Forbidden Ballad - Rock My World

Forbidden Ballad – Rock My World

Reese Summers

Copyright © August 2013 by Reese Summers

Kindle Edition

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. The material in this document contains explicit sexual content that is intended for mature audiences only and is inappropriate for readers under 18 years of age.

Adult Material

Cover Art : Jeanine Henning

~~~

Dear Reader,

This book was a true labor of love. Thank you to my husband and daughter for tolerating me as I completed this. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

~R

~~~

Carly

My boots click up the long driveway, and I know I have an extra bounce in my step. I haven’t seen Walker in nearly two weeks, and that’s the longest amount of time we have ever been apart. I told him that I wasn’t arriving until tomorrow, but I was able to get a seat on an earlier flight, and now I was going to surprise him.

Even though Walker and I hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, we still made sure to FaceTime every single day. I hated being away from him, and I missed the way his warm skin felt under my fingers, and the way he tasted of cinnamon when I kissed him.

I parked my car around the corner from Walker’s house because I didn’t want him to catch me trying to surprise him. I’m sure that he’s holed up inside his house, trying to put the last minute finishing touches on our tour that goes off in two weeks. In fact, we start rehearsals in less than forty-eight hours.

As I quietly sneak up Walker’s stone-laid steps, I still can’t believe my stupid good fortune. It was five years ago, at only nineteen, when I left my family behind in Baltimore to try to pursue a country music career. My whole family thought I was nuts when I took my college savings and bought a one-way ticket to Nashville and a pair of genuine cowgirl boots. I lived in a cramped apartment with three other girls, spending my savings on demo tapes and pounding the pavement to get heard.

I met Walker after living in Nashville for six months, and we clicked right away. We began making music, and soon we were getting gigs all over the city. We recorded our first album together, and went on tour with Miranda Lambert. Opening for her was incredible, and it was on that tour where Walker and I let our relationship evolve into something more.

Five years later we were still going strong, and one day soon I would be Mrs. Walker Stevens. I glance at the sparkling diamond on my left hand and smile again. Walker is going to be so damn happy to see me!

I stealthily slip my key into the door and turn the knob. I let myself into his house and inhale deeply.

I wrinkle my nose.

Something doesn’t smell right.

Usually, Walker’s house smells fresh and woodsy, but I smell something sickeningly sweet like magnolia or freesia. Almost like some reeking candles.

“What the hell?” I mutter.

It’s quiet in the house and all the shades are drawn. I wonder where Walker could be. Usually he camps out in the living room when he’s working on music, but I only see his guitar leaning against the wall and a blanket balled up on the floor.

I glance in the kitchen but it’s empty besides a few dishes and some glasses in the sink.

I hear a sound coming from the bedroom, and I move into the hallway. The door is closed, and I pause listening again. I hear it again but it’s muffled. Maybe Walker is working in the bedroom?

I smooth down my teeny sundress, and quickly rake my fingers through my long caramel-hued hair. Just as I’m putting my hand on the doorknob, I hear a low erotic moan. The next few seconds feel like they are happening in slow motion. I push the door open and my eyes try to adjust to the horrifying scene.

There is Walker, stark naked in his bed and flat on his back. His eyes are closed and a low moan escapes his lips as a beautiful, young blonde rides him. Her head is thrown back and her corn silk hair cascades down her back and grazes against his legs. Her eyes are closed too, and she moaning in a high needy voice as she rides my fiancé. Walker reaches up to cup her tiny, perky breasts and then trails one hand down her flat stomach, before pressing it against her shaved sex.

I can’t find my voice at first, and I honestly think I might faint. Neither one of them has seen me because they are so engrossed in fucking the hell out of each other.

And then I find my voice.

“What the hell?” I scream, and I grab the nearest object, which happens to be one of Walker’s boots. The girl screams and leaps off of Walker, and I chuck the boot at Walker’s head. He yells and rolls over, and the young girl grabs the sheet and wraps it around her.

Holy shit, it’s Willow Green.

“Carly, please,” Walker pleads as he pulls on his pants, his face twisted with remorse.

Willow Green?

“How could you?” I whisper, my traitorous eyes filling with tears. I did not want to cry. I’m stronger than this.

Willow Green. She was being called the next Taylor Swift. She was eighteen and the new darling of country music. She was already a star in her own right, having won a CMA award for her first album when she was only seventeen.

“I’m so sorry,” she confesses to me, bending down to grab her clothes. She shot Walker a scathing look. “You said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow,” she snaps, before huffing out the door.

I didn’t think I could feel worse, but I do. Walker had obviously planned this.

“Carly, let me explain,” he says, coming towards me.

“Don’t touch me!” I shriek, backing up. I need to get out of Walker’s house. I turn and stumble down the hallway. I hear the front door closing, and I don’t want to see Willow Green hurrying down the steps of my fiancé’s house.

“Carly! Dammit! Please! Listen to me!” Walker yells, clearly frustrated.

“What Walker?” I demand, whirling around to face him. I take in every beautiful feature, which I loved about him. His deep brown eyes and dirty blonde hair. The dimple in his chin, and the strong line of his nose. Now it hurts just to look at him.

“What could you possibly say? What possible explanation could you give me?”

He stops and stares, and I know that I’ve caught him. He can’t explain himself.

“It just sort of happened,” he explains lamely, “We met at the Bluebird last week, and one thing just led to another.”

“Last week? You’ve been fucking Willow Green for a week!”

“I’m sorry! Christ! I’m sorry! It was stupid! She just seemed so into me, and she’s so charismatic, you know?”

“No, I don’t fucking know Walker! While I was home with my family, attending my grandmother’s funeral, and helping pack up her house, you were busy banging Willow Green. So please excuse me if I don’t understand!”

“Carly, please. You and I are forever. You were meant to be my wife. It was just a stupid fling, nothing else.”

I pause, and I suddenly see my whole life flash before me. Walker and I were on the brink of a huge, successful career. We were about to headline our first tour, and had just put out our second album, which had been wildly successful already. We were the perfect country story – boy and girl make music, boy and girl fall in love, boy and girl are successful and get married. And I can see us, through the years, making music, but me always wondering if Walker was being faithful. If he would be checking out the new back up singer, or sleazing up to the newest country superstar, the next Willow Green and the one after that.

“No, Walker,” I whisper, “I’m not meant to be your wife. I won’t marry a cheater.”

I slide the beautiful ring off my finger, and choke back a sob. That ring had symbolized so much for me and now it was just a piece of metal. My whole body felt terribly lighter once the ring was gone. I set it on the end table and turn back to Walker.

“Goodbye Walker.”

“G-goodbye? Where do you think you’re going?”

“What does it look like? I’m leaving.”

“You can’t leave! We go on tour in two weeks!”

I shake my head sadly. I know I might be throwing my whole career away.

“We aren’t doing anything in two weeks, Walker. As of this moment, Sideroad has officially broken up.”

“You can’t do that!” Walker cries, “You’re under contract!”

Crap. I’d forgotten about that part. Screw it. I would do whatever it took to get out of it.

“I don’t care,” I seethe, “The thought of having to see your face everyday sickens me!”

Walker stops cold, and I see my words have cut through him. But I don’t care. I turn and walk down his steps, refusing to look back.

~~~

Once I’m out of sight of Walker’s house, I fall apart. I sink to the cracked cement, and bury my head in my hands. The tears flow freely now, and I sniffle loudly, wiping at my flood of tears with the back of my hands. My chest feels like it’s been ripped open, and I childishly wish for my mother. I haven’t lived at home in five years but I don’t think that gut instinct for your mom ever goes away.

I finally get myself up, and dust the dirt off my knees and dress. I don’t want people to recognize me, and I hurry to my car. Luckily, Walker hasn’t come after me and once inside my car, I dial our manager, Stanley’s number.

“Hey Carly, what’s going on?”

I take in a ragged breath. “I’m leaving Sideroad. I can’t work with Walker anymore. I need to pull out of our contract and everything I’ve agreed to.”

There’s a long pause on the other end.

“Now, Carly,” he says in a careful voice, “I’m not sure what’s going on, but you know that’s not possible.”

“I don’t care, Stanley. I’m done. I can’t be around Walker, and I certainly can’t go on tour.”

“Now, Carly listen to me. You’ve signed a contract. You just released an album. You’re slated to hit thirty-five cities over the next three months. You don’t get out of that kind of agreement!”

Stanley’s angry now and this is going to be harder than I realize.

“Then tell me, Stanley,” I say patronizingly, “How am I supposed to look at Walker when I just walked in on him screwing Willow Green?”

The line is quiet for so long that I wonder if Stanley has hung up.

“No.”

“Yes. So, forgive me if I seem a little rash here. I’m not working with him, Stanley. You can try whatever you want to convince me, but I won’t ever look at that bastard again.”

“Are you sure? Willow Green?”

“Yes, I’m sure! Do you think I don’t know who Willow Green is?”

“Alright, alright, Carly. Look, give me some time and I’ll call you later. Let me see what I can work out.”

Even though he can’t see me, I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

“What is it that you’re going to try to work out, Stanley? I’m telling you that I want out.”

“I’ll call you later.”

The line goes dead.

“Asshole,” I mutter, as I drive home. I manage not to cry the rest of the ride home and I feel an overwhelming numbness slowly creep over me. I let myself into my tiny apartment, and kick off my shoes as I stumble to my bed. I burrow under the covers and don’t come out.

~~~

I stay in bed for three days, only coming out to use the bathroom and to go to the kitchen to get a giant bag of Gummy Bears and a bunch of Diet Cokes. My phone rings constantly, and I finally turn it off.

Walker called twelve times before I switched the phone off and Stanley had called ten times.

On the third day, I could smell myself and I knew I needed a shower. I force myself to the bathroom, and let the streaming water wash over me. The betrayal is all consuming, and I’m not sure how I will move past this. I twist my hair on top of my head and dress in a t-shirt and gym shorts. Taking a deep breath, I switch my phone on and listen to the messages.

I hear Walker’s voice, and I delete each one of his messages. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Nothing can fix us.

I make myself listen to Stanley’s first message.

“Carly, it’s me. I’ve tried to get you out of the contract, but I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to go on tour.”

Frustrated, I delete it and listen to the second. Stanley’s voice is more urgent.

“Carly, I need you to call me. You’re due in rehearsal tomorrow and I haven’t heard from you. I talked to Walker and he feels horrible and wants to make it up to you. Can’t you two work through it so you can go on tour?”

“No!” I shout at the phone, deleting the message and playing the next.

“Carly, dammit! Pick up the phone! You’re supposed to be at rehearsal now!”

The first rehearsal was last night.