Chapter One

Roman

Sweat drips down my body. Anger threatens to grind my teeth to ash as I sit in this musky, puke-smelling cell and stare at the drunk fucker who finally passed out after nearly choking to death on his own vomit.

The shithole place looks the same as it did eleven years ago when I was tossed in here for thinking I was some badass above the law. More like shoved, smacked around, and taunted by the officers who didn’t take kindly to a young twenty-one-year-old wasted punk who popped an officer in his face, all because he showed up at my home to tell me to turn my music down. I was strung out on coke, higher than a kite, and don’t remember a damn thing except telling him who I was, plus, “fuck off” and “get your ass off my property.” Man didn’t take too kindly to that when he slammed me up against the wall, cuffed me and told everyone to get out of my house or they would be following behind me in another cop car. Learned my lesson when I woke up to this same dingy smell, and I meant it. Up until they came to my home in the Hollywood Hills last night, where I happened to be sitting on my deck staring at the one thing that reminds me of her while waiting for my publicist to tell me what I should do after I whaled the shit out of a member of the press. He deserved it. Hell, I should have yanked his tongue out of his throat and shoved it up his ass for what he said.

I’m not regretting what I did one Goddamn bit. The fucker brought up something I never discuss with anyone. My past and the one woman who very few people know about. They know about her now, that’s for sure. “Fuck. I hope Marcus can find her. She needs to be warned.”

There are only two things in my life I regret. One of them is finally out of my life, and the other is walking away from her.

I refuse to let my thoughts drift to the only woman who ever really owned a piece of me while I’m sitting in here. The memory of Joslyn will not be tainted by the smell of this jail cell. Nor will I allow her to be brought up by them again if I can help it. Her name is going to be dragged through the mud over something I’m positive she’ll never forget. I know I never will. Not even after I take my last breath.

I close my eyes, thump my head against the dingy white plaster, and let my mind roam to the reason why I am here.

I don’t blame the assholes who were lurking around the courthouse yesterday just hoping they would be the one to get the famous Roman Nixon, lead singer of the rock band Trained in Black, to finally open up and tell his side of why I got a divorce. I do blame the little pin dick fucker from Hollywood Living, one of the worse gossip rags there is for opening a door and leaving it wide open for anyone to walk through and destroy an innocent person’s life.

I’m not telling anyone jack shit. You’d think they would know that by now. Even before I got married, I spoke only when I had to. I’ve done the talk show thing, private interviews and that’s enough. Not once have I spoken to any of those shadow walking lurkers who crawl out day and night. They all make me sick.

My ex-wife, Gwen, has always been the one front and center of the press. Lights flashing, microphones shoved in her face and enjoying the limelight. I usually let her have at it. I had a few respectable rules for her to live by keeping the band as well as what you think or don’t think you know about my past to yourself and the truth that I hated her guts out of the press, and she could talk all she wanted.

Gwen was as big of a waste as living in this fucking city. Los Angelas is a dump. A place where people move in hopes their aspirations of becoming famous lead them to living the good life. Money, booze, constant parties. Over half the time, their dreams end up at the bottom of the ocean, and they end up living on the streets, or they wind up sitting here. Young dumb fucks like I was who think they can live above the law. Most of all, it’s the city of musical beds. People are jumping from one person's bed to the other, because a guy can’t keep his dick to home or a woman opens her legs for a man who isn’t her husband. It’s fucking pathetic.

Even though I’m grateful I got rid of Gwen, I still walked the straight and narrow while we were married. Still kept my dick to home. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with loving my wife or trying to fix a marriage that had been over before it even began. It had everything to do with my band and maintaining the good reputation we fought hard to have.

Gwen and I had been on the outs for over a year. We hadn’t slept in the same bed for just as long. I knew she was messing around, and I didn’t give a shit if she did. I even told her to go file for a divorce. Hell, I should have done it myself when I first suspected she was. Sure as shit didn’t care what anyone but my fans and my bandmates thought of me, and I have no family I care about protecting. But we were getting ready to tour. I didn’t have the time to fight with her. Not when I had millions of people all around the world relying on me to perform.

Before Gwen, I had women at my disposal for years. Won’t lie to anyone about taking advantage of every chick who thought she could get her claws in me and own a piece of the famous Roman Nixon. None of them did. Not even Gwen could take hold of the piece of me she wanted. It was and always will be retained for someone else.

Gwen strolled into my life like a bright, shining star. The pretty makeup artist who worked for the photographer we hired to shoot the cover for our latest album.

She had the looks of a model. The personality of the girl next door. The ones who act all innocent and sweet until their polished, trimmed-down-to-nothing nails snake out, and deadly pointy hooks take their place.

Three fucking years I put up with her shit. Spending my money, lying to all her friends about how wonderful it was to snag a man like me. A man she claimed she had never heard of until the night we met. A man who helped get her foot in the door for an audition. And once she was told over and over again she wasn’t what they were looking for, that’s when my life became a living hell.

It was all my fault. No one wanted to hire her because rumors had floated around she was either pregnant or lost the baby from partying too much with her husband. The best one of all was, how could Roman and his wife think about having a baby when all they did was travel around the world? Well, a couple would have to fuck first, for one, and fucking after her true colors came out was the last thing I wanted to do. I could go on and on about the lies they strummed up while she sat back and ate them up like it was candy. Wouldn’t surprise me if she added to their bullshit herself.

The funny thing is, she eventually fell out of love with me and in love with having her name plastered everywhere. She fed right into the celebrity web, and after a while, I started touring without her. She made the world believe the stories they were printing, and I was too fucking tired to give a shit. Up until the day I caught the man she was fucking sitting in my kitchen, at my bar, drinking my beer. In my fucking apartment in New York City.

At first, I was pissed seeing another man in a place I worked my ass off to buy. It took me less than fifteen minutes to grab the shit I wanted and get the hell out of there with a big “Thanks” and “Good luck” to the both of them. I filed for divorce two days later.

I was prepared to get her gone. But Gwen is a smart, cunning little bitch. Hired herself one hell of a lawyer who whipped my ass all over the place in court.

Come to find out the prenup papers I signed, the ones that were her idea we had drawn up, were never filed.

I owe it all to my group of my now fired attorneys for not doing their job and following the whole thing through. They allowed a woman I’ve been separated from to rob me fucking blind. Take half of my assets while she sits back plotting against her next victim in her shallow-hearted little mind. Cunt.

Not having an attorney is the reason why I’m still sitting here. I refuse to have the court grant me one. Didn’t need one to show up to sign the papers yesterday, and now I wish to fuck we started interviewing lawyers weeks ago, because my stubborn ass wants out of here so I can find out what the hell is going on out there.

As far as Gwen goes, she can have it all. Knew over a month ago when the judge told me I could fight not having a legally binding prenup I was firing my attorneys for making a big mistake. Sure as shit wasn’t stalling my divorce. I told him no thank you. I was done. I wanted out. What I should have done was start the process of finding one then. The problem is, trust is a hard thing for me these days.

I’ve never trusted the paparazzi. Never will. However, I trusted my lawyers, and where did that get me? In fucking jail with dried blood on my knuckles nursing a headache from hell.

I know Gwen’s the one who tipped off the weasely fucker who shoved his microphone in my face and asked about Joslyn. How the hell she found out is a mystery. There’re only a handful of people who knew about her. Brock, Dean, and Miles, all my brothers from the band, my publicist, and my PR people. All of whom have been with me for years. All of whom are the only people I trust.

Looking up, I see the band's publicist, Markus, making his way down the hall with the snarky cop who arrested me. The second they step to the side, my dick twitches when my sight flies up to the beauty in a red dress that lands just below her knees and wrapped tightly around her waist.

Holy fucking long legs and tits all swatched in one devilish color.

“I don’t believe there’s a need for any introductions here,” Marcus states, his finger pointing back and forth between her and me. His brows shooting into his hairline. Eyes puncturing several more holes in my head to tell me to shut the fuck up and don’t ask questions. He doesn’t have to worry. I’m stunned to silence anyway.

“Hello, Roman. I’ve been informed you need an attorney.” Say what? Jesus, that sound. It has always been the sexiest, sultriest voice I’ve heard in my life. It shoots straight to my dick.

While her presence has captured my tongue, my eyeballs are working fine. They roam down the delicate slope of her neck. My eyes bulge when she juts out her hip, places a hand on her waist, and a familiar silver bracelet dangles from her dainty wrist. I swallow. Hard. She’s also sporting a small scripture tattoo on the inside of her arm. I can’t make out what it says from this angle; it has me wondering if there’s more hidden underneath her dress. Hot as fuck.

For shit’s sake, she is stunning. I’m talking any man would fantasize over this woman. Might draw blood for her, too, and they probably have. Some have probably dreamed of lying flat on their back, positioning her over him, and gliding her right down to sit on his face. I’m harder than the steel on these bars thinking about how good she tastes. My mouth is getting wetter by the second. She tasted divine back then. Bet anything she’s ripened to fucking delicious.

“You have got to be shitting me. Did she agree to this? Does she know everything?” I’m beginning to wonder if there is anyone in this world I can trust. Sneaky fucking bastard found her. I’d like to know how. Last time I checked, she was still living in Chicago. Of course, that was about a month before I met Gwen.

I didn’t have parents who gave a crap about me. Neither did the woman standing in front of me. We both grew up in the same foster home from ages six to ten. That’s about the time I started getting into trouble. The state sent me to another home across town. I learned my lesson well when I realized I wouldn’t be seeing her as much as I was used to. I was very thankful they kept me in the same school district though, or I would have gone batshit crazy without having her in my life.

“I’m standing right here, and she has a name. One you used to know quite well. I know enough about what’s going on to get you out of here. After that, I don’t give a shit what you do, Roman,” she snaps. This is her way of telling me to fuck off. Well, fuck that noise. She’s here, and I’ll be good and damned if I’m letting her slip away from me again. It seems she not only changed her profession, but she’s grown a feisty little backbone as well. I love it on her. I’d like to be on her myself. Preferably with my cock buried between her thighs. I’m going to make that happen sooner rather than later if she isn’t with someone. Not sure why I can sense she’s not. Don’t care. I’m going to have this woman and take back what’s rightfully mine. Her heart. Her body. Her beautiful soul. Me and Joslyn forever.

God, I can’t believe she’s here. Joslyn was everything to me back then. All of it and more. My childhood best friend. I fucked it all up with her without even knowing I was. The price of fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Not when it means you lose someone like her.

It all started going south after I won a local talent scouting contest right after high school. They didn’t give me much time to plan my move to LA. I tried to talk her into going with me, but it was all too much for her. She was already enrolled at The University of Michigan on a full academic scholorship. Her dream school.

I watched her walk away from me with a promise we would do everything we could to try and work it out while I stood at the top of our childhood playhouse. Hands gripping tight to the railing. Mouth set in a tight line. Heart sinking to the bottom of my stomach. Somehow, I knew then it would be the last time I saw her. I watched her like a hawk until she slipped into the trees and out of my sight. It was the first time in my life I cried. The second time came a few months later. I haven’t shed a tear since. I want to cry now simply because she’s here. In the very beautiful flesh.

We hung out in an old beaten-up railcar we’d found in the woods behind our home for years. Two innocent young kids only days apart in age played, dreamed, and at the age of fifteen fell in love. It was inevitable. We’re both thirty-two. Which means I have loved Joslyn for twenty-six years.

Our love was powerful. She became my angel, and I wanted to be her warrior. To do what was in my means to make a better life for the both of us.

And so I put the talent I was blessed with to use. I saved every dime I made for over a year, bought a guitar, and taught myself how to play. It wasn’t until the music teacher at our school heard me singing that I learned about the talent contest. Both Joslyn and I were thrilled for me to get this chance. I busted my ass to perfect the song Unforgettable, the one I wrote for her. The one I still sing on stage to this day. And every damn time I do, I picture her face. Her cries, her frustration when I told her I had to leave.

And then a miracle happened only to be taken away.

I shake my head, stand up, and circle my hands around the bars. She’s so close to me, but her thoughts are a million miles away.

When I meet her gaze, I can’t help but be drawn into her eyes. The icy blueness darting back to me has produced a feeling like I’m being pulled into a lake of frozen emotions. Every fleck of color strikes out and slashes me with years of pain.

She’s stuck back in time, and yet here we are in a place where the ice has cracked over the blunt news of our private situation. I can see every myriad shade of blue swirling together to form a sudden storm of built-up resentment and guilt.

“I’m sorry.” Those words bleed out of me around a lump that has been lodged in my throat for years. It pushes its way through the tension I’ve no doubt Marcus and the cop can feel coursing through their veins. Because let's face the truth; there isn’t a single person out there who went through growing up as we did, two peas in a pod who created another, only to lose it when Joslyn was on her way to surprise me.

She had barely started college and was giving it all up for our baby and me.

My fault, all of it. The silence still rings in my ears from the angry words I said.

She stands stock-still, and I wonder what the next words will be out of her mouth.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. You’ll soon be fine, Roman. Officer, please escort my client to be arraigned.” That wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I’ll take it none the same if it gets me out of here and closer to her. Joslyn spins around on a pair of sexy-as-hell black heels and walks away from me without another word.

“I’m glad you found her, Marcus. Whatever the hell you have planned up your sleeve by bringing her here better not explode in my face, or I’ll fire you like everyone else.” He waits for the officer to clip the cuffs around my wrist and push me in the direction of the hallway before he responds.

“Shut up, asshole. I busted my balls to get her to drive across town. The rest is up to you. You’re welcome by the way.”

“What do you mean across town? Has she been living here? For how fucking long?”

“About three years,” he responds as the officer cuffs me and shoves me through the door. Son of a bitch. She moved here right around the same time I quit keeping tabs on her? Fate needs to walk away from me and leave me alone for good this time.

I’ve never forgotten about Joslyn Don’t think I ever could. She’s the only woman who had hold of my heart. Still does.

When Joslyn miscarried our baby, not being able to help ease her pain tore my soul out pieces at a time. I went to Chicago to find her, but she had already left the hospital. I searched everywhere for her until the studio demanded I return. I left her there. Both of us broken and defeated.

I’m not about to let anything come between the direction our lives were destined to go since the day she stood in the driveway holding the hand of the social worker who dropped her off. Not ever again. Not even her.

I’ll do whatever it takes to steer our lives back on course.

In the right direction.