Drop Beat (The Heartbeat Series Book 2) Read online

  Drop Beat

  Ryleigh Sloan

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Ryleigh Sloan

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by TRC Designs

  Editor: One Love Editing

  Dedication

  To Brian, what would I do without you? This one's for you.

  Table of Contents

  One – Goals

  Two – Finger Trouble

  Three – Smart Mouth

  Four – Nailed It

  Five – Shower Shenanigans

  Six – Furniture Fun

  Seven – Not for the Faint of Heart

  Eight – Proving a Point

  Nine – Not Even in a Bucket

  Ten – Awkward Airport

  Eleven – Bad Practice

  Twelve – Surprise

  Thirteen – Well, Shit!

  Fourteen – Fixer-Upper

  Fifteen – More?

  Sixteen – Demons

  Seventeen – Implosion

  Eighteen – Coming to America

  Nineteen – Braai, Not Barbeque

  Twenty – Studio 69

  Twenty-One – Wedding

  Twenty-Two – Striptease

  Twenty-Three – Changes

  Twenty-Four – Collision Course

  Twenty-Five – Well, Eff You

  Twenty-Six – Confessions of a What?

  Twenty-Seven – Letting Go

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  More Work by Me

  Connect with Me

  One – Goals

  Maddie

  It’s hot as balls out here, and I’m glad I went with camo shorts and a pink tank. My blonde hair is pulled back in a pony, and I have a cap perched on my head so I don’t get a sunburn and Rudolph’s nose as a result, but sweat is dripping everywhere and I’m sure Hell would be cooler right now. It’s worth it though. Seeing Blair, my best friend in the whole world, onstage, performing with the love of her life, Dean, makes me tear up, but I’m not going to cry just yet. There’s going to be a lot of emotional tears today, and my makeup is already running down my face. Alright, I might be being a bit dramatic, but it’s hot so I’m entitled.

  A year ago things were completely different for Blair. She came to America from our hometown in South Africa to audition for Breakout, the reality TV show where unknown artists compete to win a recording contract. Everything was going amazingly for her, and people loved her. She was one of the most popular contestants on the show, but then the shit hit the fan and things got complicated.

  Blair’s coach on the show was none other than Dean Carter of Atomic Midnight, who Blair had a serious crush on. Things were going great until her papaw seriously injured himself and ended up in ICU. Dean insisted on accompanying Blair on the trip so he could keep coaching her for the show. It wouldn’t have been a problem if Danielle, one of Blair’s fellow contestants, hadn’t run to the show’s execs and accused Dean of favoritism. It also didn’t help that Blair and Dean fell for each other, and Dean was in breach of contract for sleeping with Blair when it was explicitly stated he couldn’t. The dumbass also didn’t mention that tiny snippet of information, and as you can imagine, it shook Blair’s faith in the music industry. So much so that she packed her shit and moved back to South Africa. But Dean swooped in with a grand gesture and won her back, and now she’s not just Blair, my best friend since preschool. She’s Blair McKenzie, rising star.

  Blair on stage is something to behold. She lights up and brings every single note to life. I don’t know how it happens, but she opens herself up when she’s performing, allowing the world to see who she really is—to see every single wonderful thing I’ve learned about her over the years. The chemistry between her and Dean might have a little something to do with that too. When they perform together, you can feel the electricity pulsing off them. It’s like they are in their own little bubble and are singing only for each other, not an audience.

  She’s up there working her magic, but they are barely able to keep their eyes off each other. The way Dean looks at her makes my stomach kick with longing. I want someone to look at me that way one day. For now, though, I’ll settle with an orgasm, and Keller Cannon from LP-45 would be the perfect delivery boy.

  Not that he can be called a boy. Keller is one hundred percent man and has quite literally been the star in a ridiculous amount of my marble-rolling sessions lately. By the way, I didn’t make that term up—I snatched it from my favorite author, Helena Hunting—but it does explain the act of alone time perfectly. I flick my eyes over to where Keller’s working his drums. Beefy guys aren’t usually my thing. Neither are guys with skull cuts and small teddies perched in their pockets, but damn those biceps are something else, and so is Keller. He looks like he could bench-press a small bus, but I guess if you’re beating away at drums as he does, that’s a perk of the job. A job he seems to love, if the smile spreading across his face is anything to go by.

  Kade, LP-45’s lead singer, asked Dean and Blair to open up his annual Teddy Run, and LP-45 is onstage with them—minus Kade for now of course. The Teddy Run is a concert Kade puts on every year, and the entrance fee is a soft toy of any kind. It’s a sweet idea, and at the end of the day, they ride along with the trucks, distributing the toys to underprivileged kids. You’d think people would take advantage of the small entrance fee for an outstanding concert and bring along the least expensive teddy they can find, but I’ve seen people lugging garbage bags of teddies in here, and it warms my heart to know there is still a lot of good in this world.

  Dean has arranged a truck full of toys; it’s a thank-you gift for what he’s about to do, and although it’s completely unnecessary, based on Kade’s reaction, it is appreciated.

  Right on cue Keller slows the beat down. He’s in on the surprise; the whole LP-45 band is in on it since Dean and Blair are using them instead of both bringing their own. They are in between verses, and I see the briefest flash of confusion on Blair’s face, but she’s used to Dean’s spontaneity by now. They don’t work together often, but they do try to align their tour schedules so they can see the most of each other. This last year has been a little on the crazy side with Blair signing with DMW and starting her first tour, but they have made it work.

  Next to me, Blair’s close friend Jeremy and his fiancée, Emerly, are sucking face, making me grin at their antics. Jeremy was another contestant on Breakout with Blair, and in fact he proposed to Emerly right before the finale. He jokingly tells anyone who’ll listen that he wanted to make sure she said “yes” just in case he didn’t win.

  He didn’t win. A girl named Amy-Leigh won. Thank God it wasn’t that bitch Danielle. She dropped off the scene and is hopefully working out her days for a telemarketing company selling hemorrhoid cream. Jeremy came in second, but as is the way with these kinds of shows, it’s always the runner-up who makes it in the end.

  I duck around him and Emerly to join Blair’s family—my “adopted” family since it’s just Mom and me. I’m so happy everyone is out here today for Blair’s big surprise.


  “This is it!” I squeal.

  Jeremy comes up for some air, and you’d swear by the way he’s beaming that he’s the one proposing all over again. Papaw smiles, and I can see he’s tearing up; if I’m not mistaken Mr. McKenzie is too. Blair’s Grams and Mrs. McKenzie hug each other tightly.

  The crowd waits in anticipation, and I can feel the energy amp up. Or maybe that’s just me. Dean reaches for Blair’s hand, and she smiles sweetly at him. He turns to the stage just as a cart with a cloche gets wheeled on by one of the stagehands. Keller twirls his sticks, and praying to Aphrodite I won’t drip onto my panties while I’m standing next to Blair’s family, I force myself to pay attention to what’s going down onstage.

  Blair’s brow furrows and she tilts her head ever so slightly in question. Dean lifts his mic. “You’re probably all wondering what’s going on here, right?”

  The crowd screams and roars, and Papaw whistles. Blair turns to face him and blows him a kiss.

  Dean smiles and pulls Blair in for a one-armed hug, then takes a step back from her. He’s still holding her hand, and the one holding the mic is trembling so hard, I can see it from here. This has to be the first time I’ve ever seen Dean nervous. By the look on Blair’s face, it’s the first time she’s seen it too. Dean lifts the mic again. “A year ago, Blair McKenzie forgave my ass and gave me a second chance. A chance I didn’t deserve but have worked every day to earn. I’m not an easy guy to live with, and if it weren’t for the fact that some nights we’re apart, I think she might have killed me in my sleep.”

  The crowd erupts in laughter, and Blair shakes her head and lifts her mic. “It’s true, he messes up a lot, guys, but he means well. You mean well,” she tells him. “And I’d never kill you. I don’t look great in orange.”

  Again the crowd goes crazy, and I beam at my friend. She’s so damn great with going with the flow—something I fail miserably at—and she’s also full of shit. Right now she’s wearing a short black skirt and a red blouse, but she’d look amazing in anything—even orange.

  “Alright, now that we’ve established my mortality isn’t in question, I’d like to establish one more thing. Exactly how long Blair’s prepared to put up with me.” He dips to one knee, and the crowd goes deadly silent. Blair gasps, and tears stream down my face.

  “Blair, I can’t always promise I’ll get it right. That I won’t do stupid shit that hurts you or pisses you off. I can’t promise I’ll never mess up. I can’t promise to let you sleep in on Sundays instead of listening to my music at full volume because I miss you too much when you sleep. I can’t promise I’ll know what to do when you’re hurting or sad and I’ll probably always do the wrong thing, but one thing I do promise you is I’ll never stop trying. I’ll never give up on you or us and I’ll spend every single day of my life showing you I love you. That is, if you’ll have me. Blair, will you have me?”

  He reaches for the cloche lid, but he’s on his knees and he can’t quite reach from that angle, so he scrambles to his feet. I laugh. Damn, the guy can be awkward as shit at times, but he loves Blair just as much as I do, and that means I love him too. I won’t ever tell him that. I enjoy making his life miserable at times, but that’s neither here nor there.

  Blair looks at the plate and throws her arms around Dean’s neck and whispers something in his ear. Every single girl in the crowd lets out a collective “Awww.” And every guy sucks back an emphatic “Fuck!” because there is no proposal on this earth that will ever beat this.

  Someone a couple of rows back yells, “What’s on the plate?”

  The cameraman pans so the contents that were hidden under the cloche are now emblazoned on the two full screens at the side of the stage: toast with the words “Will you marry me?” are piped with lemon frosting thanks to me. I bet the crowd is super confused as to why Dean would propose using a snack instead of a ring, but he knows the way to Blair’s heart by now. It’s also a little inside joke because Dean maintains the minute he hit the button for Blair he was toast. I let out a sigh of relief the heat didn’t melt the frosting and roll my eyes a bit that I was involved in this level of cheese, but deep down, I’m struggling to hold back the tears. Blair is a mess—she’s shaking and crying, and Dean is holding her, his grin worth a thousand words.

  “What did she say?” Papaw calls even though the answer is obvious.

  “She said, she is going to kill me, but only after the wedding,” Dean replies.

  Everyone claps and cheers, and Keller starts drumming the beat to the Funeral March. We laugh and Dean flips him off. Kade comes on stage and congratulates my friends. Yes, you heard that right. I count Dean as one of my friends. Like I said, I even love him a little. I flick my eyes to Keller, and he’s looking a little serious which is in direct contrast with how he looked a few moments ago. It’s a bit jarring. It’s also hot as hell. I’d like to see that intensity while I’m on top of him.

  I wonder if I could make that happen?

  Two – Finger Trouble

  Maddie

  “Excuse me, miss. Would you mind coming with me?” I look up and shield my eyes. The guy summoning me is so massive you’d think he’d block out the sun, which is sitting at an obnoxious height, but he doesn’t and neither does my hat.

  My brows furrow in confusion, and I shoot a look to the stage. LP-45 are just ending their encore, and I wonder if I went a little overboard with my cheering, but damn, they are sensational and it’s not just the hormones talking from watching Keller bash on his drums for close to two hours. Okay, maybe it is, but if you were in my shoes, you’d be singing the exact same tune. I glance around, and everyone else around me is going just as monkey-shit as I was, so I can’t figure out what I could’ve possibly done to require a security escort from a guy with arms the size of my waist, but I don’t think now’s the time to argue. By the scowl on his face, I don’t think I’d win even if I did.

  Brawn-guy cups my elbow gently, and the crowd parts like the Red Sea as he pushes his way through it. Yeah, I’d move lightning-quick too if this guy was coming at me. When we near the edge of the crowd, I yell over the din, “Did I do something wrong?”

  His frown deepens so much that I worry his facial muscles will crack his skull, and he shakes his head. “Ms. McKenzie requested that I bring you backstage after the show.”

  Heat creeps up my face, and I want to slap my forehead for not immediately putting two and two together, but jumping to unreasonable conclusions instead of going for the logical solution is my superpower.

  “Oh, yeah, of course.”

  He totally thinks I’m an idiot, and he should since I’m acting like one, but I hold my head high and act like what I just did was perfectly reasonable. Blair’s family, along with Jeremy and his fiancée, left just before the encore since Dean and Blair were done performing. Papaw wanted to avoid “the crush” as he likes to call it, and Jeremy is going to be a guest performer on Breakout tonight and needs to prepare for the show. I stayed to get as much of my “Keller fix” as possible and promised to check in with them later.

  We’re all pretty much on our own until we leave in three days. When Dean set this all up, saying he was flying us here for a “holiday” as cover for the proposal, he did his best to clear their schedules for the two weeks we’re here. But after Blair won “Best New Artist” at the Grammys, she’s been even more in demand, and so last week, when her label booked her a big-time interview for tomorrow, she could hardly say no. She and Dean are flying out this evening. She’s not happy about missing the last three days her family will be here—okay, actually she hates it—but hey, rock stars’ lives aren’t their own, right? The fact we’re all beyond thrilled she’s getting the attention she deserves—Papaw more than anyone, I think—probably takes the edge off some, and at least we got eleven days together and the proposal came off without a hitch.

  I follow the security guy to the entrance that leads backstage, and he calls one of his buddies on the walkie-talkie to let us in. It takes forev
er, and I try to avoid the death stares I’m receiving from some fans while we wait. I even try not to look smug—well, semi-try—but when someone shouts a less than complimentary remark about how I’m a useless groupie, I smile and wink. I bloody hope I’m going to be a groupie tonight. More to the point, I hope I’m going to be Keller’s groupie.

  Backstage isn’t entirely what I expected. I’d envisioned scantily clad girls milling around the corridors with stagehands getting all “handsy.” Long-haired crew lugging equipment and rushing around furiously while the band made out with fans. I’m sadly disappointed. There is no indecent behavior backstage. Just people going about their business like one would at any other job. There are also no fans or rock stars engaged in inappropriate behavior. The corridors are basically bare. What a rip!

  The security guy leads me to a room and knocks quietly on a black door with a sign stating PRIVATE in official-looking red letters. He folds his arms across his chest, the sleeves of his standard-issue black golf shirt straining against his muscles while we wait for someone to allow us in. I want to poke at his bicep to see if it really is as hard as it looks, but decide it’s probably best if I keep my curiosity to myself. I like being able to move my fingers.

  After a few moments, the door opens and Kade, still sweat-soaked from his performance, smiles at me. “Hey, Maddie. Glad they found you.” He thanks the security guy and invites me in.

  I’ve met Kade a few times. He’s Dean’s best friend, so we’ve been in the same room as each other a time or two. He’s really down-to-earth, and sometimes when I’m with Dean, Kade, and Blair, and we’re just chilling around a bonfire or having pizza, it’s hard to believe they are all celebrities. But after just seeing him perform, I’m suddenly feeling shy.

  “You guys were really good out there.”

  “Just good? We’ll have to up our game in the future.”

  “No, no, I mean you guys were great. Fantastic, amazing.”