Replay: An Off Track Records Novel Read online

  Replay

  An Off Track Records Novel

  Kacey Shea

  Kacey Shea Books LLC

  Hinder

  Kacey Shea

  Copyright © 2018 by Kacey Shea Books LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Najla Qamber, Najla Qamber Designs – www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  Cover Photography: Gilbert Pereda

  Cover Model: Graham Nation

  Editing: Brenda Letendre, Write Girl Editing Services

  Proofreading: Christina Weston, Erin Toland, & Melissa Hake

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  For my parents.

  Thank you for everything.

  I love you.

  Also by Kacey Shea

  Sports Romance

  The Perfect Comeback

  Firefighters

  Caught in the Flames

  Caught in the Lies

  Rock Stars

  Detour

  Derail

  Hinder

  Replay

  Uncovering Love Series

  Uncovering Love

  Uncovering Desire

  Uncovering Hope

  Uncovering Love: The Wedding

  Contents

  1. Austin

  2. Austin

  3. Jayla

  4. Austin

  5. Jayla

  6. Jayla

  7. Austin

  8. Austin

  9. Jayla

  10. Austin

  11. Jayla

  12. Austin

  13. Jayla

  14. Austin

  15. Jayla

  16. Jayla

  17. Austin

  18. Jayla

  19. Austin

  20. Jayla

  21. Austin

  22. Jayla

  23. Austin

  24. Jayla

  25. Jayla

  26. Austin

  27. Jayla

  28. Austin

  29. Jayla

  30. Austin

  31. Jayla

  32. Austin

  33. Jayla

  34. Austin

  35. Jayla

  36. Jayla

  37. Austin

  38. Jayla

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Kacey Shea

  About the Author

  1

  Austin

  It’s just another Tuesday afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m rocking out with my boys, creating something awesome while we practice for the big stage. Most of the time I don’t overthink it, but there are these fractions of seconds, when the music comes together just right and my breath catches at the sound, that it hits me . . . I’m living the dream. My dream. Playing rock ’n’ roll, the best motherfucking music in the world, and all for a pretty paycheck. I’m one lucky son of a bitch, and I don’t take any of this for granted.

  Sweat beads at my temple, but I bounce on the balls of my feet, banging my head along with the rhythm as my fingers shred across the steel strings of my favorite guitar. The sound she makes is better than a woman reaching for her orgasm. Which is saying a lot because I fucking love that sound too.

  My fingers chase the crest of the melody, keeping within the confines of the steady bass beat. One more wail across the threads, and then the crash of cymbals and roll of toms from our drummer perfects one of our most loved songs.

  “Sick addition to the intro,” I say as soon as the room quiets. I tip my chin at Leighton’s practice set. “You bang those harder than a full-time hooker.”

  “Thanks?” The newest addition to Three Ugly Guys squints up and meets my gaze.

  “Dude, too far.” Sean chuckles and shakes his head as he plucks out a series of notes on his bass. We’ve been at this for a few hours, preparing before we head back out on the road in a few days.

  “What?” I shrug. “It’s impressive. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Let’s go over “Broken Mirror” again.” Trent switches to his acoustic before stepping up to the microphone. He’s all business, probably so he can split early and spend time with his girlfriend. “I don’t like the way we transitioned to “Whiskey Saturday.” Too rough.”

  “Aww, but I like it rough.” I pump my hips in a comic display of bravado as my bandmates gag and groan as if they’re disgusted by my comment. They won’t admit it, but they love it when I do shit like that. I see their smiles and barely contained laughter.

  Rachel Kinsley, the new head of legal for Off Track Records and total fucking babe, pops her head into the practice studio. “Austin, I need to steal you a minute.”

  I glance at the guys, their expressions as clueless as mine, and just like that I’m back in middle school being called to the office. It was a regular occurrence, so the memory comes with no guilt or shame, only curiosity. I lift my chin and set down my guitar. “A minute? Give me some credit . . . you’ll want at least an hour.”

  “He’s joking,” Trent apologizes, but she’s already out the door. He catches my arm and bugs his eyes. “Dude, are you looking for a sexual harassment lawsuit?”

  I mouth Sorry and make a goofy face because that’s what I do. I’m that guy. The one who says what everyone else is thinking but is too chicken to speak aloud. Then I take it a little too far but get away with it anyway because of my stunning smile. Or at least, that’s what I assume. If I weren’t so charming, I’d have gotten the shit kicked out of me a thousand times over.

  Or gotten fired from the band.

  In all honesty, it’s surprising I’ve lasted this long. That’s what she said. A grin settles on my lips. Even my thoughts can’t control themselves.

  With long strides, I catch up to the sexy Miss Kinsley before she reaches her office at the end of the hall. Her pencil skirt and crisp white dress shirt do nothing to hide her banging bod. The way her hair is pulled back into a tight bun practically screams Don’t fuck with me. If I were a betting man, I’d venture to guess that’s not the only thing wound tight about Rachel Kinsley. As hard as I try to resist, I want to fuck her even more.

  She waits for me to pass through her office door and then shuts it closed behind us. Her eyebrows rise expectantly as she walks around her desk.

  Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I’m sure to flex my arms because, well, all ladies love arm porn.

  But she doesn’t even take notice. Nothing. It’s as if I’m not even here. Fuck. Am I losing my game? Nah, that can’t be it. I shake off the disappointment and apologize because I don’t need any problems, for me or the band. “I’m sorry about what I said back there. It was completely inappropriate of me.”

  “Yes, it was. Please take a seat.” She gestures to the empty chair across her desk and then turns to pull open one of the long filing cabinet drawers that line the wall. I concentrate on not staring at her ass while she picks through the documents. It’s a good thing, because she doesn’t take longer than a minute to retrieve her file.

  She drops it on the desk between us and sits back into her chair.

  “What’s that?” I nod at the file folder.

  “Care to take a guess?” She raises one eyebrow.

  I shake my head because u
nless she had the foresight to file a harassment claim for my earlier comment or internal thoughts, I have no clue.

  “Open it.” She leans back, crossing her arms across that ample chest, and waits.

  Curiosity may have killed the cat, but this rock star is dying to know what earned me a one-on-one meeting with the sexiest lawyer to moonlight at Off Track Records. She’s probably the only perk that came with the recent re-org after being bought out by World Music Industries. I reach forward and open the flap to flip through the contents. It’s all legal jargon, most of which I don’t understand. But the name listed on top, that’s mine. What the—?

  “Coy Wright is suing you,” she says.

  “Our former drummer?”

  “Well, one of them.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! How?” My gaze scans the pages, but it’s as foreign to me as French.

  “You”—she takes the document from my hands and flips through the pages until she finds a part to read from—“beat him to unconsciousness in his own home. Caused physical and psychological damage rendering him unable to work as a musician.” She drops the document onto her desk and meets my stare. “The short of it is, you made him unemployable and now he’s suing for damages.”

  I shake my head because that is not at all how it went down. Anger surfaces with the memory. “He was living in our house, as a guest. He would’ve beat the shit out of Jess and anyone who tried to stop him had I not stepped in. How’s he going to prove any of this shit?”

  “You hit him. Repeatedly. It’s in the police report.” She pulls a paper from the folder and lays it on the desk.

  I can’t believe Coy. The bastard has brass balls to believe he can get away with this. “He’s just pissed ’cause no one will hire him. He’s an asshole who gets off on beating women. No one cares whether he’s a good drummer.”

  “Was.” She lifts her eyebrows and shrugs. “He can’t play anymore.”

  Annoyance bubbles in my gut. I glare and shove the papers back to her side of the desk. “This is fucking bullshit and you know it.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Mr. Jones.” She meets my stare across the table, and there’s a flicker in her gaze that stirs my dick to attention. Her complete control over her emotions and take-charge attitude are attractive as hell. She licks her lips as if they’re dry, or maybe it’s because I can’t stop staring at them. “I’m only the messenger.”

  “Oh, I’d say you’re more than that.”

  “Now, now, Austin. Are you hitting on me again?” She leans forward on her desk. The dip of her blouse and mound of exposed cleavage are incredibly distracting. “As the head of our legal department, I have to advise you that’s most unwise.”

  “And as a woman?” The words tumble from my brain and escape my mouth. “As the beautiful, fucking gorgeous, and clever woman you are, how would you advise me?”

  “Oh, Austin . . . they warned me about you.” She flashes a smile and lets loose a throaty chuckle. One that goes straight to my cock. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

  “You have no idea, but I’d be happy to demonstrate. Dinner?”

  She laughs again but rolls her eyes. “I can’t go to dinner with you.”

  “Then dessert? Text me. I’ll deliver.”

  She doesn’t answer, not immediately, and the silence charges with excitement as I hold her gaze. It’s a bad idea. Sleeping with anyone at work is, but I’ve never been one for wise choices.

  She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m sure you would.” She narrows her gaze and points at the door. “Go back to practice before you cause any more trouble. I’ll keep you abreast of the litigation. We’re fighting it, yes?”

  “Oh, hell, yes,” I practically shout.

  She glances at me from beneath her lashes and just as I expect her to get all flirty, her gaze turns completely professional. “In the meantime, try not to do anything stupid. Or at least, keep it behind closed doors.” She leans back into her chair, queen of her domain. So fucking sexy.

  “Debauchery behind the door. Got it.” I wink.

  “Austin.” She drags out my name with that serious lawyer face. The one that says we’re over and done with messing around.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave her off and push up from my chair to leave. “I won’t be a problem. And Rachel?” I level her with a stare of my own.

  “Yes.” She tilts her head to the side.

  “Thank you. This guy really is a bastard.” I think back to all the shit that went down with Coy. It was only a few months ago, but I thought we’d moved on from him. Guess not. “I don’t want him to see one dime. Men who prey on women the way he does . . . they deserve to rot.”

  “At least we agree on that.” The hardness of her features softens and she tips her chin. “And you’re welcome.”

  I walk to the door, but before I open it, I glance back with my most charming grin. “So, was that a no or a maybe on dessert?”

  “You can go now.” Her lips press into a hard line and she raises her brows, daring me to argue. I almost do.

  “Got it. I love it when you’re bossy. Totally hot.” I wink, but when she narrows her glare I pass through the door. “Going!”

  On my way back to the studio, I consider telling the guys about this development with Coy. They’re gonna lose their minds. Sean especially. Fuck. They’ll learn the truth soon enough, though. And we don’t have the luxury of wasting time. We’re only in town for one week to celebrate the holidays and record a new single, and then it’s back on the road. As much as I want to bitch about Coy, I don’t want to ruin anyone’s Christmas.

  “There he is. We were beginning to think you weren’t coming back,” Trent complains.

  “You’ve seen how hot our lawyer is, right? I was in no rush to come back to you ugly bastards.” I pick up my guitar and slide the strap across my shoulder. “Where were we?”

  “Seriously? Dish. What’d she want?” Trent lifts his brow.

  “She wanted me alone in her office. What do you think?” I stick out my tongue, hoping the obscene gesture will get him to drop the third degree. I’m well versed in lying, or truth avoidance, but I have a harder time when it comes to people who are familiar with my bullshit.

  Trent stares.

  I let loose a laugh that says I’m as carefree as a fucking bird. That does the trick.

  “Whatever.” He rolls his eyes and tightens one of the strings on his guitar. “Picking back up on “Wandering Soul”.”

  I nod and glance over to Leighton, waiting for him to count us off.

  Sean struts over before we start. “Everything good?”

  “Yeah, man. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  He nods, but his lips press into a thin line. Worried.

  “I swear. I’m good. Really, our sexy suit has it all under control.” I level him with a stare and it must work because he wanders back to his amp. I pray I didn’t just tell a lie. I have faith in our shark of a lawyer. Hell, how much of a case could Coy have anyway? Everything’s gonna be fine. It’ll all work out. It always does for me. Mostly.

  2

  Austin

  It’s the most wonderful time of the year. At least, that’s what people say, and honestly, I shouldn’t complain. My life could be so much worse. But there’s something about the holidays that brings forth nostalgia and loneliness.

  I miss things I shouldn’t. I miss . . . people . . . I shouldn’t.

  The joint pinched between my fingers makes a lot of that go away. I inhale one last drag, hold my breath until my lungs burn, and snuff out the flame on my exhale. The party’s in full swing inside; cheerful voices reach all the way out to my perch on the back patio. Normally, I don’t envy others’ joy. Hell, I’m living my motherfucking dream. But today I’ve been avoiding this holiday gathering with my bandmates. In one year everything’s changed, and I’ve become a proverbial third wheel. Technically, fourth. The Three Ugly Guys have fallen in love, found their other halves, and
I’m the lonely son of a bitch looking in from the outside.

  Fuck, what’s in this weed? I shake my head and blink my eyes to clear the negative thoughts that swirl in my mind. I don’t begrudge my friends’ happiness. They fucking deserve all of it. And I don’t do relationships. I prefer my no-strings-attached bachelor status just fine. Staring at the skyline, I take in the gray clouds that paint the horizon for another second before I push off the ground.

  If I stay out here much longer I guarantee Deb will send a search party. Trent’s mom practically adopted me as a teen. Not like she had much of a choice with the number of hours I spent at their apartment, but now I consider her more of a mother than my own. She won’t let me miss Christmas.

  Throwing open the back patio door, I stagger a little as I cross the threshold. “Merry fucking Christmas!” I raise my hands, a wide smile on my lips, and walk into the family room.

  Trent chuckles from where he sits at the edge of the couch and shakes his head. “Someone’s already lit.”

  I press the little button on my sleeve and make the front of my sweater blink and glow. “Lit like a fucking Christmas tree. Only way to be, bro.”

  “Festive as fuck.” Sean slaps my hand for a high five.

  “You like the sweater?” I glance down and puff out my chest. “I have a matching one in my room if you want.”