Rhythm (Wrecked #1.5) - Mandi Beck

Rhythm
A Wrecked Short
By Mandi Beck
“Every broken piece of me
will always fit with
every missing piece of you.”
-r.m. drake
Note to Readers:
Rhythm is a Wrecked series novella and
should not be read before you read Stoned as
it contains spoilers and characters that are
featured in that story.
Chapter One
STONE
There’s nothing romantic about being on tour. Even when we’re staying in hotels
instead of the bus. There’s nothing romantic about a different city and venue every night,
about hours and sometimes days on the road. About long flights and sound checks and
thousands of screaming fans all vying for your attention. But fuck me if it ain’t sexy.
Music isn’t what I do — it’s who I am, and that’s the man that Birdie loves. The Music
Man. That in itself makes it sexy. Of course that doesn’t mean that I can fuck up our first
Valentine’s Day since we’ve been back together though. I’m pretty sure it means I have to
bring my A game so she doesn’t regret giving my sorry ass another chance. With that in
mind, I slip my phone out of my back pocket and dial Law.
“Yo, man. What’s up? We have two hours before we have sound check.”
“Just wanted to make sure you guys were all set to babysit tonight.”
“We’re good. Luckiest kid alive. How many little girls can say she had the amazingly
awesome and stupid-talented drummer and the okay bass player of Wrecked babysit?”
“You say that like it’s a good thing,” I laugh.
“Doesn’t get any better than that.”
“No? Her daddy being the lead singer, heart and soul, and let’s be honest, REAL talent
doesn’t top the lowly drummer boy babysitting?”
“Fuck off, bro. Why you gotta be so mean?”
I’m just about to blow him even more shit when my two girls walk into the room.
“Gotta go, Law. Lyric and Wills just walked in. See you in a couple hours.” Not giving
him a chance to respond, I disconnect and toss the phone on the bed. I love watching her,
our daughter on her hip as she strolls into the room. Eyes on me — love, contentment, that
ever-present heat, all there in her whiskey-colored gaze. Words I’ve said a million times
tumble from my mouth without even thinking about them.
“Where you been, Birdie?” The smile she hits me with is fucking magic. It’s sunshine
and diamonds and all that pretty shit that glitters and shines.
“I’ve been here, waiting for you,” she murmurs. Just like she always does every time I
ask.
“Damn right you have.” I pull her into my arms and lay a kiss on her lips about a
second before our lip-blocking little girl wriggles in between us for some love of her own.
“I got your kisses right here, baby doll.” Scooping my daughter up, I rain loud noisy
kisses all over her as she giggles sweetly.
“My two jealous ladies,” I tease, pulling Willow back into my arms, holding on to both
of them. Wondering, not for the first time and sure as hell not for the last, how I ever lived
without them and what I did to deserve them.
“You’re coming to the show tonight, right?” She doesn’t miss many of them now that
my sister is traveling with us as groupie-slash-nanny
“Miss a Valentine’s Day show? Nope. Not ever.” Grinning coyly at me, “I expect
something special, you know that, right? If I have to share my man with twenty-seven
thousand—”
“Twenty-eight thousand two hundred and fifty-two.”
“My mistake,” she apologizes dramatically. “If I have to share my man on Valentine’s
Day with over twenty-eight thousand people screaming his name, he better make it worth
my while.”
“Like Bieber?”
“You want me screaming your name later on?”
I flash her a wicked grin, “Oh, I do.”
“Then you better bring more than Bieber to the table, baby.”
“Better than Bieber?”
“Yes. Better than your boy Beiber.”
“I’m really gonna have to dig deep for that one,” I tease.
Rolling her eyes at me, she shakes her head, “I have faith in you.”
Thank fuck for that.
With one more kiss, I drop my arms and walk over to the dresser, sliding my wallet
into my pocket and clasping my watch. As much as I would love to sit here with them, I
have shit to do for tonight before I have to get my ass to the arena. “I have to go over a
few things with Judge for tonight’s show,” I lie. “You ladies gonna be okay here without
me?”
“Oh, I think we’ll manage. Won’t we, Songbird?” Willow asks, tweaking Lyric’s nose.
“We’ll probably take a little nap while we wait on your sister.”
“She leaves for Austin tonight after the show, right?” My sister had me scrambling
earlier in the week trying to figure out what to do with Lyric tonight. I hadn’t planned on
Scarlet not being here to watch her.
“Yep, the red-eye,” she says, flopping onto the bed with Lyric on her lap.
“Tell her to have a safe flight.”
Willow hands me my phone from next to her and nods in agreement. “I will.”
Unable to help myself, I lean down for another kiss, lingering there for a moment,
swiping my tongue lightly over her bottom lip and trying to not go in for more with the
baby there. I pull back reluctantly and groan. Lyric gets a kiss on her sweet-smelling head
before I straighten, “See you later, Birdie. Love you. And I love you, little Birdie.”
“We love you too, Stone,” Willow calls after me. I have to get the hell out of there
before I lay Lyric down for a nap in her room and lay her mama down for something else
entirely.
Chapter Two
After leaving our suite and walking to the elevator, I look back at the closed door to
make sure she didn’t follow me and take the gold key card out of my wallet, waving it in
front of the sensor. The car whirs into motion taking me up another two floors to the
presidential suite. The doors slide open and let me out into an opulent foyer. The smell of
wildflowers permeates the air from where they sit in vases on every available surface.
Dozens and dozens of wildflowers and unlit candles and random bouquets of watermelon
lollies. Just the sight of them makes me smile.
I hear heels clicking against the marble floor and turn from the bundle of lollipops I
had been straightening.
“It’s about time you got here.”
“You miss me?” I ask, winking playfully.
Scarlet just rolls her eyes at me like the bratty little sister she is.
“Hardly.”
“Sorry, Wills came back to the room before I could leave.”
“She doesn’t suspect anything, does she?”
“Nah.”
“Oh, good. I made the reservation for this room under an alias just in case,” she tells
me, motioning for me to follow her.
“Do I even want to know what name you gave them?” I’m not reassured when she
laughs.
She looks over her shoulder at me, her short brown hair, cut just like mine oddly
enough, flops into her eyes. Blowing it back into place, Scarlet asks cheekily “Didn’t you
always want to be a porn star?”
“Jesus,” I groan.
“Calm down. It’s under my name, but they know to use Lincoln Landry as the secret
code name thingy.” I can hear the laughter she’s fighting. I’m gonna kill her.
“The baseball player? You signed me into the Presidential Suite for a night of filthy sex
and wicked debauchery with my fiancé under the name Lincoln fucking Landry?”
Scar makes a gagging noise and gives a little dry heave for good measure. “Eww. I
didn’t need that imagery.” Adding one last shudder, she shrugs, “I couldn’t think of
anything else and he was on the TV in the lobby. And seriously, have you seen him? You
should be thankful. He’s hot as hell.” At a set of double doors, she stops talking,
thankfully, and throws them open to reveal the bedroom. A huge round king-sized bed in
the center of the room, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the bay, the sun casting a
glow over the space. “I got everything that you asked for, but didn’t set up anything in
here, only out in the suite area. I don’t know — and I don’t want to know — what you
have in mind for this room.” She runs a tattooed hand over the plush comforter on the bed,
smoothing it, the bright colors of her ink even more bold against the champagne color.
“The living room looks great, thank you.” Scar nods and points to the sitting area in the
corner.
“The bags are all there. If you need anything else just let me know. I’m going to run
down and make sure that everything else is set.” She pecks my cheek and pats my back.
“You done good, big brother. Don’t fuck it up.”
I flip her off as she walks away with a jangle of bracelets, clicking heels, and laughter.
Brat.
Laden with bags of shit, I drop down in the chair and start unpacking. I gave her a list
of things that I needed, she got all of that and then some. I check the time — I have an
hour and a half to make this work before sound check. Surrounded by romantic
paraphernalia, I sift through it all until I find the bag I’m looking for. Scarlet had
suggested lingerie, but I knew. She didn’t have to tell me shit. Birdie loves her some pretty
panties, and fuck me, do I love her in them. Setting one of the solid pink boxes on my lap,
I slip the black bow off and peel back the tissue paper. Lace, silk, leather, and materials I
don’t even know the name of, in every color imaginable, are folded in neat, sexy rows.
The vision of Willow wearing them has me rocking the beginnings of a hard on. Putting
the lid and bow in place, I reach for the other box in the bag, opening it up and looking in
at the corset and garter set nestled there. I don’t even care that it cost a fucking fortune. It’s
the only thing that Wills indulges in, and if she wants me to drop a year’s worth of
royalties on Agent Provocateur, I will. Gladly. Lingerie, the gift that keeps on giving. To
her and me.
I’m ready to say fuck the rehearsal and call Willow up here to model for me now. If I
do that though, we’ll be missing the rehearsal and the show. No way in hell am I letting
her out of this room once I get her here. I’m almost willing to take the ass beating that
Judge would give me. Tucking everything away, I move them to the side and stand. The
dirty images running through my mind will have to wait, but the next few hours are gonna
be killer and all that time is gonna do nothing but add to my imagination. Wonder how the
boys will feel about me doing the encore in bed instead of on stage?
Chapter Three
Our pre-show routine and vibe are a whole lot different than they were not too long
ago. We’ve replaced the half-dressed chicks, drugs, loud music, and drinks with a smiling
toddler, healthy kid-friendly snacks, Smart Water, and juices. I couldn’t be fucking happier
about it.
With Willow perched sideways on my lap, her arms looped around my neck, I smile at
the scene in contentment and trace lazy circles on her thigh. Arrow has his bass leaning
against the wall, my daughter bouncing on his knee as she grabs fistfuls of his long hair
from under the hat he has on backwards. Law is on the floor next to them twirling his
sticks in the air stopping to tap Row on the head every few turns, causing the big bad bass
player to pretend to cry, making Lyric laugh.
The door opens and Judge walks in, my sister trailing behind him as he barks into the
phone. He’s been on edge lately, and now that we broke away from Fall Out Records and
started our own label, he has more on his plate than ever. Not to mention his personal life
being a total shit show.
“Hey guys,” Scar calls out, settling herself on the couch next to Arrow.
“Looking good, Scarlet.” Law winks from his spot at her feet. “Is it weird that I think
your sister is smokin’ and she looks just like you?” he asks me.
“Yes it’s weird, fucker. And stop thinking my sister’s hot. There are band rules.”
“You sure, bro?”
“Fucking positive.” I throw an apple from the fruit bowl at him.
He snags it easily and laughs. Fucker.
“I think she’s hot because she looks like you,” Willow chimes in. “I mean; I would do
her.”
“I’d watch!” my soon-to-be dead drummer says, taking a big bite of apple.
“What are we talking about?” Judge asks a little bewildered.
Arrow places his hands over Lyric’s ears although she’s too little to understand
anything. “Willow’s gonna get down and dirty with Scar and your brother’s gonna watch.”
Judges whips his head in my direction, eyes bulging.
“Yeah, right. Like I’d ever let either of those things fucking happen,” I answer his
unspoken question. Eyebrow cocked, I snort out. “Like fuck.” Just to make sure they’re all
sure of my stance.
Scar sighs dramatically. “You’re such a party pooper.”
We all laugh at that since not too long ago I was the exact opposite. Losing your girl,
an accidental overdose, and a nice, long stint in rehab changes a man.
The door opens yet again, this time it’s the new tour assistant. Clipboard in hand,
headset firmly in place, she looks every bit the part. Except for the daggers she’s shooting
at me. “Stone. You guys are on in fifteen. You should probably send the girlfriend and
baby home now.” Her tone isn’t that of the helpful assistant. More like the jealous other
woman.
The fuck?
“Or you,” Willow retorts from her spot on my lap before anyone else can.
I look around at our group. I can’t believe this shit and clearly neither can they.
Everyone stares, mouths hanging open, Law with his apple mid bite. Even Lyric is
watching curiously, little head cocked to the side as she gnaws on a toy.
“You can’t fire me,” the assistant, who I’m sure has a name, tells Willow.
“Oh, honey, I can. And I will.” Willow stands from my lap and I let her. I’m not sure if
it’s because it’s hot as hell to watch her get all fired up like this or that I’m seriously in
fucking shock.
“Li–” Whatever the assistant is about to say is cut off by Judge.
“You’re out of line, and if you want to keep this very well-paying job,” he gives her a
pointed look, “I suggest you excuse yourself and get back to the task we’re actually
paying you for. And by ‘we’re’ I mean everyone in this room since we own the label that
signs your checks equally.”
Her face reddens in anger and embarrassment as she turns on her heel and leaves.
“What the hell was that?” Row asks.
“I think someone has a little crush,” Wills answers him.
“Yeah, but on who? You or Stone, because I’m not sure,” he scoffs.
“It’s all that girl-on-girl talk, man.” Law nods solemnly like he’s just instilled some
epic wisdom.
Judge shakes his head and pulls out his phone while loosening his tie. I think we might
give the poor asshole a heart attack before too long. “Addy, We need another tour
assistant,” he says to his assistant, “This one has lost her fucking mind.”
Ten minutes later and it’s go time. We’re all huddled backstage, my arms wrapped
tightly around Willow, my chin resting on her head as we watch Wildfire, our opening act,
walk from the stage. Amped up on adrenaline, I release Wills, bouncing on my toes and
watching as Judge and the guys congratulate the all-girl band on another awesome
performance. Mercy, their drummer, rolls her eyes at something Law says before
following after the rest of her band, disappearing into one of the dressing rooms. Willow
raises her eyebrows at me questioningly. I shake my head to tell her I have no clue.
“That’s you, boys!” Judge shouts over the noise in the arena and the darkened wings of
the stage. With a nod I let him know I’ve heard him and turn to Wills. Tangling my fist in
her hair, I drag her closer to me, quickly covering her lips with mine. I dip my tongue
inside before I pull back and nip her pouty bottom lip. The adrenaline inside me has me
feeling reckless and on edge. It’s always like this before a show. The heady knowledge
that I’m about to get out there in front of tens of thousands of people and strip my soul
bare for them, bleed all over the stage is a high unlike any drug I’ve ever taken. The only
thing better than this high is the one I get from being around Willow. An addict to the
core, I’ve just learned to choose my drugs of choice a little more wisely. I’ve traded coke
and pills for music and my girl just like it was when I first started. Like it always
should’ve been. My forehead resting against hers, I stand quietly and soak it all in for just
a moment before Lawson calls out. “Let’s go, Stone — time to get Wrecked!”
Willow presses a kiss to my lips and says “Sing pretty, Stone.”
My smirk is instantaneous, “Then what, Birdie?”
“Then I’ll fuck you pretty,” she answers back coyly, a wicked grin tugging at her full,
kiss-swollen lips.
“Fuck me, that will never get old,” I murmur adjusting my now painfully hard cock
behind the tight black denim it’s straining against. “You gonna send me out there like
this?”
“Yup. You do it to me all the time. Whispering naughty things in my ear, making me
wet—” I place a finger to her lips before she can say another word. It’s like she’s trying to
torture me. She knows how I get before a show. How all that adrenaline turns into a want
so strong it consumes me. It’s part of me. That passion, the need. By the time we’re off
stage, it’s swirled and built itself into a storm, raging and rioting. Most nights I’m lucky to
make it to the dressing room before I have her stripped and pinned against a wall, bent
over a director’s chair or a table swept clean of all the waters and snacks set out for us. Up
against the door of a storage closet, or my favorite, on stage, hidden — just barely — from
the view of anyone lingering, from the ushers and the cleaning crew. There in the dark
where I just laid out everything I had, bared for them to see. I love taking her there, where
I’ve given the most.
My hand tightens in her hair while I try to rein myself in, eyes shut tight, mind filled
with the sounds around us, the feel of her pressed against me, and I’m ready. I’m ready to
give my everything so that I can take her all.
Smiling slyly I release her and pop a lolli from my back pocket into my mouth. Just
long enough to rid myself of the sudden dryness and then slide it between her deep red
lips, watching the pink candy disappear. “Save some of that for me,” I tell her and saunter
off after the guys, their own adrenaline mixed with mine, becoming a live being
surrounding us.
“Let’s do this.” I clap Law on the back as he leads the way. Right before I step on
stage, I look back at Birdie one more time, just a glance over my shoulder. She blows me a
kiss and calls out, “Sing pretty!”
“So pretty!” is my response before stepping into the spotlight, the crowd exploding around
us. It’s show time.
Chapter Four
“Hello, Sacramento!” I yell into the mic, adjusting the stand to a better height. “How
the fuck are you tonight?” I pull a cigarette out and light it, watching them through the
haze as the simple act makes them lose their minds. The performer in me takes over, the
rock star smirk sliding over my lips as I let the energy of the crowd flow through me. “You
ready to get Wrecked?” My question causes an even louder roar, the sound hitting us in
waves as it makes its way through the stadium. Looking over my shoulder at Law and
Row, I grin. “I think they’re ready.”
With a laugh, I take another drag of my smoke before I flick it into the can they put on
stage for me and pull my Fender from the stand. “It’s Valentine’s Day — I think we should
start out with something dirty.” Slowly strumming my fingers over the strings, I test them
even though I know it’s perfectly tuned. “Something sexy.” Another pass over the frets as
they scream their agreement. “Yeah, I think that’s what we need.” Fingers finding their
way over the strings, we launch into a song I wrote for Wills — hell, they’re all for her.
My lips pressed against the mic, I groan into it. A throaty sound that’s met with cat calls
and whistles, the sound making me smile, mouth still against the cold metal of the mic,
and wait ’til they quiet. “Naked against me, you lay. Let me slide inside you and stay,” I
sing, glancing to the side where I know Willow is standing, watching, listening. “Let me
stay. Stay. Stay. Inside you, Birdie, let me stay.” Closing my eyes, I continue on. The
words carrying more and more heat, more meaning. By the time the song finishes, I’m
ready to drag Wills out of there and flip that little skirt she’s wearing up over her ass and
bury myself inside her. For d...