The Fire and the Roar Read online

  A grin twitched my lips. “That is true.”

  “Listen, for me, riding clears my head, fills me up,” he continued. “For you, it’s singing, performing on a stage, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Imagine you’re up on a stage singing your own words, your own truth for a change? Imagine the guys playing music that brings your words to life. All of you, in that song together.”

  “The best,” I breathed.

  “Yeah. Keep on, baby. Let go of all that noise you got stuck in your head and do what you got to do. No time for fear. Use what you got going on to fuel it. That’s genuine. That’s what a song needs, right? ” He tapped a finger against my temple and brought it down to my heart. His lips brushed over that spot on my chest. “I figure there are plenty of songs that need you to sing ‘em. You got to work to find ‘em.”

  Tugging me down on the bed, he settled my head on his chest, pulling me close. “You are worth everything to me. All the things we’re doing right now? Yeah, challenging, sucks a lot of the time, and worth it. We got this. This is your time, so get back on your bike and ride over the edge.”

  He let out a long sigh. He was tired. He’d ridden long and hard all the way from Colorado to get to me. On his bike in the winter, for fuck’s sake. To be with me for one night. And here he was helping me, listening to me. Really listening. My lips trembled, and I bit down. He believed in me without any doubts. Supported me unquestioningly. His trust, I’d once told him, was a great honor. It was, it was.

  I rubbed his neck, stroked his chest, and he let out a small moan. A grin nudged at my lips as I listened to his breaths. One day we’d be one of those millions of couples in America whose Valentine’s Day was filled with choosing special cards for each other, planning dinner, buying flowers, lingerie, perfume, fancy chocolates, dressing up for the big date out. Nothing on our minds but a good time. Fun.

  A low rumble rolled through his chest, and an arm went around my hips. But what all those couples really wanted, what they truly only wanted, was this, what Wreck and I had. Our fire. Right this very moment.

  A tear slid down my cheek as I stroked the side of Wreck’s face. The hard lines of his jaw finally relaxed, his lips parted, his breathing settled.

  My love fell fast asleep in my embrace.

  Chapter Seven

  Heart candies lay crushed all over the twisted sheets.

  “Shower…” Wreck groaned.

  We both got up slowly and went into the bathroom and climbed into the small shower stall. He scrubbed my scalp, running his fingers through my hair.

  “You spoil me.” I turned around and rinsed off and rubbed soap onto his beautiful broad back rippling with muscles. I massaged his shoulders, down his spine.

  “Feels so good,” he murmured.

  The water pressure in the shower was unusually strong, and thankfully, the water very hot. It wouldn’t last long, though. Wreck stood under the force of it, face-up, lips parted as I admired him, water falling over him, sluicing over his flesh. Steam rose from his skin. His morning wood was extreme.

  My hand slid over his cock, rubbing up and down. His eyes opened, and he narrowed them at me, wiping water from his face. His lips puckered. My pulse raced. I knew that look.

  Last time.

  In one quick move, he lifted me up, and my legs circled his waist as my back met hard tile. He angled inside me, his fingers digging into my hips. Holding me up. Always holding me up. That’s what love was, wasn’t it? This flow of holding each other up, to protect, for the light to see, to keep warm and safe.

  I closed my eyes and felt it all. Felt the water beating down us, felt Wreck’s body driving against mine, joining mine. Union. This was mine. This would keep me warm for the many nights ahead without him. And keep him warm too. My face pressed into his neck, and I reveled in the feel of his muscles flexing and throbbing, all the small noises and grunts rumbling in his throat, through his chest.

  He let me down, and we stared at each other under the water. He swept a hand down my throat, my chest and grinned at me. I planted a kiss on those perfect lips and handed him the towel. He wrapped it around both of us and rubbed vigorously.

  I laughed. “My mom used to do that to us when we were little. The heat never worked right in that house, and she’d have the three of us in the bathtub together. We’d all want to get out of the tub at the same time, and she’d wrap all three of us in this huge towel, and the four of us would laugh.”

  Wreck wiped at the mirror, and we caught each other’s gaze in the steamy reflection.

  “Any news about Leo?” I asked about my brother. One brother had gone MIA in Vietnam, the other was now MIA somewhere close by or far away, and I was roaming. What a family. I didn’t think our Grandpa Dillon would be too pleased with the current state of our family’s affairs. Scattered, pretty much bankrupt, reputations sunk.

  “No, baby. Nothing.” Wreck wiped at his face and hair with a smaller towel.

  I went into the room and got dressed, and Wreck soon joined me. The small candy box peeped up at me from the floor, and I scooped it up. A cupid shot his arrow at a heart.

  “I got to get going,” he finally said. His voice was quiet, throaty. He didn’t look at me. He busied himself putting on his holster.

  “Yep.”

  He finished, put on his leather jacket. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed the side of my face into his back.

  Don’t cry.

  Don’t cry.

  Don’t cry.

  We’d done this a zillion times, yet each time it was difficult. Each time it took my breath away, took another piece of me and crushed it.

  Au revoir

  Arrivederci

  Auf wiedersehen

  I repeated those phrases in my head every time we did this. Somehow it softened the blow, distracted me. Made light and cliche of this shitty, shitty moment.

  Until we see each other again.

  In every language, it was the same. Not finality, but a promise of hope. Yes, I would be all the hope for him. That’s what a good old lady would do, wasn’t it? Send her man back out onto the cold, cruel road after a brief indulgence in their personal paradise. Be his rock.

  A hand went to my back and brought me round his front. He wiped the hair from my eyes, and leaned his face down to mine, our noses brushing for just a moment.

  See, baby? No tears. I’m strong. I can cut it. I can hack this. All of it.

  Ever since I could remember, I’d been strong for everyone around me. My parents, Leo, Meager itself. Now I needed to do it for Wreck. But hardest of all, I suppose? I had to do it for me.

  “Love you.” His warm lips brushed mine.

  My insides tightened, my throat burned. “Love you.”

  He cleared his throat. “Let me see the ring in the light.”

  I brought out my right hand and extended my fingers in the glow of the sun filling the room. The garnets were radiant. A dark red glow. Blood red and burning. Like us.

  A soft grunt escaped his throat. “Yeah, perfect, I knew it would be. So beautiful.”

  “So beautiful,” I agreed.

  He sniffed in air. “I got to get on the road, get back to Meager before the snowstorm hits.”

  “You were lucky with no snow or ice this week, huh?” Good, my voice was so damn bright.

  “Spring in February, nothing like it. Back to blizzards and snowdrifts and icy roads by tonight.”

  “Thank you for surprising me, honey. It was the best. You’re the best.”

  “I am.” His blue eyes gleamed. An ocean of satisfaction.

  “Baby?”

  The lines of his face grew stern as his thumb rubbed at the side of my jaw. “Yeah?”

  “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

  His grin returned, and he kissed me.

  One last kiss.

  My fingers had curled in his jacket, gripping the thick leather. I let go and pushed my lips up into some kind of smile. “Go.”

  Gr
ab the helmet. One last look. Open the door. Close the door. Pull the curtain.

  He got on his bike, the engine roaring to life underneath him in the cold, cold air. My fingers curled in the faded brown fabric of the curtain. He fit his helmet on his head, pulling at the straps, adjusting it. I never tired of the sight. His formidable body settled on the Harley again, legs long. He gunned the engine—that was for me—and sped off. A blur of energy, onto the road, into the wind. Toward home.

  Gone.

  My breath jammed in my chest, an ache twisting, spiraling.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  The scream and roar of his bike faded.

  I let go of the curtain. The room, so empty. The sudden silence, deafening and cold. The sore ache between my legs reminded me that he’d been there, all right. It was no dream. No fantasy. Our special night and morning were real.

  My gaze fell on my worn-out spiral notebook on the floor. It didn’t belong on the floor. It was my work. I grabbed it and my pen from the nightstand, picked up my guitar, and wrapped myself up in our sugary sheets. Heart candies everywhere.

  Adore me

  Love you

  Forever

  Pick Me

  Smile

  Sweet Talk

  Best Day

  All Mine

  Marry Me

  Kiss me

  I reached for my cassette recorder, bringing it next to me on the mattress. The red garnets of the wide, heavy ring sparkled all over my finger in the morning light. My Wreck. My fire and my sun. How he believed in me. How he loved me.

  How he loved.

  I wrote.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading Wreck & Isi’s Valentine’s Day story. I hope you enjoyed this special peek into their lives as much I did writing it. If you haven’t yet read their epic love story, read The Dust and the Roar. An excerpt is included here on the following pages just for you!

  And the best news? This short story is important for what’s coming next….a novel about Beck, the young rock & roller we first met in “Fury.” Beck is Lenore & Eric’s (you met him first in “Fury” and now you got to see him here in this short story with Isi and the band!) son. Beck’s involvement with a special young woman from Meager (I can’t say anymore, I really can’t!) will be one hell of a ride and is coming this Spring. Stay tuned for more Meager, more Jacks, other beloved characters from another book of mine, and more music!Thank you so much for loving these characters and their stories and Meager, SD as much as I do. It truly means the world to me. xx

  *Have you read Wreck & Isi’s love story? Turn the page to read an excerpt from their novel, The Dust and the Roar.

  *Have you read Finger & Lenore’s wild story in my standalone novel, Fury? Turn the pages to read an excerpt!

  Preview - The Dust and the Roar

  Wreck

  “Another.”

  The bartender refilled my glass with Jack Daniels, and I sucked it down. That liquid heat slid down my throat and instantly warmed my belly. My tongue ran over my gums, enjoying the warm layered flavor of the whiskey. Half price drinks for all vets said the sign on the bar. I was taking full advantage.

  Another night of not being able to sleep and Miller’s little buffalo staring at me from the table where I’d put it. Tonight the rain was driving hard and thundering against the trailer. Would I ever not mind the sound of heavy rain again? I couldn’t breathe right in that trailer, the aromas of my childhood had merged with the stench of my horrors. Then the nausea had begun swelling up inside me in that familiar way. The voice wouldn’t stop. The panic built. The shouts rose through the rain.

  “We only got two! What are we gonna do? What are we gonna do?”

  I’d gotten the hell out of that trailer as fast I could, started up the old pickup and came here, to Dead Ringers Saloon, an enormous bar on the road leading south out of Rapid. In high school, Noah and I would get in here with fake ID’s. One time we’d brought girls with us, but that night they wouldn’t let us in. Humiliating. Now I had real ID. Army ID.

  I slugged more whiskey to blot out that yelling … shake off the sting of that cold … the pounding rain slick on my skin … the burning throb of my arms as I pulled, pulled, pulled through the mud.

  “A beer, please,” I said to the bartender. Better slow down on the hard stuff. I still had to drive myself home at some point tonight.

  Drumsticks clacked together. The band that had been setting up when I first arrived now jammed from a small stage, their rock and roll jolting in my veins. My body moved to the rhythm of “Dream On.” Thank you, Aerosmith. I’d had enough of Elton John and that Captain & Tennille on every radio station lately. The song finished and another began, but this time a woman’s voice filled the big bar, clear and strong. Linda Ronstadt’s words filled the saloon, telling us we were no good. That voice was sure and confident, and she hit all the right notes in her own way. I didn’t miss Linda on this track.

  Not at all.

  I swiveled around on my stool, tilting my head to search for the singer. That voice made it a necessity. A tall girl with long brown hair, bell-bottom jeans and boots, and a faded red, cut-off Bob Dylan concert T-shirt. She seemed to be a little younger than me, but her height and presence on that stage made you think she was older, wiser.

  A throng of women danced by themselves in front of the band, belting out the song along with the singer. A warm smile lit up her face, and she danced to the edge of the stage waving her arms, taking them higher, taking them with her into a triumphant anthem.

  A smile tugged at my lips, and I drained my beer as I leaned against the bar watching her. That voice was powerful, and she didn’t seem to have to work hard to make it do what she wanted. She was having a good time doing her thing.

  I envied that.

  A few songs later, she hit “Blue Bayou.” Couples rushed the floor to dance to the ballad. Her voice was yearning for a better love, an idea of her good love. A slight sadness laced every verse, but there was hope there, and the hope kept building. Heat tightened my belly. She believed it. It was like a hymn to her, and her finish was breathtaking. She wasn’t showing off how she could carry the tune way high, making it fancy; it was real. She segued into “Hurts So Bad.” Heat swarmed in my veins the way her voice slid around every word.

  The couples dancing applauded her, and she said a euphoric “Thank you!” into the mic. She turned and gave the band members each a high five and left the stage. The band quickly erupted into a hard driving guitar solo with the drum beating a hard backup.

  I ordered another beer.

  “Tab please, Al,” a breathless voice said next to me to the bartender.

  It was her, the singer. Now she wore a light brown suede coat with fringe on it. Colorful flowers were embroidered up and down the sides and the back. She had flair like no other girl here tonight. Like no other girl I’d ever seen before. She gulped at the soda, glancing at her watch.

  “Hey,” I said. “You were real good up there.” Three whiskeys made me chatty.

  Her face turned a bright shade of pink, as pink as that big ring she wore. She blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

  “You going to sing some more?”

  “Um, no, not tonight.”

  “Why not? You’re not with the band?” I asked. Her hair was a reddish brown under the lights of the bar, her eyes a lighter brown.

  “I’m not with the band. The guys let me come in sometimes and do a few songs.” She shrugged. “It’s fun.”

  “That’s nice of ‘em.”

  “They’re friends of my brother’s. They’re cool.” She pulled out a clear lipstick that said “Kissing Potion” on it and wiped the vial over her dark-pink lips, making them shiny and glossy. And strawberry flavored, judging from the label.

  The sweet berry scent rose between us, and I adjusted myself on my stool. “Cool,” I murmured. She took another sip of her soda, our eyes hooked on each other. On her hand was a ring with a big pink stone on it. Like her, bold bu
t sweet. “I like your ring.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced at it. “Oh wow, look at that. It’s so bright. First time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a mood ring. When the color goes this deep pink and violet it means I’m really excited and happy and…” She giggled.

  “What?”

  “And passionate.”

  “You sure do look that way to me,” I said.

  Our glances met, and she smiled, her keen eyes studying me. This time, my face heated. This time, all the pieces inside me seemed to line up right for a change. “You in the army?” she asked.

  “Just got out.”

  “Congratulations. My brother was a Marine.”

  “Oh yeah? He here with you tonight and the band?”

  Her mouth tightened. “No. He never left Vietnam. POW.”

  “Shit, I’m real sorry.”

  She only nodded draining her soda glass. Crunching on ice, she glanced over at the front door. “Oh, damn—my ride’s here.” She set the glass on the bar and wiped at her mouth. “Got to go.”

  “What’s the rush? Are you some kind of Cinderella?”

  She let out a laugh. “Something like that.” She took off, but then stopped and ran back toward me, that fringe shimmying on her coat. Something inside my chest swelled a little as she got closer.

  “What’s up?” I said, my voice catching in my throat, a tickle going off in my veins.

  She touched my arm. “I wanted to say thanks for the compliment on my singing.”

  “I wasn’t shitting you.”

  “I know, I could tell. And I appreciate that. I really do.”

  “You’re good. You’re a real good singer. Don’t ever stop.”

  Her face lit up, eyes glimmering. She raised up on her toes and brushed my cheek with her lips. Soft, delicate lips, a hush over my flesh. My eyes closed for a split second, relishing that brush of sweetness.