The Blue Guitar Pick: A Second Chance Rockstar Romance (Fire and Ice, Book 1)

By Tracy Caple

On "The Best Rockstar Romance" list on Goodreads!

She came to him starry eyed and innocent. He left her in ruins...

Set against the electric backdrop of 1980s rock and roll, a young and naïve Emily Montgomery is swept away by the allure of bad boy guitarist, Ryan Clark, from the band Fire and Ice. Their friendship, which was sparked by him plucking her from the crowd at one of his concerts, quickly spirals into a whirlwind of infatuation and deceit.

Separated by Ryan's demanding tour schedule and haunted by his questionable past, a heartbroken Emily attempts to move on. But sixteen years later, her blossoming career as a photographer brings her face to face with the man she loved all those years ago, triggering a cascade of old wounds and unresolved emotions.

As they embark on a journey of redemption and self-discovery, they must learn to overcome their tumultuous history and build a lasting bond...

Or their relationship will succumb to the rock-and-roll ghosts of their past.

The Blue Guitar Pick is a rockstar romance roller coaster ride of love, loss, and the power of second chances that is perfect for fans of Kylie Scott and Taylor Jenkins Reid.

*This book can be read as a standalone*

"I felt all the emotions. This story is heartbreaking, loving and will leave you with feeling you came off the biggest roller coaster ride ever. I want to read more." -Madison, Goodreads

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foundations Books Publishing Company
• Release date: May 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224327676

Book preview

Part One

ONE

September 1985

Emily struggled for air. They might have been out of the hot sun where they’d queued for much of the day, but the ten thousand sweaty fans now piled in behind them sucked all the oxygen from the immense covered stadium.

I don’t understand why you wanted to arrive so early, Matthew said, a fine bead of sweat glistening on his upper lip.

"So we could get here. In the front row," Emily replied.

We would’ve seen them better if you’d let me buy tickets in the tiers. Matthew pointed to the seats above. Then we would’ve been able to sit down and not be jammed up against this railing.

Emily turned to the stage. No, this is perfect, she said. We’re so close, we might even get to touch them.

Oh my god, you’re so obsessed. Matthew rolled his eyes. Don’t complain to me if you need to use the restroom and can’t get back through the crowd.

Spinning around on the spot, Emily stared through the masses, moving as one, like a tsunami. Thousands of devoted teenage fans with raging hormones crammed the auditorium, a mix of pot-smoking hard rock guys dressed in black jeans and T-shirts, young men there for their love of the music—and the chicks they could score—and finally, girls like Emily, there to be seen, preferably by the band.

Further back, the upper levels overflowed, as the patrons hurried to their chairs in anticipation of the main act. Emily thought it would be dizzying sitting up in the nosebleeds, in the cheap seats. She'd much rather be down at ground level, despite being crushed into the guard rail.

At exactly 8:30 p.m., the house lights flickered and dimmed, shrouding the arena in darkness. Screams of sheer delight bounced off the ceiling and the fans, in their excitement, began encouraging Fire and Ice to begin. From where Emily and Matthew stood, they could see movement to the side of the stage.

Look!? She pointed to a dim light glowing in the wings, watching the dust particles float in the air stirred up by the sudden backstage activity.

Matthew's mouth moved in reply, but Emily couldn’t hear him over the shrieks and cheers, some of which came from her, yelling her support of the band she desperately wanted to see.

Feedback screeched from the gravity-defying tower of speakers surrounding the stage as they burst into life. The audience surged forward, pinning her tighter against the security fence with their sticky, musky bodies, but Emily remained unfazed. Any second now, Fire and Ice would be on stage.

Dry ice vapors snaked along the stage floor, stinging her nostrils and making her eyes water. As it compounded into a dense fog, Fire and Ice exploded onto the stage, diving straight into their first song. At full volume, the music she loved assaulted her eardrums, her bones vibrating from the drumbeat. For Emily Montgomery, this was heaven.

Fire and Ice were in the middle of their first American tour, supporting the US release of their self-titled second album. They were fast becoming the hottest act out of the United Kingdom and the hysteria surrounding them was comparable to Beatlemania.

Tonight, they were performing in Rhode Island. As a native of central New York, Emily would be spending the night with her cousin Matthew, who lived closer to the venue. All her senses hummed, overloaded as she experienced the thrill of a concert for the first time.

For ninety minutes, her mind and body absorbed the many different sights, sounds, and smells of a rock concert. The blaze of lights dazzling the stage, the smoky taste of the dry ice, the thudding bass and deafening music, and the vision of her idol strutting around. Goosebumps prickled her skin every time Adam Hughes stepped on the stage near her. He sounded exactly like their record. Raspy, loud, and gritty.

Staring unashamedly up at Fire and Ice’s lead singer, Emily prayed for him to notice her, pull her on stage and declare his undying love, like in the Bruce Springsteen video. He looked so handsome, with his shaggy mane of dirty blonde hair and ripped jeans. Her head spun at the sight of him.

After singing Not Beaten, Adam disappeared behind a curtain, allowing one of the guitarists to perform solo.

Isn’t Adam awesome! Matthew screamed. It truly sucks when he’s not on stage.

He’s resting his voice! Giving the others a turn in the spotlight! The lead guitarist, Ryan, launched into his routine, his wailing guitar drowning out her words.

Matthew, unable to hear her, smiled and nodded. Caught up in the music, he bobbed his head, fingers wiggling as he played air guitar across his chest.

Illuminated by a solitary spotlight, Ryan swaggered all over the stage. The crowd went ballistic, cheering and calling his name, worshipping their Rock God.

With Ryan glowing under the hot white light, the rest of the stage lay in darkness. From her vantage point, crammed at the front, Emily caught a glimpse of torchlight. To the right of the drum riser, Adam’s silhouette came into view, ready to grace the stage one last time. Girls surrounding Emily also saw him and started to scream, their arms outstretched, eager for his return.

Ryan's guitar solo built up to its grand finale. Ending his unaccompanied act, he lay on the edge of the stage, guitar resting on his bare stomach, but Emily didn’t care about him. Adam took her full attention.

Focused on Adam, Emily only became aware of Ryan standing directly in front of them when Matthew bumped against her, straining across the guard rail for a high five or a handshake. Emily laughed when Ryan ignored Matthew’s extended arm. The guitarist hopped off the stage and approached the fence, disregarding the over-enthusiastic girls groping at him and the hulking security guard struggling to hold them back. With his guitar hanging lazily off one shoulder, perspiration dripping from his body, and sweat saturating his hair, he stopped in front of Emily. Demanding attention, he reached out and took her hand. His skin pressed against hers and she could feel her hand burning at the touch. Through her dark eyelashes, she looked up at him, a flush coloring her cheeks, as he placed something in the palm of her hand.

Ryan closed his fingers around hers and bent closer to yell in her ear. Stage Door Five, no later than thirty minutes after the show, he said, turning and bounding back up onto the stage.

Emily unfurled her trembling fingers. Ryan’s blue guitar pick lay cradled in her palm, his signature on one side and Fire and Ice’s logo on the reverse. She stared at her open hand, so focused that all the sights and sounds faded into a blur around her. Unaware Fire and Ice were beginning their next song, Adam's falsetto sifting through the speakers, she began to process what had just happened.

Cursing close by, Matthew jolted her from her daydream. Get away from her! Fuck off!

Emily's neck jerked back and she cried out as pain stabbed at her scalp. People yanked her hair and others grabbed at her, their fingernails cutting into her bare arms. Someone else snatched at the shoulder strap of her bag and she pulled back with all the force she could rally.

What’s wrong with these people? Emily huddled closer to Matthew.

They want whatever he gave you. Matthew moved to block another jealous fan from getting too close.

Stuffing the guitar plectrum into the front pocket of her skin-tight jeans, Emily wedged herself between Matthew and the barriers. She willed her body to move to the rhythm of the drum beat, but her mind raced. Ryan’s invitation occupied her thoughts. Why did he invite her backstage, and if she went, would she meet Adam? The final few songs blurred into one.

The stadium emptied rapidly when Fire and Ice finished their encore. Streams of people trampled through the exits, making their way home after an epic night. Matthew and Emily dropped into the melee until they reached the foyer.

Emily placed a hand on her cousin’s arm and showed him the guitar pick. He asked me to go backstage. She glanced around to make sure no one was listening.

Matthew pulled her behind a concrete pillar supporting the towering ceiling. So, what are you going to do? Cool night air rushed around their feet through the open stadium doors.

She shrugged. What do you think I should do?

Mom will kill me if I go home without you. Matthew was stating the obvious. Emily’s aunt would be livid if Matthew came home alone. She’d also be furious with Emily and tell her mother.

If I go, I won't be late. I promise. Even Emily knew that at seventeen, she shouldn't be wandering around by herself at night.

Yeah, right. If you go back with them, you’ll be out all night, especially with what they'll have planned. Matthew gave a small smirk.

Planned? What do you mean? Emily faltered, her brows knitting.

Matthew's grin turned to a frown. Are you kidding me, Emily? You seriously don't know?

She shook her head.

Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, baby! He threw his hands up.

Emily glanced at her watch. With fifteen minutes to make Ryan's deadline, she would have to decide now.

Em, it's up to you. You know I'll cover for you at home. He placed a caring hand on her shoulder. But promise me you'll be careful and get your ass out of there the minute you feel uncomfortable.

Emily nodded and promised to stay safe. Thanks for putting your neck on the line for me.

That’s okay. You’d do the same.

Would I? Emily slapped his shoulder.

You’d better. He reached for his wallet. Got enough money for a cab home?

Yeah, I do. I should go.

Bidding her cousin goodbye, she ducked into the closest restroom to freshen up.

Checking her reflection in the dirty, cracked mirror, Emily scrunched at her permed, heavily bleached hair, making sure each spiral hung in place. She reapplied her lipstick, smothering a thick gloss coating over the top, and redid the kohl outlining her eyes. Pulling her oversized shirt off one shoulder to expose a lace bra strap, Emily checked her reflection one last time. Her stomach somersaulted, churning up nerves and excitement thinking about what Matthew said earlier. For better or worse, nothing would stop her from meeting the band.

You only live once, right? she asked the girl staring back at her in the mirror. What’s the worst thing they could do?

Getting directions more than once, Emily located Stage Door Five with a few moments to spare. A beefy security guard stood blocking the path of anyone who tried to enter.

Got your pass? His manner was abrupt, intimidating, and gruff.

All I have is this. Her unsteady hand pulled the blue pick from her pocket.

That's all you need. He wiggled his finger to encourage her to follow him through the door. His eyes ogled her, tracing her body. You're one lucky young lady, being chosen like this. Ryan's a bit picky when it comes to his girls. The guard gave her a leering smile.

Emily smiled back but didn't reply, unsure of the meaning of his girls. Was it some kind of inside joke, or something more sinister?

As she followed the security man through a maze of corridors, they came to a closed gray door. Now that she was alone in the passage with a complete stranger, Emily’s heart thudded in her chest. The door had no distinguishing marks. Where was the gold star? Isn’t that how TV shows and movies always depicted a celebrity dressing room? Emily glanced up and down the corridor, looking for a means of escape if this man tried to isolate her further, using his position of power to his advantage.

The guard knocked. Then speaking into his walkie-talkie, he unlocked the door and swung it open. Another heavy-set bloke, who looked like the first guard’s twin, towered inside the entrance.

Laughter spilled from the yawning room along with a pungent stench of sweat, cigarette smoke, and alcohol that made Emily’s nostrils tingle.

Security guard one spoke to her. Show him your pick.

Emily followed their instructions, producing it yet again.

Security guard two stood aside, giving her permission to pass. Great, come on in. The more, the merrier.

Crossing that threshold into the unfamiliar rock-and-roll world revealed a fantasy land far removed from Emily’s sheltered life. Bass-heavy music flooded her ears. The room overflowed with people, both men and women, all in celebratory mode. Everyone held a drink in their hands, the majority smoking cigarettes as well. The women were in varying stages of undress, with more than a few topless.

A knot formed in her gut and she turned back to the door she'd been ushered through.

Go…go… the guard said, waving her along. Go have a good time, missy. He disappeared from view as the throng swallowed her.

Hesitant about what to do next, Emily ambled through the dancing, drinking, smoking horde of people, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone. But, when she caught her first glimpse of the Fire and Ice band members, all the other strangers in the room no longer mattered.

Paul, their drummer, sat stationary in a swell of shifting bodies, perched on a bar stool, being lavished with attention from a girl roughly Emily's age. Half undressed, she stood between his knees. With one hand, he played with her hair, the other hand up her skirt. Paul whispered in her ear, and she threw her head back in untamed laughter.

With his shock of white-blond hair, cigarette balanced on his lip, Chris, the rhythm guitarist, surrounded himself with a cluster of young girls. Between puffs of his smoke, he drank, sharing a bottle of dark brown, muddy liquid with the girls around him.

A warm hand touched Emily's shoulder, and she jumped, recoiling a little.

Hey, you finally showed up.

She turned to see Ryan behind her, his smile full of confidence. He took her hand and asked, What's your name?

Em…Emily, she responded, her quiet voice lost in the noise of the room.

Pleased to meet you, babe. Follow me. Ryan led her through the party, often stopping to speak to numerous revelers. Girls threw themselves over him as they passed by, and guys slapped his back, telling him how fantastic and talented he was.

Ryan gripped her hand tighter, and some of the tension Emily carried evaporated. The women occupying the room didn't appear friendly. They all glared at her fingers interlocked with his.

Eager to please, Emily blindly followed him. Was he taking her to Adam, as she hoped? Or taking her somewhere to become one of his girls? Resisting a little, she still trailed along, Ryan tugging on her arm in encouragement.

Grab a seat. Ryan pointed to a scruffy sofa in a quieter corner of the room. Can I get you something to drink?

Emily's tongue thickened, sticking to the roof of her mouth, which was as dry as a sandbox. Yes please, she managed to get out.

What's your poison? he asked, tilting a giant glass tumbler at her.

She balanced on the edge of the moldy-smelling couch.

W-whatever you're h-having is fine, I…I don't care, she jittered, not caring what she drank, but also not wanting to appear fussy. Emily didn’t want to upset anyone.

Sitting next to her, Ryan handed her a glass half as big as her face. Emily's first sip confirmed the rum outweighed the cola. The sweet alcohol stung her eyes, and she made a mental note to battle her jangling nerves without alcoholic assistance. She wouldn't have been able to chug this drink anyway, only ever having taken small sips of wine in the past.

Twenty-five-year-old Ryan had blue eyes and sandy-blond hair that skimmed his collar. At about five foot seven, he was a little taller than Emily. He no longer wore his stage clothes; now plain Levi's and a greenish shirt. Buttoned only to his navel, it left his chest exposed. He appeared comfortable in this environment, unlike Emily, whose eyes darted back and forth over everything and everyone in the room, including Ryan.

That should relax you. He gestured to her drink. Though I’ve got something stronger if you prefer. From the pocket of his jeans, he produced a small plastic bag containing several tiny pink pills.

No, I think this will be enough. Emily politely nudged the bag away, and Ryan dropped it on the floor. He still smiled at her and once again took her hand. His warm and clammy palm covered hers, and she could feel the rough calluses on his fingers from plucking the guitar strings.

Stay cool. Breathe, chill out, and let's have some fun.

A heaviness coiled through Emily’s chest, and her innocent eyes widened into round orbs of blue and black, her pupils dilating.

Oh, no. Look, I don't…er...maybe… Random words tumbled out of her mouth. Adam—sorry, Ryan…there’s been a mistake. She could hear she made no sense.

Emily…It's Emily, right? Ryan held up his hand to stop her. Calm down. He spoke in an even, warm tone. Nothing will happen unless you want it to. We can just talk if you want.

Emily sat up straight and tilted her head. I—I'd like that, she stammered, allowing her hand to stay enfolded in his. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, and Matthew’s comments rattling around in her brain had made her jump to all the wrong conclusions.

So, tell me a bit about yourself. Ryan leaned back, looking ready to listen.

Umm, well, there’s not much to tell.

Sure there is. Tell me about Emily.

Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in, Emily fiddled with the leather bracelet around her wrist, picking at the knot. I live in Manhattan and came to the concert with my cousin who lives here, in Rhode Island. My friends went to your New York show, but none of Matthew’s friends wanted to go with him, so I did.

Ryan nodded. What do you do in Manhattan?

Umm, I’m still in school. She bit her lip, fearing alienating him the minute he discovered she was a schoolgirl.

Cool! Ryan said with much enthusiasm. I dropped out of school to join the band. I might regret that decision one day and don’t recommend it for everyone, but so far, it seems to be working out.

For the next half hour or so, Ryan, a natural chatterbox, engaged Emily, talking about the tour, album sales, and the next single to be released. She struggled at times with some of the terms he used but hoped her confusion didn’t show. Stealing quick glances around the room, Emily looked for Adam. She worried why Ryan tried so hard to put her at ease. Was he so professional, he knew exactly what kind of talk kept the fans enthralled? Or was it part of a well-rehearsed ruse? A skillful act to make nervous girls comfortable before making his move?

The whole time they talked, Ryan held and stroked Emily’s hand. The hypnotic motion relaxed her in this alien world, although the seat they were on left a lot to be desired. Ryan continually drained and refilled his glass, offering to top hers up every time, which she declined. Emily, however, did drink some of the warming elixir, and as it burned her esophagus, a mellow tranquillity settled over her. She wasn’t drunk, just more carefree, but it amazed her that Ryan remained lucid with the amount he'd consumed.

With a bit of alcohol-fuelled courage and Ryan's frequent reassurances and probing questions, Emily loosened up enough to converse and after a while, talking to Ryan felt like spending time with an old friend. They clicked. Emily’s breathing returned to normal and she began to enjoy the company of this man, who made it easy to forget he was a rock star. The first member of the opposite sex to show any interest in her, he paid attention when she spoke and was kind, polite, and gentlemanly. Emily found herself leaning closer to him, her stomach fluttering and she wondered if her attraction grew because he was famous, or because of his considerate behavior. Either way, she no longer cared that she hadn’t seen Adam Hughes.

A tremendous bang, like thunder clapping through the clouds, startled the party. Adam burst in through a side door and roared, Everyone, shut the fuck up!

Emily began to shake. Her idol stood in front of her. His long blond hair hung on his shoulders and tight ripped jeans clung to his legs, while dirty white sneakers encased his feet. He looked like he’d stepped from the images covering her bedroom walls. Emily’s lips parted in a gasp. Adam was so close. Almost close enough to touch.

An arm draped over her shoulder as Ryan pulled her closer to him.

Hey. He kept his voice low. It's only Adam, no need to freak.

He didn't understand that Emily quivered due to being in Adam's vicinity: a thought well beyond her imagination only a short time ago.

Adam grabbed a chair and dragged it to the center of the room, the scraping of the metal legs reverberating off the concrete floor and block walls. The party stopped and everyone moved aside for him as he stood on the chair and called for quiet.

They're ’bout to announce this week's Billboard Top Ten. He turned up the tinny hand-held transistor radio clenched in his hand. The third single from Fire and Ice's album, released earlier in the month, had been steadily climbing the charts.

The broadcast started, and Adam raised his hand to hush the room. Ryan moved in closer, taking Emily with him.

Taking a drop from last week… The radio jock's smooth baritone traveled through the silence. Number Nine this week is Sell Out by Fire and Ice, the third single from⁠—

The commentary became inaudible, drowned by cheers from the groupies in the room, excited to hear the band's name, and frustrated groans from the band and their roadies. Adam jumped from the chair, slamming it with his foot and sending it sideways across