Saving Landon Part 23

Everything is good.

Too good.

I'm okay. We're okay. We're okay forever.

I fall into him, convulsing with happy tears, our faces damp from more than just the afternoon heat. I'm in awe, speechless, screaming 'YES, YES, YES!' in my head but I can't let it out. All I can do is suck in air in disbelief and gasp like an idiot.

"Is that a yes?" Landon asks through a chortle.

I nod ferociously and hold out my hand to him. He somehow manages to slip the ring onto my shaking finger. I never knew this much joy could be possible. I look down at my hand, at the beautiful purple crystal that looks to have all the stars in the sky contained within it.

"I love you, Lucy." He catches my face and kisses me deeply until I soar so high I don't think there's a possibility of coming back down.

"I love you. I love you!"

I never knew life could be this good. More than that, I never felt like I deserved it.

"Now get your dirty self in the shower," I say, punching him on the arm.

Me and Landon make it back outside a few minutes later, clean and happy. Billie brings Daisy over to us but before we take her, I hold up my left hand up. Billie's eyes go wide until she shrieks. Daisy reaches out to touch it, her own pretty little eyes sparkling. Landon takes our daughter in his arms to receive the rest of the congratulations from the party attendees. There's even a few of his old brothers from the club ready to pat him on the back.

It's hard to feel okay being this happy. This is my life now... These people, my girl, that boy.

Growing up you come to realize that people make mistakes so huge you don't know how you'll ever get through them. I'd made plenty of my own and resigned myself to the fact that I couldn't be forgiven for them... I thought I deserved to be punished. But I found hope again. I found time, courage, and forgiveness.

The rest of the group give us their blessings. We shed happy tears and drink champagne. Our sweet little Daisy keeps giving us that cute, gummy smile she always does. We bask in this random little support system we've woven together against all odds. Every single one of us have made our mistakes but, as much as we shouldn't forget them, we can be forgiven of them when time allows.

I feel this lightness that surrounds me...

Now I'm safe...

Now I'm happy...

And here I stand...

Saved by the bad boy...

And maybe I saved him too...

The End.

Bonus #1 Illicit Behavior

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1.

ILLICIT BEHAVIOR.

Trent

"Dude! These groupies are totally ready to go!" My dreadlocked b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a bohemian guitarist laughed, splas.h.i.+ng his bottle of beer in an arc.

The two hot young girls wrapped around him cooed a chorus of flirtatious giggles. They must have been just barely eighteen, clad in tight, low-cut s.h.i.+rts that made their silky, angelic b.r.e.a.s.t.s practically burst out of the seams.

Despite my lack of interest, I wasn't about to rain on his parade. I lightly raised my own bottle of music festival beer to him, shaking my head.

"You go on ahead, man. Not feelin' it tonight."

No matter where we went, fans were throwing themselves at us and my band-mates were always eager to take the free, willing p.u.s.s.y back to the bus for a fresh bang.

In fact, my ba.s.sist and drummer were already back there now, getting their freak on with a few nameless groupies now.

"Serious?" Waylon asked drunkenly.

His limber playing hand slid under a skirt and along a tanned, tender a.s.s, drawing a blush from the groupie's cheeks. The sight made my c.o.c.k almost twitch.

Almost.

"You sure you don't want to try a piece of this Alabama 'tang?" He pressed on. "Plenty to go around. I'm not greedy."

The groupie twosome puffed their chests and wiggled provocatively for me, giving me the deepest pair of sultry, l.u.s.tful looks that they could muster.

They looked cute.

Cute, and too young to be acting like this.

"Think I'm just gonna relax and ride the vibe," I reaffirmed. "Go get your d.i.c.k wet."

"If you say so!"

"And ladies," I continued, turning towards the girls, who settled down and looked at me almost fearfully. "Don't keep him up all night. This guy needs to be shredding licks same time tomorrow."

They nodded respectfully, but Waylon jumped up to his feet, his dreads scattering around his face briefly.

"Ain't gonna happen. This train rides 'til sunrise! Ain't that right, ladies?"

They chuckled with big, goofy hero-wors.h.i.+pping grins on their faces. He scooped them up against his sides, and soon they stumbled off towards the back of the after-party, heading for our bus.

Joke's on them, I thought to myself. Waylon's a two-pump chump on a GOOD day.

Truth of the matter was that I'd been in a funk. For the last few weeks, I had turned down s.e.x left, right, and center from even the most flexible little minxes.

A constant stream of the hottest G.o.dd.a.m.n chicks around went f.u.c.king wild for us on the regular.

And why shouldn't they?

We weren't just anybody.

We were Trent Masters and the Whiplash, the hottest f.u.c.king rock band in America.

On national radio waves dominated by DJs making music off of laptops, mainstream child stars glammed up and given backing bands, and egotistical personalities lacking substance and spitting s.h.i.+t...we brought something better.

Something harder.

Something real.

Something apparently sorely missed.

Our latest alb.u.m, Twelve Machines, was flying off the shelves across the country. The last two singles went platinum. h.e.l.l, talks of a Grammy nomination were already in the pipeline.

I was on top of the f.u.c.king world.

Or I should have felt like I was.

But all I felt was empty inside, and even the quick fix of endless s.e.x didn't quell the tension.

It was hard to think I was taking advantage of these girls when they grinded up against me at after-parties like this, always seeming so desperate to give my c.o.c.k the old spit-s.h.i.+ne.

It just didn't feel right.

But... I couldn't tell what I wanted instead.

What I needed.

I drank another swig from my bottle of beer, watching the other bands delight in the attention. We were in town for this bada.s.s music festival called the RipFest, and we'd shared the stage with some serious rock legends and decent upcoming talent.

They were having fun. Even the older, crustier guys looked like they were having a blast, likely filled with enough drugs to bring down a Bull Rhino in its prime.

It's not like I wasn't grateful... I was just... Lost.

The constant attention was overwhelming too much of a great f.u.c.king thing. I had to be careful about the s.h.i.+t I said, because rock stars were even closer to scandal in this day and age.

Everything constantly recorded, rumors spread with the speed of a tweet and the snap of a camera on some girl's iPhone.

It was all about being careful and avoiding the wrong kind of spotlight. Blogs are eager for clicks, and the whole world is ready to tear you down to build an audience.

I'd paid my dues.

No more practicing in oily garages and filthy bars. No more struggling in hard labor and backbreaking jobs to make ends meet. I wasn't going to let some little misstep tear me down.

Despite the bulls.h.i.+t, the throne on this rising f.u.c.king star felt grand.

But as the light grew brighter...the shadows only grew filthier. Despite all the fame, all the success, all the money and women and the fancy toys. I knew the truth.

The world is a filthy place.

And I am the reigning king of the filth.

2.