No part of this book may be produced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. Short excerpts for review purposes are excluded.

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

www.amandaweavernovels.com

I couldn’t have done this without Anne Forlines, always there for pre-reading, editing, cheerleading and just being a wonderful friend.

Thank you to Sara Mizzen, Jennifer Pickard, Eleanor Noach and Victoria Lawrance for early pre-reading and invaluable feedback.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my online community… you know who you are. I discovered this love of writing with you, and I learned so much from all of you.

And lastly, thanks to my wonderful husband, Matt, and my daughter, Lily. They have been so patient as I find my way in this world and they continue to support me every step of the way. I love you.

PART 1

December 31, 2007

All over L.A., with its crisscrossing veins of asphalt under a glittering net of streetlights, people counted down the minutes till 2008. In this nascent New Year, everyone was hoping for something—for success, stardom, love, or maybe just a warm body, a welcoming smile and a kiss at midnight. As the last hours of the old year ticked away, anything was possible. The future was vast and unknown, and Justine James was facing all the effervescent excitement of her own future in a dubious pair of vintage silver hot pants.

They’d seemed brilliant when she’d found them earlier in the week, but now that she was staring down her own reflection, she was having second thoughts. It wasn’t the miles of skin they left bare making her question the choice. It was the unfortunate waistline. Too high by half.

“Jesus, Justine,” David snapped behind her. She met his eyes in the mirror.

“They cut me off at a terrible place, don’t they?”

David rolled his eyes. “They don’t cut you off at all! That’s the problem. You’re practically naked.”

“Give it a rest, David.”

“You’re not going on stage like that, are you?”

“No, I was going to change into some sweatpants for the show, but I just like to hang around in these because they’re so comfortable.”

“Nobody will ever take the music seriously if you dress like a pole dancer.”

She spun around, face flushed with rage, but he’d already stormed out of the tiny green room, letting the door slam behind him.

“Well fuck you, too!” she shouted at the door.

“Don’t listen to him, Justine,” Eddie said from the depths of a collapsing armchair. “David’s just a serious guy. You know this. You look amazing.”

She blew her breath out in a huff. “Thanks, Eddie. I know, I know. Just… why is he so allergic to fun? This is New Year’s Eve. There are people out in the audience in their underwear. We’re a rock band. Shouldn’t we look like one?”

Eddie gave her a good-natured smile and shrugged. “I guess? Just do your thing. You’re a rock star.”

She smiled at him for a moment. With his short dark hair and young face, Eddie looked more like a refugee from the high school AV club than a drummer in a band. He acted more like one, too— way too nice compared to the rock and roll bad boys all around him.

The festive holiday made no difference to Eddie, David or Paolo, their bassist. They were all dressed in non-descript shades of jeans and t-shirts, like they did for every gig they ever played. And that was David's problem with her. Too flashy, too sexy, too
girl
. No helping it, though. She couldn't get up there and sing in front of a wild crowd if she didn't feel like they were all at this party together, and that wasn't going to happen in a hoodie.

Eddie was still pounding out a beat on his thigh and Paolo had his earbuds in, missing the entire exchange as usual, so Justine turned back to the problem of the hot pants. When she looked again, the answer was obvious. She flipped down the waistband and shimmied it lower until the flash of diamond in her bellybutton caught the light. More skin was always the answer. With a satisfied smile, she adjusted her black bustier and smacked her red-slicked lips one more time.

The green room door banged open and she braced herself for David Round Two. Instead it was the lead singer of Primal, the band they were opening for. He stumbled as the door hit the wall behind him, and raked a hand through his shaggy dark hair. When his bleary, blood-shot eyes found Justine, he straightened up and smiled with new interest.

“Hey, there.”

Justine smirked at Eddie in the mirror, but kept her voice light and disinterested. “Hey.”

“You sing for Failsafe, right? Jessica.”

“That’s me, but it’s Justine.”

He shuffled a few steps closer, attempting a sexy grin, but he was too wasted to properly pull it off. “You wanna get lit? I got some great shit.” He began patting his pockets as he tried to remember where he’d put his stash. Justine held up a hand to stop him.

“No, really…is it Mick? Yeah, no thanks, Mick. I don’t like to be messed up when I sing.”

Mick reared back and looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” While she was far from prudish, she really did hate to feel anything less than fully connected when she performed. And that meant no drinking and no weed before a show.

“Huh. Suit yourself. Hey, you should come hang out with us out front after your set.”

Justine opened her mouth to decline, but he kept talking before she could.

“Some buddies of mine are coming to see the show and we’re gonna have a few drinks. Outlaw Rovers. You know them?”

Her mouth shut so fast her teeth clicked.

“Outlaw Rovers?” Her voice was reedy and faint.

Her mind spun with a million obscure facts, all the things she knew about Outlaw Rovers that she didn’t want anyone in this room to know she knew. Outlaw Rovers: LA-based, four man band, formed in 2003, fronted by Ash Thoren. Two albums out, the first one just a self-produced EP. The EP had caught the attention of Nightfall records and they’d been signed last summer. The first single off their major label debut had been released two months ago and was currently 22 on the Billboard Rock chart and climbing fast. They were in the midst of becoming stars.

“Yeah, come have a drink and I’ll introduce you.” Mick dangled the invitation like a worm on a hook. And dammit, it was working. Justine couldn’t care less if she never spoke to Mick again, but the chance to meet Outlaw Rovers…

“Okay. Yeah, maybe I will.”

“Justine?” Eddie said behind her, unfolding from his chair. “We’re almost up.”

There was no more time for her pounding heart or sky-rocketing anticipation. She had a show to do. A show Outlaw Rovers just might see. Were they out in the crowd already? Maybe. She felt overwhelmed at the possibility.

Eddie looked closely at her. “You okay, babe?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

“I’m brilliant.”

If she said it, it would be so. And it was. The crowd was everything she’d been hoping for. They were loud, crazed, probably wasted, and totally ready to fall in love with her, even if Failsafe’s music wasn’t exactly celebratory. She did her best to make it a party anyway. For the entire thirty minutes of their set, it felt like she was singing to each sweaty, inebriated celebrant individually. Hands reached for her and brushed against her legs as she walked the edge of the stage. She touched their outstretched fingers with her own as she sang, letting her voice sail over their heads and fill the cramped room. This was why she never played messed up. Who would want to miss a minute of this feeling?

David’s judgmental scowl faded away, along with the hot room filled with too many sweaty bodies, the smell of cheap beer on the sticky floor, and the crummy amps that made everything hiss slightly. She lost herself in a wave of energy from the crowd. She didn’t even look back at David or the other boys while she sang, preferring to keep her eyes on the people who loved her just the way she was.

Eddie’s final cymbal crash echoed over her head and she stood panting, smiling, arms raised, as the crowd, no more than two hundred people, screamed their approval. She felt alive and energized, in spite of the sweat and the burn in her lungs. David and Paolo came to stand next to her, David looking stern and uncomfortable, as always.

With one last wave at the still-screaming crowd, Justine left the stage through the door in the back corner. The boys led the way down the narrow, dark hall back to the green room, laughing as they dodged scattered amps and microphone cords and stepped over empty beer bottles. Even the grime and decay of the venue couldn’t take the shine off her euphoria in that moment.

“I’m gonna go get a drink out front,” she announced. Eddie and David turned to look at her.

“Hold up,” Eddie said. “You’re actually going to go have drinks with the guy from Primal? Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s just a drink. I’ll be fine.”

David gave a dismissive snort. Justine’s temper, still short from their earlier run-in, flared again.

“What?”

“I know why you’re going out there and it’s got nothing to do with that burn-out from Primal.” He gave her a hard, knowing glare. “Yeah, I heard they’re here. A couple of the girls out front were squealing about them.”

“Who?” Paolo asked, finally registering the conversation happening around him.

“Outlaw Rovers, that stupid poser band Justine’s so obsessed with.”

“I am not!”

“You wanted to cover one of their songs!”

“That song is amazing.”

“That song is a piece of pop bullshit,” David sneered.

“Just because it’s got a melody people can sing along to doesn’t make it pop or bullshit, David. I know that’s hard for you to grasp.”

His eyes widened as he registered her words. “Are you implying something about our songs?”

They stood locked in a tense stand-off for another moment, Eddie’s eyes flicking back and forth between them. Finally, Justine looked away and shrugged.

“Your songs. And of course not.”

“Because if all you want is to front some bubble gum pop band, L.A.’s filthy with them. Take your pick. Maybe Nickelodeon will hire you.”

BOOK: Always

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