Rock On (ROCK HARDER #4) by Kat Mizera EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Kat Mizera
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Tommy
IT HAD BEEN MORE than a year since Carter had killed himself.
My best friend, the bass player of my band, the closest I’d ever come to
having a brother since my biological brother and I weren’t close.
Now Carter was nothing but a memory.
Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday that I’d last seen him; other
times, it felt like he’d been gone forever.
And both of those scenarios sucked ass because I missed him no matter
what.
We’d been partners in music and mischief, in life and in love, our
personal and professional lives so intertwined it was hard to tell where one
left off and the other began. I’d eventually figured out that he had a hard-on
for me, but we didn’t talk about it since he knew and respected the fact that
I was straight. It had never affected our friendship.
Except for that one night.
I took a deep pull from the bottle of Corona in my hand, wondering if
the past would ever let go of its hold on me. Since the day Harley had
served me with those divorce papers, my life had been a never-ending spiral
of self-loathing, confusion, and regret. So much damn regret.
I’d lost the woman I loved and then my brother.
Losing him had been inevitable.
Losing her was something else altogether.
It hadn’t made sense back then and only made slightly more sense now.
Now I knew they’d betrayed me.
It had been over a year since I’d found out that Carter and Harley had a
kid together, and it still hurt as much today as it had the day I’d found out.
At least now I knew why she’d left.
I downed the rest of my beer and tossed the bottle into the recycling bin.
The plan for today had been to get shitfaced, but I’d nursed that one
beer for a couple of hours. Now I was restless and desperately needed to get
out of here. The four walls of my condo felt suffocating, and I knew if I
didn’t do something to distract myself, I would do something stupid instead.
Like call her.
I grabbed my keys and jumped on my bike, the Harley-Davidson
motorcycle I’d jokingly named Harley after she bought it for me as a
wedding gift. It was a constant reminder of her, and it fueled the everpresent pain and regret.
Jesus, I was a philosophical mess tonight.
As I pulled onto the dark, mostly empty roads of Mulholland Drive, the
tightness in my chest started to let up, and I picked up speed. Harley—the
ex-wife, not the bike—had been insistent we both take lessons to become as
safe as possible when operating any motorcycle, so I was a good driver.
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