TANTRIC (Book 3 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 23: Rock Stars Victories Turn To $hit

Surprise! A Trace POV chapter. 

This chapter may seem random but is actually so important at this point as we have made it through Leed and Ash's beginning and things begin to thicken. So many important things happen or are revealed in this chapter that pivot the rest of Leed and Ashlynn's story-line and take it in a darker turn, and also effect Trace personally and in his relationship with Kat. And ultimately, the whole series is Trace's story. It's his band and his pain that has fueled the entire Soundcrush experience and brought them all together. So I'm super excited to return to the head of my favorite rock star and see how he's doing!

The song for this chapter for this chapter is "How To Save A Life" by The Fray. I think it's relevant on so many levels here. There are a lot of people trying to save different relationships in different ways in this chapter. But none more relevant to the song than Trace and Ross's story that finally begins to develop in this chapter. What? Ross? Yep....his first appearance. Sort of...read on....

Trace

I'm brewing coffee at Kat's place in the soft morning light and rummaging the kitchen drawer for an e-cig, trying to be quiet because Kat just drifted back to sleep after our morning love-making, but I can't sleep. Sexing her always makes me feel wide awake and ready for a party.

Goddamn I love that girl.

She's like vitamins, or a natural anti-depressant or something. It's incredible how being with her, loving her through her body and all the way into her soul has changed my whole fucking outlook.

I used to be a broody bastard, and now...hell, now I'm practically Leed. Giddy as fuck. I feel like the world is just the greatest fucking place.

She makes me so hopeful, that just last night, I did something I  had no intention of doing. Ever. We were just hanging out, having dinner, and Ross sent me his once-a-month email that I've been ignoring for three years now. Always a variation on the same thing.

Son,

Just checking in. Your mom says you are in a seriously good place. I'm glad. So glad.

Trace, I know I've said this many times, many ways, but I won't ever let you believe that I don't love you. Didn't consider you my son. I loved you from the moment you were born, and even though I soon learned that you weren't my blood, it didn't stop the love. The love I have for you—I will always carry.

But I was also angry. Not at you. I was angry at fate... at a situation that was so unfair. At your mother, for asking me to  pretend like we weren't raising you in a lie.

Angry at her for the week she spent with your real father when we were on a break. Your mother and I...we should have faced all that anger before you were born. I loved your mother so much, but I shouldn't have married her when I did. I should have waited until after you were born. Maybe it would have all been easier for me to accept. It would have felt more like a choice and not a cruel turn of fate.

When your mom and I got back together and she turned up pregnant, I had this hopeful, desperate belief that the week she spent with Matt was just a stupid mistake that we could ignore and forget about. I was twenty-one years old—younger than you are now—and I had this absolute conviction  that nothing would go wrong in the course of our love story. I told myself it didn't matter who your father was, but deep down, before you were born, I was already absolutely convinced that you were my biological son.

And when I turned out to be wrong... I was young and immature and I let a stupid fucking blood test destroy my optimism. It broke me. I became a man with two sides. One that was a desperate facade to be good to you and your mom because I did love you both. But there was the other side. The side that was so fucking enraged that fate had fucked me over. Instead of learning how to process that one disappointment and grow the fuck up, I let the anger fester and I just stopped . Stopped growing up. In my core, I was stuck there your whole life—that twenty one year old kid that just got kicked in the balls by fate and was boiling with rage from the hurt of it.