Song Chaser (Chasers) Read online

  Song Chaser

  By Kandi Steiner

  Copyright © 2014 Kandi Steiner

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.

  The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Kandi Steiner

  Edited by Betsy Kash

  Cover Photography by Austyn Bynon

  If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in a verified contest, it has been pirated. Please respect the work of this author by deleting this copy and purchasing the eBook from one of its many distributors.

  To the real Kellee.

  Thank you for being the ever-constant voice of encouragement in my otherwise bleak and pessimistic author mind. I could never truly express how precious your friendship is to me.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The Drive

  Tanner

  There were no words I could say to make her stay. I knew it as soon as they started flying out of my mouth. I could practically see her heart beating for him, yet there I stood, spilling out every ounce of blood I had left in my pathetically beating heart right onto her floor to try to get her to lay back down on that couch with me and let me hold her until all her pain was gone.

  I think in my head, I already knew she was out of my grasp. I knew it the moment I showed up on her doorstep that Sunday and took her to our spot and watched her emerald green eyes squeeze tight into a smile because of another guy. I was too late, I’d waited too long to tell her how I felt, but I did it anyway.

  And I hurt her.

  On the ride home, I played that scene in my head over and over again, like a fucking torture scene in a horror movie. Flashbacks surrounded me as I drove, my eyes blurrily focused on the road that laid out in front of me – the road that would never lead to her. She had said to me, “Sometimes the last thing you need is the only thing you want, Tanner. I can’t help what my heart feels.” Driving back to New York, I actually laughed at that. How ironic that the woman I couldn’t help but love was preaching to me about how we can’t help what our hearts want?

  But that wasn’t what plagued me most, that wasn’t the nail that dug itself deep into my skin and poisoned my blood. No, the words she said to me just before walking out her front door would be the ones that would never leave, the ones that would be a constant reminder of one of the biggest mistakes I had ever made.

  “You’re my best friend in the entire world, but you just hurt me more than you could ever know.”

  So I drove, in tortured silence, not allowing myself the pleasure of turning on the radio. I just sat and thought about the one girl I had always written my perfect song for, the one girl who had made me think of her with every lyric I ever sang, the only girl in the world to ever make me feel nervous because I knew deep in my gut that she was completely out of my league. I thought I had found my perfect song, my own personal soundtrack that I would keep and have forever as mine.

  Instead, I had chased her away.

  Chapter 1

  Breathe

  Tanner

  I really fucking hate the stench of cigarette smoke. I do, I hate the way it clouds up the space I sit in and the way it stays in my clothes long after I leave. So I guess it doesn’t really make sense that I’m sitting in this shitty hole in the wall bar where the smoke is thicker than the women who work here, but here I sit, because NYU insists we take these damn social retreats while in the Pediatrics Residency Program.

  But if I’m being honest, I kind of want to be here. Probably because it’s the only place in this whole fucking city where I can feel her.

  In the past two years that I’ve lived in New York, Paisley Bronson has only visited one time, and it wasn’t even me that she was visiting. She was here for some work conference and she only had time to meet me for a drink the night before she went back home. This is where I brought her, to The Box. Out of all the classy bars and out of this world night clubs that exist in New York City, I brought her to the one bar that is most like the little ones back home in Orlando. And the crazy thing is – she appreciated that. She’s not a city girl, she never has been, and she finds value in the little things like having a bartender who knows your name and your order or having a karaoke night where no one who can actually sing ever shows up.

  So I come back here, every Sunday, just to feel her. Sometimes it’s with the other residents in the program, but most times it’s by myself. To sit here and think about how it might have been different if I’d taken her to dinner instead and told her back then that I was so in love with her that I could barely breathe when she wasn’t with me. But instead, I took her here, and we drank the same Jack Daniels and Coke that we always drank and I held my tongue and tried not to brush that single strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. And kiss her.

  God, I wanted to kiss her.

  I drain the rest of my drink and signal to Sal, the bartender on my end of the bar, for another refill. He sees me every Sunday and knows exactly what to pour, and God love him he hasn’t cut me off yet, even though I’ve given him plenty of nights where he should have. The group of girls singing right now makes me want to shove my head into a fucking dryer and slam the door shut over and over again. They’re laughing and slurring their way through a Britney Spears song and no doubt think they’re the hottest pieces of ass this bar has ever seen. They probably came as a joke, as a one-check-on-the-bucket-list sort of dare, but apparently I’m the only one who sees it for what it is because the rest of the men in the bar are hooting and elbowing each other like it’s the best damn show they’ve seen, including some of the guys in the program with me.

  Benny stands and applauds as the girls leave the stage before turning to me. “Cheer up, T Dubs! You look like you’re at a funeral.”

  Does the death of my fucking heart count?

  I smile, “Sorry man, long week.”

  Long year would be more accurate. When I left Orlando, I thought I’d never see Paisley again, that she’d never want to look at my face again after what I did to her. But she called me, just a few months later, and somehow we worked through it. Corbin, the guy she fell in love with, deployed right after he and Paisley made up and it’s been hard on her. I’ve been there for her through the whole thing, even flying to Orlando a few times to be there when I knew she just needed to be held. But it was different than it used to be because she knew how I really felt. Every time I held her, I felt her stiffen. She didn’t feel the same around me, and that just made me feel shittier around her.

  Benny shakes his head and slams his fist down on the bar, “Sal! Can I get anothe
r whiskey for my friend here? Put it on my tab. And if you’ve got any happy pills back there, slide those in, too.” He nudges me in the ribs and I laugh, pushing him off me. Sal was already working on my drink, but at least it won’t be on my tab now.

  “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll put on my fucking happy face.”

  “Attaboy,” he laughs. “And don’t think you’re getting out of singing tonight. You haven’t sang in over a year and we’re breaking that streak tonight.”

  I nod to Sal as he sets down my fresh glass, “Keep dreaming, Benny.”

  “Aw, Tanner, please! I miss that dreamy voice of yours,” Charlie says, her voice low and seductive. She traces her finger along my bicep and I shake her off. She’s beautiful, in an easy target kind of way, but I’m not in the mood to put up with her shit.

  “Well you’ll have to keep on missing it. I’ll drink all the whiskey you feed me, but I’m not singing.” I haven’t sang since I left Orlando that day, after calling Corbin and telling him the truth about Paisley – the real truth. I told him that she was crazy about him, that we were just friends, and that he’d be insane to let her go.

  And as much as I knew it would make her happy, it still fucking killed me.

  What I had told him before the truth was that Paisley had kissed me – that she loved me and not him and he was just another set of tags to hang on her chain.

  Yeah, I know it was shitty, but I was desperate to keep her.

  I didn’t know what else to do.

  But, after I saw how hurt Paisley was when I told her that’s what I had said and after she walked out on me – I knew I had to make things right. I called him the morning he was supposed to get on a plane to go back to his base and laid out the truth. I even told him I was a fucking idiot who was trying to save the woman I loved for myself even if it wasn’t what she wanted. Corbin, surprisingly, understood – but in the end he got Paisley back.

  And I got a broken heart.

  “Why won’t you sing?” I hear a smooth, almost angelic voice coo behind me. I turn in my barstool and literally choke on my drink. Sal has moved down to the other end of the bar and standing in his place is a fucking angel. No shit, this girl is glowing. Her long, sandy blonde hair is falling all around her and her soft eyes are like two illuminated wells pulling me in deep. I can’t see what color they are, which kind of intrigues me, but what I notice most is her freckles.

  Damn, I have never seen freckles that sexy before.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, tucking her hair half behind her ear. Probably because I choked on my drink and still haven’t found one word to say.

  I set my whiskey on the bar and turn to completely face her, “I’d be better if I knew your name.” I turn my game on and break out the half smile, the one that usually lands a girl in my bed within a few hours.

  “I’ll tell you my name if you sing,” her brow arches as she grabs the white towel hanging off her shoulder and begins drying a glass. She’s dressed modestly in a pair of jeans and a bright yellow tank top, but her skin looks freshly tanned and a sliver of skin just above her hip bones makes me want to trace it with my fingers and send goose bumps down her body.

  “How about you tell me your name, and if you’re lucky, I’ll sing to you later when you’re in my bed?” I know it’s a cocky line. Hell, for once I feel a little stupid saying it, but in all honesty I’m a guy, and this girl looks like the perfect distraction from Paisley. Still, I can tell this girl is different, and I somehow feel embarrassed that the words tumbled out of my mouth.

  As I expected, she rolls her eyes and swings the towel back over her shoulder before leaning across the bar. “Trust me, honey. If you got me in bed, you wouldn’t be able to speak, let alone sing.”

  The corners of my mouth turn up as she pushes back from the bar. Her eyes are challenging mine, and damn if I don’t like a challenge. I’m just about to shoot back with a clever quip when she tosses her towel on the bar and runs her fingers through her hair, “How do I look?”

  I shake my head, “Do you even have to ask?”

  She laughs, “Not really, but I wanted to see if your jaw would hit the floor again or if that was just a one-time thing.” She winks at me, lifts the end of the bar up and walks up to the stage, her ass swinging the entire way.

  Yeah, she definitely knows I’m watching.

  She stands to the side with the DJ, pointing on his laptop screen and asking him questions. Benny and Terrence are doing a very drunken version of Ice Ice Baby and I can’t help but let my mind wander back to Paisley. She was never into music as much as I am, but she would always try to keep up with my tastes and listen to whatever I threw at her. That’s why it shocked the shit out of me the night I took her to one of my fraternity parties and she started busting out every line in this song when it came on. I laughed so hard I almost fell over. I can still remember it, like it could be happening right here, right now. She had her hands in the air and her wavy auburn curls were swaying all around her. She kept getting in my face like she was a gangster and when the chorus came on, she would rub her arms like she was cold as she mouthed the lyrics at me.

  Everyone in that party thought she was such a nerd, but all I saw was perfection.

  She never knew it, but almost every song I ever played for her was about her, or made me think of her. I was convinced that she was my perfect song, the perfect lyrics to any melody I would ever hear. Every time I heard a new underground band play, or heard a classic song on the radio, or even when I got adventurous and jotted down some lyrics of my own – she was always there, dancing in my head to every word. When we talked about everything after our fight, I told her that she was the girl in all my songs.

  She probably thought I was insane.

  Benny and Terrence stumble off the stage as the song ends, laughing all the way back to our place at the bar. The other residents cheer and laugh and the rest of the bar seems annoyed. I thump them both on the back and order shots for all of us, desperately trying to drown my thoughts of Paisley. As we slam them down and the liquid burns through my throat, I hear the DJ announce the next singer.

  “Alright, we got a special treat tonight. This little lady is all the way from upstate New York and just graced us with her presence three nights ago. She serves a mean whiskey sour, but that’s nothing compared to what her voice can do. Give it up for Kellee Brooks!” A few people clap, the men hoot and the rest of the bar continues drinking, but when she steps under the shoddy spotlight, a blanket of silence falls over the entire place and it’s like no one can breathe until she says something.

  She nervously grabs the mic and her eyes scan the audience until she finds mine. The cockiness she just threw at me from behind the bar is completely gone, and it’s almost like she’s nervous now. “Hi y’all,” she says sweetly, the spotlight playing on her blonde hair. “Thank you for coming out tonight, I hope you won’t be too hard on me. This is one of my favorites by Faith Hill, and I hope y’all enjoy it. It’s called Breathe.” She closes her eyes, and that’s the last thing any of us can do – breathe. It’s like we’re all holding in our last breath because we’re afraid we’ll never breathe the same after we hear her sing.

  The music starts playing, and for the next few minutes it’s all I can do to sit there and not walk straight up to that stage, pull her down, and kiss her lips like they’ve never been kissed before. I hate karaoke, I hate when people try to sing when they can’t. But in this girl’s case, I could fucking listen to her for the rest of my life. I almost pull out my phone to record her, but I know it won’t capture anything real about this moment. Plus I’d probably look like a psychopath stalker. So instead, I sit just there and soak it all in.

  “Dude, I would so tap that,” Shane says beside me, nudging me. I want to kick him off his barstool but instead I punch his arm, “Don’t fucking talk about her that way.”

  “Chill dude,” he says, rubbing his arm where I just hit. “Do you even fucking know her?”

  I don
’t answer, I just turn back to the stage as she finishes the song, her eyes still locked on mine. I’m not really sure why I reacted that way. Hell, any other girl and I probably would have bumped his fist in agreement. Maybe my heart has been broken for so long I’m starting to grow a vagina or something.

  Or maybe I just really want to be the only one to “tap that”.

  When she ends the last note, the whole bar bursts into applause and the cutest fucking blush I’ve ever seen spreads across her face. If it’s even possible, she looks sexier than before and my cock twitches as I imagine searching the rest of her body for hidden freckles. She smiles, “Thank y’all so much.” Before she steps off stage, she looks back out to me, her brow rising again, and I know it’s a challenge.

  It’s my move, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to make it.

  Chapter 2

  The First of Many Firsts

  Kellee

  “I can’t believe I let you drag me here,” Trista says, judgingly eyeballing the cramped, musty building we’re crammed inside of. “I don’t even know this band or anything they sing. If they’re so good, wouldn’t they be famous by now?”

  I shake my head and grab her hand, pushing through the crowd to get as close to the stage as I possibly can. I’ve been wanting to see Bad News Love Story since I was a sophomore in high school, and there’s no way Trista is going to ruin my high, especially since I’m finally letting myself have a little fun. I feel like all I do is work and now Sal, the owner of the pizza place I work at, got me a gig as a bartender at The Box. The extra money is exactly what I needed, but damn I could use a break from work and school.

  “Trust me, Tee. It’s not all about what makes it on the radio. Once you hear them, you’ll fall in love.”

  I hear her mumble behind me, “Don’t count on it.”

  The crowd grows even thicker the closer we get, and even though we’re just a few rows back, I’m dying to get closer. I scan the edges of the stage and spot a tiny opening near the front left. “Come on,” I call back to Trista, tugging her through.