Ashes to Ashes Read online

  Ashes to Ashes

  Rebecca Norinne

  Copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Norinne

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or meant to lend credibility and authenticity in the story. The use of brand names and locations should not be read as an endorsement of this author’s work.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Soundtrack

  Acknowlegements

  About the Author

  Also by Rebecca Norinne

  Meet the Men of Dublin Rugby

  Sign Up for Rebecca’s Newsletter

  About This Book

  ASHES TO ASHES

  By Rebecca Norinne

  I had it all, or so I thought. Until my husband betrayed me and my entire world came crashing down. I turned to alcohol and sex to numb my pain—a different city each night, a new man in my bed. But I’m sober now, and I’m working my way back up the country music charts.

  But then the death threats started and I needed protection. When my new bodyguard walked in the room, I couldn’t believe my eyes: the one man from my long spiral down who I never forgot. The one who played my body like an instrument.

  Now we’re on the run from a madman and all I want is to forget about everything. To pretend this isn’t my life. To lose myself in him. So I let him take control.

  I tried telling myself it was only sex, but I've done the unthinkable: I've fallen in love with a man who can never love me back. Because Ash has demons of his own—ones he never talks about and never will. I know I should walk away before it’s too late. But I’m an addict, and I need him.

  How do you give up the best drug you’ve ever had? How do you walk away from a man like Ash Devereaux?

  Chapter One

  Rae

  My pencil scratched across the surface of the paper as I tried to re-capture the lyrics that had come to me while I’d slept.

  I listen for your voice on the sound of the wind

  But all I hear is the heartbreaking note of her laughter

  I listen for your breathing as you sleep next to me

  But all I hear is the ruin of my happy ever after.

  When I’d woken up five minutes ago, I’d struggled to figure out where I was. Eventually, the stark white sheets, the smell of the stale air-conditioned air, and the bland, nondescript decor brought it all back. And that’s when it hit me all over again—my marriage was over and I had another fucking hangover to contend with.

  And that warm body across the bed, tangled up in those wrinkled white sheets? I didn’t have a clue who he was and, to be honest, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter since I wouldn’t see him again anyhow.

  Logically, I recognized my behavior was dangerous and it could get me into real trouble, but I couldn’t seem to stop. Why should I? If word got out how I spent my nights, no one would be surprised since it’s what everyone already believed. So what if I’d been the only one faithful to my marriage? So what if Crawford Madigan, the man I thought had been the love of my goddamn life, had been having an affair with his co-star the entire time we’d been married? So what that his new fiancé had cheated on her husband, too, and now those two fucking hypocrites were on the cover of every shitty celebrity magazine that existed proclaiming their undying love?

  None of it mattered because the world knew what they knew and that was that. Since I’d signed an iron-clad pre-nup that prevented me from discussing the reality around the dissolution of my marriage, I’d decided to live up to everyone’s expectations. I’d been surprised to discover I was actually good at it too. That was, assuming sex with random strangers and drinking my way across America could ever be considered good. But since it was the only thing I seemed to excel at lately, I kept on doing it.

  At first it had filled the void Ford left in me, but now I was just numb.

  Standing on stage, in front of thousands of fans, I was able to pull myself together and give them a show worthy of the money they’d spent to be there. But the second my encore finished, I was back to nursing my broken heart the best way I knew how: through alcohol and sex. Every night a different city, a different bed.

  It wasn’t hard to find a man willing to fuck the woman who, up until a few short months ago, had been America’s country sweetheart. But when I sauntered up to a drunk, horny man and said, “I’m leaving in 10 minutes and I want you with me,” not many cared about who I’d been, or how far I’d fallen. Time and time again they were more than willing to indulge me.

  And that included the man in my bed right now. At least he’d been worth the effort, which wasn’t always the case. Actually, it wasn’t usually the case. You’d think night after night of mediocre sex would have put me off this path, but even when the sex was disappointing, at least I felt something.

  I sighed and ran a hand through my tangled hair. The chorus had been so clear in my head in those hazy moments just before I woke, but the longer I sat here, the further away the words floated.

  I try to recall the moment we … met (?)

  And the beautiful words you spoke to me

  But all I can remember is the moment you said

  That some things just weren’t meant to be. [Not strong enough.]

  I dream of the time

  With a groan of frustration, I dropped the pencil onto the bedside table, stood, and stretched. As my spine popped and settled, the bed springs whined and the stranger stirred.

  “Good morning,” came his gravelly rasp.

  I turned to face the man who’d been inside of me only a few hours earlier and tried to feel guilty. Guilty for what I’d done and for what I was about to do.

  I watched as his eyes came to life and a satisfied smirk crossed his lips. Lips that were full and featured a cupid’s bow that shouldn’t work on a man yet somehow worked perfectly on this one. He was handsome and rugged and different from the type of guy I usually hooked up with. Briefly, I remembered asking what he’d been doing in that dark and dingy bar because he hadn’t looked like he belonged; hadn’t looked like he was running from himself or trying to escape his memories like the rest of us had.

  As I took him in, I tried to tell myself he was different from the others. Tried, and failed. Because with all the other men before him, I’d only felt a small spark of life. But when I’d been with him, it had been a thunderous explosion. The first time I’d come, I’d told myself maybe he was the one who’d be able to bring me back to life. But that had been last night, and I’d been drunk. Now, in the harsh light of day, I knew I’d been fooling myself. He wasn’t any more
special than any of the others. He wasn’t the person who’d make me stop doing this.

  No one could do that but me—and I wasn’t ready for that just yet.

  “I’m hopping in the shower. I expect you to be gone by the time I get out.”

  “You not a morning person or something?” he asked, not quite getting that our time together was finished. He scratched his beard and when he realized I wasn’t kidding, his flirty smirk faded and his eyes dimmed. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”

  “As a heart attack,” I confirmed, tossing him his shirt.

  He caught it and slid out from beneath the sheets. Unabashedly, he turned to face me, his naked body on full display. Unable to stop it from happening, my eyes roved over every ridge and plane of his chiseled abs and then lower … down, down, down until they landed on a stiff, thick cock standing at attention.

  I might have licked my lips.

  “That’s not the look of someone who’s had her fill,” he remarked with a cocky twang I couldn’t place.

  I raised my eyes and when they met his, they were flinty. Hard. Angry.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, my voice steady, “but last night is all there is.” I shrugged. “I thought I made it clear last night that I’m a one-and-done type of girl. But even if I wasn’t that way, I have to get to work so it was nice meeting you. Take care.”

  He tilted his head and eyed me critically. There was a time I would have shifted uncomfortably under his probing gaze, but no longer. Since I couldn’t bring myself to care what my closest friends and family thought of me, the judgement of a complete stranger meant very little.

  And yet, I didn’t move from where I was standing. Part of my brain screamed at me to get in the shower so I could move on to the next town, the next handsome stranger. But another part urged me to stand still, to find out what he saw when he looked at me that way, like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. Did he see a woman as empty as she felt? Did he see the shell of my former self? Did he know I hated my life but was too chicken to actually end it?

  “You’re fucked up. You know that, right?”

  Well, that answered that. He saw exactly the same thing I did when I looked in the mirror.

  I licked my lips and nodded. “I do know that. Which is why you need to put your damn clothes on and leave …” I struggled to remember his name but came up blank.

  He rolled his eyes and then scrubbed a hand over his beard. “You can’t even remember my name, can you?”

  This was the part where I should blush, where I should feel embarrassed and ashamed. My grandmother would die of mortification if she knew I couldn’t remember his name. Scratch that. Me not knowing his name would be the least of her worries. The fact that he was probably the tenth guy this month just like him would kill her first.

  “I don’t need to know your name,” I told him, my chin raised defiantly high, “because the second you walk out that door, I’m going to forget all about you. If you came here last night looking for something more, I’m sorry, but I’m not that girl.”

  Before I’d finished speaking, the man’s head was through the neck of his shirt and he was stabbing his legs into a pair of well-worn jeans. Standing to his full height, he shook his head and made his way around the bed to stand in front of me. Then, with the same sort of confidence he exhibited in the way he’d fucked me the night before, he laid his large, calloused palm on my shoulder and bent his knees so our eyes met. “I don’t know your story, but I hope you find what you’re looking for.” When he stepped away his hand slid from my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

  Walking backward, one step after another, he kept going but never broke eye contact. When his back hit the door, he held my gaze for several long seconds, his eyes flicking between mine.

  What was he looking for? The truth? An olive branch? The real me? I had no fucking clue and it gnawed at me. Suddenly I wanted to tell him … everything. I wanted to explain how my life was one big lie and I didn’t know who I was anymore. I wanted to tell him that the only time I felt something was when I came and that’s why I’d brought him here last night. I wanted to explain how everything had fallen apart and that I didn’t know how much longer I could go on this way because every day a piece of me died just a little bit more. I wanted to tell him not to go, to stay and I’d tell him my whole story.

  Instead I said, “I’m not looking for anything.”

  “Right,” came his skeptical response. All at once, he turned and opened the door. Once over the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder one last time. “My name is Ash,” he said.

  And then he left me standing alone in another hotel room, on another gray morning.

  “Ash,” I repeated on a whisper, the word hot, black cinders on my tongue.

  Needing to chase away the taste of it, I poured two fingers of Jack into a glass and threw it back, the cheap liquor burning my throat. It didn’t matter. His name was what I’d become.

  I brought the bottle to my lips and chugged as I climbed back under sheets that smelled like sex and perfume.

  I grabbed the pad of paper I’d abandoned earlier and drank down another huge swallow of whiskey before I started scribbling again.

  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

  I hate to leave you, but now I must.

  Your love was my savior,

  And then my undoing.

  I thought I could survive you,

  But who was I kidding?

  I don’t know what time I eventually passed out, but when I came to, it was dark outside and I’d 20 missed calls and countless text messages.

  Just another Saturday night, I thought, as I finished the bottle in one long swallow.

  Chapter Two

  Rae

  ** Two Years Later **

  My hands shook as I re-read the letter that had come in today’s mail. I’d received hate mail before, but this was entirely different. This one actually scared me.

  While my latest album had achieved critical acclaim, public reception had been mixed. My fans—those who’d been with me since the very beginning and had stood by my side during my divorce from Ford—loved how open and honest my lyrics were. I knew it was only because of them the record had charted at all.

  Ford and Belinda’s fans had been far less kind. At first, my record label’s PR team had provided weekly updates about what was being said about the record, but eventually my manager Rocky asked them to stop. No matter what else had changed in my life, I was still a glutton for punishment, and if I knew he received the updates, I’d ask to see them. Rocky hadn’t outright said anything, but I got the impression he thought the comments would have me reaching for a bottle again after 18 months of sobriety.

  Eighteen long months.

  But Rocky couldn’t keep me away from Google. A couple of months ago I’d stumbled on a “Crawshinda” fan site that contained a disturbing number of photos my eyes blacked out and the word “whore” written across my forehead. I’d also learned there were CD burning parties the night of my latest release. Personally, I didn’t care what these whack jobs did with my CDs, as long as they’d paid for them first. More than once I’d wondered if my label wasn’t secretly thrilled with all the hate the album incited because the head of promotions firmly believed there was no such thing as bad press.

  But this letter? This went way beyond that.

  “You’re white as a sheet,” my assistant Charlotte remarked when she entered the room carrying a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a plate of cookies.

  She sat down across from me and we exchanged the items we’d been holding. Her eyes scanned the first few lines of the letter before her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide. “What the hell?” Fearful eyes flicked to mine. “You have to call the police, Rae.” She dropped the vicious mail to her side. “This is serious.”

  That was the understatement of the year.

  With teary eyes, I stared at one of my best friends in the entire world. One of my only friends, actually.


  “I can’t.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know that I can keep my composure when I explain it. Can you do it for me?”

  Charlotte slid the paper back inside its envelope and stuck it in her back pocket. “Tell you what, let’s go see Rocky and we’ll do it together.” She pushed out of her chair and stood, looking around my office. “We can’t stay here. Whoever this is knows where you live.”

  I chewed my lip. She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already thought myself. “Yeah. But where do we go?”

  Charotted shoved her hands through her hair. “Let me think. In the meantime, pack what you need for the next couple of days. I should have something figured out by then.”

  I nodded and tried to tamp down my choking fear.

  After rehab, I’d gotten pretty good at dealing with my triggers, but knowing someone had been lurking outside my house watching me—taking pictures of me in my pajamas as I crawled into bed at night—made the darkness come roaring back. I’d mistakenly thought buying a gated estate on five wooded acres in the middle of nowhere would keep me safe from prying eyes, but clearly I’d been wrong.

  I placed my hand in Charlotte’s and a wave of nausea rolled through me as my adrenaline spiked as my fight or flight response kicked in.

  Charlotte squeezed my fingers and spoke in calm, dulcet tones. “You’re going to be okay, Rae. I promise. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”