Blissful Tragedy Read online

  Blissful Tragedy

  A Novel

  By

  Amy L. Gale

  This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, places, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real.

  5 PRINCE PUBLISHING AND BOOKS, LLC

  PO Box 16507

  Denver, CO 80216

  www.5PrinceBooks.com

  Digital ISBN -10: 1631120050 ISBN-13: 978-1-63112-005-3

  Blissful Tragedy

  Amy L Gale

  Copyright Amy L Gale 2014

  Published by 5 Prince Publishing at Smashwords

  Cover Art by Viola Estrella

  Author Photo by Guy Cali and Associates, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles. For any other permission please contact 5 Prince Publishing and Books, LLC.

  First Edition/First Printing February 2014 Printed U.S.A.

  5 PRINCE PUBLISHING AND BOOKS, LLC.

  Acknowledgements

  I am enormously indebted to many wonderful people who have believed in me and assisted in my journey to publication.

  Carol Riccetti, my mother, who believes I can do anything. Chris Gale, my husband, who supported me through this journey and spent many nights watching television alone while I quietly wrote. Kelly Gazey, my friend for the last 25 years, who read and edited my book so many times she probably can recite it verbatim. Sharon Cometa and Rachel Capitano who formed our “Girls Bookclub”, read and edited my manuscript, and encouraged me to follow this dream. My brother, John Paul Riccetti, who spent many hours creating a web presence for me. I’m lucky to have such wonderful people in my life and couldn’t ask for better family and friends, I love you all.

  My editor Sara Barnard, who polished my book until it shined and also served as my teacher, inspirational coach, and friend. My publicist, Sara Benedict from Gliterary Girls Media. My author friends from the Pocono Lehigh Romance Writers chapter of the RWA. Ellen Hartman, who encouraged me to join the RWA, and guided me on my road to publication. Doug Simpson, who recommended 5 Prince Publishing and suggested I join the team. And 5 Prince Publishing who made this dream a reality.

  Dedications

  To my husband, who rocks my world

  To my mother, who believes I can do anything

  To my “Girls Bookclub” Kelly, Rachel, and Sharon, who taught me to follow my dreams

  CHAPTER 1—THE CONCERT

  An eerie silence takes over the dark night sky. I stare straight ahead and breathe slowly, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart. The crisp, cool, spring air caresses my body and heightens my senses. I shiver slightly. The bone-rattling drum beat pulsates through my chest. I jump up from my seat as the guitar screams its heavy ear-splitting shriek, like a choir of electric angels. A frenzy of loud cheers emerges, piercing through the calmness as hundreds of fans leap to their feet. The bright lights focus on center stage. I take a deep breath and stare at the silhouette slowly being illuminated.

  Van Sinclair stands so close that if I lunged forward, I’d crash into six feet of pure muscle. My eyes fixate on his light-brown, shoulder length, perfectly messy hair that frames his chiseled face. Then, they travel down to the tight black T-shirt that clings to every sculpted muscle of his torso, flaunting them in just the right way. My lips part and chills flood my body causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. I hold in a deep breath and slowly exhale as he grips the microphone stand, pulling it close to his body. He closes his eyes and begins to belt out the lyrics. His raw powerful tones, both decades old and brand new at the same time, resonate through the night sky. Hot lights shining down on the stage highlight a bead of sweat that runs down his arm, over the impeccably detailed dragon tattooed on his left bicep. He lifts his head and looks into the crowd. My heart races as I stare into his exquisite emerald green eyes, mesmerized.

  “Oh my God, he’s so hot!” Brooke yells into my ear, breaking my trance. “His picture doesn’t do him justice.”

  “You can say that again,” Sydney agrees.

  Breathless, all I can do is nod.

  Devil’s Garden is promoting their best album yet. Even though the two-thousand-seat amphitheater is not the largest of venues, it’s sold out tonight. A wall of bodies closes in, pushing us toward the stage. The hard wood against my palms keeps the crowd at bay. Can it keep me from being crushed for the whole two hour set? My skin glistens as the three of us sway, moving to the music. Wait, is Van Sinclair watching me? Yeah right, like that would happen.

  ∞

  The band steps forward. “Thank you so much Lakeview University. You’ve been great. We’ll be back next year, good night!” he yells to the crowd.

  Sydney holds up her pass. “Hey girls, the concert may be over but our night is just beginning. Let’s go backstage!”

  I put my arm around Sydney, pulling her into a side hug. “You’re the best sister in the world! Thank you so much for this awesome graduation present. Bryce must have called in one hell of a favor to score front row seats.”

  “You know Bryce doesn’t settle for less than the best.” Sydney says with a grin. “He picked me, didn’t he?”

  The three of us erupt into a mess of giggles. “I can’t believe we’re going to meet the band. When I met you freshman year, I never dreamed we’d be journeying backstage on graduation week,” my best friend Brooke says.

  “I would never leave you out. I couldn’t have gotten through this week without you, or the last four years for that matter. You’re the best friend and roommate a gal can have.” I flutter my eyelashes.

  She chuckles. “Aw, I think I might cry.”

  Sydney brushes her light brown hair over her shoulder. “Ok ladies, time to meet some hot rockers.”

  I tug at my new skirt, which hangs slightly past my underwear and hope they don’t show. My silver tank top leaves nothing to the imagination and for once, my hair actually cooperates. I brush the brown curls that hang down my back over my shoulder and fiddle with my black headband. Jesse would never let me leave the house dressed like this, but that’s no longer his concern. My stomach clenches and a sour taste develops in my mouth. I shake my head and banish the negative thoughts from my mind. Tonight is all about fun. Plus, I won’t be wearing this type of attire in the corporate world. Might as well live it up!

  I pat down the fabric as the crowd begins to dissipate. “If the wind catches the pleats in my skirt, I may be arrested for indecent exposure.”

  Sydney adjusts her body-hugging, hot pink T-shirt. “Think of going backstage as a woman’s right of passage.”

  I haven’t seen her wear those daisy dukes with the pockets that extend longer than the actual jean shorts since high school, and she’s put on more make-up than I’ve ever known her to wear. Bryce would freak if he could see his soon-to-be bride now.

  Brooke raises her eyebrows and pulls down her short black dress, which flaunts every curve of her perfect body, trying to make it reach her black thigh high boots. “I’m pretty sure Dean wouldn’t approve of my look either, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Dean would cringe if he knew his girlfriend left the house in that dress, especially to go backstage to meet a band.

  Like three giddy schoolgirls, giggling and squealing, we make our way to the secret catacombs of the amphitheater’s backstage area. We turn the corner and stop in front of a man of considerable size who looms before us, barring access to the stairwell. Sydney flashes him our passes and he moves aside, a knowing smirk on his face.

  The stairs lead us to a
long hallway. The aroma of damp musty air surrounds us as people carry equipment through the walkways, barely giving us a second glance. This is not the glamorous fantasy I’ve always envisioned backstage to be! Oh well, who cares? We’re still meeting the band. I can cross ‘meeting someone famous’ off my bucket list. Well, sort of famous anyway. My face flushes as we continue through the hallway.

  “You’re the only one of us who’s single. Sydney and I have to live out our rock star fantasies through you,” Brooke says as she winks at me.

  I press my lips into a hard line. “Oh please, I would never hook up with some rocker. They probably screw anything and everything walking.” Why would anyone want to be used? I hate to ruin it for everyone, but I’m not trying to score tonight.

  “That’s why the Trojan company is so profitable,” Sydney chimes in, snickering.

  I scowl and grind my teeth. “I think I’ve been exploited enough for one lifetime, thank you!”

  Why does it always have to be about sex? Devil’s Garden creates amazing music and I can’t wait to find out more about them; I bet they’re interesting guys. Sure, they’re all handsome, especially Van Sinclair. My heart beats faster. Their talent is not merely skin deep.

  We stop at a room filled with people. Scantily clad women crowd the space while the smell of smoke and booze thickens the air. We can’t look as trashy as these girls!

  I step back and wipe my sweaty palms against my skirt. “Does everyone have a backstage pass? There’s not even room to breathe in there.”

  Sydney turns and raises an eyebrow. “Come on ladies, it’s now or never.”

  Fruity perfume from the groupies greets me as I turn sideways and graze a few of them. We push our way through the crowd, finally reaching the band members.

  Van Sinclair is perched on a couch surrounded by an entourage of sleazy women. I glance around at the sea of miniskirts and tight T-shirts. My heart freezes and then begins to pound. His skin glistens under the glow of the fluorescent lights in the room. My hands tremble as he runs his hand through his hair. His bicep flexes as he moves. Steam should engulf the room from the energy radiating off his body.

  I take a deep breath and slowly walk toward Brooke and Sydney, who have managed to join the entourage.

  Van Sinclair looks up at me with those amazing emerald green eyes and my heart races. “Hey babe, want a drink?”

  My muscles tense and my jaw clenches. Sure, first they ask you if you’d like a drink and the next minute you’re walking in on them screwing another girl. No thanks! There’s no way I will be sweet talked into sex, no matter how enchanting this rock star is.

  “Listen, I’m not your babe and I’m definitely not sleeping with you!” I shout.

  Oh my God, did I just say that out loud? My stomach knots as I replay the words in my mind. I really need to establish some control over the filter between my brain and my mouth. I’ve just insulted the lead singer of one of my favorite bands while backstage at his show! Am I insane? A pearl of sweat runs down my neck, trickling along my backbone. A red-head in stilettos and a thin piece of fabric she’s trying to pass off as a dress snickers.

  He raises his eyebrows, smiles, and chuckles. Without missing a beat, he resumes schmoozing with his fans. There’s a harem of women holding shot glasses in their cleavage, begging him to drink. I can just imagine the other services they’re willing to offer. Four shots later, he’s back to signing an array of body parts and posing for pictures while women hang on his words, as well as his body.

  Brooke and Sydney glare at me with the most sinister of looks. If they had the ability to shoot daggers from their eyes, I would be lifeless on the floor.

  Why can’t I stop my eyes from traveling toward Van Sinclair? I flinch when I catch him gazing back at me while socializing with the others. Please let him forget my earlier outburst. I play with my hair, twirling it around my fingers, as I stand like a wallflower away from the action.

  Brooke runs her fingers along the bass players arm, catching her bottom lip with her teeth every time she smiles. When did she turn into such a flirt? Jeeze, she’s just about sitting on his lap.

  Sydney holds out her glass for a refill and downs another shot. There’s no way Bryce would’ve gotten us backstage passes if he knew she’d be drinking Jager bombs with the drummer. Thank God she’s not our designated driver.

  Van Sinclair rises from the couch and walks toward an ice-filled tub. He grabs two beers, and continues in my direction, stopping in front of me.

  “Hey not-my-babe-and-definitely-not-sleeping-with-me,” he says with a smile, almost laughing. “How about that drink?” He hands me one of the bottles. “Come on, walk with me.”

  My heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. There are so many butterflies in my stomach that I think I might hurl. Instead, I take a deep breath, compose myself, and look into the flawless green eyes which are searching my face, waiting for my answer.

  “Ok,” I squeak.

  We start to walk. I have no idea where we’re going, but it’s safe to say I would follow this man into the fires of hell if that’s where he led me. Dear God, don’t let me say or do anything else to embarrass myself any further than I already have. We walk through a hallway which leads us outside. I clutch my beer for dear life. Please let me steady my hand enough to prevent me from spilling it. We go up a few steps and I find myself on the backside of the stage, behind a curtain which separates us from the public’s view. Van sits on the edge, letting his feet dangle. He gestures for me to sit down next to him. I lower myself beside him, discreetly trying to pull my skirt down to maintain my dignity.

  “So, not-my-babe-definitely-not-sleeping-with-me. Do you have a name that’s a little bit shorter?”

  A heat wave flows from my neck to my cheeks. I lift my head and smile faintly. “Alexis Waters. Everyone calls me Lexie.”

  “Well Lexie, I’m Van Sinclair and I don’t think we were properly introduced before.” He turns toward me and holds out his hand.

  Goosebumps erupt as our skin makes contact. My heart is drumming against the walls of my chest. A powerful surge flows from my head to my toes as if electricity surges through me. “I’m really sorry about before. I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s been a rough week and I think I may have temporarily lost my mind.”

  He raises his eyebrow. “First time backstage?”

  “I’m sadly a backstage virgin.” I breathe slowly, trying to steady my pulse.

  “Not many of the other girls I met today can say that, judging by the things they were saying to me.” He flashes a wry grin. “Nothing like what you said to me of course.”

  “I’m not a use-me-and-lose-me groupie.” I press my lips into a hard line and cross my arms.

  He smirks. “These girls come half-naked to our concerts with the hopes of banging a rocker for the sheer purpose of bragging rights. Now, who’s using who?”

  I look down at the skimpy outfit I’m wearing. Wow, I never thought of it that way.

  “You look great,” he says as if reading my mind. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you honestly dress this sexy every day?”

  I bite my lip and twirl my hair around my finger. “Halloween was the last time.”

  He cocks his head to the side and lowers his eyebrows. “You’re not like my usual backstage guests. What’s your story?”

  Is that an insult or a compliment? Maybe it’s just an observation. “I graduated from Lakeview University with my business degree a few days ago and I’ve accepted a position with an advertising company. Hopefully I can work my way up to an account manager. The next great slogan you hear may be from my mind.” Oh God, I’m babbling. If I could just control my nerves. “I don’t start until the week after Labor Day. So I’m basically just enjoying my summer off.”

  “I thought you said you were having a rough week.”

  My stomach hardens. “Does walking in on my boyfriend, make that ex-boyfriend, cheating on me count as rough?”

  “Ouch.”
He grimaces and lifts his bottle. “To groupies and cheating boyfriends!”

  My whole body ignites as his eyes burn through me. I lick my lips and raise my beer. We clink bottles and his fingers slightly brush mine. My skin tingles and my hand begins to tremble.

  I steady it and take a sip. “So, how’d you come up with the name Devil’s Garden? You don’t seem satanic.”

  He rubs his hand along his jaw. “Seriously, you just want to talk?”

  I nod. A flash of tingles spreads across my face like wildfire.

  After a few blinks, he speaks. “The story’s really not that interesting. The guys and I all went to Prairie View High in Silent Springs, Kansas; class of two-thousand-four. When we formed the band, our guitar player, Marcus, wanted to check out the music scene in Seattle. We jumped in his car for a road trip. Got lost in Lake County Oregon, and found this place called Devil’s Garden. It’s an awesome volcanic field that’s hundreds of thousands of years old. It’s really cool! We used the name for our band.” He runs his hand through his hair. A few stray locks fall onto his perfectly chiseled cheek bone.

  I breathe slowly and stare at his flawless face, barely able to comprehend what he just said as I lose myself in the emerald hue of his eyes. Shaking my head, I compose myself. “Wow, I like it even more, now that I know the story. Devil’s Garden has a hint of a dangerous flare, like Black Sabbath meets Metallica. Nothing beats the classics!”

  He jerks his head back and squints his eyes. “Huh, I always say that too.”

  “So, how’s Seattle? It’s on my list of places to visit.”

  Van pauses. “The music scene is amazing; so many clubs and festivals. You can hear anything from folk to grunge to indie. We spent a week just hitting the clubs, trying to hear as many different bands as we could. There’s lots of talent out there. Our tour stops there the last week of August and I’m psyched to go back.”