Savage Thunder

By Floridawn Lewis

After almost twenty years of marital bliss, Marc "Thunder" Savage’s discontented wife, April, has had enough of her husband’s depressive behavior for the past two years. Faced with some personal issues affecting his professional rock-and-roll star status as the lead singer and rhythm guitarist of Savage Thunder, his wife threatens to leave him if he doesn’t clean up his act by going to rehab.

It is up to Marc to win his wife’s heart, once again, by eradicating his problems personally, vocally and professionally. On New Year’s Eve, and after six months back in the “friend zone,” Marc is getting ready to go home to his wife, clean, lean, and sober. His voice has never sounded better. He’s lost weight, and he no longer needs tobacco or whiskey to help him cope with his life. He’s tried everything he can to get out of the “friend zone” and into his wife’s life again as her husband and savage lover. This time he’s going to rock her world forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Floridawn Lewis
• Release date: May 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370761050

Floridawn Lewis

Floridawn Lewis has been hooked on inventing stories for as long as she can remember. She even has many of her earlier works from school laminated in a nice leather bound folder. Her first pursuit in professional writing was in a journalistic fashion after she graduated from Metropolitan State College of Denver with a Bachelor’s degree in broadcast journalism working for numerous newspapers, radio stations, television stations and magazine publications throughout her career. Not one to stop her creativity at only writing, she also has a graphic arts, web master and video production degree from the Art Institute of Colorado. Her lifelong passion for writing has also led her to obtain a Master’s degree in Creative Writing/English from Southern New Hampshire University.

Book preview

Savage Thunder

By Floridawn Lewis

Copyright 2017 Floridawn Lewis

Smashwords Edition

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Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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License Notes

April Dawn Lewis aka Floridawn Lewis has asserted her moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, business establishments, events or locales are the product of the author’s imagination.

This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. FOR ADULTS ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this publication may be used, transmitted or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission by the author.

Copyright 2017 Floridawn Lewis

Cover Art by Floridawn Designs 2016

Photography by Maria Seidel Ashmore

Cover Model Kelly Ashmore

Songwriter April Dawn Lewis

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Acknowledgments

Thank you to beta readers, Kathy Aronoff and Karen Fischer. Many thanks to my mother, Linda McNeley-Paxton, for editing and the constant help she gave me during the process of writing this book. You were a life-saver! Thank you to friends, Maria Seidel Ashmore and Kelly Ashmore, for the stunning photography and awesome model work. A shout-out goes to Carian Cole for her guidance in publishing this baby.

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Dedication

Thank you to my family and friends who have believed in me from the very beginning. My daughter, Elisse, and son, Christopher, give me inspiration every day. Much love to one and all!

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CHAPTER 1

Gawd, the smell of this place is stifling. I wish he’d stop smoking. Especially in the house. I have told him time and time again not to smoke in the house. Ohhh, he makes me so mad! The drunken fool! I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!

April stood there in the doorway of Marc’s den with her quilted yellow calico overnight bag hanging off her right shoulder. She dropped the bag at her feet. Minutes went by as she watched her husband’s chest rise up and down as he lay there sleeping on his overstuffed sofa with a brown cow-spot design on a white suede background. He was probably passed out from drinking the whiskey she knew he’d been guzzling down for the past two days. His favorite crystal glass, sitting on the heavy cherry-wood coffee table, held the tell-tale signs of the remnants of the amber-colored substance. The stench of burnt tobacco wafted throughout the room, because of the overflowing putrid ashtray. April was allergic to smoke and wanted to puke because of the stagnant fragrance, which permeated the room.

April continued to peruse the room. She caught a glimpse of twelve polished and sparkling guitars, with a musical keyboard in juxtaposition diagonally, all sitting on their own stands. The guitars graciously lined the front of several amplifiers pressed against the wainscoting underneath the tall east bay-window topped with a horizontal colored-glass border. April shook her head, wondering why her husband needed ALL those guitars, as her emerald green eyes scanned the northern area of the room.

In contrast to the pristine musical instruments display sat a dirty plate with pizza-crust-crumbs on the beautifully carved cherry-wood desk. The desk was surrounded by bookcases, which had hundreds of rock music CDs and musical instructional books lining the shelves. April noticed the autobiographical book from one of her favorite rock-stars, and said to herself, That’s where my Rod went.

Looking on at her disheveled husband, April’s disgust turned into nostalgia, as she smiled, thinking back to the time when she didn’t want to have anything to do with ANY rock-star like the gaggle of women who did. After all, she wasn’t one of those star-struck groupies her husband had following him everywhere he went. Marc’s band, Savage Thunder, was one of the most successful rock-and-roll bands around, at that time, but April wasn’t impressed. She wanted to do her best as a brand-new disc jockey when she interviewed the band for ROCK NASH radio, a rock-and-roll radio station in Nashville, Tennessee. That is all SHE cared about.

On June 14, 1996, when April Rains took to her chair as the morning disc jockey, she interviewed famous musicians every Friday morning to get their input on what the weekend had in store for them and what they would like to do in the future. On the morning that Savage Thunder was to be her interviewees, Marc Savage walked into the room and was instantly smitten with the young, petite brunette.

Hey, Beautiful, Marc had said the first time he met April, that day in the studio, all those years ago.

For sixth months after their interview, Marc tried to win her heart. April finally caved in and married the cutie patootie musician on December 31, 1996, because she couldn’t just be his friend anymore. She had fallen in love with him.

For the past twenty-two years, April’s dream job as a DJ had come true. The band had even recorded one of her songs earlier in their career, entitled Heart and Soul. She was also living in her very own dream house. One that Marc had built just for her. She had her very own modern-day castle, complete with four towers on each corner of the house, and directly adjacent to an antediluvian cemetery. She loved taking walks through the sweet scented pink and white dogwood trees, mingled with a few giant oaks breathing life into the twelve acres of land, situated twelve miles out of town.

Back to reality, April noticed Marc stirring on his sofa. As she continued to watch him, she thought he was going to wake up, but he settled back. She could hear him breathing. Oh, how I wish his kisses were still sweet and tender. Lately, his breath stunk of cigarette smoke mixed with the alcohol. In fact, he smelled of booze, even if he hadn’t been drinking for days on end, as the alcohol seeped through his pores.

The sight and smell of Marc, passed out on the sofa, sent April back to her childhood, when at the age of fourteen, her foster parents were passed out on their overstuffed green-tweed sofa. Empty whiskey bottles and shot glasses used to clutter the scratched coffee table in the family room, in their tiny house, in an unkempt neighborhood, on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado.

Remembering that scene from her past, how could she not? April wished, in that very moment, that she hadn’t been in the backseat when her real parents died in that horrible car accident at the age of ten. She had no relatives to take care of her, so, she was placed in foster care. The day she turned eighteen, April had been so happy to get away from her foster parents, with two bags packed, and a girlfriend with a car willing to drive April to her dream destination of Nashville to sell her songs or become a DJ.

Marc had his own tragedies in the past. Technically, his problems with alcohol started two years ago when the band’s drummer, Monty Mountain Montana died. Mountain had been drinking when he drove head-on into a semi-truck on the highway, going home from his favorite watering hole in Nashville, at two o’clock in the morning. Happy-go-lucky Mountain was the heart of the band. The jokester. One of Marc’s best friends.

Now, April had more bad news to tell her husband. She wanted her marriage to last forever, but how could she deal with Marc’s alcoholism, his weight gain, his self-esteem issues, and his slump in making a living as a rock-and-roll musician? Why does he have to be a lazy good-for-nothing slob? she asked herself. She looked at him, disgusted by the strands of long raven hair sweat-plastered on the front of his face. She longed for her husband—the way he used to be, but it was time for the ultimatum. Sober up or start walking.

Pangs in her abdomen centered deep, reminiscent of the pain she felt when she gave birth to her precious baby boy, Wilder, almost eighteen years ago. Her son was a senior in high school, and getting ready to ship off to college in California, majoring in Music.

Flashes of images about Wilder’s quick entrance into the world scattered through her head. Marc was standing by her side, holding her hand. Scratch that, she was squeezing her husband’s hand with the force of a heavyweight wrestler.

Push, April, push, the OB/GYN urged his patient. His head is crowning.

April pushed so that her son could breathe his first breath, while Marc held on to her hands. He wanted to forget his pain because of her vice-grip on his hands and focus on the miracle of his son’s birth. The miracle of his wife’s sacrifice washed over his body like a warm spring day when a sun shower bursts from the clouds hitting the tops of the trees and then the rain trickles down the leaves onto the fresh lawn soaking into the Earth.

April continued pushing with Marc’s encouragement, You can do this, April.

The doctor kept saying, Almost there.

Then Wilder entered the world in one fell swoop covered in amniotic fluid and mucous and blood. The miracle of life was soon to be bundled in blankets with the smell of a newborn. A wonderfully fresh scent that you want to savor, because it is so special. Babies are full of the kind of wonderfully fresh scent that lingers and tickles the hairs in your nostril even when they aren’t slathered with baby lotion or powder.

April, you did it, April. Our son is so beautiful! Marc said, running around excitedly.

Calm down, Marc, April told him, Come here and hold me.

Marc stopped in his tracks, and then started nodding his head, Of course, of course, my Love.

He walked over to his wife and took her into his arms. He held her head against his chest, his long raven hair draped around his shoulders. Then he ran his fingers through the tangle of his wife’s chestnut hair, which was usually very pretty, but not today.

Today, April’s hair was moist with perspiration and matted down on her head. Even though labor had gone smoothly, April had worked up a sweat.

The nurse was by April’s side with a bundle of joy wrapped up in a baby blue blanket. Wilder was placed in April’s arms, and she noticed his tuft of dark hair.

He looks just like me, Marc said with a mile-wide smile.

He touched the tuft and bent down to kiss his son. Just then, Wilder opened his eyes and Marc and April looked down at their son in wonderment. His eyes were big ebony saucers. Then he let out a wail loud enough to shake the windows.

Oh, my little screamer, April said in baby talk.

April drifted back to reality, looking at her husband, still passed out on the overstuffed sofa. There was really no reason to stay at home any longer. Except—she was still in love with her husband. And—she loved the castle.

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CHAPTER 2

Let me go in, first, Stacey Sorbo, also-known-as Ace, told Marc’s wife, as he put his hand on April’s shoulder, startling her as he moved past her. Ace was Marc’s wild-and-crazy, big-haired-blond, partner/band mate/bass player and manager for Savage Thunder.

Ace was now there to help April get Marc out of his two-day drunk before she left Marc for good. This was it, she was on the last straw, and she needed to make a stand, after Ace’s talk with her husband.

April turned away and left for the kitchen to get a glass of lemonade, as Ace entered Marc’s den, located in the back east rounded corner of the modern-day castle, complete with a spiral staircase in a tower leading up to the master bedroom. Ace gazed around the rest of the den as Marc slept on the overstuffed sofa, wearing blue jeans soiled with grease stains on the thighs and a black T-shirt with tell-tale signs of gluttony and sweat-stains near his armpits.

To Ace, it looked like a rat had ransacked the place, not conducive to the