Skipped a Beat (Love Hate Rock-n-Roll Book 2) Read online

  Skipped a Beat

  JB Salsbury

  Copyright © 2019 by JB Salsbury

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To all the girls who fall for the drummer.

  Contents

  About Skipped a Beat

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Ryder’s Inspiration Playlist

  Books By JB Salsbury

  About the Author

  About Skipped a Beat

  Ryder Kyle is a spoiled, self-righteous jerk.

  He doesn’t understand suffering. Entitled guy like him wouldn’t recognize desperation if it smacked him in his perfect face. I don’t need him, but I do need a ride west. I won’t let the guy who reminds me of the mess I left behind interfere with my plan to get to Los Angeles.

  This woman is nuts!

  People don’t sneak on a tour bus looking for shelter. That’s what crazy fangirls do, but she's far from a fan. She says she’s homeless and asks for help by throwing insults. Her words are like a viper strike and she’s made me her target. We’re dumping her at the next stop.

  Skipped a Beat is an enemies to lovers rock star romance that proves one seemingly insignificant choice can change the path of an entire life.

  Prologue

  Three months ago…

  Jade

  There are moments in life that feel so unreal they could be cinematic. As if I could remove myself from the scene and watch it happening to someone else because holy shit this could not be my life. These moments are usually gripped in heartache and devastation or they’re wrapped in overwhelming love and gratitude.

  I’ve experienced the first.

  This particular moment is the latter.

  Staring into the eyes of Dr. Steven Fine, attending physician at Massachusetts General Hospital, I am, once again, drowning in the deep blue pools of his eyes. Our hands are clasped under the table at a small, private corner booth. The restaurant is dark and pretentious in an old-world décor that screams of distinguished men who drink brandy after a rich meal. A place someone like me would never fit in alone, but on Steven’s arm, people only give us a cursory glance.

  When we’re together, I don’t feel like a young girl stumbling through life desperate to figure out where I fit in.

  I study his profile, the lines around his eyes and sprinkling of gray in his sideburns. He’s twenty years older than me, but if I didn’t know us and just happened upon our table, I don’t know who I would be happier for—the older gentleman who managed to score a younger woman or the fresh-faced girl taken under the wing of a successful doctor who would not only teach her about life but also about how to love herself and feel beautiful.

  I hold up my hand as he pours me another glass of full-bodied red wine. “That’s good. I think I’ve had enough.” I lean into him, drunk on the contact of his solid body beneath his starched button-up shirt. At forty-seven he’s lean, muscular, and oh so delicious.

  He smirks and tops off his own glass before whispering in my ear. “But you like getting dirty when you’re drunk.” My entire body flushes with heat, and he nips at my ear. “And I love fucking you dirty.”

  This man and his mouth and all the expert things he can do with it. A person would never assume that behind his white coat and patient demeanor he’s insatiable in bed.

  I shiver at the scrape of his stubble against my neck. “We haven’t had our dessert yet.”

  His eyes flare with heat and his gaze devours my face, throat, and chest. Self-consciousness overtakes me when I consider what he sees. My meager wage affords me Target rather than Saks, TJ Maxx instead of Nordstrom, but the lust in his eyes doesn’t seem to care. “You’re my dessert.”

  Oh, how easily I can get lost in him.

  “I love you, Jade,” he says by way of justifying his overwhelming physical need.

  I grin wide. “I know you do. You tell me all the time, but I was really looking forward to the bread pudding.”

  He chuckles, the sound dark and promising. “Then we wait.”

  “Thank you.” I sip my wine and gauge his mood. Weeks have passed, and I’ve yet to come to a solution for helping my mom. Her living on the opposite side of the country has made it difficult since her mental health began to deteriorate. I know Steven could help me, but how could I ask someone I love to risk so much for me? Then again, how could I not at least ask? My mother’s life is on the line.

  A comfortable stillness settles between us, and I watch him watch the room. His tie is off, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, and his shoulders are relaxed into as much of a slouch as I’ve ever seen. He’s sex hungry and buzzed off expensive wine. If there’s ever been a more perfect time to ask, it’s now.

  I take a fortifying gulp and turn in the booth to face him more head on. “Remember when you told me you’d do anything for me?”

  His eyes narrow, then his lips tilt into a half smile. “I do. I remember it well. We were at the little hotel in Nantucket, and you had my dick down your throat.”

  My cheeks flush. “Wow. You have a really good memory.”

  “Only of you.” His expression sobers a bit. “Why? Do you need something?”

  Oh, shit… my heart pounds fiercely, and I wipe sweaty palms on my faux-leather black leggings. “Remember I told you about my mom?”

  His eyes narrow again. “Her depression after your brother—”

  “Yes. And how her husband left, and she’s got the back thing that’s keeping her from working.”

  He sips his wine, then nods. “Did you tell her about the specialist in Laguna?”

  “I did, but her insurance lapsed, and because she’s out of work, she doesn’t have the money.”

  “You need me to call in a favor?”

  “No, I—”

  “Want me to send her some cash?”

  My eyes well up at his willingness to help. “I already send her money, but you know I don’t make that much.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re supporting your mother?”

  “Just until she gets back on her feet.”

  “That explains why you still live in that dump.”

  “Hey.” I rub my hand up his thigh, teasingly close to his zipper. “I thought you liked my dump. You called it cozy. If you don’t like it, we could always start staying at your house?”

  “You know we can’t.” He hisses when my palm makes contact. His whole body shivers, and he stiffens under my palm. His ex-wife travels a lot for work, and he keeps his teenage daughters while she’s gone. Teenage daughters who aren’t ready to accept a new woman in his life so soon after his divo
rce. He’s taken me by his five-bedroom brick mansion once. We made out on his couch before going out to dinner and ending the night at my apartment. It’s the most I’ve seen of his place in the ten months we’ve been dating. “Your place is closer to the hospital which gives us more time together in the morning.”

  I wonder at what point he’ll introduce me to his kids, a subject for a different date. I remove my hand and sit back. “Fine.”

  The waiter comes and places our dessert between us. Steven takes a bite, then waits for me to continue.

  As much as I wanted dessert, my stomach rumbles with nerves, stealing my appetite. “My mom’s doctor won’t refill her prescription.”

  He side-eyes me. Knowingly. “Pain meds?”

  I nod.

  He doesn’t respond, and my pulse pounds. I knew this was a bad idea, but what other option did I have? I fidget with my napkin in my lap.

  “Jade,” he says, and I hear the disapproval in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, it was a long shot. I shouldn’t have asked. I just don’t know where else to go, and if she could get on top of the pain, then she could get back to work and I wouldn’t have to send her money, but I’ll figure—”

  His lips press against mine, firm, reassuring, silencing. When he pulls back, I lick at the sweet vanilla syrup he left behind. He notices and smirks. “There’s a pre-signed prescription pad in the top drawer of my desk at the hospital.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, fingers through his cards, and pulls out his black Amex. He tosses it on the table and finishes his wine in one gulp.

  I expect him to say more, but he doesn’t.

  “That’s it? So you’re saying I can just write it myself or…”

  He eyes me, his expression blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  We pay the bill and end up back at my place, my head in his lap, his dick down my throat, and the warm feeling of love swirling in my chest.

  1

  Present Day…

  Jade

  “What the hell are you doing? Get your hands off me!” I knock the truck driver’s hand away from my legs and scamper in search for escape before I remember where I fell asleep.

  “Whoa, easy there.” The old man, whose name I learned sometime shortly after hitching a ride as Roger, holds his palms out, giving me an immediate sense of dread. Why aren’t his hands on the wheel? Driving? “I only just got to second base, sweetheart.”

  The semi-truck’s engine is off, the only sound coming from the generator pumping plenty of heat into the cab. I rub steam off the window and see a white-out snowstorm. “Where are we?” My voice sounds so tiny, and I pray he doesn’t pick up on how scared I am being stuck in a truck cab with a handsy stranger.

  “Can’t much see the road in the storm, so I pulled over. Thought we could sleep until sun’s up or the weather clears, whichever comes first.”

  Roger has got to be in his sixties and looks like a sweet old grandfather. It’s the reason I approached him for a ride. I never imagined he’d feel me up while I was asleep. Sick son of a bitch!

  And here I’m stuck with him at… where are we?

  I squint past his slumped shoulders and see the faint glow of lights through the snow.

  “You didn’t think you’d get a ride for free, did ya?”

  My gaze snaps to his just as he reaches for me again. I press my back against the door noticing only then that his jeans are unbuttoned, and there’s a small tent in his yellow-stained tighty-whiteys.

  “You said you were married.” I squint again through the foggy windows searching for any hope of escape that doesn’t include me freezing to death.

  I could run. I don’t know what those lights are, could be a populated truck stop or a mostly abandoned rest stop. The first would protect me from the elements enough to stay alive, and the second might prolong the inevitable with Roger here if he chooses to come after me.

  “What the wife don’t know won’t hurt her.” He grabs for me again, and I kick at his hands. “Don’t you be difficult now.” He leans over the center console, and his strength betrays his age as he latches on to my jacket and hauls me close to him. His greasy gray hair falls out of place and over his lust-glazed eyes.

  “Wait, stop.” I struggle against his hold. “Let me just… get my jacket off.”

  His swollen face reddens, and his cheeks shake with fury as he jerks me so hard, I feel a pinch in my neck. He releases one side of my coat to slide his hand beneath and squeezes my boob hard.

  I cry out and swing. My closed fist connects with his ear.

  “Bitch!” He lunges over the center console and slams me against the door, his hands ripping at my clothes. “You colored girls gotta know your place!” He reels back and slaps me. I hardly feel it because at the very same time, I find the door latch and release it.

  Falling backward from the semi truck cab feels like forever until I hit the snow. I slip one arm free from my coat. He hangs out of the truck, grasping frantically at the sleeve, as I scramble to leave it behind and take off running.

  I pray there’ll be other people, somewhere safe I can hide until Roger gives up and leaves. Worse case is I’m deserted out here and I die, but it seems a far better fate than what that racist asshole had planned.

  My boots slip on the heavy snow as I run toward the light. I know I should feel the below-freezing temps, but my blood pumps so hard, I’m actually sweating.

  The light comes into view, and a window appears followed by a glass door. A truck stop! I want to fall to my knees and weep with gratitude, but I don’t know if Roger is on my heels, so I push harder and throw myself against the door. My boots squeak on the wet linoleum when I stagger inside.

  The place is mostly empty, but I meet eyes with a woman behind the register who looks at me as if seeing a ghost. “Honey, are you all right?”

  I force my speeding pulse to slow and stomp the snow off my wet jeans. “That’s some storm out there,” I say as casually as I possibly can, considering what I just went through. “Bathroom?”

  “Right back there.” She points toward a wall of fountain beverage dispensers.

  “Thank you.” I smile and watch her expression soften a little, the way all people do when I smile, then turn away and roll my eyes. My hands shake, and my lips quiver with the adrenaline rush and fear Roger may follow in after me.

  I figure the bathroom will be empty but check the stalls anyway before locking the door. I don’t think Roger would be stupid enough to barge into the woman’s bathroom, but after what he just pulled, I wouldn’t put anything past him. Surely he’d think I ratted him out by now. But just in case, I check the lock then lock it again.

  I round the tiled wall to the sinks and hit the air dryer to warm my hands and legs. “That prick,” I mumble and imagine myself pumping his veins full of fentanyl until he stops breathing. I gasp at the direction of my thoughts. “I’m not a murderer.” I remind myself for the tenth time in as many days.

  Manslaughter is still murder.

  I pinch my eyes closed, hoping to still the downward spiral of my thoughts before they suck me under. I pull off my knit beanie and shake out my hair, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Cringing away, I force my eyes to the floor.

  I haven’t showered since the homeless shelter. Has it been days? A week?

  I do my best to dry my beanie and curse Roger again as I knock snow off my threadbare sweater. Without my jacket, I’ll never survive being outdoors.

  I tuck my hair back behind my ears and wash my hands in warm water before splashing my face. My cheek is tender, so I risk a glance at my reflection and see the skin below my eye turning purple. He must’ve hit me harder than I thought.

  A knock at the door makes me jump, and my pulse that had finally calmed a fraction speeds back up.

  “Everything all right in there?”

  I sag with relief at the sound of a female voice. “Yes, I’m fine.” I swing open the door to see t
he warm, concerned eyes of the woman from behind the counter. “I was just trying to dry off.”

  “Why don’t you come on out and get a coffee to warm you up?” The woman’s nametag says Danni. Her round cheeks make her seem younger, but the few gray hairs threaded in her brown curls make me think she’s in her late fifties, maybe sixties.

  “I, uh…” I laugh a little. “I got my wallet stolen”—not a lie—“yesterday”—lie. “I don’t have any money for a coffee.”

  Danni frowns and gives me a once-over, seeing my holey sweater, dirty jeans, and bruised face. Anger stirs in my gut. I don’t need her pity. I’m about to lash out and say just that when my brain temple-thumps me, reminding me of just how desperate I am. “If I could just have a cup of hot water and some lemon, that would be great.”

  “Why don’t you sit down.” She directs me toward a row of tables by the window.

  I sit down and try to remember the direction I ran in from, squinting into the storm to see if Roger is still out there. My guess is he is, waiting out the storm, possibly waiting me out knowing my options are limited. A shiver racks my body and I palm my forehead, hoping I’m not getting a fever. I can’t afford to be sick. Hell, I can’t afford anything right now.

  “Here you go.” A huge cup of steaming black coffee is slipped in front of me along with a microwavable bowl of chicken noodle soup. “This should warm you up.”