Fallen Angel
Authors: K. S. Thomas
Tags: #rock and roll romance, #rocker romance, #rockstar romance, #humor, #loss
Fallen
Angel
A Finding Nolan Novel
Book Three
By
K.S. Thomas
Copyright © 2015 - by Karina Gioertz.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the consent of the author, except where permitted by law.
Fallen Angel
is a work of fiction. All characters and subject matter are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, alive of dead, is entirely coincidental.
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inal Proofing by Magic of Books Promotion
Fallen Angel (A Finding Nolan Novel, #3)
THANK YOU
Thank you: Stephanie, Becca, Tawnya, Alyssa and Tami. I know I didn’t make it easy this time around so, thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you
!!
I
’m standing in the middle of the check-out line at Target belting out Donna Summer’s
Last Dance
and I sound awesome. I mean it. If you couldn’t see me, you’d think I was her. Reincarnated. Singing live.
Then, my voice cuts out mid chorus and starts up again at the beginning of the song.
I’m not singing. I’m fucking dreaming. And, my phone is ringing.
“Shit.” I’m half-awake, fumbling for my phone in the dark, all thanks to the hardcore curtains in my sister’s guestroom. My fingertips grasp just enough of it to knock it from the nightstand to the floor.
“Come on,” I groan loudly, annoyed, and now hearing my phone start to ring for the third time. I already know who it is. It’s freaking Ava. Only my sister would be dick enough to call someone before nine a.m. and be consistent enough to keep calling until she got a response.
“What?” I demand as soon as I answer.
“Addy. It’s about time you answer your fucking phone. Where are you?”
“I’m in my fucking bed. Where are you?” No longer in denial over the fact that I might actually go back to sleep after this, I scramble for the lamp beside me and flip it on.
“Downstairs. I’ve been calling your name for the last ten minutes. I figured you went back to Mom’s place last night.” I can tell by the background noise that she’s on the move. It’s just a matter of time before she comes crashing in here.
“No, thanks. After that crazy bitch showed up there the last time, I don’t imagine I’ll be staying at Mom’s house for a while.” It doesn’t pay to sleep with men who are married to psychos. Doesn’t pay to sleep with married men, period. I knew this before I slept with him. I
didn’t know
the stupid shit was married. Either way, I’m paying the consequences. Some days, I think more than he is.
There’s a thunder of footsteps coming down the hall, then the door swings open and there’s a click in the line because Ava hung up now that she’s staring right at me.
“Why aren’t you up yet?” She sounds slightly more exaggerated than she should considering no one in this house ever gets up before eleven. So far, it’s one of the top perks of staying with my sister and her boyfriend, Blaise. You’d think there’d be more. What with him being a famous rock star and her being his longtime manager, but at the end of the day, he’s still just the boy next door and she’s still my overbearing, bossy sister who has no sense of boundaries and never knocks. Living in the lap of luxury is nice and all, but some days I’d settle for some good ol’ fashioned privacy.
“Why would I be up?” At least I make the effort to pull back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Sitting upright ought to count for something.
“Because! I have a job for you.” She marches straight for the windows, blinding me with the surge of sunlight that spills in when she yanks back the curtains. They’re evil. A false sense of security which can be eradicated in an instant and make you suffer so much more than you would have, had you been confronted with the specks of light that come with early morning and cheap blinds to begin with.
“Huh?” I’m clearly not following what’s happening here. The only time she’s had a job for me since I showed up begging her to take me in, was over a week ago when Royce, the band’s bass player, and Hudson, his photographer man candy, got married. She’d needed help hovering over everyone from the wedding planner to the caterer. It had been a three woman job. Francis was in on it too. But then, as Ava’s assistant I suppose she’s used to that sort of thing.
Anyway, other than having to shadow the flower peeps for an hour and a half while they arranged and rearranged everything to Ava’s standards, I’ve pretty much been free to do my own thing. Which has been nice, especially since all I’ve wanted to do since I’ve gotten here is sleep my life away.
“What kind of a job, Eda? And how long will it take me, because I have some really important shit I was planning to do today.”
She comes stomping out of the walk-in closet and throws some clothes at me. “Wasting your life away on behalf of some asshole does not qualify as important shit. Angel needs you. Now get dressed.”
She storms out of the room without even waiting for me to respond or ask questions. Which is unfortunate, because I have quite a few right now.
“What the...?” And I know she did it on purpose. Because now the curiosity will get the best of me. I’ll have to get dressed and follow her downstairs just so I can find out why it is that Angel, of all people, needs me. She knows this. She also knows I’ve had a crush on him since I was eleven and used to stalk him while the band practiced in our mom’s garage every day after school and almost every weekend. This was before they became famous, of course. Back then, I was Finding Nolan’s only fan. And the first one of a million plus groupies to fall for the drummer. Not that anyone cared much about that. They were sixteen. Eleven year olds weren’t their target audience.
Too anxious now to care about the fact that Ava tossed a dress my way for my early morning outing, I shimmy out of my sweats and then switch out the tank I slept in for this flowy number I know had to have been in the closet before I ever got here.
A quick pit stop in the bathroom to pee and make sure I’m at least not likely to repel other human beings or worse, draw flies, and then I race down the stairs to find Ava waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Here.” She hands me an oversized mug. The coffee’s still steaming.
“You do love me.” I take a nice long sip and sigh. Then I take my first conscious glance around the room to make sure Blaise isn’t blending in with the cupboards or something. He’s not. We’re really alone. “For the record, I think it’s really cruel to tease me with sentences like ‘Angel needs you’, especially when they don’t end in ‘to bear his children’ or ‘to give him a sponge bath’ or...’to sit on his face’.” I throw that last one in there just as she’s taking a giant chug off her coffee bowl.
By some miracle, and also because she refuses to waste coffee under any circumstances, she manages to choke it down. “You’re filthy. Your mind is filthy. Your mouth is filthy, and if you ever sit on Angel’s face, your hoo-ha will be filthy, too.”
“I take offense to that bit about my hoo-ha, which is spectacularly clean and well cared for. As for everything else...eh.” I shrug nonchalantly. “But seriously. Is Angel involved in this mystery job, or did you just use his name to bait me out of bed?”
Ava makes a face. One I’ve seen a million times over the years. She’s slightly dissatisfied with the results of raising me, but also feels completely responsible for said results, which ironically fills her with an odd sense of pride. It ought to. She was nine when she stepped in as our full time caregiver as the oldest of us five, and we all lived, so, you know, kudos to her for that.
“I’m suddenly not feeling so good about this,” she mutters as she takes her cereal bowl, still filled halfway with coffee, and goes to have a seat.
“You shouldn’t, Eda. Because I was perfectly content minding my own business and swearing off men for the rest of my life until you came along and yanked me right out of my enjoyable state of denial and numbness.” I slide down into a chair across from her at the kitchen table, my own coffee still in hand.
She exhales loudly, just in case I’ve missed how annoying she finds me this morning. “Look, it’s a simple job and it will get you out of the house for a couple of hours. Believe me when I say, you could benefit from seeing some daylight and breathing some air not recycled by the AC. And yeah, Angel is part of the gig. I volunteered the band to donate personal items for a charity auction next month. I got something from everyone except Angel, and they need to do inventory for the event, so I have to have a final list of items to give them by the end of the day.”
I nod even though I don’t really get most of what she’s saying. “What part of this do I contribute to?”
“You,” she stares at me for a solid ten seconds, “need to go over to Angel’s house, have him point you to one of his storage rooms and rummage around the boxes until you find me three suitable items I can donate that people would actually pay money for.”
“It’s Angel Hollis. I’m pretty sure I could bring over the fork he ate breakfast with and people would pay money for it.” I hurry to take another sip just to hide my mouth from Ava. The part where I’m going to be spending the morning with Angel and digging around in all of his stuff is setting in and making me obnoxiously giddy. Then, after I swallow the last of my coffee, it happens. I giggle. “Dammit, Eda! Look what you’re doing to me!”
She distorts her face in disgust. “You really need to get over this little crush you have on him. It makes you weird.” Then she gets serious. “Do I need to worry about sending you over there now? I mean, is this going to be like a real thing...or am I just getting flashes of your eleven year old self and her eleven year old crush on a guy that is so not who he used to be anymore?”
She says the last part about Angel in slow motion. Just to make sure I get it. He’s changed. I know. I’ve changed too.
“I’ll be fine, Eda. He was my first crush. He’s always going to have the power to make me blush and giggle on a moment’s notice. Doesn’t mean I think we’re soul mates or anything.” Doesn’t mean I
don’t
either. But now’s probably not a good time to bring that up.
“Okay, good. Then hurry your ass up and get out of here. I told him you were on your way over, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t even awake twenty minutes ago.”
“I know! That’s why you need to hurry the fuck up.”
Guzzling the last of my coffee, I run from the kitchen.
I don’t even pause when I snag my purse and the keys with the purple keychain Ava laid out for me, but then I face a minor delay in the garage when I have to switch vehicles three times before I figure out which one of Blaise’s rides I’m actually holding the keys to.
I’ve been staying with them for over two weeks now and I know all the cars and keys are color coordinated in some way, but I still can’t keep that kind of shit straight. In my world, people have one set of keys and one freaking car. Not seven.
***
“H
ey, man. You up?” I know damn well he’s not, so I’m not exactly waiting outside the door. Once in the room, I try to walk as loudly as I can, but I’m bare foot on carpet, so that’s not really working out. Wouldn’t matter anyway. He’s been sleeping like the dead ever since he showed up here ten days ago, the night after Royce’s wedding. First two days he didn’t even come out of the room. Every morning since then, I’ve had to physically shake him awake. Obviously, today will be more of the same.
I don’t know why it creeps me out though. Reaching for him while he’s passed the fuck out. Maybe because he’s so fucking skinny these days and hasn’t seen the sun in such a long-ass time, his skin is so pale it’s almost grey. All of this basically results in having a man who looks a lot more like corpse than I’d like, lying in my guest bed, and I think on some level, I’m a little scared one of these mornings he won’t just look like one. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe all this corpse shit is just part of the grieving process. Fuck if I know, but I’m not fond of it.
“Yo, Derek. Wake up, man.” I’ve got my hand on his shoulder. It’s so damn bony I hardly even grab onto it and just shove him a few times with my palm. Finally, he starts to move.
“Fuck. What time is it?” he groans. My work here is done.
