Resilient Rhythms (Dating the Drummer Trilogy #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

MAV

ONE DAY POST MCKENNA

“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face as I blink my eyes open.

It’s been six seconds since I regained consciousness after waking up and I feel her loss like a punch to the gut.

“I’m fucking over it,” Amelia’s shrill voice pierces through the closed guest bedroom door in her and my brother Jameson’s house. “It’s ridiculous!”

I heave out a sigh. What I wouldn’t give to hear Mckenna bitch at me.

That’s where I’m at.

I miss my wife—soon to be ex-wife—with an intensity that physically aches.

Wrapping an arm around my stomach, I turn onto my side and stare at the bedroom wall.

Maybe if I stare long enough, I’ll fall back to sleep and this nightmare will end?

MCKENNA — FIVE DAYS POST MAV

“You have to shower,” Allegra says gently, tugging my arm from where it flops over the side of the bed.

“I have to do a lot of things,” I remark. My voice comes out wobbly, partly from emotion and partly from my cheek being smooshed into the pillow.

“Kenny,” Allegra sighs. And then, “I don’t even know what the hell to say. Just that for Mav to pull this shit…he’s hurting, too.”

“Is he?” I can’t keep the sarcasm from my tone.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I force myself to open my eyes. Allegra’s chocolate irises bore into mine. Sighing, I pull myself into a seated position and turn toward my friend. “I know he is. I’m just angry.”

“You should be.”

“I thought, after everything, that we would get through this. I mean, we got through fucking hell together. He never gave up on me. On us. Not even when I begged him to. And now, when I’m the one putting everything on the line, he cuts me loose?”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she agrees. “I think he thinks he failed you.”

“He did!”

“Even before he gave you those divorce papers. He asked you to sign them because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be your husband.”

“But that should be my choice,” I practically wail.

I throw a hand in the air. “And that was always our issue. He thinks he knows best. He makes decisions and runs with them without considering my perspective on the matter. I would have stayed, A. I would have worked through it with him. Or, at the very least, tried like hell.” I roll my lips together, biting down to keep my tears at bay. “Fucking divorce papers.”

Allegra sighs, placing a hand on my forearm and squeezing. “I’m so damn sorry, Kenny.”

I shake my head and flop back onto the pillows lining my headboard. The headboard of my bed in Maverick’s brownstone. Except, Mav’s not here and like a sadist, I can’t bring myself to leave.

Allegra wrinkles her nose. “You should still shower.”

“I know.” But I don’t move to get up from my bed. I don’t move to do anything at all.

MAV — SEVEN DAYS POST MCKENNA

I suck in a lungful of humid air as I descend the plane.

It doesn’t take long to gather my luggage, hop in the car waiting for me, and arrive at my home in Tamarindo, Costa Rica.

Paradise.

It’s the only property I own. The only space I’ve ever wanted to return to year after year. It’s just that part of me thought this year, I’d bring Mckenna with me.

I’d teach her how to surf at sunrise. She’d force me to do yoga on the beach and learn how to slow down, maybe even meditate. We’d drink mint tea on the balcony at night and point out the constellations in the sky.

“Get a fucking grip,” I warn myself.

It’s been a week without my beauty. Only seven days, and my brother and Amelia had enough of my moping ass. Deciding to get out of their hair, I left town. I need to get my head on straight.

I need to avoid the tug of drugs and alcohol and partying that grows stronger when I’m lost in my head. Lonely and angry and fucking heartbroken.

Of course, I could find trouble anywhere, just ask my brother. Or Mckenna.

But the familiarity of the party scene in Boston calls to me. It’s too easy to slip into bad habits. A change of scenery, of pace, of lifestyle is the first healthy step I’ve taken for myself since walking away from the woman I love.

Tossing my duffle bag on my bed, I stow my suitcase in the corner of my bedroom. Then, I change into a bathing suit, grab my favorite board from where I stored it in the living room, and head to the beach.

The sun beats down on my back, the rolling waves beckon me, and I suck in another breath. Cleansing and refreshing and centering.

Right now, this is what I need. This is the best way to move on from Mckenna Byrne and not end up in rehab.

Vitamin fucking sea. I used to laugh when people said stupid cliché shit like that, but right now, it hits deep. I could be a meme.

The cool water circles my ankles as I walk straight into the ocean, bodying my board to dip underneath a curling wave. I straddle the board and flip my chin toward the other surfers waiting in the lineup.

They mutter greetings in Spanish, but either no one recognizes me, which is a relief, or they’ve seen me around enough to not care, which is the scenario I prefer.

While news of Mckenna’s and my divorce hasn’t hit tabloids or social media channels, it’s only a matter of time. If I can lose myself here, at the beach, my mental health will be better for it.

A solid set rolls in and I wait my turn to drop into a wave.

As the board propels forward, a rush travels through my limbs. Adrenaline and joy eat some of the depression and anger that’s taken up residence in my bloodstream. I shift my weight, angling the nose of the board down, to pick up speed. Flying down the line, I smile.

My first real smile in over a week.

I’ll never truly get over Mckenna.

I know it. My bandmates know it. Hell, even my fans must know it.

But at least I’ll survive her.

I’ll survive this.

MCKENNA — NINETEEN DAYS POST MAV

“Girl, I am so damn proud of you,” Robyn says, hugging me tightly as I slip into the space beside her at the bar.

“Me? I’m proud of you! Student speaker at graduation.” I give her a little shake.

Robyn rolls her eyes. “I was surprised.”

“I wasn’t,” Emily pipes up, sandwiching me in between her and Robyn. She wraps an arm around my waist. “How are you holding up?”

I blow out a breath. “Okay. Not great.”

“Jesus, Kenny, you’ve had one hell of a year.” Robyn flags down the bartender and orders a round of drinks.

“Tell me about it,” I agree. “I’m ready to finish exams, graduate, and take the bar. It feels like the past three years have shaved off decades of my life.”

Emily snorts and bumps her hip against mine. “It’s behind you now. Focus on the future. There is so much waiting for you.”

“I hope so,” I murmur, smiling my thanks at Robyn as she passes me a drink.

The three of us make a toast and drink to passing the bar exam. But the prospect doesn’t fill me with the pride it once did. In fact, I don’t care nearly as much as I thought I would.

I miss Maverick. I miss our marriage. I miss…the life plan that I started to envision when I was with him.

Perspective truly is everything, and right now, I need to realign mine.

MAV — THIRTY-TWO DAYS POST MCKENNA

Sand clings to the heels of my feet and the backs of my calves as I plop down on my board and shake water droplets from my hair. Heaving out a sigh, I brace one hand behind me as I look out over the water.

High tide is rolling in, the sun is dipping below the horizon, and the sky is burning orange and mellow yellow. A hint of a smile curls my lips as I exhale, relieved as fuck that I’m here instead of Boston.

Sure, the weather is thawing now that it’s April.

But I truly needed time and space away from the brownstone. The band. Mckenna.

Irony sure is a bitch because those two things—time and space—are exactly what she asked me for two measly months ago. Broke my damn heart to walk away from her but the thought became easier to stomach once I accepted that I was suffocating her. And self-destructing in the process.

A whirlwind bender, a stint in rehab, and starting therapy helped me see clearly. My wife, the love of my fucking life, was better off—healthier, happier, stronger—without me and my bullshit weighing her down.

Even now, knowing that she’s graduating from law school next month, fills me with pride. She’s an intelligent, passionate, ambitious woman who is going to do amazing things.

Setting her free was the right thing to do—for both of us.

I served her papers, she signed, and I ended up here, in my slice of peace and paradise.

It’s here, among the surf sets, sunrises, and sunsets, that I’ve nursed my broken heart, licked the wounds to my ego, and tried to get my feet back underneath me. It’s been weeks, and most days, I’m still struggling to survive. To fucking breathe.

The heartbreak in Mckenna’s eyes when I slid those divorce papers over is imprinted on my fucking eyelids. A reminder every time I blink.

And the way my heart shattered when she pressed her pen deep into the paper and angrily scrawled her name across the line, sealing the end of our relationship, still aches. A constant phantom pain.

I flip my chin to a dude passing by, selling coconuts. I slap some bills in his hand after he cuts the coconut and passes it to me.

“Gracias,” I mutter, sipping the sweet water.

My phone rings from my backpack and I shake my head, even as I pull it out and answer.

“I’m good,” I tell my brother.

“It’s not always about you, Mav.”

“Isn’t it?”

I hear Jameson’s grin through the connection. “You sound good.”

“Surf, sun, and coconuts. Nature’s cure.”

“You coming home soon?” He disregards my blasé summary of life on the beach and cuts to the chase.

Home. Boston. Mckenna.

Except she’s not my home anymore.

“No immediate plans.”

Jameson sighs. “You can’t avoid your life forever.”

“Just a little while then.”

“I miss you, Mav. We all do.”

“Even Amelia?” I joke. Amelia mostly hates me and, these days, I don’t possess enough redeeming qualities to blame her.

“Even Amelia,” he replies seriously.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Stop lying.”

Jameson swears. Pauses. And then, “We broke up.”