FLOWERS ON THE WALL (27 page)

Dalton and Ashe had drawn him out. Finding out that his friends were writers made the idea less foreign. One collaboration and Ryder had never looked back.

This was uncharted territory. Ryder had put his heart on the line. He knew with an unwavering certainty that he could trust Quinn. With his life. With his secrets and with that surprisingly tender, vital organ. He loved and was loved in return. But the fact that she held so much power made Ryder vulnerable for the first time since he was a child.

From the first note to the last, Ryder's eyes never left Quinn's face. He saw the wonder. The smile. The joy. The tears. Most of all, he saw that he got it right. The many countless reasons Ryder loved Quinn were in that song. Simple yet infinitely complicated.

"You wrote me a song."

Feeling a little teary himself, Ryder took a tissue from the bedside and wiped the moisture from Quinn's cheeks.

"I did."

"You love me." The way she hiccupped the last word made Ryder's smile widen.

"Who knew this damaged heart had it in it?"

"I did. At least I hoped." Quinn brushed her lips against his before snuggling close with a happy sigh. "What's it called?"

"
The Road Back
."

"Thank God," she said emphatically. "I was afraid it was something like
Quinn's Song
."

"Too obvious?" Ryder hadn't considered naming it after Quinn. He would have changed the title if she had her heart set on it. He should have known. They thought alike in so many ways.

"Too corny."

"And that is reason number three thousand six hundred and five as to why I love you."

"When are you going to record it?"

"Do you want me to? It belongs to you. Your decision." Ryder knew it would be an instant classic. But if Quinn didn't want to share something so personal, he would understand.

"Are you crazy?" Quinn exclaimed. "Ryder Hart loves me. What better way to let all those grasping, fucking groupies know that my man is off the market."

Ryder didn't know what he had done to deserve Quinn. His life had been good before they met. Why he was given more was a mystery he refused to question.

Pulling Quinn close, Ryder kissed her temple before he whispered in her ear, "I don't fuck groupies."

EPILOGUE

RECORDING SESSIONS WERE notoriously long. No matter how prepared or well-rehearsed, musicians were human. Singers forgot words. And then there was the dreaded technical glitch. That moment where the stars aligned for the perfect moment. Music and vocals blending to perfection. Boom. High fives all around. Then
boom
. The producer announces that the take was ruined.

Ryder had seen it all. Lived through the disasters and came out the other side. Which was why on the day they were to lay down the vocals for
The Road Back
, he prepared Quinn for long hours with stretches where nothing happened. It was her first time witnessing this side of the business.

"It isn't anything like you see in the movies."

"I understand."

"I don't want you to be disappointed."

"I won't be." Grinning, Quinn held up her camera. "I have permission to take pictures."

Nobody had objected when Quinn put in her request. Not even Zoe raised a fuss. As Ryder predicted, his little sister had warmed to Quinn. It was slight. The first step was when she issued a genuine invitation to go shopping. When they returned with no visible signs of blood, Ryder considered it a success.

Moving to Los Angeles—at least temporarily—had been Quinn's idea. She loved San Francisco. However, when the band was recording, Ryder needed to stay in a fixed location. Quinn did not. As long as she had her camera and a laptop, she could work anyplace. Since his house had sold the week it went on the market, and Ryder declared his apartment too utilitarian, they were staying at a downtown hotel.

"We should start looking for someplace permanent," Ryder proclaimed one night after room service delivered their dinner.

"Eventually," Quinn agreed, breathing in the aroma of the perfectly cooked lasagna. She had quickly gotten used to the maid service and the food on demand. "Are we in a hurry?"

Funny how it worked. If Quinn was happy, Ryder was happy. Talk of moving was shelved until a later date.

"FINALLY," ASHE EXCLAIMED as Ryder and Quinn entered the recording studio. Unceremoniously, he pushed Ryder aside. Winking at Quinn, he scooped her into his arms. "When are you going to run away with me?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Perfect."

"Does that work for you, Ryder?" Quinn asked innocently.

"Sure." He shrugged. "Where are we going, Ashe?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Ashe set Quinn on her feet. "If it's a package deal, I'm out."

"Sorry, pal." Quinn gave Ashe a sisterly kiss on the cheek. "I have a friend."

"No." Ashe held up his hands. "Setups are out of the question."

"Hey, Quinn."

Dalton's hug was warm and welcoming. The drama with his family had blown over—for now. As soon as the album was recorded, he planned on flying east. Whatever had prompted his brother-in-law to strike out couldn't be handled over the phone.

"Are we ready to do this?" Zoe asked as she and Alden Christopher walked from the control booth.

Quinn had told Ryder that she was getting used to Zoe's cool manner. There was warmth hiding somewhere under that gorgeous fashion-plate exterior. No matter how long it took, Quinn was determined to find it.

"Ms. Abernathy." Alden Christopher nodded toward Quinn, his tone neutral.

Ryder rolled his eyes. Though Ashe and Dalton thought he was oblivious to Alden's feelings, Ryder knew how their manager felt. Alden's unrequited love wasn't something he took lightly. But he had a choice. Ignore the situation or fire Alden. For ten years, his way had worked.

Now that Quinn was in the picture, the ball was in Alden's court. If the man couldn't find a way to treat Quinn with respect instead of thinly veiled contempt, Alden would have to go.

Ryder wasn't making a choice. There was none. Quinn was the woman he loved. Period. If it weren't for Quinn, Ryder would have already put an end to the situation. She didn't want Alden forced out because of her. Ryder agreed to wait. However, as he told Quinn, she hadn't done anything wrong. Alden had brought this on himself.

"Are the instrumentals ready to roll?" Ryder asked their longtime producer. The band did the arrangements and vocals. But they left the technical side to an expert and Buzz Sinclair was the best.

"Say the word," Buzz called out from the booth.

Ryder nodded to Dalton. Zoe touched his arm as she walked by and Ashe settled on his stool. Taking his headphones, Ryder went through his usual routine. Breathing in and out. Nodding toward Buzz, Ryder waited for the music. That was where it always started. On cue, he began to sing.

It was like nothing Ryder had ever experienced. No glitches. No forgotten words. Nothing but the blending of four voices creating… magic. Ryder didn't need inspiration. Quinn stood not three feet away. As he sang the last word. As the last note faded, she lowered her camera, her dark eyes telling him everything he would ever need to know.

I love you
. Ryder mouthed the words.

I love you,
Quinn responded silently.

"What the hell just happened?" Ashe laughed.

Zoe shook her head, a bemused smile on her face. "That was amazing."

"Amazing?" Dalton nodded. "I guess it was."

Ryder opened his arms and without hesitation, Quinn walked into his embrace. He breathed deeply. Surrounded by his friends. Holding Quinn. It was the only place he had ever belonged. The only place he wanted to be.

Ryder covered Quinn's mouth with his, and he knew. He was home.

TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT

FLOWERS and CAGES

(Hart of Rock and Roll Book Two)

Coming In September

PROLOGUE

TRIED, CONVICTED, SENTENCED, and on his way to the state penitentiary, Dalton Shaw had learned two things. He wasn't as tough as he thought. And behind bars, there was no such thing as a guilty man.

The black eye and split lip Dalton sported proved that a cocky attitude didn't impress anyone behind bars. Especially a bruiser who had used up his last strike and was going away for life. It could have been worse. The guard could have broken up the fight after Wiley Malone had done permanent damage.

"I wanted to smash that pretty face into a pulp," Wiley growled as he was dragged away. "Next time, Shaw. There will be one. Count on it."

The odds that Dalton would wind up in the same prison as Wiley was better than even money. The judge who sentenced him made it a sure bet. Three years—less than one if he kept his nose clean. But it was a long time to watch his back.

"There are rules," Ryder Hart, told him during their last visit before Dalton was relocated.

"What do you know beyond what you've seen on television?"

"I've done some research. So has Ashe. Zoe was the one who found you a tutor."

Ryder, Ashe, and Zoe. Dalton's bandmates. Friends. Family—a bond stronger than any blood relation. They were his lifeline and the only thing that had kept him sane. None of them had believed Dalton would do any significant amount of time. He didn't have a record as an adult and only minor scuffles as a minor. Beating the shit out of someone—no matter how well-deserved—was serious. But hard time? It didn't make sense. Unless you added in the fact that Dalton's victim lived in a small town where his daddy's influence ruled. Dalton's lawyer had tried to get the trial moved out of the county, but the judge refused.

"I need a tutor to go to prison?"

Ryder nodded. Dalton knew his friend was trying to keep a positive outlook, but his dark eyes were shadowed with worry. "Jock Lowe. It isn't exactly
Miss Manners
, but there is a definite way to do things."

"Fuck that, Ryder. It's prison."

"And like you said, all we know is what we've seen on TV or in the movies. Forearmed is forewarned, Dalton. Listen to what the man has to say."

Dalton knew Ryder was right. But it seemed so final. Like a movie, he hoped for a last minute reprieve. The sentence had been passed. Tomorrow the bus would take him to his new home.

How the hell had this happened
? Dalton was twenty-two years old. The future had seemed so bright.
The Ryder Hart Band
had its first album coming out next month. The buzz was good—better than good. After years of barely scraping by, they were about to hit it big, and Dalton wasn't going to be there to share the moment.

"You need to hire a permanent replacement."

"Why? Are you planning on becoming a career criminal?"

"No, but—"

"Nobody can play the drums like you. It won't be the same, but we'll get by until you're out. Eight months—tops."

"What if it's longer?" The thought made Dalton sick, but it had to be said. "Things happen. The gray jumpsuit I'm wearing is proof of that."

"That's why we hired the tutor. He'll tell you how to avoid trouble." Ryder gripped his arm. "I'll never forgive you if you don't come back to us, Dalton."

"Time's up," the guard called out.

"I'm scared, Ryder." It was the first time Dalton had admitted it to anyone—even himself.

"We'll visit every week. Ashe, Zoe and me." Ryder hugged him. "Stay strong, brother. More important, stay smart."

The next morning, the bus to the prison was filled to capacity. Wiley Malone sat near the front, glaring at Dalton as he walked past. The tutor Ryder hired had given Dalton a plan—a course of action—beyond watching his back and cowering in his cell. It wasn't foolproof, but it was something.

Ankles manacled, Dalton shuffled to his seat. The man he was chained to tripped, sending Dalton crashing into the side of the bus. His shoulder took most of the impact.

"Sorry."

Dalton shrugged it off. Thanks to Wiley, his body was already covered in bruises. What was one more?

"Don Fitzgerald." The man held out his cuffed hand.

"Dalton Shaw."

"I shouldn't be here."

Closing his eyes, Dalton sighed.
Here it comes
, he thought. Since his arrest, he hadn't met a single person who took responsibility for their incarceration. If he believed every story, he heard the criminal justice system got it wrong one hundred percent of the time.

Railroaded. Screwed over. Framed. Pick your term. When those doors locked them in their cages each night, the prisoners slept the sleep of the unjustly incarcerated. Some were tormented by the knowledge. Others accepted their fate. But go ahead and ask. Not one of them was there because they had done the crime.

"I'm telling you, man, I blame that bitch I married. Sure, the drugs were mine, but the police never would have found them if I hadn't been provoked into knocking the shit out of her. A man can only take so much lip, right? She made such a racket the neighbors called the police."

Dalton closed his eyes, picturing himself smashing Don's face into the bus window. He wondered if a broken nose would shut the asshole up. Probably not. There was one good thought. At least Don's wife was rid of her abusive husband for the next three to five years.

"What did they jack you up for?"

"They didn't."

Don frowned. "I mean what shit did they trump up on you, man?"

"I put a man in the hospital because he liked to use his wife as a punching bag."

"Huh?" Don looked more confused than before. "You ain't saying you did it?"

Don's exclamation of disbelief got the attention of half the bus. Dalton felt like an exotic animal on display. A rare species that the prisoners had heard whispered about but never observed in person.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I did it." Dalton looked around. "And given the chance, I wouldn't hesitate to do it again."

AFTER THE RAIN

(One Pass Away Book One)

PROLOGUE

LOGAN. LOGAN. LOGAN.

Logan Price closed his eyes, taking it all in.