Dreaming of Rhapsody Read online

  Dreaming of Rhapsody

  A Rhapsody Novella

  Selena Laurence

  Golden Age Press

  Contents

  About Dreaming of Rhapsody

  Praise for Selena Laurence

  Books by Selena Laurence

  1. Topher

  2. Rachel

  3. Topher

  4. Rachel

  5. Topher

  6. Rachel

  7. Topher

  8. Rachel

  9. Topher

  10. Rachel

  11. Topher

  12. Rachel

  13. Topher

  14. Rachel

  15. Topher

  16. Rachel

  17. Topher

  18. Rachel

  19. Topher

  20. Rachel

  Epilogue

  21. Excerpt from A Lush Rhapsody

  22. Blaze

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 © Selena Laurence

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN 978-0-9977188-7-4

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  Copy Editing by Proof before you publish

  Cover by Sweet and Spicy Designs

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  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, sorted in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This contemporary romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for your personal use only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

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  For permission to use any portion of this material, please contact the author at: [email protected]

  Created with Vellum

  About Dreaming of Rhapsody

  Topher Leigh isn't your average rock star. He doesn’t know what love feels like, but he dreams about it every night. Until he meets his best friend's little sister, and suddenly, dreams and reality are one and the same.

  Rachel Wilson has a dream of her own--to become a veterinarian and open an animal shelter. She's enrolled in vet school in Colorado, and is visiting her sister in L.A. when she meets the shy, unique bassist for Rhapsody. When others see Topher as odd or damaged, Rachel sees only a beautiful man with a pure heart.

  As these two gentle souls discover that they were made for one another, the world around them isn't so convinced. And when Rachel has a moment of doubt, it might cost them everything they both want so badly. For Topher and Rachel the question becomes: Can love make dreams come true?

  Praise for Selena Laurence

  "Laurence’s tightly woven story is a superb mix of sexual and political tension that’s certain to please fans of both." — Publisher's Weekly review of THE KINGMAKER

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  "Delicious and Intriguing." — Lauren Blakely, NYT Bestselling Author on A LUSH BETRAYAL

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  “Selena Laurence has the ability to bring to life complex characters you instantly start rooting for from page one. Passion, humor, and a sexy hero all make for one read you don’t want to miss.” — Ilsa Madden-Mills, Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author on PLAYING WITH FIRE

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  "I totally fell in love with Nico and Tess’s story." — Cindi Madden, USA TODAY Bestselling Author on THE HEIR

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  "The plot is deftly written and readers will be totally engrossed in the story" — InD'Tale Magazine review of A LUSH BETRAYAL

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  “Selena Laurence delivers on the promise of heat, and love with her sexy romances!” — Nana Malone, USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Books by Selena Laurence

  The Lush Rockstar Series

  A Lush Betrayal (Lush 1)

  Loving a Lush (Lush 2)

  Lowdown and Lush (Lush 3)

  A Lush Reunion (Lush 4)

  The Rhapsody Rockstar Series

  A Lush Rhapsody (A Rhapsody Novel)

  Racing to Rhapsody (A Rhapsody Novel)

  Dreaming of Rhapsody (A Rhapsody Novella)

  Addicted to Rhapsody (A Rhapsody Novel) coming July 2017

  The Powerplay Series

  Prince of the Press (A Powerplay Novella)

  The Kingmaker (A Powerplay Novel)

  POTUS (A Powerplay Novel)

  SCOTUS (A Powerplay Novel) coming May, 2017

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  The California Cowboys Series

  Cade’s Loss (California Cowboys One) coming February 2017

  Vaughn’s Pride (California Cowboys Two) coming June 2017

  Ty’s Heart (California Cowboys Three) coming September 2017

  Standalones

  The Heir: A Standalone Greek Billionaire Romance

  Pax (Lush the Next Gen)

  The Czar: A Standalone Hockey Billionaire Romance coming March, 2017

  The Hiding From Love Series

  Falling for Trouble

  Secrets in a Kiss

  Concealed by a Kiss

  Playing with Fire

  Topher

  My mother is dying, and I know that I’m supposed to feel a certain way about that. I’m supposed to want to cry, or hit things, or hold on to her hand and never let go. Those are some of the things that my brother Carson has said he’s feeling. But knowing and feeling are two different things, and I don’t feel a lot of things that I’m supposed to. I know the right things to say, and the appropriate ways to behave, my mom and the many years of therapists have taught me that. But actually feeling what I’m supposed to doesn’t happen very often.

  So, as I sit here in a hospice room watching my mother’s slow, shallow breaths as she sleeps under the influence of a boatload of morphine, what I feel mostly is empty—devoid of anything except possibly hunger because I haven’t eaten in about six hours.

  The door opens and the nurse who is caring for my mother comes in, smiling softly at me. I’ve been taught that the look in her eyes is sympathy, but honestly, I think she looks more like she’s going to be sick. When I tell Carson things like that he usually laughs or just shakes his head. He says he’s really damn glad he doesn’t live in my head. I think it’s actually a lot easier than living in his where so many things are pinging around all the time. Most people are full of things—emotions, interpretations, inferences—that create a level of chaos I could never sort through. I like things to be simple, systematic, predictable.

  “How is she doing?” the nurse asks.

  “She woke up for a few minutes,” I answer. “But she just looked around, didn’t talk or anything.”

  “Poor dear,” the nurse continues. “It won’t be much longer now. I’d guess another day or two at most.”

  She checks an IV line and turns a small knob on the bag that I know holds the morphine that’s keeping my mom from feeling any pain.

  “Will your brother make it back?” she asks.

  I assume she means in time for my mom to die, but I’m not positive, so I do what I always do in situations like this—I answer the question in a roundabout way.

  “He’s landing at LAX tonight at eight oh five.”

  “That’s good. It’ll be good to
have both of you here for her.”

  I nod. I don’t really see what it matters. My mom doesn’t know we’re here, and as much medication as they keep pumping into her I don’t think she’ll be waking up to see us either.

  But, I’m sure this is one of those things that other people understand and I don’t, so I just agree with her and go back to watching my mother breathing in and out.

  After the nurse leaves I pull my phone from my back pocket. When I do, I feel the cold ridges of my bass strings that are also tucked there. The stiff ends of them jut up under the back of my t-shirt and sometimes press into my back. I like it though, it reminds me of how good it feels to play my bass, and helps ground me. When I start to feel like there’s too much chaos around me, too many sounds, too many lights, and odors, I think of the rhythm of a song in my head, imagining that I’m thrumming the beats. It helps calm me and allows me to focus on something to screen out the other stuff going on around me.

  I open my texts and type in a message to my best friend, Margo.

  Topher: You on the way?

  My phone rings in my hand within a few seconds.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m almost there. Rachel’s plane got in late so I have her with me, but she’ll wait in the cafeteria or whatever.”

  “She can come in. My mom’s on so many meds it won’t wake her up.”

  I can hear the sigh from Margo. “Dude, you don’t invite strangers to your mother’s bedside as she’s dying. It’s just sort of poor form.”

  “Oh, ok. Sorry?”

  “Apologize to your mom, not me.”

  “Like I said, she’s not really conscious.”

  “Well then, no harm done. I’ll see you in a few.”

  We hang up and I resume staring at Mom. Her eyes move a little under her thin eyelids and I wonder what she’s dreaming about. I have a thing about dreams. I always remember my dreams and spend a lot of time writing them down. In my dreams I’m like everyone else. There are these really strong feelings that I have—joy, sorrow, fear, ecstasy. And for those few brief moments as I’m coming awake I can still feel them, but as soon as I open my eyes and reach full consciousness they scatter like leaves in a wind storm.

  So I write the dreams down, trying to recapture those feelings. So far it’s never worked but I like keeping the journal, re-reading all the things I’ve dreamed over the years, and the therapist who I still sometimes see says that it’s good for me to remember things that triggered emotions, even if it was only in my subconscious.

  Last night I had a dream about Mom. I went to her house for breakfast like I do on Saturday mornings, and she wasn’t there. I looked everywhere for her, but the whole place was empty, all the furniture gone, the cabinets in the kitchen empty, the electricity off. Then Carson was there and he told me, “Mom’s dead, you know this, why did you come to have breakfast?” And all I could say was, “Because it’s Saturday and I have breakfast at Mom’s on Saturdays.”

  In the dream I realized that I would never be able to have breakfast at Mom’s again and then I cried. I woke up and tried so hard to hold on to that sensation, that strange pain in my chest and the burning behind my eyes, but like usual it dissipated in moments and all I felt was the need to play my bass, which is pretty much the same feeling I have every morning first thing. So all day I’ve watched my mom and wished so hard that I could feel what I know I’m supposed to, but I can’t, and even when Saturday rolls around and there’s no breakfast I know I won’t be able to cry or conjure up that ache in my chest. I’m broken, and even though I’m used to it, times like this I kind of wish I wasn’t.

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  Fifteen minutes later I get a text from Margo telling me she’s in the lounge at the end of the hallway. I walk down the long, tile hallway, avoiding the sad eyes of the nurses and other staff who have gotten used to seeing me here the last few weeks.

  When I walk into the lounge the first thing I see is Margo and a girl with long, honey-colored hair. Margo starts walking toward me, but I can’t even look at her, because the other girl has turned to watch me, and something inside of me goes wonky, squiggling around inside before bursting into a kind of nauseous sensation like when you’ve eaten too much sugar.

  “Hey,” Margo says, giving my hand a quick squeeze instead of hugging me because she learned a long time ago that the whole hugging thing doesn’t work so well with me.

  I tear my eyes away from the blonde and look at Margo’s face. She’s got one of those smiles on her face like the nurses all do.

  “Hi,” I say, curling my lips a touch because you’re supposed to meet smiles with smiles.

  “No change?” Margo asks.

  “No. But they say it won’t be much longer,” I answer before looking back at the blonde who’s watching us without saying anything or moving closer. I like how still she is, and quiet. It’s soothing.

  Margo follows my gaze and gestures to the blonde. “Come here and meet him. I’ve taught him not to bite so it’s cool.”

  The blonde grins then and before I know what’s happened, before I can consciously think about it, I smile back at her. It startles me and I have to clear my throat before I can speak.

  “This is my sister, Rachel,” Margo says putting an arm around the blonde.

  “Hi,” Rachel says. Her eyes sparkle, and her hair looks so shiny and soft I really want to touch it, but I learned a long time ago not to do shit like that.

  “Hi,” I answer. “It’s nice to meet you.” I often feel stupid saying this to people even though I know it’s expected, because honestly, it’s not usually all that nice to meet them. It may not be awful, it’s just not particularly nice either. I don’t really care one way or the other about meeting people. But meeting Rachel? I think it is actually kind of nice.

  “It’s nice to meet you too,” she says, her voice making that squiggly sensation go through my gut again. “I’m sorry to impose on your time with your mom.”

  “I think I like talking to you more than sitting and staring at my mom sleeping,” I say.

  I hear Margo’s intake of breath, and I know immediately that I’ve fucked up again. I guess that was one of those things I wasn’t supposed to admit. Goddamit, now Rachel will think I’m a jerk who doesn’t love his mother.

  But Rachel is nodding. “I hear you,” she says. “I work with animals and when they’re sedated after surgery I sometimes get assigned to sit with them. Everyone says it’s about making the animal comfortable, but it’s really about the owners who are so upset they can’t imagine their baby being left alone.” She shrugs. “The animals are so out of it they don’t know if anyone’s there with them or not.”

  Margo gives one short, sharp laugh. “God, you two are unbelievable,” she mutters.

  I smile at Rachel again without planning it.

  “So, Rachel has some homework to do,” Margo continues. “She can go to the cafeteria and do it if you want me to come sit with you for a while. Carson will be here in a couple of hours, right?”

  “Yeah, his flight lands at eight oh five,” I answer, still unable to tear my gaze from Rachel. She’s watching me, and it’s not demanding or uncomfortable like it usually is when people watch me.

  “But I don’t want to sit with my mom anymore,” I say. “I can tell someone on the staff to sit with her and tell me if anything happens. I’m hungry. I want to eat something.”

  Rachel nods, and Margo says, “Well then, let’s go grab some of that chocolate pudding they keep so much of here.”

  Margo’s been here several times with me over the last few weeks, so after I check in with the nurse on duty, I follow behind as she and Rachel walk down the hall. I’m the bassist for a rock band. That means there are a lot of women who want to do things with me. And sometimes I let them do things that feel good. Especially after I’ve had a few drinks I like to have them give me blowjobs, but I’ve never thought about Margo like I do those women. Margo’s my best friend. She works as a sound tech at the studi
o where my band, Rhapsody, records.

  But when I watch Rachel walking ahead of me I can’t help but imagine her giving me a blowjob. How her pretty mouth would feel around my dick, sucking it, sliding up and down the length of it. It makes me get hard, which Carson says is best to avoid in public.

  I stop watching her ass as it sways in front of me and focus on counting the tiles on the floor instead. They alternate between those with a vertical pattern and those with a horizontal pattern, and in a few seconds I hear the rhythm of how they’re laid. The pattern of beats plays through my head and I sink into it—A, B, AA, BB. A, B, AA, BB. It helps distract me and by the time we reach the cafeteria I’m all good again.

  When we reach the doors to the cafeteria I lean forward, careful not to touch Rachel or Margo and pull the door open for them. Rachel smiles at me and says, “thank you.” I smile back at her and it’s the third time in ten minutes I’ve smiled without thinking about it. I make a note to tell Carson about it to see what he thinks. I think maybe Rachel has some special trick to make people smile at her.

  We go through the line and I grab a burger, two slices of pizza, a chocolate chip cookie, an apple, a banana, and a salad.

  “Jesus.” Margo looks at my tray over her shoulder. “How the hell do you eat all of that and not look like a sumo wrestler?” she asks shaking her head.

  I shrug. “I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

  Rachel goes through the cashier stand and starts to walk toward a table. I can’t help but watch her as she goes. Her shiny hair swings a little as she moves, like a metronome, one, skip, two, skip, one. My gaze drops to her ass again. It’s so perfectly round, I bet it would fit perfectly in my hands. Suddenly I want that sensation. Rachel’s ass in my hands. I’ve never held a girl’s ass before. I’ve never wanted to, but hers looks so perfect and plump and soft, I know it would feel like nothing else in the world.