Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Murphy's Law (Havenwood #2) |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Riley Hart |
| Language: | English |
| ISBN/ ASIN: | B0875VLFFQ |
| Book Information: | |
Lawson We were eighteen when I met Remington Monroe. I’d never seen anyone like him. He got onstage at the coffeehouse, armed with a guitar and corny jokes…but unable to hide his lonely eyes. When he sang, I was entranced. When we spent the night talking together, I knew my world would never be the same. Remington Music was my only passion until I met Lawson Grant. Our secret nights together, laughing and loving, were my anchor. My dreams of becoming a musician came true because of him, but in the process of achieving them, I lost Law. Still, I never stopped missing him. When I can’t stay away any longer, I find myself in Havenwood, Law’s hometown. He isn’t exactly thrilled to see me, and I can’t say I blame him. But our connection is too powerful to be tamed, and soon we’re in over our heads again. Our feelings for each other have never been in doubt, but we have a lot riding against us. I’m not out, my manager is giving me trouble, my family needs me, and my anxiety is worse than ever. Law’s there for me with his love, support, and a group of friends who accept me into the fold. But he can’t be a secret forever, and I can’t lose him again—even if it means risking it all and jeopardizing what’s always defined me—my music. | |
| Books in Series: | Havenwood Series by Riley Hart |
| Books by Author: | Riley Hart |
PROLOGUE
Remington
My hands were sweating.
I didn’t know what it was about today that made me feel like I was losing it, but I did. I could feel the panic begin to rise inside me, claw and bite at me, until it succeeded in devouring me whole. Jesus, I hated this shit. Hated feeling this way and that it cast a shadow on something I loved so damn much.
It was the last show on a tour that, like the panic, was trying to break me apart until there was nothing left of me.
I wanted it to be over. It was brutal wanting something to end so much, something that was such a large part of who I was, that was sewn into the very fiber of not only Remington, but of Remy—the real me.
From where I stood offstage, I could hear the crowd chanting my name. It echoed around in my brain until it was all I could see, hear, and think. With a shaky hand, I opened the small travel container of anxiety meds and swallowed one down. I had two prescriptions, one that was daily in the morning, and another I could take at moments like these.
Some nights were better than others. Sometimes this beast didn’t try and wear me down, and others I didn’t believe there was a Remington without constant anxiety.
I just wanted…music. Well, that and—I shook my head. Going there would only make things worse. That was better saved for when I was alone and I could remember, miss, crave.
“Remington, you almost ready?”
There was a hand on my shoulder, and by the sound of—fuck, I couldn’t even remember his name—I could tell it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name.
“Yeah. One minute.” I took a few deep breaths. Stuffed the pill container into my pocket. Adjusted the guitar strap over my shoulder. Tried to slow my heartbeat and clear my head. Tried to remind myself that this was my dream, that there was nothing I loved as much as music.
Only that wasn’t true. Family aside, there was him. I would always love him more than anything.
Lawson
Before
“Do you want another latte?” Sara asked as she stood, pushing out of the chair beside me at the Charlottesville coffeehouse. I had only been at the University of Virginia for a couple of months, but I’d already fallen in with a group of friends. It had always been like that for me. I was a people person, never had trouble finding a way to feel comfortable in any situation. And if not, I was pretty good at faking it until I made it.
It was a gift no one really knew I possessed.
Maybe it was because things had always been easy for me. I’d never wanted for anything. I grew up in a two-parent home, with two siblings, more money than we needed, and a name everyone knew. I wasn’t blind to my privileges. They weren’t something I tried to take advantage of either, but I knew I had them.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” I reached for my wallet, but Sara waved off my offer.
“You got the last round. I’ll get this one.” She winked before walking away, shaking her ass as she went. She was smart and gorgeous, with long blonde hair and curves for days. She planned to go into politics and wanted to change the world. I had no doubt she would.
“She wants you,” Todd said from my other side.
“Who doesn’t?” I teased, waggling my eyebrows at him. The truth was, I was pretty sure she did, and yeah, I definitely wouldn’t complain. She was really confident, and I liked that about her.
“Cocky motherfucker.” Todd shook his head.
Sara came back a few minutes later, and the eight of us continued to talk and laugh and flirt.
I loved being out of Havenwood. Charlottesville wasn’t that far away, but here I wasn’t the Lawson Grant everyone had known their whole lives. There were no expectations, and people liked me for me and not because I was a Grant. My family name held power in Havenwood, not only because my dad had built an empire of grocery stores, of all things, but because Mom’s family had practically owned Havenwood from the beginning. She was old money. Her family had settled there after the Revolutionary War, having made money in Richmond.
About an hour later, just after nine, there was movement in my periphery. There was a small stage at the front of the coffeehouse, and they often had beat-poetry performers and musicians come in.
The guy onstage had messy, auburn hair and threadbare jeans that hung low on his hips, with holes in the knees. You could tell they weren’t jeans he bought to have that look, but that had grown that way with years of wear.
He turned his back to the crowd, fiddling with his guitar. His plain black T-shirt had the tag on the outside, which made me smile for some reason. I had no idea if he knew his shirt was on inside out. Somehow, I didn’t think he cared either way.