Opening Night

By Sandra Alex

A successful guitarist. Broken by one, made by another...and wrecked by the one person he’s trusted since birth.

Jimmy Trent wasn’t born with a guitar in his hand, but his big brother Ken showed him the ropes at a tender age. Jimmy was hooked, and when the band Brainchild was born, he began to fulfill his childhood dream. With Ken by his side, Jimmy soars with his band, reaching milestones most rock stars simply get to witness from their parent’s garages. But when Mandy, Jimmy’s first love, comes into the picture, all bets are off. When the supermodel doesn’t bring him all the promises a proper wife should, the rock star finds himself in a hole that he can’t dig himself out of.

Cindy Kilgore never thought her beloved husband would stoop to the level that fifty percent of men have, but when she receives the news that he’s warmed another woman’s bed, she packs her bags to move back to the hometown she’s missed. With her mother suffering from a recent stroke, it’s all the more reason for Cindy’s return. And with her two-bit a-hole boss driving a stake through her budding career, it gives her three reasons to move on. She never expects to find the job of a lifetime at a recording studio. But the job comes with strings attached that she’s bluntly acquainted with the second she sees rock star Jimmy Trent answer the door.

With Cindy’s surprisingly apt skills, Jimmy quickly notices that Cindy is cut out for more than just an assistant’s position, and this realization could not have come at a better time, since they’re missing one head in the team. She quickly takes on more and more responsibility with ease and enthusiasm, until an unexpected visit to the emergency room threatens to bring Cindy’s new career to a grinding halt. Jimmy has a tough decision to make, and with the growing pressure of a new record and a recording contract’s ink that isn’t even dried yet, the rock star and his band need to make some quick, impossible changes. Jimmy finds himself unable to turn his cheek on Cindy. What’s worse, she doesn’t even know it...yet.

Filled with heartache, heartbreak and a handsome helping of triumph, ‘Opening Night’ is the perfect complement to ‘Dress Rehearsal’. Get your tissues out, this one is a tearjerker! Readers will see rock stars in a whole new light and find themselves with aching hearts.

HEA (Happily Ever After)
Rock star romance
Second chance romance
Medical romance
Medium heat
Drug abuse
Mild violence
Course language
Second book in a standalone series
Sneak peek into 'Platinum'

"The book has a strong story line and believable characters. It will draw the reader in and demand emotional responses to the people you actually care about." - 5 Stars from Emily Pennington, Amazon Top 500 reviewer

"...an emotional read." - 5 Stars from Jessib, Amazon reviewer

"Jaw dropping storyline you never saw coming. There are no words for the angst, sadness, jaw dropping moments in this book. It has been sometime since I cried through a book, wanted it to end to stop the pain BUT then never wanting to see a book end." - 5 Stars from SDW, Amazon reviewer

"This was an emotionally powerful, believable book that demonstrates how when life becomes complicated you have to deal but it so much better to deal with a good and trusted partner. Good stuff." - 5 Stars from Avidreader4ever, Amazon reviewer

"As always with this author, the book is so well-written, with a unique story line that kept my interest throughout." - 5 Stars from Karenc, Booksprout reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Alex
• Release date: Jun 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781989427460

Sandra Alex

Meet your next book boyfriend.Love stories that could actually happen.About the AuthorSandra Alex introduces the Ford brothers. Five sexy, rich, swoon-worthy men that will make your toes curl. Each book features one sibling. This sizzling series will knock your socks off!Proceed with Caution:"White knight, prince charming romance. This book was an awesome read. I enjoyed every page. Who doesn't love a prince charming and white knight! I liked the story, the characters, how it was written, the hot scenes and the HEA. I'll be reading more from this author." -5 stars from M. Hebert on Goodreads and BookBubEnter at Your Own Risk:"This book was a great read! I loved the main characters and how they were able to deal with what life threw at them. Sexual situations that were steamy and hott! Relatable heroine. I wanted to cheer for them as a couple. Bridezilla was funny too!" - 5 stars from C. Kasner on GoodreadsHandle with Care:"This poignant story draws you in and touches your heart. Garrett and Nora are a testament that true love never dies." - 5 Stars from M. Jelks-Emmanuel on GoodreadsJoin Sandra's newsletter to get an exclusive prequel and an extended epilogue, plus other....treats.Visit https://www.sandraalexbooks.com to subscribe.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jimmy

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The sweat drips down my face and I toss my head back, effectively whipping the hair and droplets into the air, as I tear out one of my last guitar licks of the night. With a cheering crowd in front of me, and Nick, our drummer, beating the hell out of the drums behind me, my heart rate still beats as fast as it did the first moment we climbed onto the stage tonight. Chris, our bassist, is hammering the last verse out with me, while we watch a pair of ladies’ underpants whip by onto the stage. Mike, our lead singer, while belting out the last lyrics, picks them up, and lewdly runs the lacy undergarment under his nose.

An enigma on his own, Mike’s gesture encourages yet another item of ladies’ lingerie to make its way to him. This time a bra. Hooking it onto the microphone stand, he fiddles with it, as though it’s a pendulum, and he adds the sexy underwear to his collection, as we close out the last song of the night. With a roaring audience and one hundred and ten degree heat from the lighting above us, the adrenaline is pumping through my veins, making me feel every cell in my body. Never have I felt so alive, and it’s bittersweet, because tonight is our last show of the tour. Tomorrow, we’re back to the recording studio, to our grass roots, to start jamming out for the next album.

As we join hands as close to the edge of the stage as we can safely, without being pulled down by all of our adoring fans who are all but trampling over one another in an attempt to reach out and touch us, we bow once, twice, and Mike shouts into the mic, Thank you! Goodnight!

A lineup of meet and greets are backstage waiting for us, as is Tim, our manager. Len, our road manager, has his hands loaded with towels. He tosses one at each of us, so we can mop our faces and heads off, because it looks like we all just jumped out of the shower. Security is especially tight tonight. Two of our security guards, who are brothers, Ringo and Bongo, we’ve nicknamed them, flank our meet and greets. Equally large with upper arms resembling stovepipes, they stand on either side of the team of fans and reporters who are waiting to have their opportunity with us.

One of the reporters shoves her microphone right in my face, just about nudging my guitar off my shoulder. It pisses me off, so I cut her interview short, giving her ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers, and the boys follow along, having witnessed the sour start. The chick is being a bitch, anyway, asking me stupid questions about my ex-wife Mandy, which is none of her fucking business. I mean, ever since our separation three years ago, these goddamn reporters just can’t get enough of the shit. Sure, they haven’t found another goddamn power couple of prey on yet, especially one as high profile as Mandy and I were, but still.

Being married to a model had its perks, sure, but both of us knew after the first bout of infidelity that we weren’t cut out to be together until death did us part, and we got out before we hated each other. Neither of us was any worse than the other. Mandy, screwing around with all the male models, fitness models, actors, directors, you name it, and me with the groupies, hot fans, and a slew of fellow musicians and business associates. We could both have whoever we wanted, whenever, and it’s a damn shocker that we stayed married for nearly ten years. We were smart to steer clear of starting a family and thank God for that. With her career, Mandy never wanted kids, and I think part of me did, but I digress. Our troubles were deeply routed into our inability to pay less attention to those who stroked our egos and more attention to our vows.

My brother Ken pats me on the back, taking my guitar from me. For all intents and purposes, he’s my right-hand man. He’s the one who taught me how to play guitar, mentored me on chicks, supported me through thick and thin when me and the band climbed our way up the veritable musicland totem pole, and now he follows me all over on tour, filling in where spots need to be filled. He’s even played bass a couple of times when Chris busted his arm last year while we were on tour. Ken went to law school but never finished, choosing partying and chicks over making a living, but he’s a good shit, and without him, I have no idea where I’d be.

Interview with Entertainment Tonight in room three. Len calls to us as we wrap up our meet and greets and about a hundred pictures. I started wearing sunglasses if the fans don’t lay off the flashbulbs. Ken’s always got a pair hooked in his shirt, and he throws me a pair if I give him the signal. Tonight, they’re not too bad, so we head into the room where the overly stuffy, pretentious bitch, who I can’t stand, waits for us. She’s wearing the same godawful peach colored jacket with shoulder pads so stiff and tall if she were to turn her head abruptly, she’d knock herself out.

Jimmy, Mike, Chris, Nick. She says, pasting on a smile. This woman can’t stand me and the feeling is mutual. There is a clear crush on Mike, though, but Mike always bristles around Katy, the ET witch. How are you boys doing? That was a great show tonight.

Yeah, thanks. Mike says as we take a seat on the couch. Katy sits in an armchair by the door, and I’d love nothing than to leave the door open and kick her chair, so she’ll fall backward.

Katy once blatantly asked me if I’d screwed around on my model wife. Sure, I’d had a few in me, and I answered. Sure, yeah, but would you like a list of the dudes she’s fucked with? I can give you them in alphabetical order. Of course, that segment of the interview ended up on the cutting room floor, but still.

Tim insists that we accept interviews from this chick though, since, according to him there is no such thing as bad press. For a while it was okay, because some other chick was covering our interviews at my request, but then she had a baby and went on maternity leave. Who knows if she’ll ever come back, so we’re stuck with Katy the bitch.

So, are you boys happy to be finished the tour? she opens with. A cold beer awaits me on the side table. I pop it open and take a long-awaited pull of it, handing the answering part over to any takers.

Nick takes the bait. It’s kind of bittersweet. He answers honestly. God love him. I’d tell her to take a fast flight.

What do you mean by that? Katy asks.

I bite my tongue, preventing myself from explaining it to her in the way that I want to.

Well, Chris interjects. As artists, we love both being on tour and performing. Both parts are equally pleasing.

Nick and Chris clink the beer bottles that I’ve passed them, hoping like hell to piss Katy off in the process. Normally we wouldn’t be so bold to crack them open on camera, but we make an exception here. Part of me thinks that Entertainment Tonight continues to interview us just because we make a point of doing things that we wouldn’t normally do in their presence.

Pissing her off further, ignoring the ‘no smoking’ sign that she’s deliberately sitting under, I light one up, and blow it purposely in her direction. Sometimes I love being an asshole.

But don’t you miss your family when you’re on the road? she directs the question to me, poking at the fact that I no longer have a wife to go home to. Newsflash: she hasn’t been my wife for three years. We’ve been on two tours since then. Pay better fucking attention.

Sure, we miss them. I say, nearly seething. But we see them a lot while we’re on the road. And all good things must come to an end.

She gives me a knowing look. Interesting choice of words.

Bitch just can’t let it go, can she. I take the high road. Instead of telling her to shove it I take another sip of beer and another drag of my cigarette. I feel like it’s a duel.

Sensing the growing tension, Mike steps up. Yeah, we’ve got a lot of new material that we’d like to work on, and some that we were working on with the last album. We’re ready to finish up and cut a new album.

Growing bored, Katy almost ignores Mike’s valid statement and addresses Nick. And when should fans be looking for a new album?

Depends how long it takes to cut it. Chris interjects. It doesn’t take us long, but every album is different.

And will this new album have the same feel as the others, or will this one be different? I don’t like the way she says this. It’s like what we’ve produced so far has been shit.

My eyes roll before I can stop them. Look, all our albums have been different. It’s just what inspires us as we’re recording and jamming.

And do you boys have any plans to take some time off? Katy asks, and I’m relieved that she’s finally asking a non-leading question.

I might head off somewhere, but I’m not sure yet. Nick answers honestly. Depends how long it takes to cut the album.

One last question. Katy says, raising her index finger. This ought to be good. She’s never announced her last question before. I’m almost in suspense. The beer and cigarette have calmed me slightly, but I’ll still stop at nothing to tame the bitch if needed. Are any of you in any special relationships? Fans want to know.

That’s rich. I mutter, pretending to wipe my mouth with my hand.

We’re all single. Both Mike and I are the only two who were married. That is public knowledge. Why she’s asking such a stupid question is beyond me, and why she’s framing it like she’s doing our fans a favor is ludicrous. Like she takes polls before conducting interviews. Please.

Nope. Mike purses his lips together. We’re all too busy for relationships.

Somehow, she’s pleased with his response. The satisfied grin on her face is slappable. Thanks, boys. Good luck with the next album. She comments. We rise and shake her hand, good-naturedly. Although I have to stop myself from spitting on my palm first.

The second we walk out the door, I’m shaking my head.

That went well. Nick says blandly.

We head into a room where Tim awaits us. I slam the door in my wake, once all the guys are inside. What the fuck was that! I shout. I don’t ever want to do an interview with that bitch again!

Take it easy, Jimmy. Mike says, raising a hand. It wasn’t that bad.

What happened…did she start asking you questions about Mandy again? Tim asks, almost humored.

She might as well have. I say. Do me a favor and call up Tracy. Tell her to nix any further ET interviews, at least with that douche for brains.

Tim raises a hand. Easy, Jimmy. You know we can’t do that. He exhales. Besides…Tracy quit.

Tracy is our assistant. She works at the recording studio I have at my house. Answering phones, calling in techs, ordering supplies, she does it all. We hired her on Tim’s advice a year ago. Before that we did all that shit. Tracy’s a serious asset, albeit with a slight chip on her shoulder. Any time we didn’t play by the rules, she bristled and would suddenly come down with the flu. Not to mention, the woman never smiled. Nonetheless, I could look the other way when she soured on certain matters, just so I didn’t have to go back to doing all the legwork that she did. What? She fucking quit? Why?

It wasn’t anything personal, man. Tim states. She was working towards her accounting designation. She got it and moved on. I knew that she was looking, I just didn’t say anything. I didn’t want your attention divided.

Well, shit. Mike sputters.

Don’t worry. I put an ad in the paper. Tim advises. I’ve got an interview lined up for tomorrow afternoon. I’ll table it, so you boys don’t have to worry about a thing.

Tomorrow? I’m flabbergasted.

Yeah. We catch a flight out of here in a couple of hours, Jimmy. It’s no problem.

When things move too quickly, my nerves are shot. Sitting down next to Tim, I rake a hand through my hair. I need a break, man. This is the last thing I needed to hear. My point is valid. The recording studio is my turf. The boys can easily walk away from it, but it’s part of my address.

Not to worry, man. Nick says. I’ll camp out in the recording studio until we get this sorted out.

I pat him on the back. Thanks, man. I’m only half impressed. A sinking feeling comes into my gut. Somehow, I feel like the worst is yet to come. And as we’re pulling our shit together, stuffing clothes and gear into suitcases, watching roadies scramble to pack our equipment, the feeling gets worse. Sensing my nerves, Mike orders me a double scotch on the plane ride home.

Mixing beer with scotch is never a good idea, but I digress. The beer buzz has worn off, and I can feel my chest tightening. Tim sits in the seat on the other side of me, nursing a double scotch, too, and I forget that we’re all in this together. As much as I’m feeling anxious, all of us probably are.

So you think this chick you’re interviewing tomorrow is going to fit the bill? I ask.

Assuming it’s a chick. Mike interjects.

Yeah. Her name is Cindy. Tim says after sipping his scotch. She’s actually perfect for the job. She’s got a bunch of experience but isn’t looking for anything too heavy, which is exactly what we want.

Yeah, but is she cool with being there at weird hours some days? I ask.

I didn’t speak with her long on the phone when I set up the interview. Tim explains. But the job description stated that. He downs the rest of his scotch and pats my hand. Don’t sweat it, Jimmy. If she’s not the one I’ve got more resumes to look through.

Does she know that she’s helping out with a band? Mike asks. Tracy was a friend of a friend who was looking for work at the right time. It was never an issue that she would be working for us, but this, this I worry about.

Yeah, I don’t want a fan working for us, you know? That might complicate things. I state.

I think that it’s okay if they like the music. Tim argues good-naturedly. I mean, think about it if it’s someone who can’t stand you guys? That would pose way more of a problem.

He’s got a point there, Jimmy. Mike says.

I trust Tim implicitly. He’s been our manager since day one, and he’s the only one who is physically present for just about everything. That is unheard of in this industry. Managers are usually there when needed and that’s it, but Tim is in a class all his own. Like my brother Ken, Tim is like a permanent fixture in this band. Even Len, our road manager, can’t beat the presence that Tim has. I turn sideways so I can see Len, Chris and Nick in the seats behind us. What do you guys think of hiring a fan to do Tracy’s job? That cool with you?

She a fan? Nick asks.

We don’t know yet, but she may be. Mike answers.

Nick shrugs. I’m cool with it. That would certainly make it easier to bang her. he says flippantly.

I smile but shake my head. None of us would dream of that with Tracy. She’d pound the first one to touch her. I can hear Tim chuckling, covering his face at Nick’s comment. I’ll ship you out a groupie, okay?

Fine. Whatever. Nick waves.

The plane lands and we take a limo, going our separate ways. I give Tim a bear hug before he leaves, as I always do, and the rest of the guys feign jealousy. We end up all giving bear hugs before heading into our airport limos to go home. Ken comes with me, since we share a five thousand square foot abode in Southern California, this after my divorce and building my recording studio, and the setup works for us, so we don’t change it. In the limo on the way home, I catch Ken drifting off to sleep. It’s nearly three o’clock in the morning, but for some reason I’m wide awake. That unsettling feeling still lays in my gut. I can’t shake it. Even with the beer buzz and scotch.

Once we arrive home, Ken hits the hay while I stay up, waiting for our luggage to arrive, and I roll a massive joint, nursing it on my second-floor balcony that overlooks a large green area. With the mellow numbness, I answer the door, accepting our belongings from the road, and attempt to get some sleep. An hour later, I’m still too revved up for shuteye, so I start unpacking my things, and then Ken’s things, and as the sun starts to peak out from the horizon, the anxiety is subdued enough that my eyes finally feel heavy as I sit on the couch, strumming my guitar.

In my sleep, I hear my phone ringing in the background. Can’t figure out if it’s a dream or not, but when I’m awakened a few minutes later by Ken nudging me on the shoulder, I know it was reality. The look on Ken’s face is telling. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong. His skin looks pale and pasty, when he’s usually flushed with energy. Standing in his boxer shorts over me, his face is grave.

What’s going on? I ask, lifting my head off the back of the couch.

For the first time in my life, even after my brother suffered a serious bike accident, painfully breaking his shin through the skin, even after our parents kicked us both out because we refused to go to college or get a job, and even after my brother watched my ex-wife Mandy tear me to pieces with a lawsuit, I watch Ken, the most important person in my life, break down into tears.

He says two words to me that make me understand why I’ve sensed something has been wrong since last night.

…Tim’s dead.

Chapter 2

Cindy

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If somebody told me a year ago that I’d be packing my bags, stuffing everything I own into a small UHaul attached to the back of my Volkswagen, leaving all the shit from my marriage, my shitty job, and starting over in a whole nother city, I would have said they were crazy. But here I am, doing just that. Small caveat here…I’m leaving so I can be closer to my mother, whom I adore and who has waited so many years to have me within walking distance to her.

Mom had a stroke a month ago. Not saying that it had anything to do with the fact that my now estranged husband knocked up some twenty-two-year-old blonde he met at a bar one night when he was drowning his sorrows with his fellow unemployed buddies from work. The plant where he was working was forced to close, which left him out of a job, and unfortunately, out a wife, too. Sure, I was crushed. I always wanted a family. But Jay kept putting it off, citing that we couldn’t afford it yet, even though we had more money than we had when we got married. Something that might have also contributed to mom’s stroke was the fact that my aunt, in a wage against a twenty-year cold war in the family, decided to take my grandfather’s prized WWII medals and sell them to a pawn shop.

All things considered; my mom has put up with a lot of bullshit in the last twenty years. Notwithstanding, I married a man my mother hated, and knew since day one that he wasn’t the one for me. Being twenty, it was more of a rebellion against my parents at the time. In hindsight, I should have run off with the captain of the football team, who I at least would have had a better chance having kids with, since I heard through the grapevine that he has fathered at least five of his own.

The home that I’m moving mom into is a couple of hours away from where I live. There was nothing suitable closer to me, and my mom has a friend who has been living there for years, so I decided that now is the time for change. So, after leaving my marital home, which will be sold in the divorce settlement anyway, I figure choosing a new city is just the thing. This was the lesser of two evils. The other alternative being me taking care of her myself. Thankfully, mom was having none of that. Moving away from mom and dad when Jay and I married was tough, and so returning to my hometown of Malilbu seems like the right thing to do, almost in an effort to turn back time.

What’s also great about this home is that it isn’t just for the convalescing. There are atriums that look after those just released from hospital, those in palliative care, and one is solely for seniors who may or may not require care. It’s almost a DisneyWorld for the aged. The hospital directly across the street from the complex sets my mind at ease. Despite the fact that I’ll be walking distance from mom, it’s nice to know that should she suffer another bout of ill health, help is right next door.

My dad died a long time ago in an industrial accident. Jay and I had only been married for a couple of years then. At that time, I fought with the idea of moving back home to be with mom, but Jay was climbing the ranks at the job that later shut down anyway, a moot point, but it still stings. Being a couple of hours away from mom didn’t really stop me from visiting often. But once she had her stroke, I knew that the distance would be more damaging.

Strangely enough, an old friend from high school, who had also moved away when she got married, is back on our old stomping grounds, too. Only she still has her husband. In fact, his job is what brought them back. Kelly is about as white bread as you can get, and she hasn’t changed since high school. Kelly was the only girl who actually waited until after marriage to sleep with her husband. It boded well for her, which felt like having sand thrown in my eyes after Jay’s escapade with the blonde bimbo the night he got canned. I’ve seen my old pal a couple of times in the past year, and we’ve caught up, so after having learned of mom’s stroke, Kelly’s been a gem checking up on her for me.

I see her car parked in the driveway of my new place as I pull up. It’s a small bungalow; just a rental for now, until my house back in Orange County gets sold. Kelly greets me with open arms. I swear to God the woman wears homespun clothes, even though she’s a knockout. You would think that being a Californian, that she would have way more Botox and silicone, but no, Kelly is long braids and loafers all the way. The woman is gorgeous with flawless skin and naturally straight chestnut hair, straight teeth, a healthy bosom, the works. Me, the only thing that rivals me to her is my height. I’ve got a good three inches on her. Otherwise I’m too skinny, even by Californian standards, and my hair is so stark blonde that my colorist actually has to put a yellow toner in it so I don’t come off albino.

Her shiny white teeth show through plainly when she sees me pull up. We hug tightly and give each other a once-over. God, you look like hell, sister. Kelly says in jest. She always gives me back-handed compliments like that. You look like you’re ready for Rodeo drive…even in a pair of jeans.

Please. I wave. I’ve been driving this rig for the last two hours and my bladder is about to burst. I hope the owners at least cleaned the loo before leaving the keys.

Kelly was kind enough to grab the keys for me, so it would be just a matter of hauling my crap inside and setting the kettle on for tea. The place is fully furnished save for the bibs and bobs I’ve brought from Orange County. I already checked. The place is spotless. Kelly says, jingling the keys in her hand. Let’s get you in there. You go to the john and I’ll start unloading.

We switch keys and I head inside to my new-to-me house, however temporary. It needs a little T.L.C., but with my budget, I can’t complain. Having left my job on a whim after a fallout with my boss, I’m not in a position to shirk a deal when I see one. With the funds that mom has loaned me, I took what I could find in a pinch, and overall, it’s not bad. A little paint, some throw rugs and a good floor polishing, and this place will be not half bad. It’s small, but with just me, that isn’t a problem. There is just one bedroom, one bathroom, a small kitchen with space for a two seater dining table, which they’ve nicely left for me, with one of those pull-down side leaves, in case I want to have company, and a living room area that is big enough for a three seater couch, an end chair, and a small coffee table.

Everything is on the main floor. The owners have told me that there is an attic, but it is for storage only, and they have congregated that space. The single-car garage is empty and there is a small crawlspace under the kitchen, but other than that, what you see is what you get. The cute porch can seat me and Kelly, and the backyard is large enough for the small, kidney-shaped pool, if it were serviceable. Instead, it has a darkened tarp over it, which is covered in old leaves and debris from storms this summer. To my relief, that is one of the reasons why that the rent is so cheap.

You good in there? Kelly calls, slightly winded, bringing in a load of crap from the UHaul.

Fine. They even left me some tp. I grumble. The bathroom is really tiny. The one we had in our family camper was bigger. Looks like I’ll be doing my