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Prologue. Fletcher
Will you think of me after tonight?
Then, 2008 | New York City, New York
“So, what you’re saying is, you have a bucket list.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “Less about me kicking the bucket and more about me wanting to live my life a little better.”
“All right, what’s on the list?”
“Fuck a rockstar, for one. Looks like I can cross that off right now.”
Fletcher gestured to himself with a smirk. “What else?”
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed as she considered his question. Wearing only his T-shirt, this woman had all of his attention. They’d been at this for hours—talking and fucking and eating—and he was still desperate for more.
“Go on tour with Stevie Nicks.”
“Just Stevie, not the whole band?”
She lifted her shoulder in a shrug, his T-shirt sliding down slightly to expose her collarbone and the mark he’d left there not too long ago.
“Stevie, huh?”
“We’ve hung out a few times, sure.”
Her eyes widened, twinkling at him as she sat up fully. “What’s she like?”
“Badass. Tiny, but an absolute force to be reckoned with.”
“She’s the best female rockstar in the world.”
He hummed and fought back a smile as her eyes narrowed to slits. “I think I might have to disagree.”
“I knew there had to be something wrong with you.”
“Stevie’s great, but we’ve also got Patti Smith, Grace Slick and Kim Gordon.”
“You forgot Karen Carpenter.”
“Cyndi Lauper too.”
A smile played on her lips as she said, “Ann Wilson and obviously Alanis.”
“Should have known you’d be an Alanis fan.”
“What can I say? I like badass women who follow the beat of their own drum.”
Just like you.
Their moment was interrupted by a knock on the door and he slid out of bed to pull on another T-shirt. A tray was pushed into the room, the tip was paid and then the door was pressed shut again. When he turned to face his companion, she was already digging into the food, her fingers and lips covered in bacon grease. She was the most unexpected part of the night, but the one element he wouldn’t change or trade for anything else right then.
Life as Fletcher Kelley, drummer and founding member of The Rescuers, wasn’t anything to sniff at. He played music with his best friends, sat in recording studios with some of the best music producers, and performed to sold out crowds. It’s what other musicians only dreamed of and he got to do it. He knew how lucky he was, how fortunate that he was able to follow this path and get paid to do it.
Leaving home hadn’t been as hard people would think. His family expected him to follow in their footsteps, but that was never going to be Fletcher’s life. So when his father told him to pick between music and the family business, he left them and their carpentry business behind to become a well-known rockstar. And damn, being respected by a group of his peers and being touted as ‘drummer of the year’ was a fantastic feeling.
The sudden shot to fame changed their lives. Everything was either cheap or free—food, alcohol, drugs, women—and rubbing shoulders with their heroes was startling. They adjusted to it pretty quickly though, but unlike the rest of his band, Fletcher didn’t get too caught up in the world of groupies. Sex was great, having someone want you like that was even better, but that wasn’t the life he wanted. Instead, he hung around with the roadies and crew members, learning about things behind the scenes, watching them set up and pull apart at venues. He asked questions and soaked up every bit of information they were willing to part with. To him, music was not only about the songs. It was about the experience, about each instrument and finding something you related to in every element. It was also about the feeling you got when standing in a bar with a hundred strangers singing along to your lyrics.
