Right Here

By Dakota Rebel

He thinks he's broken and that somehow makes him unworthy of love. But jokes on him because I'm broken, too. Maybe not in the same way, maybe with different addictions and mental illnesses, but that doesn't mean that our jagged edges don't fit together like some hideous puzzle.

 

And I'll be right here, watching him self-destruct and helping him pick up the pieces, whether he wants me to or not.

 

Because that's what love is.

 

If you enjoy standalone MM rock star romances with angst, self-destructive heroes, and a hard fought but guaranteed happily ever after, you're going to go bananas for Right Here.

 

Buy your copy of Right Here and get your ugly-cry on today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dakota Rebel
• Release date: Jan 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224463374

Book preview

Right Here

By Dakota Rebel

Supernova Indie Publishing Services, LLC

Right Here

by

Dakota Rebel

He thinks he’s broken and that somehow makes him unworthy of love. But jokes on him because I’m broken, too. Maybe not in the same way, maybe with different addictions and mental illnesses, but that doesn’t mean that our jagged edges don’t fit together like some hideous puzzle.

And I’ll be right here, watching him self-destruct and helping him pick up the pieces, whether he wants me to or not.

Because that’s what love is.

If you enjoy standalone MM rock star romances with angst, self-destructive heroes, and a hard fought but guaranteed happily ever after, you’re going to go bananas for Right Here.

Buy your copy of Right Here and get your ugly-cry on today.

Copyright

© 2024, Dakota Rebel

Right Here

Published by: Supernova Indie Publishing Services, LLC

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

Right Here Playlist

The Perfect Drug – Nine Inch Nails

We Don’t Have to Dance – Andy Black

The Drug in Me is You – Falling in Reverse

Nowhere To Go – Bad Omens

Duality – Slipknot

Alkaline – Sleep Token

Superhero – Kim Dracula

Not Good Enough For Truth in Cliché – Escape the Fate

Blue Monday - Orgy

Chapter One

~ Jordan Ricci ~

Why are you doing this now? I asked, not actually caring about the answer, but feeling like this was something a normal guy would ask when getting dumped over the phone on Valentine’s Day.

Because you’re a goddamned disaster, Mark snapped. I can’t keep doing this, Jordan. You need saving all the fucking time.

I have never once asked you to save me. I was too tired to argue with him anymore. Fine, we’re done. Great. You can just throw out anything I left at the apartment. I won’t be back.

This is what I’m talking about! I heard a loud crash through the receiver, a sure sign that he’d just punched a wall. I wondered for a moment if he broke something, then decided I wasn’t really concerned about it. It was his security deposit. You don’t care. About anything. Not me, not your stuff, not even yourself. You’re like a fucking zombie. I can’t live like this.

No one is asking you to, I answered, glancing over at the digital clock on the nightstand. Are you done? I have to get ready for the show tonight. You’re right, I don’t care. Seriously, just burn my stuff. Maybe it will make you feel better.

I disconnected without waiting for his reply. I suppose a healthy person would have been more upset about the loss of their high school sweetheart…or whatever the hell Mark was to me. But Mark Bennett was just an asshole. He knew going into this relationship…if you can call it that…knowing that I have issues, but he stuck around and always acted like he wanted some kind of credit for being a knight in shining armor. Too bad he was more often than not just a village idiot in tin foil.

We’d met my senior year, once I’d been allowed to return to high school. I’d spent the previous six months in a psychiatric ward and after being released had been doing my best to act like a nice, normal teenager. So, when he’d asked me out, I’d agreed, trying to prove to my mother that I could function in society. I didn’t really like him, but he hadn’t been terrible, so I’d let the relationship continue. He followed me to college, we’d rented an apartment together, and I’d pretty much just existed next to him through our entire seven-year relationship.

Looking around the hotel room I’d rented for us, I tried to feel sad. Tried to cry for the breakup that had just taken place. But I couldn’t. For a moment I wondered if I’d forgotten to take my cocktail that morning, but no, I definitely took it.

Lurasidone, Lithium, Fluoxetine, and Diazepam. Like conversation hearts for a manic-depressive soul. I remembered because, even though I’m technically not supposed to drink while on my medication, since it was a holiday, I’d washed them all down with a couple of mimosas.

I thought the vitamin C might be good for me. No one wants scurvy on Valentine’s day.

I’d actually been pretty good about staying on my meds and off the alcohol for the last year. Ever since my mom’s Alzheimer’s had progressed and my brother and I had put her in a nursing home, I thought I should try to keep my shit together. If only for their sakes. And because of that, I hadn’t had a manic episode in months. Apparently, those doctors were right, if I treat the problem, it actually starts to get better. Who knew?

I glanced at the clock and groaned. It was already seven p.m. The concert I was covering for the online magazine I work for started at nine. I still had to clean up and get changed before I headed out. Originally, Mark the tool was supposed to go with me, and we’d stay at the hotel doing couple shit for Valentine’s before I left to follow the band, Daly Grind, on their Midwest tour.

Now, it looked as if I’d be flying solo. So, the night was looking up. It was actually a relief to know that I could stop pretending to be this bullshit happy twosome for the sake of other people. And since my mother barely remembered who I was, I doubted she’d care much that I couldn’t actually function in normal society.

I stripped out of my clothes, took off the wrist cuffs I wore to cover the worst of my visible scarring and dropped them on the bed then headed in to take a bath. Not the manliest of coping skills, but who the fuck did I have to impress?

On the way past the mini bar, I snagged a couple little bottles of vodka and took them with me into the bathroom along with my phone. I figured a couple more drinks weren’t going to hurt anything.

The absolute best thing about hotels is the amount of hot water available at any given time. Steam billowed over the tub as I filled it as hot as I could stand. When it was full I sank into the water, my skin instantly turning pink. Maybe it was a little too warm, but it felt so good, and it would cool soon enough. I unscrewed the cap from one of the Grey Goose bottles and started the music app on my phone before relaxing back against the porcelain.

As the opening notes of Daly Grind’s new album filled the air, I closed my eyes and took a swift pull from the bottle. The band was a new discovery and were poised to blow up any day now. An Irish indie-pop import, their sound was different enough to rise above the noise of every other hipster anthem put out by twenty-something pretty boys. They were catchy, but they were genuinely good. When I heard they were coming to the U.S. for a Midwest tour I’d demanded my editor, Melanie, at New Rock First Magazine let me do a feature on them, and she’d agreed.

One of the few things I was able to take pride in was discovering music talent. In fact, I was practically renowned for it. My publisher loved me, other publishers tried their damnedest to steal me, and bands begged me to come to their shows, sending me endless singles and demos that I’d never have enough time to listen to. My job was the one bright spot in an otherwise robotic existence.

The best part about Daly Grind, was that I’d discovered them organically. They’d never once contacted me or my magazine. I’d been listening to a college radio station and heard one of their songs and I just…knew. They were the real deal. So, I’d snatched up both of their albums and listened to them non-stop for weeks. I devoured every bit of information I could find about them, which wasn’t that much. When they announced their Midwest tour I’d contacted their manager, Rhys Manchester and secured an exclusive with the band.

The tour kicked off in Detroit then moved through Ohio and Illinois before finishing up in Grand Rapids. The plan was that I would follow them around, talk with the band and the fans, get an overview of their writing style, their relationship, then write an article that should catapult them to the forefront of the music conversation.

It helped that all three of the band members were handsome and straight out of Ireland, my God those accents. The girls would go nuts for them and the guys would want to be like them. I wasn’t sure how the band felt about the exclusive, I hadn’t had a chance to talk to them directly, but their manager had assured me they were excited.

I started to sing along with one of my favorite tracks on the newest album. A sad, soulful song about unrequited love. The lead singer, Daly McLaughlin, had a deep, raspy tone when he sang, like an aging chain smoker with a microphone. It gave the words even more power as they washed over me. Yeah, these guys were going to blow up, big time.

The water started to get cold by time the booze was gone so I climbed out of the tub, wrapped the hotel robe around myself and continued to sing along as I walked out of the bathroom.

From the hallway, I could hear another voice singing, too. I looked out the peephole and couldn’t see anyone, but there was definitely a voice on the other side of the door, flawlessly keeping up with the lyrics playing through my phone.

I opened the door and jumped back when a body fell through backward. He must have been sitting against the door singing. I looked down to see the impossibly gorgeous face of Daly McLaughlin staring up at me.

Hello there, he said, his deep baritone voice washing through me and causing me to shiver a little. Nice robe.

I looked up to see his bandmates, Brian and Quinn Dillon, sitting on the floor across the hallway. The brothers were laughing their asses off.

Hi, I said dumbly, not really sure how to react. Can I help you?

Nah, Daly said as he climbed to his feet. "We were just headed past your room on our way to the show and heard you