GUITARS AND MISTAKES

  TROUBLE NEXT DOOR, BOOK TWO

  QUINN MARLOWE

  Copyright © 2024 by Spitfire Press

  All rights reserved.

  Spitfire Press and colophon are property of Glass House Press, LLC, and may not be reproduced.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names of characters, business, places, events, or incidents are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  LOC information available upon request.

  cover by JS designs.

  This one is dedicated to the readers who just can’t let go of that broken bird. I’m with you.

  CONTENTS

  Note from the Author

  Prologue One

  Prologue Two

  1. Rivers

  2. Lila

  3. Lila

  4. Rivers

  5. Lila

  6. Rivers

  7. Lila

  8. Rivers

  9. Rivers

  10. Rivers

  11. Lila

  12. Rivers

  13. Lila

  14. Lila

  15. Rivers

  16. Rivers

  17. Lila

  18. Rivers

  19. Lila

  20. Rivers

  21. Lila

  22. Rivers

  23. Lila

  24. Rivers

  25. Lila

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Quinn Marlowe

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Fam, I’m not going to lie to you. Writing this one almost killed me. There’s so much of myself in this book, and so much of what I’m going through right now, that there have been days when I literally couldn’t stand to get into the document and keep telling Lila and Rivers’ story.

  But I knew I had to. I knew I had to get this out into the world and give these two the ending they deserved. For those of you who are wondering, my own HEA is still a sort of TBD situation.

  But I’m learning that I can be okay on my own, too. And that I’ll be okay regardless.

  It would just be easier if I could make sure my own story ended as cleanly as this one did.

  THAT SAID, the series doesn’t end here. I have another Trouble Next Door book coming out in April, and that one’s going to be even more intense! I also have a brand new series starting this somer (London U) and a new Brooks Peterson book heading your way this spring. PLUS SPECIAL EDITIONS OF THE ROSSI SERIES. A kickstarter. A new Ream account. There is so much happening. For all the latest updates, get into my newsletter or follow me on the socials. And as always, slide into my DMs and say high! I always want to hear from my readers about what they’re doing!

  Until next time…

  -Q

  PROLOGUE ONE

  On the Road, with Colin Cravers

  My people! I’m baaaaaaaaack!!!

  And on the off chance that you don’t remember me—although who am I kidding, of course you remember me—I’ll reintroduce myself. The name’s Colin Cravers and you know me as your favorite music blogger. You may also know me from that little single that some stations are playing right now, but that’s neither here nor there.

  The last time we talked, I’d just been signed to a new contract.

  I’d also just been covering one of the most amazing tours of all time, ie, the tour that put Olivia Johns and Connor Wheating on the map.

  If you know, you know.

  And that pretty much catches you up on everything that’s happened up to this point.

  Actually.

  No, I’m wrong about that. There’s more. Like, a lot more.

  I came back from signing the above contract (for more on that, check out my website) and found myself once again called into action. Because my sweetheart, that girl who owns my heart, was going on tour again. That’s right, Olivia Johns was going out on the road and taking Connor Wheating with her, as well as The Global Authors and The Leathers.

  Rivers Shine and Olivia Johns on the same tour?

  Be still, my rock-and-roll heart.

  But here’s where things get interesting.

  You may know of Rivers Shine. You may have heard of his—ahem—night time activities. The drinking. The drugs. The tattoos.

  The heartbreak.

  What you probably don’t know is that his agent decided that he needed to clean up his act. Particularly if he was going to be on tour with the darling of country music and her equally charming husband.

  Said agent decided to throw a girl into River’s life to try to get him to behave. She found another country music darling—one Lila Potter—and put her right into River’s path. And the rest, as they say, is history.

  Or at least... Well, it should have been.

  Because Lila’s as talented as she is beautiful, and has a smile that will light up an entire room. She’s got the magical hands on guitar and the equally magical laugh. She traveled out to see Olivia and Connor to try out for the music contract they’re offering and she’s bedazzled everyone she meets.

  Including, as it turns out, our very own Rivers Shine.

  Fam, when I tell you that he’s smitten, I mean he’s doe-eyed, woozy-faced, drop-down-on-one-knee in love with the girl. She can’t go anywhere without him watching her. He stopped an entire show when he thought she was leaving, just to beg her to stay. Their chemistry onstage is scorching, and I’ve heard rumors that they’re flat out combustible when they’re alone together.

  Our boy, it seems, has fallen in love.

  And if you’d asked me two weeks ago, that would have been all I had to say on the matter.

  But since that little incident when he stopped the show to keep her with him—to literally run into the audience and beg her to stay—something’s happened to him. All the brightness we saw over the week before disappeared and he’s back to the dark, brooding Rivers we’ve all known for so long. He’s drinking. He’s staying up all night. He’s not talking to fans.

  He’s got several new tattoos, and I have to say, they’re not great.

  In short, Rivers Shine looks like he’s on his way down the drain, despite his agent’s best-laid plans, and not even his new paramour is able to keep him afloat. We all thought that when she almost walked out she might have reached into his black heart and taught it to love again, but those of us on the tour are second-guessing our hopes, these days.

  Because it sure does look like he’s back to his old tricks.

  No one knows why. No one knows what happened.

  But we all have the same question.

  Will he come back to us? Can Lila Potter save him—and, if the rumors are true, his contract with his agent and label?

  Or is he so broken that he can’t find his way back?

  I don’t have an answer for you yet, but you know I’m digging as quickly as I can.

  And in the meantime, I’m sidling up to Lila Potter as often as I can. My heart might belong to Olivia Johns, but now that she’s off the market, I’m thinking I might have another redhead in my future. And she’s got pale skin and freckles and the most gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen.

  Oh, she’s also attached to Rivers Shine.

  At least that’s what she keeps saying.

  -C

  PROLOGUE TWO

  RIVERS

  Twenty-Five Years Ago

  His mother was rough as she got him out of the car seat, her hands jerking the way they always did when she was in a bad mood.

  “This God-damned motherfucking thing,” she muttered, jerking at the buckles. “Thank fuck I won’t have to deal with it again.”

  The boy watched her, frowning and trying to sit as still as he could. He’d learned a long time ago that it was best not to struggle when she was in a mood like this. Struggling got him pinched and shouted at, particularly when it came to the car seat. And her fingers were too close to the skin on his thighs. The skin that hurt worst when she pinched him.

  She looked up at him then, her eyes going dark the way she did when she was particularly angry, and he drew back even more, catching his lip in his teeth and trying to think of whether he’d done anything wrong today. Anything that might get him punished.

  He didn’t remember anything. But that didn’t always mean he was safe.

  He wasn’t old enough to use the bathroom by himself—not yet—but he was old enough to know that sometimes, his mother got mad for reasons that had nothing to do with him. He’d learned to hide when she did that, but right now he didn’t have any place to go.

  He didn’t have any protection.

  She glanced away from him though, to the man on the outside of the car, and grimaced.

  The boy didn’t know who that man was, though he’d been around for longer than any of the other men he could remember. She’d been telling the boy to call him ‘Dad,’ and though he didn’t have many words yet, he’d learned to wrap his mouth around that one, just to please her.

  She yanked him out of the car seat then and propped him in her arms, though he could tell by the way she was holding him that she didn’t want him there. She wanted to put him down and tell him to walk on his own.

  He threaded his fingers into her shirt, holding on to h
er in spite of that. He didn’t want her to put him down. He didn’t know this place and he didn’t want to walk on his own.

  As she started up the sidewalk behind the man, the boy turned to look up at the building they were heading toward. No, he’d definitely never been here. That dark, cold building in front of them wasn’t one he knew.

  But he knew immediately that he didn’t like it.

  The grass in front of the building was dead, the sidewalk cracked. There were no flowers. The sky above them was full of gray clouds and when he glanced at the windows of the building, he saw other faces there. Other children.

  It should have made him feel better. He liked other children, when they played with him.

  But these children looked sad. He didn’t like it.

  He didn’t want this place.

  Moments later they were climbing steps toward the front door of the building, though, and when that door swung open, a tall man was standing there glowering down at them.

  The boy didn’t like the man any more than he’d liked the building. The man looked angry. Scary. Like he was someone who shouted almost as much as his mother did. Except that this man wasn’t his mother.

  This man was a stranger, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.

  He turned his face into his mother’s neck and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the man any more than he had to. He wrapped his chubby fingers more tightly into his mother’s shirt, wishing they could go away from this dark building with the scary man and hoping this was another friend they wouldn’t have to see again.

  But then there were hands grabbing at his back, pulling him away, and he could feel space growing between his chest and his mother. His fingers scrabbled at her shirt, his throat growing tight in the way that meant tears were coming, and when he looked up into her face, trying to understand what was going on, he found that she wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

  Her eyes were turned up to the building, and then away from it toward the street again, like she’d already forgotten that she was carrying him.

  And the scary man—for that was who it had to be—was pulling him away from his mother while she looked away, his fingers digging into the boy’s skin as he yanked at him, and the boy was screaming, trying to understand what was going on.

  And his mother was murmuring something to the man without even looking at the boy.

  And then she was turning and walking away, the boy struggling in the man’s grasp and shrieking. He didn’t want to be left here. He didn’t like the man. He wanted his mother. She yelled and hit and sometimes burned, but she was the only one he’d known. She was his home. His safety.

  But she was getting into the car and they were driving away without looking back, and he was left with this man, who shook him slightly and then turned into the building.

  “Stop screaming, kid,” he muttered. “I don’t know what you did, but she don’t want you no more. You live here, now.” He glanced at the paperwork in his hand and chuckled. “Rivers Shine, eh? Well, with that name, we should be able to find you a home right quick. And if we don’t, we’ll find other uses for you. Mark my words.”

  RIVERS

  I gasped and sat up so quickly that my head started spinning, and looked quickly around the room, trying to remember where the hell I was and what I was doing here. I didn’t recognize the room. Or the bed. Or the sheets. There was a window on one wall and through it I could see the neon lights of a downtown area, but...

  Where the fuck was I?

  Then it all came crashing back. The tour. The next city, and this time one big enough to have plenty of electric lights in its downtown sector. Olivia and Connor. The Leathers, our warmup band.

  The crowds. The late-night shows.

  Lila Potter.

  I shut my eyes and fell back onto my pillow... which was when I realized that the pillow and sheets were soaking wet. In fact, now that I was paying attention, so were my pajamas.

  So was my hair.

  What the fuck had I been doing in my sleep that I was now drenched in sweat?

  The question brought a stream of images with it, and within seconds I remembered exactly why I’d been sweating. A building so tall I hadn’t been able to see the top of it. Darkness creeping through the windows, but for the faces I saw there. My mother yanking me out of the car and scratching me in the process, her skin smelling like cigarettes and booze, though it would be years before I’d understand that was what it had been. At the time I’d just thought it was the smell of my mother.

  Within five years, I’d realized it was the smell of a drunk and an addict. One who’d decided when I was about three years old that I was no longer worth keeping.

  The man at the door. His harsh laugh when he’d seen me. The way his cold fingers had sunk right into my arm as he took me from my mother.

  The smirk of the man she’d been pretending was my father.

  The way she’d turned away from me before the door even closed, her mind already moving to something else.

  The way I’d screamed for her all that night and into the next morning, and spent much of the next year standing at the windows that looked out onto the street, watching for her to come back and save me. The way my heart had grown colder with every day that she didn’t. And the way I’d realized, finally—and maybe far too late—that I was on my own and had to take care of myself rather than waiting for her to come back for me. The way I’d woken up one morning knowing that self-protection was the name of the game. No more emotions. No more expecting someone else to take care of you or make you feel better.

  No more love.

  Because she hadn’t loved me enough to think it was worthwhile to keep me with her. And if your own mother didn’t love you enough for that, then who the hell was going to?

  Sure, I’d only been four or five at the time and they’d been concepts way too big for such a little brain. My understanding of the themes had been juvenile, at best. But I’d understood well enough that if she’d loved me, if I’d been good enough, she would have kept me with her rather than turning me over to a sleazy, badly run orphanage.

  And that idea right there had stuck. I’d managed to find my way well enough in the orphanage itself, though I’d quickly developed a reputation as a kid who had a chip on his shoulder. Couples who came in looking for a new child never gave me a second glance, and the foster parents who took me always gave me back when they realized how damaged I was. Or how much I was willing to do to be left alone.

  As far as I was concerned, that was for the best. It meant fewer people to try to please, and fewer people trying to control my life.

  I swung out of bed and made my way toward the bathroom, staggering slightly as my legs tried to remember how to walk. It was still dark out and I was guessing it was somewhere around 2 in the morning, based on nothing other than the feeling inside me that told me so. Everyone else would still be asleep. My best friends—the guys in the band—each had their own rooms, as usual, and I didn’t think I’d be exaggerating to assume that each of them had a girl in bed with them. They wouldn’t thank me for knocking on their doors and wanting to talk.

  Not that I’d been doing much of that lately. I’d been specializing in isolation of late, honestly. Ever since Lila had tried to walk out on me in the middle of a show when she thought I wouldn’t be paying attention.

  The night I’d jumped off the stage and virtually fallen at her feet, begging her to give me a chance to prove myself to her.