R.L. Merrill has a new MM rock and roll book out: "Brains and Brawn." And there's a giveaway!
Billy “Brains” Brennan has achieved rock stardom in not just one, but two chart-topping bands, but events from his past have him convinced he’s living on borrowed time. Brains and his brothers-in-Hush are ready to take the last cross-country Warped Tour by storm...until the actions of two drunk dudes with bad attitudes set off a chain of events that leave him incapacitated...and face-to-face with a handsome stranger who inexplicably feels like home—and not the home Brains fled at sixteen.
Chief Petty Officer Paul McNally has spent his 25-year career as a Navy Corpsman responding to emergencies and caring for wounded soldiers. When fate has him in the right place to provide aid to a fallen rock star, it sends his life spiraling on a trajectory he never planned for. Instead of concentrating on his impending retirement and a second career, he’s now playing nursemaid to a fascinating younger man…and falling in love—a fact he can’t seem to figure out how to explain to his adult son.
A health scare, band drama, and pain from both of their pasts threatens to end Brains and Paul’s fledgling relationship. Fate brought them together. It will take trust, honesty, and hope to keep them together.
Giveaway
R.L. is giving away a $25 Amazon gift card with this tour – enter via Rafflecopter for a chance to win:
Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47143/?
Excerpt
Paul’s head whipped around when he heard the first scream. He watched in horror as the tent Bowie had just been standing in front of—Hush’s tent—collapsed and a crowd of people fell.
Without hesitation, he ran for the tent. Then he spotted Bowie standing over some big guy.
“You okay?” he yelled to him.
Bowie nodded, his big blue eyes wide as he looked back at the disaster.
Security began barricading the area around the tent and moving the screaming fans away from the scene. Adults attempted to pull the kids out of harm’s way.
That’s when Paul saw the tabletop on the ground and a pair of black-clad legs sticking out from underneath.
Oh God.
Guys in bright yellow security shirts lifted and pulled the rest of the tent out of the way. Paul rushed toward the broken table and sank to his knees next to Brains.
“Can you hear me? Are you with me?”
Brains locked gazes with him, and Paul felt pain in his right hand. He looked down to see Brains squeezing the life out of it.
“Please don’t leave….”
Medical staff approached in blue cargo pants and polos and swarmed the members of the band and their staff, several of whom were on the ground. Two women approached Brains with medical kits, and Paul started to move back, but Brains’s grip grew tighter.
“Please don’t leave me!” Brains said again, more insistently. He was panting, his face losing color, and Paul feared he was going into shock. He glanced at the table on his legs and at the staff who were preparing to lift it off him.
Paul worried perhaps the worst had occurred, but the fact that Brains was still squeezing the shit out of his hand was a good sign.
Brains coughed as he brought his other hand up to grasp Paul’s. “Please!” His appeals were growing in urgency.
Paul leaned a little closer to his face and pressed his free hand to Brains’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? But they’re going to lift the table now. You ready? Try not to move.”
Brains nodded—another good sign—but Paul pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Stay still.”
The staff guys counted to three, and then they lifted the table.
Brains let out a guttural shout, and tears streamed down his face as he winced in agony.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief to not see any blood or rips in Brains’s pants. He half expected to see a bone shard sticking out. But they weren’t out of the woods.
“Brains, listen to me, okay?”
“Billy.”
Paul frowned. “Billy?”
“My name is Billy. Please—”
“I’m not leaving you, but these medics here are going to look you over, and they’re probably going to poke and prod you a bit.” He nodded to the young women in Rock Medicine shirts who stood by, hesitating to approach. Paul heard sirens in the distance, which meant better-trained professionals were on their way, but Brains—Billy—needed to be assessed immediately.
“Sir, we need you to move—”
“He’s not going anywhere!” Brains shouted at them.
Paul addressed the one with the first-aid kit. “My name is Paul McNally. I’m a Navy corpsman, and I’m trained in triage and emergency medical treatment.” And I’m not leaving his side.
The young women looked to each other and then crouched down next to Billy. One of them placed a hand on Billy’s arm.
“I’m going to touch you, okay?”
“He’s staying with me, you got it? He’s staying.” Billy’s chin quivered as he spoke to the medics. The two women looked at each other with eyes wide.
Paul was losing circulation in his hand, but he wouldn’t have left Billy if the entire venue burst into flames. The way he was reacting… Paul had been through countless emergencies and could recognize when there was a psychological issue at work that needed attention.
He looked around for Bowie and saw him with Dimples, watching from a distance. Relieved that he hadn’t been hurt and seemed to be doing okay, Paul turned his full attention on Billy.
One of the women took Brains’s vitals, and the other ran her hands over his body, checking for injuries. She barely spoke to Brains, and Paul was perturbed at the way they were assessing him.
“Billy, can you wiggle your toes for me?” Paul asked.
Brains nodded, and then Paul looked at his Vans-clad feet. Thankfully, he saw movement on both.
Paul smiled down at Brains. “You’re doing great. You know what today is?”
“A fucked-up day? I had a bad feeling this morning….”
“Seems like it was warranted.”
Brains’s deep blue eyes fixed on Paul, and his breathing seemed to slow for just a moment. Paul hoped that meant he would maybe be able to relax—
“Sir, I’m going to need to put a collar on you.”
Brains flinched when the medic touched him. “I’m fine, just let me up—”
Paul placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and it was enough to keep Brains from trying to sit up. “Billy? It’s important that you lie still and let them put a collar on you. With this sort of accident, they need to keep your spine aligned to avoid any further injury, okay?”
Brains began to pant and tugged Paul’s hand as though he wanted to try to pull up, but when he tried to move his legs, only the right one moved, and he screamed in pain.
“Look at me,” Paul said, getting closer to his face. He needed to distract him, to make Brains focus on him. “Brains, they need to take you to the hospital—”
“No. No, no, no, please,” he whispered. “I can’t go, please, Paul, please—”
“I’m not going to leave you. I won’t let them hurt you, okay? They need to take you in for X-rays to make sure nothing’s broken.”
Brains’s voice sounded like that of a frightened child. Something was seriously wrong. He pulled on their joined hands again, and the medic placed a hand on Brains’s chest to keep him from moving.
“Sir? You may have a spinal injury, so we have to place you on this backboard with a collar to protect you. If you won’t cooperate, we’re going to have to sedate you.”
“Can you give us a minute?” Paul asked the medics, irritation clear in his voice.
“We need to get him to the ambulance,” the medic closest to him said, and then was distracted by the band’s manager. She gave the medic Brains’s information and shot a worried look Paul’s direction. His full name was Billy Brennan.
Paul ground his teeth together and took a breath to calm himself. “I understand. Will you give me a moment to speak to Mr. Brennan? I’d like to avoid the use of sedatives.”
She nodded, and they stood and backed away a few feet to confer.
Paul squeezed Brains’s hand and placed the other on his forehead.
“Hey, man. The sedatives are a drag. This will all go better if you let them collar you and get you on the backboard. Hopefully everything is fine. The fact that you’re moving your toes and strangling my fingers leads me to think your spine is just fine, but it’s procedure. I swear I’m staying with you.”
Billy swallowed hard, his eyes wild. “I know I’m acting crazy. There’s a reason, I just… please.”
Paul smiled at him. “You haven’t seen crazy until you’ve got a wounded Marine pulling his pistol and pointing it at your face while you try to remove a sliver from his other hand.”
Brains’s eyes bugged out. “A sliver?”
Paul shrugged. “It was a four-inch piece of shrapnel, but I’d still call it a sliver.” He winked, and Brains barked out a laugh. Good, keep that smile. “You going to let them collar you and take you for a little ride?”
Brains’s smile faded. “Just please stay with me. Can you? Will you?”
If Paul hadn’t already been 100 percent in on this mission, he was now.
EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT
Pain is often the key to the mental
vault where we store our worst memories. Memories of pain often fade over time,
but they’re sometimes stored in our bodies, and those memories can be triggered
by any of our five senses—a cold stethoscope pressed against the chest, the
squeeze of a blood pressure cuff, a hand brushing against an old scar….
Brains could almost hear the key
slip into the lock the moment his body hit the ground. The crunch against his
leg was the key turning. When he exhaled, the pain entered the area he’d locked
away and immediately triggered a panic response.
He knew where he was, he knew he was
hurt, and he knew, logically, he wasn’t a kid any longer and that his previous
pain happened a long time ago. But that part of his brain—the deep, dark,
lizard-like old place that recalls every sensation….
“Please don’t leave me.”
The first thing he recognized when
it happened was that face. He may have been in the midst of a complete
freak-out, and he knew it wasn’t really Captain America by his side, but the
man from his workshop. Paul, the guy with the great brain, the one who’d
sparked his imagination, was beside him, and he knew if he could just focus on
that, he wouldn’t totally lose his mind to the physical and emotional chaos
running rampant through him.
Some part of his brain was able to
acknowledge what was said to him, and he knew he said aloud that there was a
reason for his insanity, but try as he might, he couldn’t get his panic under
control. It had never been like this before. He was able to follow simple
commands, and he responded when other familiar faces popped into his line of
sight. He vaguely understood that he was being examined and that they were
going to take him to the hospital.
But once the medical staff from the
venue started to touch him, the pain settled into his bones and the terror was
replaced with agony. He tried to move, to thrash and fight despite the rational
part of his brain telling him it wasn’t like last time. But the man at his side
talked him down to avoid drugs, and he was grateful for that… so grateful.
When the ambulance doors closed,
panic threatened to resurface, but Brains fought it, and soon the dark cloud of
pain began to lift. It was followed by billowy softness that made him sleepy,
but he’d take that over the fear.
“What’s happening now?” he asked no
one in particular.
“Mr. Brennan, we’re just giving you
some pain medication. You’ve got a bit of a ride and then an exam to get
through, so this will help it be a little more tolerable.”
He tried to nod, but they still had
a brace on him. “Paul?”
“I’m here, Billy,” he answered, and
Brains felt pressure on his hand. “How’re you doing?”
How was he doing? He felt
like a character in a zombie movie, the one who was holding the doors closed
while someone grabbed a barricade or a fucking piece of wood to jam through the
handles. Hands pulled at him and threatened to break through and pull him
under, but he continued to fight.
“Paul?”
He hated that he couldn’t look at him.
Having a focal point was so important when a person was in pain.
“Hey, Billy. It’s okay, I’m here.”
“Do you really think that Bonham was
more of an influence on metalcore than Peart?”
He heard chuckling and felt Paul
squeeze his hand. His heart monitor beep-fluttered a little, and it wasn’t just
his imagination. He heard the beeps speed up.
“Actually, Lars Ulrich has said he
was more influenced by the classic metal groups. Clive Burr and Nicko McBrain
from Iron Maiden. Phil Taylor from Motörhead. I’m sure Neil Peart has
influenced a lot of guys in your subgenre.”
Brains could hear the classic
double-bass pattern in the song “Overkill.” “I always did like Motörhead,” he
mused. “Just like to mix it up or I get bored.”
“I have a hard time believing you
ever get bored,” Paul said, gently tugging on Brains’s hand.
The road got bumpy as the ambulance
encountered the lovely pothole-ridden Bay Area freeways. Brains concentrated on
the feel of Paul’s hand to keep his mind off the massive pain on the left side
of his body. Paul had strong, thick fingers, with short, rough nails. Brains
traced the pads and found tell-tale calluses of a guitar player as well as
calluses at the base of his fingers, which indicated he likely worked with his
hands, at least some of the time.
“You said you’re a medic?”
“Navy corpsman, yeah.”
Brains frowned. “I think I remember
that corpsmen work with Marines a lot, don’t they? Do you have an area of
specialty or are you a Paul of all trades?”
Paul laughed and Brains let his eyes
drift closed. He seemed like the kind of person who could easily take command
of a situation or be a benevolent leader. He was so calm, and yet he’d taken
charge of a scenario that wasn’t his to supervise. Brains knew he was right to
trust his instincts that said don’t let
this one go.
“Yeah. I’m a Special Amphibious
RECON Corpsman, or SARC, what you call ‘green side.’ I worked with the Marines
in the field, but now I’m ‘blue side’ working at a clinic on base.”
The ambulance made a sharp turn and
went over what felt like a speed bump.
Brains cried out. He had no idea
what all was wrong with him, but he was pretty sure his leg was broken. At
least his hands were okay. That would have been a total tragedy.
You’re
not out of the woods yet, Brains. Just keep it together. Don’t slip.
Brains had to breathe through the
next few minutes to keep from passing out as they lowered the gurney to the
ground as gently as they could. He knew they were doing their best and they
tried not to jostle him, but every bump and jerk felt like rebar being shoved
through his flesh, or better, felt like those zombies had broken through and
were now feasting on his limbs. He didn’t have much flesh, so he imagined they
were tearing through his fascia and muscles to gnaw on his bones.
He kept enough of his focus to be
able to answer the millions of questions thrown at him once they entered the
hospital.
No, he wasn’t on any medications.
No, he didn’t have any allergies.
No, he didn’t currently have any health concerns. You’re not totally lying.
His insurance card was in his wallet
in his rear pocket, and a nurse reached under him for it. He took several
calming breaths.
Paul let go of his hand as they
wheeled him farther down a hallway.
“Paul! Stop! Stop! Where’s Paul?”
His heart pounded out of control,
and he knew he was seconds from passing out.
Footsteps thundered toward him and
the hand was back in his empty one.
“I’m here. They have to take you for
X-rays. I’ll be here when you’re finished. I’m just going to wait for your band
to get here with your manager, okay? I can’t go with you to X-ray, but I’m not
leaving.”
Brains tried his best to slow his
breathing, but it was like attempting to stop a train with no breaks and no
Superman. Even Captain America had limitations. He couldn’t fight the power of
the ER staff when it came to X-rays.
Brains snorted as his eyes blurred
with tears. The nurse was still talking to him, but he was headed deep into a
fantasy where Captain America was shirtless in his green utility pants, doing
pullups with his dog tags dangling between expertly crafted pectorals.
That lasted him until they moved him
from the gurney to the X-ray table and started to cut his pants off. Then the
screaming started.
Author Bio
R.L. Merrill brings you stories of Hope, Love, and Rock 'n' Roll featuring quirky and relatable characters. Whether she’s writing about contemporary issues that affect us all or diving deep into the paranormal and supernatural to give readers a shiver, she loves creating compelling stories that will stay with readers long after.
Winner of the Kathryn Hayes “When Sparks Fly” Best Contemporary award for Hurricane Reese, Foreword INDIES finalist for Summer of Hush and RONE finalist for Typhoon Toby, Ro spends every spare moment improving her writing craft and striving to find that perfect balance between real-life and happily ever after.
She writes diverse and inclusive romance, contributes paranormal hilarity to Robyn Peterman’s Magic and Mayhem Universe, and works on various other writing and mentoring projects that tickle her fancy or benefit a worthy cause.
You can find her connecting with readers on social media, educating America’s youth, raising two brilliant teenagers, trying desperately to get that back piece finished in the tattoo chair, or headbanging at a rock show near her home in the San Francisco Bay Area! Stay Tuned for more Rock 'n' Romance.
Author Website: https://www.rlmerrillauthor.com
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