One More Promise Read online

  Also by Samantha Chase

  The Montgomery Brothers

  Wait for Me

  Trust in Me

  Stay with Me

  More of Me

  Return to You

  Meant for You

  I’ll Be There

  Until There Was Us

  The Shaughnessy Brothers

  Made for Us

  Love Walks In

  Always My Girl

  This Is Our Song

  A Sky Full of Stars

  Holiday Spice

  Shaughnessy Brothers: Band on the Run

  One More Kiss

  One More Promise

  Holiday Romance

  The Christmas Cottage / Ever After

  Mistletoe Between Friends / The Snowflake Inn

  Life, Love and Babies

  The Baby Arrangement

  Baby, I’m Yours

  Baby, Be Mine

  Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

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  Copyright © 2018 by Samantha Chase

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover image © PeoplesImages/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

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

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  A Sneak Peek of Until There Was Us

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For my own wonderful musician, who reminds me every day that I can do anything I put my mind to. Your encouragement is what keeps me going when I don’t think I can. Thank you for always being there for me unconditionally.

  And to Jon Bon Jovi, for creating the music that inspired so much of this series. Whenever I couldn’t find the words, Bon Jovi was there for me.

  Prologue

  It was one of the most luxurious rooms he had ever stayed in, and yet it was beyond unappealing. It wasn’t a comfort—it was a prison.

  Even if it did come with Egyptian cotton sheets.

  Dylan Anders paced the living space, counting each step. He’d gotten in the habit of pacing over the last eighty-nine days. It was a way of making him focus on something other than the hell he was living in. Okay, maybe hell was a bit strong, but…this wasn’t the life he wanted to be living.

  But it was the life he had screwed himself into.

  By being stupid.

  By being selfish.

  By…simply being.

  A soft knock on the door had him stopping and waiting. He knew who was coming and although it offered some comfort, it also brought on a fresh wave of anxiety.

  What if I mess up?

  What if I fail again?

  The door opened and in walked his parents—both with huge smiles on their faces. His mother walked toward him carrying a covered plate, which Dylan was certain contained his favorite dessert—chocolate chip pound cake. His father was a few steps behind her carrying a piece of luggage.

  Wait…luggage? What?

  Carol Anders stood all of five feet tall, and as she reached up and cupped Dylan’s face in her hands—while standing on her tiptoes—her smile was one of pure love. There was nothing Dylan wanted more than to keep that smile on her face.

  “One more day,” she said in a fierce whisper. “One more day and you’ll be free to come home.”

  Free? Somehow Dylan doubted that. He might not be stuck in the rehab facility, but that didn’t mean he was well and truly free. The actions that led him to being admitted here were never going to leave him. And he didn’t want them to. No. It was important for him to remember how far he had spiraled out of control and how much those actions had cost him. The only saving grace—if he had to find one—was that he hadn’t killed anyone.

  But it had been close.

  Tomorrow, he’d finish his required ninety days in rehab and be let loose upon society again. And yet, he didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. He didn’t know what he wanted.

  After a few silent moments, he nodded toward the suitcase at his father’s side. “What’s with the suitcase?”

  Steven Anders smiled. “When you arrived here, your clothes were shoved into a ripped-up duffel bag. We thought it might be nice to leave here and celebrate your fresh start with fresh luggage.”

  Dylan couldn’t help but chuckle. Leave it to his parents to think all he needed to get started on this new life was a new suitcase. Not that it was wrong—it was incredibly sweet of them—but it wasn’t how he tended to view things. His view was a tad bit darker. Sometimes there wasn’t a silver lining. Sometimes people made bad choices and bad things happened because of them.

  When he looked up, he saw both of his parents were watching him with the same patient smiles they always had. Sometimes he wished they’d yell at him, curse him, tell him what a disappointment he was.

  But they never did.

  And how twisted was he that he hated it?

  Just once, he wished they’d call him out on his bad behavior and demand that he change his ways. Not that it mattered at the moment. He was changing his ways. And not only because his legal team and manager told him he had to.

  It was because he was ready.

  Sort of.

  For most of his life, Dylan had accepted that this was the way his family was—he screwed up; his parents forgave him. They never talked about what went wrong or why he did the things he did. As he studied the two people he loved more than anything in the world, he came to a very serious life decision—if he was going to change, then his parents needed to change with him. Maybe it wasn’t going to be comfortable. And maybe it would all blow up in his face. But if there was one thing he had learned through all his therapy sessions, it was that he had to stop hiding from his feelings. That meant no hiding out in a bottle of vodka to avoid his fears, disillusions, or just about anything.

/>   During the last two weeks, his parents had come to his counseling sessions. It was considered helpful for them to do family counseling—mainly because he had initially started drinking because he was trying to get attention.

  This was the first time, however, that he was initiating the conversation on his own—without a counselor present. Part of what he had learned after three months of being in rehab was that he needed to take responsibility for his actions.

  So if ever there was a time to take that step…it was now.

  Taking a steadying breath, Dylan let it out slowly and felt some of the tension leave his body. “Mom? Dad?” he began hesitantly. “It’s going to take a whole lot more than a new suitcase to get me on the right path.”

  * * *

  The next day, as Dylan walked away from the rehab facility that had been his home for the past three months, he felt a lightness he hadn’t felt since he was fifteen years old.

  And he walked away carrying his ratty, old duffel bag.

  Chapter 1

  Dylan prowled around the house feeling restless. His skin felt tight and he was a little jittery.

  And that was how he felt nearly every night.

  After touring with his band, Shaughnessy, for years and then taking time off to join other bands on their gigs, it seemed odd to have nothing to do. Not that he missed it. Much. Now he could look back at the last ten years of his life and realize that while he loved playing the bass—loved the music—the lifestyle had damn-near killed him. He’d spent too many years drinking too much and partying too hard and had paid the price. Dealing with a normal, everyday life was something completely foreign to him.

  He was at loose ends and didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself. He’d played chess with his manager earlier, and Mick had hung out for most of the afternoon, but he couldn’t be expected to stay all day and into the night. He was entitled to a life of his own. Except…Dylan kind of resented it. Not Mick. Not exactly. But anyone right now. Right now, everyone he knew was doing something with their lives—having lives—and he wasn’t.

  “Maudlin much?” he murmured, walking through the kitchen on his way to the deck.

  Outside, the night air was cool and the sky was clear. He sat in one of his lounge chairs and stared up at the stars. It was peaceful and relaxing and…beyond boring! No matter how hard he tried, Dylan knew he wasn’t meant to sit around and lead a quiet and tranquil life. Of course, that didn’t mean he had to resort to drinking or getting high, but he certainly needed more than this.

  He was holding himself back. He knew that. Right now, he still felt a little fragile, like any small step back into the life he knew with the people he used to hang out with would lead to a relapse.

  And he refused to relapse.

  Again.

  There had been a night not long after he’d come home—he’d gone out with his ex for dinner. Heather had called him up out of the blue and offered him a night out, no strings attached. After months of no sex, he had eagerly jumped at the chance. Unfortunately, the night had been a complete disaster. Without alcohol fueling their time together, Dylan had felt awkward and uncomfortable. Heather, oblivious to his struggles, had ordered herself drink after drink, and by the time they’d finished dinner, he was more than a little turned off by her behavior.

  They’d gone to her place and, even though his brain was saying yes, his body had no desire to take things any further. Funny—he’d always imagined it would be the other way around. Regardless, Heather had not taken the rejection kindly and had screamed all kinds of profanities at him while taking direct aim at his masculinity.

  When he’d gotten home, he’d managed to find one well-hidden bottle of vodka.

  The morning after hadn’t been pretty.

  Actually, the end of the bottle hadn’t been pretty.

  And now—because of that—he was afraid to get near the temptation. Maybe eventually he’d feel strong enough, but for right now, Dylan knew he wasn’t. So where did that leave him? He couldn’t keep living in isolation and he couldn’t exactly go back to his old haunts.

  With a muttered curse, he got up again and walked into the house. Closing the French doors behind him, he stalked into the living room and spotted the folder on the coffee table beside the chessboard—the literacy campaign information Mick had brought over earlier.

  With a long and drawn-out sigh, he walked over and picked it up.

  It would probably hurt him more than help him, but damn if he wasn’t desperate for something to fill his time. From the look of the schedule Mick had included, the entire thing would take about three months between the organization and planning phase—which he fully intended to be a part of—and the actual campaign itself. There would be speaking engagements, commercial shoots, print ads… It would certainly fill his time and get him into the public eye in a positive light.

  Maybe.

  Dylan wasn’t comfortable talking about the struggles he had endured in learning to read when he was young. He knew there was no shame in it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to share it with the world. A man was entitled to keep some parts of his life private, wasn’t he? But by sharing it, it could potentially help the cause—help him be more believable in his role for the cause.

  Great. Now he was looking for a way to work the thing to his own advantage. How selfish was that? Unfortunately, it was the nature of the beast. In his world—or at least the world where his public persona lived—you never did anything that didn’t ultimately serve your own interests. Sad but true.

  Another sigh escaped as he sat on the sofa and began to read the documents. All of them. All twelve pages. His eyes hurt, his brain hurt, and he wasn’t quite sure he understood half of what he had read.

  At the bottom of the last page was the name of the contact person—Paige Walters. She was probably some spinster librarian who was trying her best to drum up interest in reading to keep her local branch of the public library open. He chuckled at the image. Tomorrow, he’d take the first steps and reach out to her. He’d explain who he was and how he wanted to help and, hopefully, do it all without having to bring up the community-service angle. And if it did come up, he’d simply pour on the charm.

  And how hard could it be to charm a sweet, old librarian?

  * * *

  “Okay. You got this. It’s all good. Be firm. Be strong.” Paige studied her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. These mini–pep talks were coming with more and more frequency and yet she wasn’t feeling any more confident.

  In ten minutes, she was due to make a presentation on the status of the literacy campaign. It had been her brainchild, and to say that she was the only one excited about it would be an understatement. Reading was Paige’s passion, and when she had gone to her monthly book club meeting and the topic of doing some fund-raising for the local libraries had come up, the ideas for something bigger began to spring forward in her mind. And, of course, once she started talking about it with her group of friends, it became obvious that she should be the one to head the campaign.

  Public relations, marketing, and promoting were in Paige’s blood. Her father owned a very successful PR firm in LA—PRW—and she had been wandering the office halls since she was a toddler. Now, as one of the senior account managers, she was free to pick causes and pitch them to the board and know she would be heard.

  Or at least somewhat heard.

  Okay, they only partially listened and then someone else would step in and take over, but still…if it meant she could finally be working on a campaign she was passionate about, then she’d deal with the petty behind-the-scenes nonsense.

  But this one was her baby. No one else was going to want to swoop in and steal her thunder because it wasn’t glamorous or trendy. It was reading. And if there was one thing Paige knew about her family, it was that none of them read for pleasure the way that she did. Other than he
r book club, she didn’t know anyone else who read as voraciously as she did. And for all the hours—years!—of pleasure reading had given her, she was ready to give something back.

  Yes, she had ideas—so many that it made her brain hurt—but that didn’t mean she was going to shy away from the challenge. Reading programs. Tutoring sessions. Story time for all ages. Her heart began to beat faster as she thought about all the possibilities. If everything went smoothly, she was going to have a roster of distinguished authors in all genres and present them to the world as ambassadors of reading—well-spoken individuals who would show all the ways in which reading could enrich a person’s life! They’d start at the preschool and elementary-school levels to help build a foundation, and then move on to find those who still struggled or who had gotten lost in the school system.

  This campaign was her way of saying thank you to the thousands of authors who put their work out there and found ways to put their books in readers’ hands—and encouraging the world to pick up a book even if they struggled with reading.

  “Whew!” she chuckled as she fanned herself. It all was so exciting that she knew, in a matter of minutes, everyone on the board was going to feel it too.

  “That’s not what you’re wearing, is it?”

  Paige turned as her sister, Ariel, walked into the ladies’ room. Ever the glamor gal, her sister looked impeccable—porcelain complexion; long, silky, pale-blond hair; blue eyes; and, at five foot ten, her willowy frame towered over Paige’s mere five feet four inches.

  “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

  Ariel gave a delicate snort as she faced her sister. “Do you see my suit?”

  Hard not to, Paige thought and then nodded.

  “This is an Ann Taylor suit.” She struck a pose and smiled serenely. “And the shoes?”

  Another nod.

  “Manolo Blahnik.” She pointed her foot for emphasis. “This is how an executive dresses, Paige. You need to throw out your wardrobe and let a stylist help you. It’s time to stop dressing like your office is at a coffeehouse. It’s not the image Daddy or any of us want for PRW.”