Drum Me Away Read online

  Drum Me Away

  A SECOND-CHANCE ROCK STAR ROMANCE

  TAMI LUND

  DRUM ME AWAY

  Darkheaven Book 2

  by Tami Lund

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  Copyright: 2022 by Tami Lund

  Editor: Julie Sturgeon

  Cover: Olivia from ProDesign

  Format: Lizzie James from Phoenix Book Promo

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  License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

  * * *

  Thank you for your support.

  * * *

  All entities, locations, businesses, etc. in this book are strictly figments of the author’s overactive imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  * * *

  Questions, comments, or desires to seek permission to use any part of this book for your own purposes should be directed to [email protected].

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Drum Me Away

  1. Faith

  2. Lucas

  3. Faith

  4. Lucas

  5. Lucas

  6. Faith

  7. Lucas

  8. Faith

  9. Lucas

  10. Faith

  11. Faith

  12. Lucas

  13. Lucas

  14. Faith

  15. Lucas

  16. Faith

  17. Lucas

  18. Faith

  19. Lucas

  Epilogue

  Racing Home

  Chapter 1

  More books by Tami Lund

  Drum Me Away

  As the drummer for the hottest rock band on the circuit, Lucas Lloyd is livin’ the dream.

  * * *

  He has talent, fans who love him; he even has the girl. He’s dating the band’s smokin’ hot and ultra-talented vocalist, Faith Devempor, and everybody loves the way their relationship has played out across social media.

  * * *

  He also has a secret.

  * * *

  And if his fans—or Faith—find out, his entire world will go up in smoke.

  CHAPTER 1

  Faith

  Here we go again.

  Another press conference, another parody of what I expected this life to be.

  Damn, I sounded like I hated being a rock star.

  Shaking off those drab—and stupid, because seriously, we were fucking rock stars—thoughts, I followed Matthew West into the room where the press were waiting to eat us alive.

  Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Generally, these days, they were pretty good to us. Darkheaven was the flavor of the moment—the most prominent, most popular rock band, quite possibly in the world. We were topping charts that normally were reserved for pop-sounding groups—boy bands and K-pop and moody young girls who sang about the devastation of high school breakups.

  So naturally, everybody wanted a piece of us. Especially the press.

  Matthew headed straight for the middle seat at the long table set up on a dais with five other identical plastic chairs. Pitchers of ice water were parked every few feet, and a full, sweating glass rested in front of each seat.

  Matt strutted like this process was choreographed, which, let’s be honest, it was. He sat in the middle because he was the lead singer. His vocals and ridiculous good looks were a large part of how we ended up here in the first place.

  And that had nothing to do with the fact that he was married to the owner of our record label. We’d already had moderate success before he and Angel started hooking up.

  Although signing with Starlight Music Distribution was definitely a catalytic point in our careers.

  I dropped down next to him, the lone woman in the band and the second voice. As good as Matt was, my vocals elevated his to the next level. We could both have carried bands individually, but neither band would be here, right now. Together, we slayed.

  Next came Craig Stenhorn, our guitarist, who sat to Matt’s left. The rest of the band fanned out and sat in the remaining seats: Ice Vinner, our keyboardist, next to me, and Dean Gawe, the bassist, on his other side, leaving Lucas to grab the final seat by Craig. He twisted the plastic chair around and straddled it, draping his arms across the back, totally in character.

  Broody, slightly grumpy, effortlessly gorgeous drummer with an edge of danger, at your service.

  Lately, I’ve wondered if he’d forgotten that this persona was just that, and not the person he really was. This’ll be our third tour, so it was entirely possible. When we were on the road, we had to be in character pretty much 24/7. A single slipup caught on a fan’s camera phone and the entire charade would be exposed. Our careers, our status as number one rock band in the world, destroyed.

  So our publicist, Dahlia, insisted. And since I had less than zero desire to return to the life I had before becoming a rock star, I tended to go along with whatever Dahlia recommended in order to maintain this fantasy-turned-reality.

  As soon as Lucas took his seat, the media circus began. Everybody shouting and waving, hoping their question was important enough. Gabriel Hyke, our manager, stepped up behind Ice and pointed at a chunky guy who had wavy black hair and a thick, silver nose ring. He resembled a bull.

  “Oliver Croll from Rock Me magazine,” he announced, holding his phone like it was a microphone. “Rumor has it that there’s trouble in paradise. Can you confirm?”

  Matt snorted and spread his arms wide. “We have three songs in the top ten right now, and we’ve sold out arenas all over the continent and half of Europe. Does that sound like trouble in paradise?”

  “Not the band,” Oliver clarified. “Lucas and Faith’s relationship.”

  Oh shit. That topic was not supposed to come up today. Gabe promised—

  “Dude, what are you talking about?” Matt asked, his gaze darting from Oliver to me and then bouncing to Lucas.

  “We aren’t discussing this,” Lucas snapped, holding his pose, like he didn’t give a crap what this guy was asking.

  “Why not?” Oliver asked. “Is it because it’s true?”

  “What it is, is none of your fucking business,” Lucas snapped, dragging a hand through his shoulder-length blond locks.

  “It’s totally our business,” Oliver persisted. “If you two break up, it could destroy the band.”

  Matt snorted, and Lucas practically snarled, “That won’t happen,” even curling his lip when he said it.

  “Which part? You two breaking up or the band falling apart as a result?”

  Matt looked like he was about to speak up again, but Lucas beat him to the punch.

  “The band won’t be destroyed,” Lucas said, his grip tightening on the back of the chair.

  “So you’re saying you are breaking up?”

  Jesus, this guy needed to stop. “How about we talk about the upcoming tour,” I suggested, leaning into the mic set up on the table in front of me and deliberately keeping my gaze away from Lucas.

  “Yeah,” Lucas chimed in, “nobody cares about whatever relationship Faith and I may or may not have.”

  “I beg to differ,” one of the other reporters called out in a vaguely British accent. “Your fans care. A great deal, I’d wager.”

  Lucas shoved away from his chair, pushing himself into a standing position, and then flung his arms into the air. “I’m out. If all you want to talk about is what she and I do when you aren’t there to watch, I’m not sticking around for that shit.” He started to walk away and then paused and glanced over his shoulder at the cr
owd of reporters, every single one of whom had a camera held up in front of their faces, recording this moment for prosperity.

  “I’m going to practice,” he said, “for our tour.”

  And then he was gone, and the reporters all started barking questions again. Gabe shook his head and rushed through the door after Lucas. I glanced at Matt. He lifted his chin, which I took to mean I should take off too, so I did, grateful I was getting out of having to figure out how to fix this mess before those media goons pressed upload on their phones and this little episode was splashed all over the internet.

  The media nightmare was being held in one of the conference rooms at the Starlight Music Distribution headquarters, a high-rise building right smack dab in the middle of downtown LA. The door behind the dais led to a narrow hall with offices on either side, most of them closed, thus blocking out any glimpse of the sunshine pouring through their wall-of-glass windows. There was another conference room at the other end of the hall, which, for today’s purposes, had been converted into a sort of waiting area for the band. There were couches and comfortable chairs and a nice charcuterie platter, along with a wet bar set up with everyone’s favorite drinks. Angel and Gabe knew how to take care of us.

  I assumed that’s where Lucas and Gabe ran off to, so I headed that way. The door was ajar, and I heard them talking before I actually reached the room.

  “I’m tired of it, Gabe. I want out.” That was Lucas’s voice.

  “Out, like out?” Gabe sounded slightly panicked. With good reason. Lucas was arguably one of the best drummers to have been born since Neil Peart. If he left…

  “Of this fake relationship,” Lucas said, clearly exasperated.

  I winced. I hated when he referred to our relationship as fake.

  Even though it was.

  That was another one of Dahlia’s brilliant creations: Lucas’s and my love affair. She’d come up with the idea after some fan posted a picture of us on social media. We’d looked chummy, flirty even. We were probably both drunk or, more likely, still riding on the high from another successful concert, because at the time, there had been nothing between us but friendship. It was a great friendship, but it was totally platonic.

  The post went viral, hundreds of thousands of comments making it clear our fans loved the idea that we might be a thing.

  Dahlia saw it as the perfect opportunity to give the band more publicity.

  It worked.

  Four years later, there were entire chatrooms dedicated to our love affair. And only four people on this planet knew it wasn’t real: me, Lucas, Gabe, and Dahlia.

  Any time the band recorded a ballad, Dahlia led our fans to believe it was about Lucas and me. Matt and I wrote most of the songs, and I rarely wrote about love. That was all him, and by the way, any love song he wrote was definitely about Angel.

  But for whatever reason, our fans weren’t nearly as rabid over their relationship as they were over Lucas and me.

  And Lucas hated it.

  Gabe made shushing noises, and I imagined him waving both hands up and down, like he was trying to soothe a cornered animal. “Calm down, Lucas, and stop throwing that word around so freely.”

  “Why? I’m serious, Gabe. Make it happen. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “What can’t you do? Make googly eyes at Faith? Kiss her once in a while? Live the perfect rock ’n roll life?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a slight pause, and then Gabe said, “Is this about getting laid? I’ve told you I can make that happen. I am the king of discretion. Just say the word and—”

  “What about the rest of it?”

  “I’m not following you,” Gabe said.

  I wasn’t either. Of course, to be honest, I assumed he was getting laid. Despite the world believing we were the perfect couple, groupies threw themselves at him constantly when we were on tour. Trust me, I’d noticed.

  “What if I want more? A family? Marriage? Kids? Love?” That was a lot of emphasis on the last word. And holy shit, I’d never heard Lucas talk like this before. Sure, he hated our ruse, but he’d never said this was why.

  “Well, first of all, that isn’t part of your character. A moody, brooding drummer for a rock band does not pine after a wife and kids,” Gabe, the voice of reason, said.

  “Yeah, I get that, but everybody has to grow up sometime. I’m not saying I want to quit the band. I’m sick of this stupid persona Dahlia created. I want to be…whoever the hell I am.”

  This was not a new argument, although there was a whole lot more passion—and maybe desperation—in Lucas’s words than there ever had been before. How come?

  Oh shit, was he secretly dating someone?

  The band hadn’t been on tour in eight months. For the first six months of our break, we’d been in the studio, laying down the tracks for our next album. For the last two, we’d basically chilled at our respective homes, doing appearances here and there but actually taking a breather from all the chaos surrounding being the biggest rock band in the world.

  During that time, Lucas had disappeared off the radar for about six weeks, reappearing only a few days ago so we could prepare for all these press conferences and then get ready to go on tour.

  His absence, and his completely dark social media, were no doubt the catalyst for Oliver’s questions. I should have checked to see what we were up against before this appointment. But like Lucas, I got tired of this charade sometimes too; I just wasn’t as vocal about it.

  I’d assumed he simply wanted a break and had gone off to live in a cabin in the woods or some shit, but had he met someone and had been secretly dating her all this time? Now he wanted out of our fake relationship so he could have a real one with her? It made sense.

  And it sucked, but I got it. We were never meant to be. I’d been burned enough for ten lifetimes, and I was not willing to take that chance with anyone, but especially not someone I was as close to as I was to Lucas.

  “We can stage a breakup,” Lucas said so abruptly I actually jumped a little. “Make it a big, dramatic thing.”

  I assumed Gabe was shaking his head, because he said, “Are you out of your mind? Your fans will freak. They’ll take sides. It’ll be you against Faith, and you know how people are; she’ll be the bad guy, no matter what you do. It’ll be a media nightmare. The poor woman will start receiving death threats, mark my words.”

  Holy shit, no thank you. Sometimes I got emails from holier-than-thou types who didn’t understand why I showed so much skin or had so many piercings and tattoos and sang about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll, but that was easy to blow off. Death threats were a whole different ball game.

  “Come on, Gabe, we need to do something. I’m at my breaking point here. If we don’t figure out a way to get us out of this fake relationship, I’m going to consider quitting the band.”

  Damn, he was serious. He’d never made this thread before. He loved this band as much as the rest of us. Quitting would devastate him.

  There really was another woman. A real relationship. And as much as I hated the idea, I needed to help him be with her.

  For the record, I really hated the idea.

  But Lucas was my friend—or at least, he had been, before we started this charade.

  Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe we could work together on this whole fake breakup bit, and then we could go back to really, truly being friends.

  I pushed the door open wide enough to slip inside and said:

  “What if we make it an amicable breakup?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucas

  My body, without requiring any direction from my brain, twisted around to face Faith.

  She stood just inside the conference room, her hands hidden behind her back. She’d changed her hair while I was away. There were streaks of color tucked under the midnight blue; every time she tilted her head, another bright tress popped into view. Purple, magenta, red, orange, yellow, blue, green, an entire rainbow. Wonder how long she’d had
to sit in the stylist’s chair for that one.

  Wait, no, I didn’t wonder. I didn’t give a shit.

  She wore all black, too, which was probably a calculated move to show off the new hair. Tight midriff-baring shirt, body-hugging leggings, and ankle boots with spiky heels. Heavy eye makeup, dark red lipstick, and clunky silver jewelry completed the ensemble.

  Total rocker girl.

  Faith was one who had no issues letting Dahlia dress her, make her over, tell her how to act and what to do and say. She told me once, early on, when we were still playing our friends’ parties and the smallest dive bars ever, that she was afraid she wouldn’t make it in this industry because she didn’t look the part. That even though her backup vocals were what made Matt’s so freaking on point and the songs she wrote were usually fan favorites, she’d probably get kicked out of the band eventually because her look was holding us back.

  She’d had some pretty low self-esteem back then.

  And I’d been insanely, obsessively crushing on her.

  Maybe I had self-esteem issues too, because I never told her, at least, not until we were knee-deep in this stupid charade and I was having a hard time separating reality from playacting.