People say there can be no light without darkness. It’s a nice quote and all, but I’m convinced it’s just a load of shit people love to hang onto so they feel better. There’s been more darkness in my life than I care to admit, but light? There’s been no trace of that in a long time.
I watch silently as fat raindrops pound against the window of the train. This—starting over—is a good thing, and has been my main goal since I started my journey to straighten myself up. I’ve already completed the first two phases of my plan: admitting I had a problem, and taking a stand to overcome it while getting my degree in psychology. Now I’m moving on to the third stage: helping others conquer their personal struggles, too.
It’s my new mission.
“Excuse me?”
My eyes drift away from the window to the man standing in the aisle next to me, wearing what I assume to be a very expensive tailored suit. He’s clean-shaven; his dark hair is neatly styled. Stunning blue eyes and a perfectly white smile complete this alluring package before me.
If I were still the old me, I would give him my best flirty smile and, despite the gold band on his left hand, I would’ve invited him to sit down. But I’m trying hard to forget that woman. Absurdly handsome men who never really gave a damn about me are my biggest weakness—a weakness I’m desperate to break away from. Messing around with unavailable men with no hint of remorse was how I knew I had problems: hurting people in order to get my fix is something I did for years. The thought alone is shaming. It got to the point where sex was no longer just a physical escape, but an addiction, too. Like I would die if I didn’t have it.
I blink a couple of times, bringing myself out of my thoughts while I do my best to repress my inner flirt. I notice the man’s still standing there wearing a mischievous grin. “Yes?”
The stranger’s grin widens. “Is this seat taken?”
I lick my lips and swallow hard as the temptation to invite him to snuggle now and fuck later in the bathroom crosses my mind. But as I’ve learned through my own psychological studies on resisting temptation, no matter how hard it may seem at the time, it’s far better than dealing with the fallout of giving in.
I set my purse in the seat. “It is.”
The man frowns and takes one last look at my long legs and voluptuous chest before he nods and continues down the aisle to find a seat.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I breathe a sigh of relief and allow my head to fall back against the seat. Annie would’ve been proud, although she wouldn’t have approved of how I was living my life to begin with. If she would’ve been there, things might not have gotten so out of control in the first place.
The train begins pulling away from the station, and I pull out my phone, flipping through my pictures until I find one of her. My fingers press against the screen as I trace the features of her beautiful face. As identical twins, people always said we looked alike, but other than that, there weren’t many similarities between us.
Annie was so vibrant; her blue eyes were always so alive with wonder and hope, while mine were dull, filled with dread and despair. She was so optimistic about life, while I was the queen of pessimism. Physically, our bodies were identical—long legs with hour-glass figures like our mother, blue eyes like our father—but our spirits were polar opposites, so I never got why people lumped us together as the same person.
“I miss you,” I whisper only loud enough for me to hear, before I kiss my two fingers and press it to her smile.
I quickly lock the screen and stuff my phone back into my purse, picking up the pamphlet for the posh facility I’ll be working at. Serenity Hills: Recovery for the Mind, Body, and Soul. When I interviewed last month, the director of the place, Dr. Wayne Shepherd, had gotten me excited to be involved with their program and their mission of helping individuals become the absolute best person they can be.
After nearly eight hours, the train slows as it approaches Cincinnati, the nearest town to Serenity Hills, I begin gathering my belongings and stuffing the books and pamphlets I’d been reading into my handbag. The man who approached me earlier on the train stands and turns toward me, offering a final wink in my direction before heading out of the car. He’s leaving the door open if I wanted to follow him, I guess.
I take a deep breath and stand, straightening my shoulders and tilting my chin up as I walk in the opposite direction of the handsome man. Every day that I fight against giving into my addiction, it becomes a little easier to walk away from temptation.
Once off the train, I search around in the crowd for my ride. It doesn’t take me long to spot the doctor who interviewed me. He’s just as I remembered him; tall, broad-shouldered, with neatly trimmed graying-hair and an athletic build—probably from running. Dr. Shepherd has that whole “distinguished” thing happening, and it totally works for him.
Dr. Shepherd smiles as his gaze locks on mine. He extends his hand in greeting as I approach him, and I set my bag down to shake his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Dr. Shepherd.”
“Wayne, please, Ms. Mead.” His smile is sincere.
“In that case, you can call me Frannie.” I want to roll my eyes at myself for sounding so much like a lame-o.
Wayne picks up my bag and ushers me toward the parking lot. “Did you have a good trip? I must say picking someone up from the train station is a first for me. Most people travel by plane or car these days.”
I shrug, not wanting to reveal my issue with flying just yet, so I give the best excuse I can come up with. “I prefer it. It’s relaxing and flying isn’t that much shorter in the long run.”
Wayne nods as he leads me to a black Mercedes. “I can appreciate a woman who knows what she likes and doesn’t. Flying is overrated, I suppose, with its cramped seats and germ-filled cabins.” The amused tone in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed, and I smile, glad that he’s accepted my rationale so easily.
Once Wayne places my bag in the trunk, he escorts me to the passenger side where he proceeds to open my door and help me inside. As I watch him walk around the car, I notice how attractive he is, even though I know he’s quite a bit older than my twenty-eight years. I can already tell working alongside him and keeping things completely platonic might prove difficult if he decides to make a move on me, but I’m determined not to sleep with anyone I work with. I’m confident I can keep things strictly business. I have to. My professionalism means the world to me, and I can’t allow my demons to influence me and cause problems with this new career that I so desperately want. It will be a challenge, but at least Wayne is a far cry from my normal type—irresistible tattooed, bad-boy man-candy. I just need to keep my distance from him, and any other man who may pose a threat to my newfound vow of celibacy.
It’s about an hour drive through the hills of Kentucky before we come to the entrance of Serenity Hills, tucked among a thick line of trees that hide the rest of the property from sight. We turn down the paved drive and wind our way up the gentle slope and through the woods.
The large white Victorian-style home with a wraparound porch that’s featured on the cover of the brochure comes into view. Wayne told me how beautiful this place was when he interviewed me in my hometown of Chicago, but I never expected this. It’s peaceful and serene—the perfect place for people to relax and recover from whatever demons they’re struggling with away from the harsh realities of the real world.
“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Wayne takes the words right out of my mouth.
“It is,” I agree. “I can’t believe I’ll be staying here.”
“Actually…” Wayne pulls around the circular driveway and then continues to drive around to the back of the house, where a series of tiny white cottages sit spread out about fifty yards from the main house. “You and the rest of the staff get your own cottages. They’re fully equipped—sort of like an efficiency apartment. They’re quite nice.”
I like the idea of having my own space to be alone with my thoughts and just read. I do have one lingering question, though. “What about our clients? Where will they be staying?”
He parks the car and cuts the ignition. “The clients stay in the main house, where myself and our head nurse, Timothy, will be as well. We like to keep our eyes on them, and Timothy is quite strong, which comes in handy if a client gets out of hand.”
“It’s good that you have him.”
“It is, but I want to assure you we take staff and client safety very seriously here at Serenity, and have never had an issue with any of our clients behaving in a violent manner. Most are affluent members of society—some are even celebrities.”
I raise my eyebrows. Celebrities? I thought the secluded surroundings were just to provide a tranquil atmosphere, but now it makes sense. The lush greenery also helps keep the prying eyes of the paparazzi out. I wasn’t even allowed to know the location of the treatment center until I formally accepted the position. The physical address was never listed on any of the informational paperwork I received. “Do many celebrities come here?”
Wayne pauses for a moment and then nods his head. “From time to time.”
“Do they receive any special privileges?”
“No. They are treated just like everyone else. We hold group sessions as well as some private ones to maintain a level of privacy for all our clients. Some of the issues they may need our help working through are very private, so we don’t begrudge them, or anyone else, of that confidentiality. We don’t want to hinder their recovery process.”
I nod. “That’s understandable.”
Wayne smiles, his perfectly white teeth on full display. “I think you’ll fit in nicely here, Ms. Mead.”
“Frannie, please, I insist, and thank you for that vote of confidence. I’m really excited to be a part of the team here. I’m ready to help make an impact on people’s lives.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Frannie.”
After Wayne helps me from the car and collects my bag from the trunk, I follow him down the cobblestone path toward one of the cottages. Fresh spring flowers line the walkway, and I inhale deeply taking in their floral scent along with the crisp air. I’ve never been one to covet country living, but I can see how living among beauty like this would be appealing to some.
The closer we get to the cottage, I notice how close it is to a beautiful, lush garden. A huge fountain sits in the middle, water spilling from a female statue’s bucket. Four benches surround it, each spaced equally apart. It’s breathtaking—like something that belongs in some grand park somewhere for the masses to enjoy, instead of just a few select individuals.
Wayne steps up onto the small concrete stoop of the cottage and watches as I study the garden intently. “I thought you’d enjoy that. I chose this cottage for you since it was right next door to it.”
“It’s wonderful,” I gush.
Wayne smiles, clearly pleased that I’m so ecstatic about his choice. “If you like that, wait until you have a look inside.”
Curious as to what could be any better than this, I follow him inside, and my breath immediately catches. This small little house must have been a decorator’s wet dream to design. Everything in the places exudes softness and serenity, down to its overstuffed cream colored couch and bedding, both with soft teal accents. It’s very fitting considering the name of this facility.
I resist the urge to jump on the bed and test its softness in front of Wayne, choosing instead to walk around the room. A small kitchen area sits along the back wall, and a couch with an entertainment area separates the living room from the bedroom. I push open one of the doors next to the bed to reveal a decent size walk-in closet, and the second door hides the full bathroom complete with claw-foot tub.
I think I’ve died and gone to my own personal heaven.
Wayne clears his throat behind me, and I turn to find him holding out a key. “Dinner is served promptly at seven in the main house, and I would be delighted to show you around the grounds afterwards—while we still have plenty of light.”
I pinch the small piece of metal between my fingers, delighted. “That would be great. Thank you.”
A huge smile overtakes Wayne’s face, even reaching his dark brown eyes. “I’ll leave you to unpack. See you at seven.”
The moment the door shuts behind him, I do the thing I’ve been itching to do since I walked in—I run and jump on the bed, immediately sinking into the thick down comforter.
I shove my loose strands of brown hair out of my face and sigh. “What a start to a new life.”
Two years ago, I would never have seen myself here, in this moment. Especially with both a degree and a job that I’m excited about. Annie would be proud; I know it.
After unpacking all my things, I glance up at the clock that’s hanging on the wall. It’s only a little after six, so I still have some time to poke around the place before dinner. I move to grab my purse but decide to tuck it into the closet for safe keeping instead. Since there’s not a pocket to be found anywhere on the sundress I’m wearing, I slip the key into my bra for safekeeping.
I step out on the small stoop and take care to lock my door carefully behind me before continuing up the stone path toward the main house. The silence of the natural surroundings is only disturbed when birds chirp in a gleeful chorus. I can’t remember the last time I was, or even if I ever have been, in a place so away from civilization that there’s absolutely no intrusion on the sounds of nature, but it’s delightful.
When I finally make it to the house, I step up onto the back porch. Its grand two-story pillars really give a regal appeal to the place. As I turn to walk to the front of the house, a door behind me opens.
A petite blonde, wearing a white skirt and pale yellow polo shirt, comes bouncing out the door with earbuds in her ears, humming along to a song on the radio.
The moment she spots me, she yanks the cord on her earbuds, popping them out, and grins. “You must be Dr. Mead. I’m Kimmy, the housekeeper. It’s so nice to finally have another woman on the staff around here.”
I extend a hand out to her. “Please, call me Frannie.”
“Oh my gracious, that’s an adorable name,” she says, and her heavy country accent makes me smile. “Well, Frannie, I hope you like your cottage. Dr. Shepherd allowed me to decorate it for you.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. I love the design of the place. Did you put the entire color scheme together?”
Kimmy nods enthusiastically. “I did. It’s my dream to be an interior decorator one day. I’ve been taking some online classes because there are no schools close by that specialize in that. I can’t afford to make the drive every day to one of the bigger cities, and I for damn sure can’t afford to live there, so online will have to do until I can save enough money to move.”
I study the young woman. She can’t be more than twenty, and yet, she clearly knows what she wants to do with her life and is already on a serious path to getting it. I’m envious of her, wishing I’d had her drive at that age.
“That sounds like a terrific plan.” I strain my neck to peek around the side of the house. “Which is the best way to get into the house? The back?”
Kimmy stuffs her phone and earbuds into the pocket of her skirt. “Come on, I’ll show you around. I bet you’re pretty anxious to meet everyone and get settled.”
“That would be lovely.” I follow her back through the door she just came out of, and we enter into a large library.
The grand ambiance that encircles the outside of the place doesn’t shy away from the inside one bit. Large wooden bookcases stretch along the back wall from floor to ceiling; every spare inch of the shelves filled with books. I take a deep breath and give myself another pep talk about maintaining my professionalism and not going absolutely gah-gah in front of this young woman. She might not understand my obsession with the written word.
Kimmy catches me staring and laughs. “It’s a lot of books, right? I’d never seen so many in all my life—not even in the libraries I’ve been in. Our towns around here can’t afford anything so extreme. We’re lucky to have three bookcases for the whole place—for every kind of book.”
“That’s a shame,” I tsk. “There’s nothing like getting lost in a fantastic story. No one on earth should be deprived of that.”
“I agree.” Wayne’s smooth voice coats the room, jerking my attention to him. “Sorry, ladies, I didn’t mean to intrude, but I was passing by and overheard your last statement, and I couldn’t help but get excited right along with you. It’s a shame that small towns like this get deprived of a decent library.” Wayne turns to direct his attention to Kimmy. “Since I’ve caught you, do you mind preparing a room in the men’s wing? I’ve just received an urgent request for program enrollment, and our new client will be arriving tomorrow.”
She folds her hands in front of her and nods, almost giving off the impression of a slight curtsy, saying, “Right away, Dr. Shepherd,” before she hustles out of the room.
I stare after her, and Wayne catches my attention when he speaks. “Bright girl.”
“She is,” I quickly agree.
“You don’t find many employees like her nowadays; smart, kind, and obedient. She follows every rule I set here to a ‘T.’”
My mind drifts back to all the previous jobs I’ve held and how many times I’d screwed off—cutting corners and sneaking time off when I could. I was definitely not the model employee that Kimmy appears to be. Wayne’s probably right. Finding someone like her is very much like finding a diamond in the rough.
“I trust you found your living quarters agreeable?” Wayne walks over to the bookcase and rearranges a couple of books on the shelf, like he couldn’t stand them being out of order. “If you have any additional requirements, please let Kimmy know. She can arrange to get anything you may need.”
“Really, Wayne, everything is perfect,” I reassure him.
He turns to me and extends his elbow to me, reminding me of an old movie, where the classic hero, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, escorts the heroine around. I’ve always been infatuated with the idea of finding a classy man like that.
I hook my arm in his and allow him to lead me through the door of the library into the main hall of the house. Deep mahogany wood covers the floor, while the crisp white walls lighten the entire space. Black and white portraits of different people are spaced evenly apart and one photo of a young woman with long dark hair catches my attention. Although I can’t see her face, the sag in her shoulders and the slight tilt of her head as she stares at a vacant field tells me she’s unbelievably sad.
“That’s one of my favorites. There’s just something about her body language that draws me in and makes me wonder what she’s thinking.”
I nod in agreement. “Yes.”
“I believe hanging photos that represent the possible feelings of our clients shows them that they aren’t alone—that everyone feels sad from time to time. You’ll find that we have them all over the main house.”
From there, Wayne continues the tour through the front parlor and then on to the kitchen, where a heavy-set woman with a deep tan and dark hair pulled up under a hairnet is buzzing around. Her tiny button nose compliments her dark brown eyes which are currently fixed on the cake she’s decorating. With a few swift motions of her hand, she creates a tiny red rose and then attaches it to the cake.
“That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to do that,” I say.
The woman glances up and smiles. “Thank you. My mother taught me.”
“Dr. Mead, this is Sue, our head chef here at Serenity, and the best baker I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting,” Wayne introduces us.
I release my arm from Wayne’s and begin to extend it toward her, but remember that she’s cooking and think better of it. “It’s nice to meet you, Sue.”
“You, too, Dr. Mead.”
“What’s on the menu tonight, Sue?” Wayne asks.
“Steak with mashed potatoes and green beans, and of course, chocolate cake for dessert,” Sue answers.
“Sounds fantastic. I’m looking forward to it.” Wayne turns to me and extends his elbow again. “Shall we?”
Wayne sweeps his arm toward the door on the other side of the kitchen. Before I follow his direction.
“Aloha, Dr. Mead,” Sue replies, alerting me to the fact that she’s of Hawaiian descent.
We move into an elegant dining room with a table that appears big enough to seat twenty. A grand fireplace sits off to the left side of the table, and it’s tall enough for me to walk into, if I wanted. The place settings have been arranged like something from a fine restaurant.
“This is impressive,” I tell Wayne. “I would never have pictured all this for…”
I don’t finish my thought because I don’t want say the wrong thing and offend Wayne.
“A rehab facility?” He lifts an eyebrow and grins.
I shrug. “Yes. I mean, this setup could rival some of the best restaurants in the world.”
“Thank you. We pride ourselves on making sure our clients are well taken care of. When they come here to detox, it’s not the most pleasant thing to go through, but we try to comfort them by making things nice, allowing them only positive things to focus on while they are here.”
Wayne pulls out a chair to the right of the head of the table. “Please, sit. The clients will all be here shortly, and we can get started with introductions.”
A few moments later, the sound of laughter comes rolling in from outside the room. It’s not exactly the mood I expected from a group of people struggling from an array of addiction issues. The first person through the door is a tall, statuesque blonde, with a model face and legs to die for. Everything about her, from her boobs to her eyebrows, couldn’t be more perfect if they were drawn on. Second to arrive is a very handsome man with a broad frame and blond spiky hair. The two of them are smiling, and it makes me think they are the ones I heard laughing just moments ago. Behind them follows a short, balding man with a beer belly who doesn’t appear quite as jovial as the two who preceded him. A few more women and men follow in after that, and each and every one of their curious eyes land on me; wondering who I am and what I’m doing here, I’m sure.
Wayne stands as the new group joins us at the table, each taking a seat. “By the sounds of it, it appears you all enjoyed your day out.”
“Oh, we did,” the blonde says, and then directs her attention to the spiky haired man who came in with her. “Randall ensured we all had a great time.”
Randall stiffens his back and directs his gaze at Wayne. “Everyone had fun at the fair and was on their best behavior. It was a nice change of pace to get out of here for a while.”
“Good, good,” Wayne praises before turning to me. “This is Randall, our activities director.”
I return the smile that Randall shoots me with one of my own, as I’m ecstatic to meet another one of my new co-workers.
Wayne clears his throat and addresses everyone who is now seated at the table. “I’m sure you’re all curious as to the new face in the room. This is Dr. Francine Mead. She’s the new addiction therapist here at Serenity and will be meeting with some of you individually and hopefully develop a relationship whereby she can assist you with your recovery process. I’ll ask that each one of you show her the same respect that you show me.”
Everyone around the table listens to Wayne intently and they nod in all the appropriate places.
The blonde is the first to speak. I can already tell she is the type of woman who is used to having all the attention in the room. “It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Mead. I’m Josie Sullivan. You might’ve heard of me? I had a hit single called ‘Working on a Star’ a couple of years ago.”
My lips pull into a tight line as I root through the limited pop music catalog I have listed in my head. I haven’t had time for much more than studying and spending my time with men. Keeping up on the latest top forty hits hasn’t been exactly high on my priority list. I primarily only listen to alternative music.
I grimace. “I’m not much of a music lover, but I’m sure it’s a lovely song.”
Her expression borders on shock and confusion and then she turns to Randall. “Where did Dr. Shepherd find this one? Under a rock?”
“Josie,” Wayne warns. “Please refrain from insulting the staff. You, better than anyone else, know the rules at Serenity.”
Josie nods quickly, and I get the feeling this isn’t her first visit to Serenity. “I’m sorry, Dr. Shepherd. It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Wayne unfolds the pressed cloth napkin at his place setting and uses it to cover his lap just as Sue comes into the dining room, pushing a small metal cart with a huge bowl on it. “What kind of soup do we have today?”
“It’s a chilled strawberry. I think you’ll like it,” Sue replies as she begins to ladle a portion into each person’s bowl.
The moment the spoon touches my lips and I sip its contents, I fight back the urge to moan. “This is spectacular, Sue.”
She smiles at me. “Thank you, Dr. Mead.”
The rest of the dinner goes on with small talk taking place between the clients while Wayne interjects every now and then. I learn that most of them have been here for quite some time and were very comfortable stating what they are addicted to, talking very candidly about it.
After it’s all over, Wayne escorts me back to my cottage, and I’m still reeling at how open the clients are. “They all seemed to have made wonderful progress. I’m simply amazed at how open they are about their addictions. That’s always the first step, admitting they have a problem, but then to be able to talk about it so freely and share their struggles is above and beyond.”
Wayne nods. “They don’t come here that way, let me assure you. Most come here headstrong and reluctant, adamant they don’t have a problem, and that everyone else is just too uptight or meddling in their business, so it takes time for them to come around. We hold a lot of group sessions, encouraging that openness. Eventually, they become more comfortable sharing with us and others around them. Unfortunately, most of their support systems at home hinder more than help their recovery, and more often than not, we end up seeing them back here.”
“That’s a shame—to see all that progress wasted.”
He sighs. “It is. I always have to remind myself that we can only do so much here. Ultimately, it’s up to them to remain clean and sober with a positive outlook, and remain open about their feelings and their struggles to those around them.”
We arrive at my stoop and I pull the key from my bra. Wayne raises his eyebrows and I merely shrug. “No pockets.”
He laughs. “I see.”
Once I unlock the door, I turn to him and say, “Thank you for walking me. What time do you want me to start work tomorrow?”
“Eight sharp. We have a new client coming in the morning, and I would like to go over his case file with you before he arrives. Everything we have on the clients is electronic. I’ll email your password to access the system so you can look over it at your leisure. I would like for you to take the lead with this one, but I’ll be here to help you in any way I can.”
I lift my chin, proud that he trusts that I’m ready to jump right into the fire and counsel the new client. “Sounds great. I’ll wait for your email.”
“I’ll send it over as soon as I get back to my office. Goodnight, Frannie.”
The rest of the evening, I wait on Wayne’s email. When I hear the familiar ding of a new message while brushing my teeth, I finish up and rush to the open laptop on my bed to check it.
It contains all the proper passwords and links to access all the clients’ files, as well as the information on the client we are expecting tomorrow.
Tyke Douglas, the bass player for the rock band, Black Falcon, will be arriving via private transportation tomorrow morning. Tyke has been enrolled by his twin brother, Trip, with Tyke’s permission. The client has had two DUIs in the past year, and reportedly has issues with prescription and recreational drugs as well.
I tap my bottom lip, curious about the guy, wanting to know more than the small report on the client tells me. I quickly minimize the screen and pull up Google, typing Mr. Douglas’ name into the search engine along with his band’s name. Within seconds, mug shots pop up on my screen, along with the tabloid reports on the downward spiral of Black Falcon. I flip through more photos and come across one where his eyes are closed as he strums a guitar while wearing a sleeveless shirt, displaying his vast array of tattoos perfectly. While his body appears to be absolutely banging, I’m stuck on the sadness on his face—like he’s completely lost in the song he’s playing.
I click on the biography link listed for Mr. Douglas, but it shows a combined history for both him and his twin brother.
Trip Douglas (born October 14th), is the drummer for the American heavy metal band Black Falcon. Best known for being the crazier of the two Douglas Twins, Trip’s triple-thumping foot pedal sound has become one of the band’s trademarks.
Alongside his twin brother, Tyke, Trip began playing instruments under the guidance of his musician father, but his interest in playing in a band grew once he discovered his love for hard rock music. He joined a band called Dingy while in high school with his brother Tyke and his best friend, Zachary ‘Riff’ Oliver. Later, the band was renamed to Black Falcon after the addition of the band’s new front man, Noel Falcon.
Trip also enjoys extreme spots, such as dirt bike riding, rock climbing, and sky diving—making him the most adventurous member of the band. His dream is to one day climb Mount Everest.
Tyke Douglas (born October 14th), is the bassist for the American heavy metal band Black Falcon. Best known for being a key songwriter for the band, Tyke’s obsession with detail always seems to push the songs to a level of perfection rarely achieved by other bands.
Tyke also enjoys the arts, attending gallery openings and poetry events whenever his schedule allows—making him the most cultured member of the band. His dream to one day branch out and share his other artistic abilities with the world is something he hopes to accomplish in the very near future.
Combined Bios:
Trip and Tyke began playing instruments under the guidance of their musician father, but their interest in playing in a band grew once they discovered a mutual love for hard rock music. They joined a band called Dingy while in high school, accompanied by their best friend, Zachary ‘Riff’ Oliver. Later the band was renamed Black Falcon after the addition of the band’s new front man, Noel Falcon.
The band’s first record, Hell in a Hand Basket, went double platinum, making Black Falcon a force to be reckoned with. They’ve released two additional albums since then, and their latest single, “Ball Busting Bitch” is currently on Billboard’s Top 40.
They currently reside in Kentucky, near their other band mates.
As I read through his bio, I can’t help but notice how Tyke Douglas is consistently lumped in with his brother, as opposed to giving him his own identity. Being a twin myself, I can totally relate to this issue. It’s all too easy for people to see you as the same person as your twin. It’s what happened with Annie and me.
I flip through the rest of the links, studying more pictures of Tyke. He’s very easy on the eyes with his tall frame, tan complexion, and light hair. Even though he and Trip are twins, their hair sets them apart, making it very easy to tell the difference between them. The more I stare at the man on my screen, the more addicted I become to his profile. He’s devastatingly handsome, and the thought of how attracted I am to just his mere picture scares the shit out of me.
How am I ever supposed to concentrate on helping this man when he’s my own personal brand of tattooed man-flavored candy? This will prove to be a very difficult task, for sure. The best I can hope for is to find that he’s simply photogenic and absolutely hideous in person.
I close my laptop and set it on my nightstand before I tug my glasses from my face and set them on top of it. I double-check my alarm clock and then snuggle down in my bed after offering up a little prayer that I’ll be able to contain myself tomorrow. If Tyke is the stereotypical bad-boy rocker that he appears to be, I’ll need all the help I can get to keep from jumping his bones and jeopardizing the job I’ve worked so hard to get.