Relent Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Also By Rachel Schurig

  About the Author

  Relent

  A Ransom Novel

  Rachel Schurig

  Copyright © 2015 Rachel Schurig

  All rights reserved.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com

  Join the mailing list for updates and exclusive content!

  Visit her author page on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/RachelSchurigAuthor)

  Follow her on Twitter (https://twitter.com/rems330)

  Acknowledgments

  Shelley Holloway, thank you for making this book so much better with your careful editing.

  Thank you Madeline for all of your help with formatting and keeping me organized. You’re the real rock star here!

  Cover Designed by Najla Qamber Designs

  Photo by Lindee Robinson Photography

  Models: Chris Maher & Mikeala Galli

  For Hannah,

  a true friend who never fails to provide incredible support.

  I love you!

  Chapter One

  Karen

  I can tell already that this was a bad idea.

  Snowboarding in the mountains over winter break was supposed to be fun. A break. An escape from all the shit going on in my personal life. But how are you supposed to enjoy your escape when the lodge your broke-ass friends have chosen is such a rundown mess?

  The rest of the girls certainly seem to be enjoying themselves, though I couldn’t tell you why. Nothing about this place screams fun to me. Seventies, yes. Shabby, yes. More than a little depressing, hell yes. But in spite of the less-than-five-star surroundings—not to mention the absolutely freezing temperatures outside—Mellie, Jess, and Stace have seized upon the bar offerings with gusto. Stace and Jess are both huddled over their glasses of a disturbingly pink concoction, giggling, while Mellie is gazing around the room with an almost dreamy expression.

  I make a promise to myself to never be caught staring dreamily around any room that contains fake-wood paneled walls, and take a long gulp of my Jack and Coke.

  My phone dings in my purse, and I lunge for it, eager for anything to distract me. It’s a text from Paige, my best friend, and I shake my head at her seeming ability to read my mind from hundreds of miles away.

  Having fun yet, Karen my love?

  I scowl as I jab at the keys. Nope.

  You’re just not giving it a chance.

  My scowl deepens. Girl. There are dead animal heads on the wall.

  There’s a long pause before her next text, and I know she’s racking her brains for something encouraging to say. Paige has a positivity motto that’s hard to shake, dead animal heads or no.

  Maybe they’re part of the charm?

  I grab my drink and take a long pull before responding. My fingers are itching to be catty, and Paige doesn’t deserve that.

  It’s easy to say that from the luxury of a rock star’s hillside mansion in Los Angeles.

  Okay, so that’s a little catty. But who could blame me? My best friend is spending her winter break with one of the hottest rock bands in the country while they record the demo for their newest album. Her break so far has consisted of palm trees, beaches, and lounging around a mansion with her boyfriend—the drummer of the aforementioned rock band. While mine has consisted of…this.

  If she picks up on my bitterness, she doesn’t mention it. I think you actually just miss me, she texts. Not that I blame you. Who wouldn’t miss the awesomeness that is me?

  I grin in spite of myself, picturing her face. She’s probably doing that overly wide cheesy grin thing that she does when she thinks she’s being funny. My stomach clenches suddenly. I do miss her. And I have a feeling this is only the first of many more separations to come.

  You’re absolutely right.

  I can’t be mad at Paige for the differences in our situation. She invited me to spend my break with her, the band, and our friend Daisy. I had nearly taken her up on it. A year ago, I would have in a heartbeat. Because a year ago, Paige and I were in the same boat—two massive Ransom fans who had somehow hit the jackpot in meeting Daisy, their old friend. Our relationship with Daisy had opened up a world of backstage passes, invitations to the tour bus—we’d even worked for the band for a summer after our freshman year. It had been amazing, every minute of it. To be that close to our heroes, to listen to them perform almost every night. The opportunity of a lifetime.

  In another world, I would probably be right there with them now, hanging out in sunny L.A. instead of this shabby ski-lodge bar. Sunning myself on the beach… sharing drinks with the rock stars… and thinking myself the luckiest girl on the planet.

  But then Paige had gone and fallen in love with Reed Ransome. And everything had changed.

  The ding of an incoming text distracts me from my less than generous thoughts. You should try to have fun. It’s your last night. You’ll totally regret it if you come back to second semester without enjoying your vacation at all.

  I sigh, staring down at the screen. I know she’s right, crappy dive bar or not. In fact, if Paige were here right now, I could guarantee that I’d be having a blast. My best friend has a tendency to make every situation, no matter how boring or lame, an event. No one can have fun like Paige.

  But she’s not here right now, I tell myself. So you better make of it what you can.

  You’re right, I text back. I’ll stop bitching. Talk to you tomorrow?

  That’s the spirit!

  I slip my phone back into my purse and drain my drink, gesturing for the bartender to give me a refill. He grins at me flirtatiously as he pours it, and I consider his face. He’s attractive, if a little skinny and ever-so-slightly awkward. Pointy nose. And his eyes are a dull, muddy brown. Not nearly impressive enough to replace the face that’s been flashing through my mind all night.

  I sigh again, attacking my newly filled glass. That’s the problem, the biggest problem, if I’m being honest. My bad mood can only partially be blamed on missing my friend, thoughts of L.A., or the shabbiness of this lodge. I’m pretty sure I would be able to deal with all of those things much better if it wasn’t for him. The guy whose face I’ve been comparing to every other face I encounter. The guy who I can’t get off my mind, even though I know cutting off contact back in Tennessee was the smartest move.

  That’s the thing about falling for married men. They have a tendency of fucking things up.

  “We should dance,” Stace says, wobbling on her stool a
s she moves to get up. “Like, we should totally dance, you know?” She speaks with the cadence of a girl who’s had a few too many, a dialect I’m quite familiar with after three years of college. And then she’s giggling for no reason, Jess joining in over her sickly pink drink, and it’s everything I can do not to roll my eyes.

  You’re being bitter, I tell myself. Not a good look on you.

  “I think you’re a little wobbly for dancing,” I tell Stace, doing my best to make my voice light and friendly.

  She only giggles harder. “Wobbling makes dancing easier.”

  They’re all staggering to their feet, and I meet the bartender’s eyes. He gives me a sympathetic kind of look, and I decide I like him after all, even if his face can’t measure up to the one in my head.

  Feeling like sitting alone at the bar while my friends dance would be way too depressing, even for me, I begrudgingly follow them to the dance floor, which is halfway filled with couples swaying lazily along to Stairway to Heaven. This is definitely a Stairway to Heaven kind of place, I think to myself, wondering how in the hell four single girls are supposed to dance to this. Stace apparently doesn’t see the problem, slinging her arms around our shoulders and pulling us into an awkwardly swaying circle, giggling the whole time. Then the music changes over to a more upbeat Aerosmith song, and she releases us, bouncing around on her feet, arms over her head.

  Oh God, I think to myself as the others join her. I just don’t know if I have it in me to do this. It’s becoming more and more clear to me that I should have never come. I had thought it might cheer me up after the disastrous break-up, but that was clearly not happening.

  “Oooh,” Jess slurs suddenly, freezing with her arms halfway over her head. “Looks like the cavalry has arrived.”

  We all follow her gaze to the door of the bar where a group of three guys are standing, checking out the room. It’s dim and more than a little smoky, but from this distance, I’m pretty sure they’re about our age, maybe a bit older. Definitely the best prospects in the place, which otherwise seems to be filled with leering truck drivers and flannel-wearing fifty-year-olds draped over scantily clad wives and girlfriends sporting massive hair.

  “Yes,” Stace hisses, adjusting her hair. I notice that she’s standing much straighter than she was a few minutes ago. The guys make their way to a table near the bar, and my friends immediately begin inching in that direction.

  “There are only three of them,” Jess says. “I’m calling the blond right now,”

  I squint at the guys, trying not to be so obvious, and sigh. The blond, tall and clearly well built, is easily the cutest of the bunch. Stace pouts for a minute, sizing up the other prospects. “Fine. I’m calling blue shirt. Mellie and Karen can fight over the other one.”

  “You guys do realize that they might not be looking for chicks, right?” I ask, but the girls merely wave my objection away.

  “Whether they’re looking or not, I bet we can get their attention.”

  Jess starts to shimmy suggestively, wrapping her arms loosely around Stace’s neck as they inch even closer to the guy’s table. I would laugh at their obviousness if I wasn’t so embarrassed for them.

  “Oh, come on, Karen,” Mellie says, correctly reading my expression. “Since when are you a prude? These are the first decent-looking guys we’ve seen on this trip.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m going to go over there and shake my ass in their faces.”

  Mellie laughs, taking my hand. “I’m with you. Let’s go get another drink. Maybe when we’re done, we’ll be feeling more inclined to ass shake.”

  I follow her back to our spots at the bar where we order fresh drinks and proceed to watch our friends making fools of themselves. They’re giggling in a way that they seem to think looks fetching, tossing their hair around while they dance, shrieking wildly every few minutes. For their part, the boys at the table are doing an admirable job of ignoring them.

  “I’ve never understood why girls do that,” a voice says in my ear. “I don’t know many guys who get off on the whole shrieking, giggling act.”

  I spin on my barstool to see a familiar face at my side.

  “Levi?”

  His face breaks into a grin. “I thought that was you. Karen.” He shakes his head. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “I could say the same to you!”

  Levi laughs and pulls me into a tight hug. “This is crazy,” he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. “Out of all the dive bars in all the ski lodges in all world…”

  I pull back to look into his face. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him, and I had honestly wondered if our paths would ever cross again. He looks the same, for the most part. Sandy brown hair worn in an appealing mussed-up style, a little longer than it used to be, deep brown eyes that crinkle when he smiles, an action that always seems to come easily to him.

  On second thought…that normal, clear smile is tighter than I remember. There’s a hardness around his eyes that’s entirely unfamiliar to me. He’s changed, I think, feeling a deep rush of sadness at the realization.

  “How are you?” I ask, placing a hand on his arm.

  He immediately rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Could you sound any more pitying, Karen? God, it’s not like I’m ill or something.”

  “I’m sorry. You just… It’s been a long time.”

  Mellie clears her throat next to me, and I start. I had completely forgotten she was there. “Uh, sorry. Levi, this is Mellie. We go to school together. Mellie, this is Levi. We—” I suddenly freeze, not wanting to tell her how I know him. If I even whispered the word Ransom to her, she would be all over him quicker than I could blink. How could I possibly tell her that I met this guy when we were both working on their tour, that he was, in fact, one of their oldest friends?

  Well, at least he used to be.

  “Karen and I hung out a few summers ago,” Levi says smoothly, reaching for Mellie’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” she says, shooting me a look that clearly asks if we want privacy. I’m not sure what she reads in my face, but she’s quickly hopping down off her bar stool. “That’s enough of a breather for me. See you on the dance floor!” She gives us a wave before disappearing into the crowd.

  “Friends from school?” he asks. When I nod, he points at the table where my friends are still trying to get the attention of the guys. “I’m meeting up with some guys from work.” He squints at the dancing girls. “So where’s Paige?”

  “She’s uh, not here. She’s in L.A., actually. With the guys.”

  His eyes widen a bit. “Really? And you’re not with her?”

  I study his face, wondering how much he’s kept up with the band. Surely, he’s talked to Lennon, at least. “You know about her and Reed?” I ask, and he drops his beer bottle with a clatter, just managing to keep it upright before it can spill everywhere.

  “Paige and Reed?”

  The clear shock on his face makes me realize that the situation between him and his old friends is much worse than I thought. I feel unsettled. Levi is one of the most loyal people I’ve ever met. It’s wrong that he be this disconnected from everyone.

  I met Levi before I met anyone else in the band. Lead singer Daltrey had sent him out to meet us the first night we went to see them perform. I’d been too excited, too overwhelmed at the thought of meeting Ransom to pay much attention to the head roadie in his cargo shorts and faded T-shirt. My focus was mainly on the trio of backstage passes in his hands.

  To be honest, I hadn’t given him a whole lot of thought after that, either. He had always just seemed to be there. Friendly, sure. Fun to hang out with. Easy to work for, once we started working on the tour and he became our boss. But beyond that…he was just Levi. Which sounds dismissive but is actually a compliment. He made things comfortable, drama-free. Levi, the kid who would do anything for his best friends. The kid whose entire life seemed to be focused on making sure everything went
perfectly for Ransom.

  And now Ransom is bigger than ever before, and here’s Levi, hundreds of miles away, in a shitty dive bar at a shitty ski lodge, completely out of the loop. All because he had the bad fortune of falling for Daisy, the same girl Daltrey wanted himself.

  “Okay, you can stop looking at me like that,” he says, taking a sip from his bottle.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re trying to figure out what in the hell is wrong with me.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I ask, wincing as I realize how rude the words sound. A few drinks have my inhibitions down more than I realize. “I mean…Levi, what are you doing here?”

  “I work here.”

  “You work here?”

  His eyes dart around the bar. “Well, not here at the bar. At the lodge next door.”

  “What in the hell are you doing working in a…lodge?” I stop myself before I can add any adjectives before the word lodge, but I’m pretty sure he can read my opinion of the place from my tone.

  “I was working road crew for this band, Downshift.” I scrunch up my face, the name not ringing a bell, and Levi seems to hurry to continue, as if he doesn’t want to focus too much on Downshift. “They ended up getting a long-term gig out here, playing at the lodge. I got to know the set-up pretty good, so when a stage manager position opened up, I took it.”

  He doesn’t meet my eyes once while he speaks. Am I imagining the defensive tone in his voice?

  “Levi—”

  “Look, I know it’s a far cry from the glamour of Ransom, okay?” he snaps, finally looking at me. His eyes are definitely defensive. They’re also…angry. And more than a little sad. “But it’s a job, and it works for me.”

  I turn my attention to my drink, not really sure how to respond. The truth is, I find this entire situation depressing as hell. He’s working here of all places, in the middle of nowhere, when he should be out on the road, managing the crew of one of the most popular bands in the country. It has nothing to do with glamour or status and everything to do with him. Levi earned that position. He helped that band become who they are. This is no reward for all those years of hard work.