Rock and Ruin by Saranna DeWylde & Dee J Holmes

Author:Saranna DeWylde & Dee J Holmes [DeWylde, Saranna & Holmes, Dee J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781999517878
Publisher: Bad Unicorn Press
Published: 2019-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

Unable to be alone in the beige, surrounded by the remains of my failed band practice—maybe my failed band—I’d headed out with my guitar. If I was going to figure out how to fix this, I needed space and air. Crossing the artery named for my favorite orange juice, I found myself in the university district.

The University of Nevada, Las Vegas was way closer to The Milton than I’d thought possible.

Weird.

It seemed wrong that my dead-end, demon-run apartment should be within reach of a place where so many people were able to plan for their futures. Taking classes, expecting to get jobs and families. In the middle of the day, the campus was probably crawling with kids from money, or kids with massive student loans—maybe both. And were they all wearing that UNLV logo with the hat? That shit was creepy.

On second thought, it made perfect sense to have the demons nearby.

Happily, all the university kids seemed busy with Saturday night parties and study dates, leaving their parks quiet—lucky me that other people had better lives.

Ducking around a group of beer-soaked frat boys, I found myself a nicely lit park bench in a corner and readied my guitar. Without an amp, it would sound pretty shit, but that didn’t matter. I knew the feel of the right chords, and my voice would do the rest.

After the shit show of band practice, I needed music.

My music.

Closing my eyes, I strummed my fingers over the strings, felt the tone through my bones.

Come on, Muse, help me find the answer.

It started as nothing but a hum and a meandering, meaningless tune. Nothing but a series of chords and vocal exercises. Then it changed. My hum became words, the chords settled into a rhythm, and I realized I’d begun playing my mom’s favorite songs.

I wasn’t playing to a muse, I was praying to my mother.

I couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Mom. I need you and you’re not here. Tell me how I fix this.

The song poured out of me. Elton’s Tiny Dancer blending into a string of Linda Ronstadt ballads, then shifted again into Sweet Child of Mine. Guns’n Roses made that song an anthem to scream into the sky. But tonight, as I sang, it became a hymn to my previous life. Slow and achingly sad, riddled with the happier times and dreams I’d left buried in the ground.

“I knew that was you,” a low male voice said.

My eyes popped open.

Lucas stood before me. Clad in worn gray joggers and a thin t-shirt sporting the ubiquitous UNLV logo, hair damp from a recent shower, he was clearly on his way home from a workout.

And holy shit, he looked even hotter tonight in those worn out clothes. Like edible hot. How was that possible?

“Uh, hey,” I stammered, desperately trying not to swallow my tongue.

Something sparkled in those incredible eyes of his. “Mind if I join you?”

I shrugged. “It’s a free bench.”

“I’ll take that as an invitation to sit.” He grinned at me as he sat

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