Coming For You: The Rock Star's Wife

By K.S. Thomas

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Going on two decades of chart-topping hits and playing his music all over the world, Knox Marley is living the rock star dream. Maybe he hasn't found the right woman, but he's content staying married to his work, convinced his one true love is music.

 

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A divorced mom in her forties, Kenley doesn't have time or energy to waste on any more lying scumbags. She's too busy rebuilding her life, taking care of her family and chasing her dreams to give romance another thought. Well, if one doesn't count the occasional rock star fantasy.

When her best friend shows up to surprise her with concert tickets, Kenley doesn't hesitate to let that fantasy blend with reality. After all, no one ever had their heart broken from going to a concert.

 

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• Language: English
• Publisher: K.S. Thomas
• Release date: Sep 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215829097

K.S. Thomas

Originally born and raised in Bremen, Germany, I currently reside in sunny Florida with my teenage daughter, our coyote, a three-legged roo, and a tamed wolf (AKA, our dogs). I like to think we have a bit of a Gilmore Girls thing going, except my kid is obsessed with dance not books, and I’m (much to my increasing disappointment) appropriately aged to have a teenager.    I love coffee and yoga and the ocean and cooking and asking 'none of my business' questions whenever possible. While I spent my childhood certain I could be a Disney princess, sitting here, surrounded by my crystals, smudge sticks and tarot cards, eager to get out to my garden and walk on the earth in my bare feet and chat with the lizards about not eating my plants, I’m pretty sure I grew up to be the witch. The good sort. And, obviously, I write romance novels. That is, after all, what brought us together. Our love for...well, love. And who can blame us? Love has the power to bring out the best and the worst in us. It can make us strong or be our greatest weakness. It can make us move mountains or make us do some of the dumbest shit in the history of dumb shit. In short, love is entertaining as hell.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

KNOX

Maybe it’s time to quit. Call it a good run, and just get the fuck out.

Matti, my oldest friend and bandmate, looks at me, shaking his head while his fingers still strum lightly over the strings of his bass, giving off just enough sound to drown out the bus’s engine as well as the traffic going by outside. I’m not falling for that shit again.

I smirk. No? Have I said it too often? Too soon since the last time? I take my seat on the sofa beside him, careful not to spill the full cup of coffee I just topped off for the second time this morning. Everyone else (which amounts to two other people – Cass, our band’s drummer and Jason, our lead guitar) is still sleeping in the back, taking advantage of our late arrival time today.

Matti stops playing for a second. You know, I think you have been saying it more often lately. What’s up, man? Starting to fall for your own bluff now?

I laugh. Wouldn’t that be the kicker? Then I shake my head. Nah, just checking in as usual. I bump him shoulder to shoulder. You know me, I’m married to this life. It’s a ‘til death do us part’ arrangement. I’m forty-two. At the rate I’m going, music will be the only lifetime commitment I ever make.

That’s what I thought. He chuckles, guiding his fingers to pick up the same melody from before. Then he sighs, Same for me, brother. Same for me. And I know he means it.

Matti and I are lifers. And it’s not for the glitz and glam of rock star life, both of which seem woefully absent when you spend a hundred and fifty-plus days a year living in a can on wheels, sharing what amounts to an obscenely small one-bedroom apartment with three other people – a vast improvement from when we toured with only one bus and there were twelve of us bunking together. Not to mention the rest of the crew traveling with us, in and out of here at all hours of the day and night, none of which are ever spent in the same place.

I learned way back when, in the early years of playing dive bars and couch surfing, you show up for the music, or you don’t bother showing up at all.

This thing with Emmery still getting to you? he asks when I’ve been sitting beside him staring blankly out the window for too long. I don’t think I’ve even had a sip of coffee since I sat down, just been cradling the mug in my hands this whole time.

I know it’s bullshit. It’s not a real answer. I also know it’s the only answer I’m ready to give, so now seems like an excellent time to start drinking my coffee again.

"It is bullshit, Matti confirms. But that doesn’t mean you’re not buying into it."

Apparently, we’re doing this. For two dudes, sometimes I think we spend too much time talking about our feelings. I blame both of us growing up with too many sisters and their refusal to accept that brothers aren’t equipped with the same communication skills.

I take one more sip before I lower my cup to have this talk. It’s going to be a quick one. "Fine. The fact she’s suddenly going around, a year after we broke up, telling everyone back home that I got her pregnant and abandoned her, even though I did the math a million times over and there was no way I could have been the father if there was ever a baby to begin with, a baby she clearly never gave birth to, is still sitting a little funny." On top of that, her best friend has been trolling all my social media accounts, telling anyone who will listen what a selfish, self-involved ass I am for walking out on a woman who’s stood by me the last seven years. Except, of course, she hasn’t. We were a mess from the get-go, always off and on, and only partly because she couldn’t manage being alone for long anytime I was away. The irony of this was never lost on me, of course. She was cheating. Me, the musician on the road with the groupies and bad reputation to spare, I was faithful.

I blame my sisters for that shit too.

Didn’t matter though how loyal I was. In the end, it was never enough.

And somehow, no matter how unreasonable she was, or how irrationally she lashed out, I can’t help thinking at the root of it all, I was still to blame. Whether I meant to or not, I hurt her.

You know no one believes her, he reminds me.

I do. Growing up in the same small town has its advantages. Despite the image I portray to the rest of the world, back home I’m still the guy who threw the best curve ball nine summers straight at all our pickup games in the field behind the Jeffersons’ barn. The same kid who showed up with my mama at the laundromat every Sunday evening after church from the time I was three straight on through high school, helping everyone fold their linens while I waited on our own loads to get done. And with a family of seven, I had time to fold a lot of towels.

Emmery doesn’t fare so well in terms of memories people have of her. Between her shoplifting escapades in junior high and getting arrested for stealing a cop car while drunk on prom night, it’s easy to see why people might have their doubts about the rumors she’s been trying so desperately to spread about me.

Honestly, I think it bothers me most she’d even want people to think that shit about me, I admit after mentally rehashing it all for the hundredth fucking time.

Matti shrugs. She’s just hurt and lashing out. It’s no different now than it was when we were kids. Only this time, you’re her target.

In high school it was her mother. For getting married again after Emmery’s dad died. He passed away four years before, but Emmery never could forgive her mother for moving on. Truth is, I think it was her father she couldn’t forgive for dying. But there’s not much satisfaction in holding a grudge against someone who’s no longer here.

Guess I should have seen this coming. I sink deeper into the cushions, tapping the side of my mug with the tip of my index finger.

I think you did, Matti points out quietly. You just couldn’t do anything about it. Not now, any more than you could back then.

I nod. I know what he’s saying is true, doesn’t make it any easier to accept. Like I said. It’s all bullshit. Her feeling this way. Her being too broken to see she’s smashing everything in sight, including me. It’s all bullshit.

Matti nods, strumming his strings a little louder. Wanna write a song about it?

The tension in my jaw breaks and I smirk. That does sound like the sort of thing I’d wanna do.

He grins. Music. She makes a solid wife.

She damn sure makes for the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had. I stand up to reach the cubby overhead. A second later I’m sitting again, pad of paper resting on my knee and pencil in hand. Let’s hear what you got.

KENLEY

I’m on autopilot when I check my phone. No one ever calls me. Except for spammers and my kid. I don’t answer for spammers and Sloan is planted on her bed with her laptop working on her Spanish lesson just a few feet down the hall, which is definitely in shouting distance. Especially since our walls are little more than sheets of cardboard thrown up in a hurried renovation effort, our current residence having been built originally to house livestock, not people. Still, despite the lack of soundproofing, the stall-sized rooms and the slanted ceilings fit for a hayloft more than a set of second-story bedrooms, our little renovated barn is cozy and suits our needs. In a way, you might even say, it kind of saved us.

In any event, I’m fully prepared to hit ‘decline’ on what I assume to be an unsolicited call when I’m pulled out of my trance by the unexpected name flashing across my screen.

What’s wrong? I answer, possibly faster than I’ve ever answered my phone ever.

Nothing, Arizona, my best friend and fellow phone phobic, says way too nonchalantly.

Then why the hell are you calling me? Two eternal introverts, we’ve been profoundly grateful for the invention of texting. Before that, we were pen pals. Before that, we lived in the same state, and talking in person was a thing. Now that we live separated by miles and several state lines, I miss that. A lot.

Because, she says dramatically, driving and texting is bad.

And you couldn’t wait to talk to me until you’re not driving? I ask, pushing my chair away from my desk, and around Hannah, my three-legged dog who’s been curled up at my feet, to get up and wander downstairs to my kitchen. Talking to Arizona always makes me crave tortilla chips. I’m sure the fact we met waiting tables at a Mexican restaurant when we were eighteen has nothing to do with it.

No, she says flatly.

This conversation is getting us nowhere. You’re not good at this phone thing.

I know, she admits. I’m not so hot at this driving thing either. Almost went off the road three times trying to hit call. And that’s after I nearly swerved into a semi trying to figure out why my stupid Bluetooth wasn’t working again.

Arizona!

Right. What are you doing tonight?

I stop short of pulling back the pantry door. Well, it’s a Saturday and Ebenezer’s in town for a change. My ex takes so many out-of-state jobs these days, sometimes it’s easy to forget he still resides one town over from us. And Ebenezer’s not really his name. It’s just what we call him. I find it’s easier to deal with his toxic bullshit when I’m having an internal laugh at his expense. So, Sloan will be with him, and I’ll be working.

Wrong.

Not wrong.

Oh, shit! Arizona squeaks as her tires squeal in the background. Okay, it’s all good. It’s all good. No one got hurt. But I might have used the grassy median as a passing lane.

Oh my God, dude! Text me when you’re not driving! I’m yelling because it seems like a yelling moment. Plus, I’m holding the phone at least a foot away from my mouth, so it feels acceptable.

Okay, fine, she finally concedes. Give me, like, twenty minutes.

You can have thirty. Or sixty. Or however many you need to arrive safely.

I’m not sure if she hangs up on me or we get disconnected, either way, the line is dead.

It takes me a moment to shake off the anxiety the last three minutes of my life brought on, but then I remember why I’m standing in front of my pantry. Tortilla chips.

I grab the bag and make a beeline for the fridge, and thus, the salsa, before I scurry back up the stairs and to my office.

Half a bag of chips and re-reading the same paragraph seven times without registering anything later, and my phone dings. I have a text. From Arizona.

I’m here, safe and sound.

I roll my eyes. Apparently, we’re still not getting to the point of this conversation.

So, tell me what you wanted to tell me before you nearly killed yourself trying to drive and talk on the phone at the same time.

I hit send. It only takes a few seconds for her to respond.

I don’t want to text.

Is she fucking kidding me? I take a deep breath and hit call.

Why are you calling me, you psychopath? Arizona laughs. Just come to your door and let me in so we can talk like normal people.

Wait. You’re here?

I literally texted you that.

I try to get up from my chair but wind up stumbling over a dog, a common occurrence when you have three – yes, three! - but all the more challenging when you’re surprised already and trying to move faster than normal.

It takes me all the way across the small room and nearly stepping on dog number two on my way to the doorway before I regain my footing. Then as soon as I’m in the hall, I speed up and run for the stairs. I know you literally texted it; I just didn’t know you literally meant it! I squeal, rounding the corner at the bottom. Then, as I lunge for the handle, dog number three, who’s been napping in front of the door, nearly gets squashed too.

What are you doing here?

Arizona beams back at me the second we’re finally face to face. Her hand flies up unexpectedly, nearly punching me in the eye, waving back and forth two tickets. I’m taking you to go see Knox Marley and The Wilds at The House of Rock, that’s what!

Knox Marley – God of Rock...and men, as far as I’m concerned. What? How? Those tickets sold out two seconds after they went live! I would know, I was online all morning that day trying to get a pair.

Arizona shrugs as she lets herself in, given I’m too in shock to invite her. She’s totally trying to downplay the massively big deal it is that she’s even standing here. And holding two tickets to see Knox. I say, calling him by his first name like I know the man personally. It’s hard not to feel like you do when you’ve read the man’s lyrics.

You remember my cousin Stacie?

I nod. Be hard not to. We all used to work together at the Mexican place. Unlike Arizona, she still lives in face-to-face talking distance to me. Not that we take advantage of that. We never were all that close even back then.

"Well, she landed the tickets through work...but then had to, you know, work. She grins. So, she was kind enough to pass them along. And I was kind enough to drive my happy ass across two state lines to share them with you."

We stare at each other for several seconds while she waits for all her news to sink into my brain. There’s a lot of shit going on in there, so it takes several long moments for this new information to sift through and stick in the right places.

When it does, I practically explode into a giggling happy dance fit for a teenager. Not the teenager’s mother. Thankfully, Arizona is right there with me which lowers the blow a bit when my actual teen shows up in our midst, grimacing at the spectacle we’re making. Brinna, the furball I nearly squashed trying to open the door, looks equally unimpressed.

"What are you two doing? I was on the phone with Lena and even she could hear you two. Up the stairs. And through my headphones." Sloan stands at the bottom of the stairs, arm still curled around the railing, a curious mockery dancing in her eyes. (Something I’ve seen there a lot as of late. I’m sure it has nothing to do with her being fourteen now.)

We’re going to see Knox Marley! Arizona and I both announce in a sing-song way, still happily hopping around my foyer.

Oh. Sloan rolls her eyes. That old guy you like. Then she grins. Maybe because she just remembered that old guy is only one year older than me. I’m just kidding, that’s awesome! Her gaze subtly sweeps past us to the open door and the driveway and open road beyond, probably wondering if anyone else has been able to witness our display. A little tip? she offers as we start to calm down and I remember to close the front door.

Sure. The occasional teenage ‘tude aside, my kid and I are solid. I’ll take her tip, even if it’s likely to come out as a burn at my expense.

"Maybe don’t do any of this when you’re at the concert. Or, even within a few miles. Really anywhere beyond this house where Knox Marley could possibly see you, don’t do any of this." She gestures at our hopping and dancing.

Why? Arizona asks, sounding somewhat offended as we start to make our way toward her. You don’t know. Maybe he would appreciate our youthful enthusiasm.

I’m pretty sure the only youthful enthusiasm rock stars are interested in is a set of perky boobs, and all that jumping about isn’t conveying that particular message, Sloan says dryly.

Wow. I’ve raised a monster. A snarky one. Whose humor I have no choice but to appreciate.

I know. Arizona cups both boobs with her hands. Why you gotta drag the girls into this? I’m forty years old. Do you know what they’ve been through? Show them some kindness, man.

Sloan laughs. Meanwhile, can you let your girls go a sec so I can give you a proper hug hello?

Arizona doesn’t need to be told twice. In a flash, she’s grabbed my child by the wrist and dragged her over from the stairs to smother her with auntie love. I feel like you’ve gotten taller in the last five months. Have you gotten taller? We have a deal, man. You’re supposed to stay shorter than me. Right now, I kinda feel like you’re going to let me down and stab me in the back with your height.

Sloan unravels herself from her aunt’s enthusiastic embrace. You do realize growth occurs involuntarily in children, yes?

Arizona sighs and looks at me. She’s getting smarter with her height. Back when we made the deal, she fully believed she could control staying small. She shakes her head, rolling her bottom lip out in disappointment. I miss that.

Which reminds me. Speaking of getting smarter, how close are you to being done with the math you put off all week but promised you’d have done before you leave? Your dad’s going to be here to pick you up in less than two hours and now that Arizona’s here, I think we should run out and grab lunch at Mesa’s before you go.

Lena was helping me, so I just have three problems left to finish. I’ll be fast, she calls out, already running up the stairs to get back to her room and her laptop. Nothing like lunch with her favorite aunt and mama at the best farm-to-table place in town to motivate her to finally finish up the schoolwork she spent all week trying to avoid.

How’s that working out by the way? Teaching math? What is she learning now, algebra? Arizona says under her breath as we make our way further into the house. A second later, a thunderous round of barking ensues thanks to the two dogs upstairs who only just noticed we have company. Senior hearing is getting more apparent all the time. Senior barking isn’t a thing though, so we get to hear their eager greeting all through our little house until they physically reach Arizona and make the switch to sniffing and slobbering.

I wait until the greetings subside to answer her questions about math. Found an online program so I don’t have to teach it. I’ve loved homeschooling my kid every step of the way. Until Algebra. I’m a writer. I make my living with a hippy-dippy lifestyle blog. Words are my thing. Numbers, not so much.

Handy.

It is, I agree, gesturing for her to pick her spot on the sofa while I plop down into the oversized chair in the corner, semi-across from her. Same program offers all the sciences as well. My other educational nemesis. Give me social studies. Language arts. All the histories. I’m totally there for it. But this big bang theory nerd stuff, regrettably, not my area. But back to more important matters.

Knox Marley?

Knox Marley. I grin just saying his damn name. What’s the plan?

Well, Arizona starts, like she’s about to share a secret mission with me, They open the doors at seven. Opening act takes the stage at eight, but the real show won’t start until nine.

Do we not care for the opening act? In all my disappointment over missing my chance to buy tickets, I never thought to look who it was.

Oh, no, we do. She nods, eyes flashing wide with excitement. We really do. Which is why we’re going to be there at six. To meet my cousin’s boss Tara, who scored her the tickets because her boyfriend is a manager at The House of Rock and has agreed to sneak us in during soundcheck, before they open the doors to everyone else.

Shut. Up.

Her eyes grow wider. I don’t think she’s blinked since she started talking about this. I know!

This is insane, I mumble, as my reality merges with longstanding fantasy. I’m not the sort to fangirl over anyone. Food, that’ll make me fangirl. A really great vegan pizza. An out of this world chocolate cake. I’m there for it, but rock stars, or celebrities of any sort, don’t tend to do it for me that way. Maybe because I met plenty of them in my bartending days pre-Sloan, and at the end of the day, they’re just fucking people. Some of them not even nice ones.

But Knox Marley is different. His words and his voice were with me during some of the hardest times of my life. In my heart, he feels like a familiar friend to me, even when my brain is busy screaming ‘he’s a stranger, you delusional dumbass!’.  I can’t believe I’m going to hear Knox Marley live. You know he still does all his own soundchecks?

Arizona nods. I do know that. She smirks. I also know Trip Three does theirs as well. And that’s the opening act starting the show. She wiggles her brows suggestively. I think we both know I’m drinking tonight.

Plan on making a move, huh? That’s the only reason she’d be referring to making use of liquid courage while doing her sexy brow dance.

You know it. She stretches out into the cushions. I’ve decided my bad luck with men ends tonight. All the bad blind dates of the last two years will be totally worth it if I take home one of the Trip Three boys.

Home is a seven-hour drive away, I point out what may become a hiccup down the road.

I know. She flashes a Cheshire cat smile. After seven hours in the car with me, I figure I’ll have him hooked for good.

"Or you’ll have killed him, and yourself, given your skills behind the wheel. And the fact that you’re planning to use alcohol to summon the nerve to talk to him."

She shrugs. Either way, we’ll be together.

Then she laughs. We both do.

I’ve missed you.

Same.

We sit quietly for a moment, the adrenaline of her big news finally wearing off.

Thank you, I tell her when I know the moment is serious enough for it to stick. I know you’re really doing all of this for me and not to have your soul eternally entangled with a member of Trip Three.

She smirks. That wouldn’t be a bad bonus though.

I’m sure it wouldn’t. Any more than it would hurt my feelings to wind up entangled with Knox Marley.

Not that it would ever happen.

Right?

CHAPTER TWO

KNOX

There’s a hiking trail about twenty minutes from here. Anyone wanna come and check it out? I ask, standing in the open doorway of the tour bus. We got here earlier than expected, and I don’t intend to waste this gift of time on sitting around. I get plenty of that while we’re driving.

Jason and I wanna come, Cass calls out from somewhere in the back.

No, I don’t, Jason mutters, leaning against the fridge, eating a sandwich I’m pretty sure was Matti’s.

Cass comes marching out, clearly having heard him. Well, you’re going anyway. Put on some shoes.

He shoots her a dirty look but pushes off the fridge and heads for the back, I’m guessing to do as instructed.

How come you’re so bossy today? I watch her standing there, tapping her foot impatiently.

I’m not being bossy. We’re just fighting, she informs me, still staring after Jason who’s taking an unusually long time to put shoes on his feet.

Um, maybe I want to revoke my invite, I joke. Mostly for Matti’s sake. I sold him on it first. I used words like ‘peaceful’ and ‘grounding’.

She flicks her wrist, dismissing my concerns. Oh, we’re not actually going hiking with you. We’re just going so I can find an isolated place in the woods to yell at him.

I glance in Jason’s direction. He’s taking his sweet ass time in there.

You’re not going to kill him though, right? You’re going for the privacy, not the lack of witnesses and ample body burying opportunities, I try to get her to lighten up a bit before we all pile into a car together. Because I don’t think we’ll sound our best if we’re missing our lead guitar tonight.

You play guitar just fine, she counters. We could easily perform without him.

Finally, Jason makes it back out to the front of the bus.

I don’t know whether to laugh at him or warn him. Good God, man. What did you do to piss off your woman?

He just shrugs and steps past her to go outside. Apparently, forgetting that we kissed for the first time when we played The House of Rock here two years ago, makes me an asshole.

It does, Cassady confirms loudly, stomping her way out after him, leaving me to follow both of them out, if at a safe distance.

In my defense, though, the way he’s got his arms spread wide as he says it, he looks more like he’s surrendering, "I didn’t know what city we were in or which venue we were playing tonight until after you were