Having Hope (The Blow Hole Boys Book 4) Read Free Page A

hard for being domesticated pussy boys, the truth was I was jealous of all the things they were gaining in their lives—things much bigger than a record deal—much better than the fame and money.
    My boys were growing loving families, and I knew I could never have that. I would never shackle a woman to me. It would be wrong to do so since I had nothing to offer but a lifetime of pain and worry … a lifetime left of suffering.
    So as I stood by Tiny’s side and played the part of his best man, I knew I was losing more than my final wingman. I was losing more than our nights partying at the condo we’d all once lived in together in California. I was losing the last ounce of hope that maybe I wouldn’t die alone.
    Tiny was moving on. He’d found the one who filled his dark corners with light—the one who made breathing through his demons a little bit easier—and no matter how sad I was to be losing him, I was happy for him.
    I was happy for all of them.
    Standing beside my boys, all dressed in our wedding wear of suits and bowties, I looked across at the girls of Red Room Sirens and grinned. Tiny was marrying their lead guitarist—he was locking his life to hers—and I approved. I liked Constance and already considered her family.
    She was beautiful—hardcore and a hard-ass, which was exactly what Tiny needed. She was tall and blond, a perfect match for Tiny and his large, muscular frame. She smiled up at him as he said his vows and the look in her eyes—the absolute love that I could see swimming in her emotions—left an aching sensation in my gut.
    I’d never know that.
    I’d never have that look directed at me.
    Never.
    Shaking my thoughts and clearing my throat, I let my attention settled on the stars of the show.
    Tiny and Constance.
    I wished them so much happiness, which I knew they’d have, and I silently cursed the devil in the back of my mind for taking away my chances for the same.
    My eyes moved down the line of bridesmaids, leaving Constance and landing on their lead singer, Lena. She stood tall, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Feeling my gaze on her, she looked my way and grinned. I gave her my signature smirk, making her shake her head and turn away.
    The girls of Red Room Sirens had grown accustomed to my flirty ways. After two months together on the Rock Across America tour, we had grown close. We spent time together, and they began to understand me the way my boys did. They knew what I was about, and in some strange way, I think they understood and respected my decision on how I chose to live my life.
    These beautiful girls became my friends, which was a first for me. I didn’t have female friends, but after some time with them, I found myself not looking at their tits as much. Not thinking about fucking them.
    They were different from the rest of the girls I knew. They were untouchable, worth more than a one-night roll in my bed. And when they smiled at me, I knew it was because they felt the same about me.
    Except for one.
    Hope, the drummer for Red Room Sirens, was the strangest woman I’d ever met.
    She wasn’t sexy in the usual sense. Actually, she was awkward and unfriendly. She dressed unlike any other girl I knew and rarely smiled. She’d show up to rehearsal some days wearing cartoon pajama bottoms, a top that didn’t match, and combat boots.
    Weird.
    But something about her carefree attitude and thrown together style made her attractive. She was short and small; her shoulder-length hair weaved with rainbow strands, and her eyes were so dark the blackness threatened to steal away any light shining near her.
    Her laughter was contagious—loud and as unique as her style—but also rare. Emotion of any kind wasn’t something I imagined Hope showed. She was unreadable. Her young face was like stone—expressionless and hiding what I guessed was a dark past—until she picked up her drumsticks and played.
    Then she transformed, becoming transfixed on the beat. She lost herself