back into him. "You are kind of creepy, babe."

He shrugged and wrapped his arms around me. I don’t care. I was worried about you, about us.

We finished up and got dressed before heading down to the kitchen where I made us some sandwiches for lunch. Phil poured us some iced teas and sat down at the island, waiting for me to join him.

Would you want seafood gumbo for dinner? I asked him as I plopped his plate stacked with three large sandwiches in front of him.

His eyes popped with surprise. Seriously?

Yeah. I’ll need to go get the seafood, but I have everything else. I’ll make it at your place, so everyone can have some.

Too fuckin’ right, he said. We’ll go after I get some clean clothes. Oh, wait—

What?

Me ’n’ X ’n’ Flipper are supposed to get the studio set up today.

What studio?

The one I had built in the big half of the house. It used to be the basement. It’s nothin’ fancy. Just a soundproof place, so we can practice and record shit down for the next album.

When do you guys start recording? I took a bite of my sandwich.

Not until after the New Year. We’re not renewin’ our contract with Rattlesnake, so we don’t want any new shit to go under their label.

Are you guys starting your own label then? My curiosity piqued.

We’re thinkin’ about it, yeah. But we need to have a proper studio and equipment. We’re lookin’ in the Warehouse District for somethin’.

Why didn’t you tell me? I was a little put out that he hadn’t confided something this important to me.

It’s not definite. I mean, yeah, not signin’ with Rattlesnake is, but—

That’s beside the point, Phil! The things that are going on in your life—they’re important to me. Isn’t the rest of my life important to you, too?

Of course it is!

Well? Why haven’t you mentioned any of this before now?

"I don’t know! Maybe because you’re the only thing I’ve been thinkin’ about for the last two weeks!"

I glared at him. Nice save, ass.

He beamed at me, his dimples punching in deep. Thanks.

You were saying? I snidely reminded him.

Um…oh, yeah. So, we said we’d set up the sound room today. We’re lookin’ at warehouses—or, I should say, Tim and Sheri have been on that—to turn into a proper studio. We want to create our own label, so we don’t have to be contracted like we were before. There’s some legal shit we have to go through to make it happen—

All of this is going to take a lot of money, I stated. "Like, a lot."

Yeah, that’s really not an issue, he said before taking a huge bite. "It’s makin’ sure that Rattlesnake can’t screw us in any way with the shit we already have recorded—like ‘Louisiana Baby.’ They know we don’t want to sign another contract, and we never signed over the rights to our music from the get-go. It’s why they’ve been busting our balls the last five years with back-to-back tours and stickin’ us in Europe for two albums. They can’t touch our music, so they had to make sure that they made as much as they could out of us."

Makes sense, I guess.

Yeah, but we were really young and stupid when we signed up for what we did. We were just so happy that we got a deal and that they gave into our demand that we own our music. We had no idea that meant we’d be their slaves for six and a half years. They wanted us to squeeze out one more album before the contract was up, but we were only contracted for three over a six-year period. They demanded that we record ‘Louisiana Baby,’ so they could make money off of the single.

Will you guys still be able to put it on the next album?

He nodded. We want to, which is why we have lawyers all over that shit.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Thinking about them having their own studio and record label had me excited.

The Warehouse District is not far from my clinic, I told him.

I saw his eyes sparkle with warmth.

I know, he replied.

Ugh, that reminds me. I need to go in on Sunday and make sure everything is up and running. I’m meeting my coworkers at eleven o’clock.

Do you need help? he asked, his cheek bulging with turkey and Swiss.

Hmm… "Do you want to come see where I work?"

Yeah. I know where it is, but I haven’t seen it or anythin’.

All right. Come with me on Sunday then.

Giving me an odd look, he asked, Do you like your job?

Yeah. It’s hard work, but I find it satisfying.

Just satisfyin’? You don’t love what you do?

I… I’ve never really considered it before. I like what I do, and it’s not like I’m tired of it. I mean, I’ve just started! But…

Phil raised an eyebrow at me. You…

I’m not passionate about it, I said. To my horror, I discovered that was true. Oh, fucking hell, I’m not passionate about what I do. I just do it. And I’m really good at it, but only because I’ve made sure that I would be.

You’re not… His deep voice trailed off, and he looked at me with something close to pity. Then, why do you do it?

I… I put down my sandwich and stared at it as though it would provide me with the information I needed.

Why am I a doctor? Why did I put myself through six years of education and countless hours of training and research? Was it all just a waste of time?

No. No, it wasn’t a waste! I truly take joy in making people feel better, giving them alternative ways to heal when conventional medicine hasn’t helped.

I wanted to give people a choice, I said softly. I want people to realize that when drugs can’t help, there are other ways to heal. I wanted the medical community to take me seriously, so I became a doctor. Doing so gives me the knowledge I need to know what will be prescribed, to know what methods to use, and to know how to treat patients when their medications have failed them.

I raised my gaze to his and found his eyes boring into me.

You did it for your mom, he stated flatly.

My heart constricted painfully in my chest. I was a little unnerved that he knew me so well. That was part of it, yes.

"What are you passionate about?"

I smiled. Music. Ancient history. And I’m mildly obsessed with cooking.

When you were a kid, what did you want to be?

I laughed. "It was a toss-up between an archaeologist and a journalist for Rolling Stone. I would have loved to be paid to listen to music and write articles about it, about the artists. Lili and I made a pact that we would be a journalistic team. I would write, and she’d be the photographer."

Why didn’t you follow through with either of those?

My gaze dropped back to my plate, my appetite now nonexistent. Because. I just didn’t. I became a doctor instead. Rather than writing about rock stars and the music they make, I give people a way to live a pain-free life.

Would you go back and change it if you could?

I gave him a self-deprecating smile. I don’t know. Ask me again in ten years.

I will.

I believe you. I guess you’re living out your passion, I said.

Yes.

Well, at least one of us is, right? What does that feel like?

It’s the best. But then again, I’ve never done anythin’ else.

If you guys never made it, what do you think you’d be doing?

I guess I would have gone to college and into investment, like my dad.

What does that even mean?

He laughed. I’m not even sure. I’m a rock star, remember? I skipped college and toured Europe instead.

And helped write three of my favorite albums.

That, too.

What’s that like? I mean, what process do you go through to write music? How do you come up with the words, the collaboration of notes? What—

He busted out laughing, and I felt myself blush.

What’s so funny?

"You sure you’re not an undercover journalist for Rolling Stone?"

Oh, ha-ha, I replied sarcastically. I’ve got my doctorate to hang up in my office on Sunday. I’ll be happy to show it to you.

First of all, he said, completely ignoring my sarcasm, I love writin’ music. It’s one of the best highs I’ve ever experienced. When we create a piece, we go through a bunch of different processes. Sometimes, we write the music, and that’ll inspire me to write the lyrics. Sometimes, it’s the other way around. There are songs that just fill up my head, and since I know what it sounds like and they don’t, I’ll write it all out, and then they’ll tweak it. Jason’s such a shit with the tweakin’.

Only one of the best highs? What could possibly be better than that?

He smiled wickedly, his warm eyes twinkling into mine. Bein’ inside my Baby Girl.

I gulped down some iced tea to try to cool the flames igniting inside. Damn, he knows just what to do and say to set me on fucking fire. Clearing my throat, I pretended my crotch hadn’t just melted.

Are you the only one who writes the lyrics?

Pretty much. Why?

Just wondering.

Because your words have power in them, and I feel it every time I listen to your songs, your music, your voice. To know that it is truly your words I’m listening to brings me a deeper understanding of your mind, how it works. Knowing this, I might never be able to listen to them again and not hear your soul.

Phil arched an eyebrow at me. What are you thinkin’?

How do you come up with lyrics?

Depends on my mood. I record a lot of my thoughts on a small recorder. There are times when I’m never without one. I’ll just talk to myself. I play it back, and it helps me form lyrics. Other times, they just hit me, and I have to write shit down.

How long have you been able to do this?

He shrugged. Always, I guess. I think I heard my first song in my head when I was really young, like four or five.

What was it about?

His eyes burned into mine, and I was near to suffocating, feeling his passion.

It happened while I was thinkin’ of you. Only, I didn’t realize until this very minute…you’ve always been my inspiration, Kenna…my whole life.

I can’t breathe. Oh God…I think my heart is going to spasm out of my chest.

My eyes burned, and I bit my bottom lip hard, but my chin was trembling far harder than anything I could control. Fat hot tears spilled out of my eyes, and suddenly, he pulled me off my stool and