Zenith Falling (Zenith Trilogy, #1) Read online

  Zenith Falling

  by

  Leanne Davis

  The Zenith Trilogy, Book One

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dear Reader,

  Zenith Rising

  Zenith Fulfilled

  The Other Sister

  The Good Sister

  Poison

  Notorious

  Secret

  Seclusion

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Zenith Falling

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Leanne Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Publishing History First Edition, 2013 Digital

  The Zenith Trilogy Book One

  Edited by Teri at The Editing Fairy

  Cover Design by Steven Novak

  Dedication

  To Kimberly McCann

  For 25 years of friendship

  For Mr. Robinson’s 6th grade block

  For 6-hour conversations that are never enough

  For the hundreds of private jokes

  For Thursdays lattes

  For Homecoming ‘96

  For epic double dates

  For that day, that smile, in EvCC parking lot

  For Monday nights at Western

  And now for play dates and all the grown up stuff, but still... sometimes escaping it all and being 18 again with nothing better to do than laugh and gossip for a few hours...

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  The Zenith Trilogy:

  Zenith Falling

  Due in Winter, 2014

  Zenith Rising

  Zenith Fulfilled

  The Seaclusion Series:

  Published by The Wild Rose Press

  Poison

  Notorious

  Due in 2014

  Secrets

  Seclusion

  Sister Series:

  The Other Sister

  Due in 2014

  The Good Sister

  The Best Friend

  Chapter One

  “Joelle? Joelle O’Niel?”

  Joelle Williams turned towards the voice she heard behind her as she neared her car. O’Niel? She hadn’t been called that in four years. She glanced towards the sidewalk and saw a man standing several feet from her. She couldn’t see his face clearly, as he stood in a shadow. He was tall, wearing a suit, and had nice shoes.

  “Yes?” She gripped her keys tighter, like a primitive weapon, before she scoffed and relaxed her fingers. They were useless if the stranger intended her harm.

  The well-dressed man took a step forward. “I thought I recognized you. It’s Nick, Nick Lassiter.”

  “Nick Lassiter? Trina’s older brother?”

  “Yes.” He took her recognition of his name as permission to approach her. Nick Lassiter. She hadn’t heard that name in years. Trina and she were friends in high school, but had lost touch years ago. She would have never placed this man as Trina’s brother. Nick was far older than she, and she could only remember him as the smart type: straight As, scholarships, and all honors. In school, he even appeared brainy-looking, with a pale face, wire-rimmed glasses, and being slightly on the nerdy side.

  Not so anymore. Nick stepped into the beam of the streetlight, and towered over her. Most people did. She wasn’t even five feet tall. His long, black trench coat billowed around his charcoal-colored suit. He was quite trim, with a graceful gait and self-confidence, that was evidenced by the way he held his shoulders. He had light brown hair, streaked with blond. His glasses were smallish and added to his look rather than distracted from it. They showed off his light-blue, almost gray eyes. Gorgeous eyes. Joelle didn’t remember that from her visits at the Lassiter house.

  Nick caught her coming out of her very first Al-Anon meeting. To be observed doing that by a casual acquaintance was so not okay with her. He needed to vanish. Why couldn’t he pretend he didn’t know her? Why did he come up to her? She was nothing to him, and she sure as hell didn’t want to be recognized. After all, she drove a good half hour out of her way to attend this particular meeting so she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew.

  And yet she managed to do just that.

  Her lips drew into a tight line, a painful version of her normal smile.

  He smiled back, and she liked his smile. It started slowly, showing only the tip of his front teeth, in a crooked, charming, almost boyish grin, but soon crinkled up to his eyes and made her lower stomach tighten unexpectedly. He stuffed his hands into his long coat while his eyes traveled over her. There was a certain stillness about him, an undeniable ease that came from knowing who he was and feeling confident in whatever he did.

  So the opposite of her. Joelle was never at ease with herself or inside her skin. Especially being caught here. It was like being caught naked at her high school reunion.

  But then again, he must have just come from there too.

  “Were you in there?” she asked, waving towards the church.

  “Yes.”

  “How come you’re here?”

  “For one of my sisters,” he said quietly. His tone was deeper than she remembered. “How about you?”

  “Husband.”

  His shoulders jerked back and his eyebrows shot up. “You’re married?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re already here?”

  She shook her head, staring down at her big, black combat boots. “There was nothing already about this.”

  He bowed his head and smiled, looking chagrinned. “You’re right. I apologize, that wasn’t meant how it came out.”

  She shrugged and mumbled, “For all the good this will do me.”

  “It’s a start. Come back. Give it a chance.”

  That’s what everyone else said at the meeting. She wondered if they were some kind of Al-Anon cult.

  “Yeah, sure. Maybe.”

  He stood quietly looking her over. She was anxious to go, and drawing a blank. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of one blessed, banal, conversation opener. She knew nothing of this man, and didn’t want to. Not here, not at this place, probably not ever. />
  Finally, he took a step back, his black shoe so shiny, it was probably blinding when the sun hit it. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

  Thank God! He was walking away. She didn’t think she could stand there for another moment of strained looks and awkward silence. There was simply nothing to say. He was as good as a stranger to her. He stopped before a dark-colored, low slung sports car, some kind of luxury thing that purred when he started it up. There was someone in the passenger seat, probably his equally gorgeous, sophisticated, and successful wife. Joelle quit staring, as she turned and got into her own clunker of a car.

  Would Nick be her excuse for not returning here next week?

  Nick’s car signaled, and he pulled onto the street, where he suddenly took off like a rocket from a launch pad. His red taillights quickly disappeared from sight. She shook her head. Too bad her car didn’t go that fast, even when fully accelerated.

  Her car was terrible, really. It was a conglomeration of dents, scrapes, and scratches along with a bad clutch, and very unreliable engine. Their vehicles were a good metaphor for her looks compared to his. Nick was neat and trim, his clothes reeking of upper-class office success. His dark pants were nearly perfectly creased even though it was eight o’clock at night.

  She, on the other hand, resembled her car: worn, tired, poor. Her jeans were ripped and frayed, a far cry from the suit Nick wore She had on her husband, Rob’s, heavy black jacket, and practically was swimming in it. What Nick stared at most, however, was her hair. It was… well, it was blue. Streaked blue and black, she kept it tied up overhead in tight braids, which she twisted into a thick knot. Her hair was her source of vanity. She wanted to cut it off short and spike it up. But whenever scissors got near her head, she nearly had a convulsion. So she chose to dye it and always wore it up, in order to hide the beauty of what it would be if she let it flow freely. It almost reached her waist, thick and straight, and if she ever bothered to comb and care for it, she could probably be a model for shampoo commercials. It was her shining mane of glory in high school.

  Now she practically hid her hair, neatly tying it back off her face. Anything to keep it controlled, hidden, and not the least bit obvious.

  She got attention these days by looking the opposite of pretty. She looked wild as hell, like she partied all the time with her husband, even though she didn’t. Nick’s initial surprise at hearing she had a husband happened to her a lot. She appeared like a blend between gothic vampire and almost hip rock star. Her makeup was dark and heavy, with several piercings visible on her nose, ears and lips. Nothing he saw resembled the teenager Nick Lassiter once knew. Nothing at all. How did Nick recognize her? More importantly, why did he recognize her?

  Who cared anyway? There was little chance she would come back to this place, considering it was just a waste of time. She needed to get home. Her excuse for why she was so late, hadn’t been thought of yet. She wasn’t ready yet to say the real reason out loud to her husband that she’d gone to an Al-Anon meeting because of his drinking. She couldn’t tell him that she could barely stomach coming home anymore. She didn’t know what to do, where to go, what to feel, and there was no one, not one person in the world, she could confide in.

  Coming from a place of desperation, loneliness, isolation, aching frustration and pain over her husband, she sought out the comfort of strangers, hoping someone, somewhere might understand what she felt, and had to endure. She only hoped someone could tell her what she was supposed to do about it.

  ****

  Joelle and Rob rented a house in a dumpy neighborhood, on the outskirts of Seattle, Washington. Their rental was big enough for them and Rob’s band. Wherever they went, the band was never far behind. They all shared the rent and contributed to the bills. Each member had a room, and the rest of the house was communal property. It was a little farther out of town then they preferred, and a far cry from anything they would choose if they had a choice, but it was a stepping stone to their future, which they were banking everything on.

  Joelle pulled into a parking spot on the street next to her husband’s derelict small truck. He was home. Big shock. Rob usually was during the day. He didn’t officially have a job that rewarded him with a weekly paycheck. The only thing Rob did was work on his music.

  Joelle knew better than to hope she’d come home to a quiet house. Usually, there were the band’s endless supply of groupies and friends. Tonight, she wished desperately for all of them to vanish. She was tired, and emotionally strung-out like she couldn’t remember ever being. She wasn’t sure about anything anymore: who she was, who Rob was, or who they were together.

  Ignoring the stomachache that plagued her anytime she had to face her husband, Joelle entered the house and bit her lip to hold in her nearly inaudible groan. Yes, of course there were people there. She was the only wife, and the only girl, who stayed with the band for more than a few months. Sometimes she felt like she married Mitch, Kenny, and Spike along with her husband, who was the lead singer and lead guitarist.

  They made up the struggling band, Zenith, which Joelle first heard her freshman year at college. They were playing in a local club. She was prim and proper back then. Her long hair was its natural brown color, her makeup soft, attractive, and she had a girl-next-door kind of prettiness. Somehow, Rob spotted her in the crowd. There was always a crowd at the club, and especially that night, for Zenith was new and just starting to earn a strong local following. Why Rob chose her from all the girls who fawned over him, Joelle, to this day, couldn’t say. She was star struck and almost stammered when Rob first spoke to her.

  Why wouldn’t she be? She was eighteen, still a virgin, and her only real experiences with men were as her classmates. Then suddenly, Rob strode into her life. He was like no one she had ever known. He made quiet, mousey, little Joelle O’Niel into a person who was worth knowing, worth being around, and worth wanting. He was so cool, and popular, the “king” of any crowd he was in. And he liked her.

  He also looked unlike any man she’d ever met before. His hair was dyed a harsh black, spiked up off his scalp, and tattoos covered both of his arms. He had earrings, eyebrow rings, and a nose ring. His smile could leave a girl thinking of nothing but him. He was older and experienced, a singer, and talented enough to become a famous rock star. How could she, plain, ol’ Joelle, have stood a chance? He was slim, and very well built, standing about five-foot-seven, but all muscle and olive-toned, swarthy skin. His voice caressed each and every girl he ever sang to. Rob was as charismatic as Joelle was naive, and it didn’t take long before she became completely awed by him.

  He told her much later that when he spotted her that fateful night in the crowd, she was it for him; he wanted no one else, but her. For him, it was love at first sight. Each time Rob told her that, her heart still flipped over with excitement. The rush. The tingle. The love. God, she loved Rob.

  And Rob chose her.

  It wasn’t until later that she realized he wasn’t just out for a one-night-stand. He was serious about wanting her, and about loving her from that night onward.

  Rob Williams literally swept her away, and changed her life, making that momentous night the new start of her life. She returned to college, but not for long. In only a few months, she was spending all her time with Rob and the band, rather than attending her classes. It was sooner, rather than later, that she flunked out. Then her hair suddenly seemed too prim and proper, and she got her first tattoo, her first piercings, and her first color streaks through her hair. Within only a year, Rob asked her to marry him, and she accepted. They went to Vegas, got married, and spent the last of their money on their honeymoon. It was a blurry week of sex, drinking, drugs and Rob gambling. He unfortunately lost more than he won, but all the while, they happily lived and breathed each other. Joelle felt she’d never be able to return to any semblance of a normal life, or what she previously considered normal.

  And she couldn’t. Rob only worked when he intended to buy something specific, or when
the bills mounted up too high. Then he would suddenly become a bartender, a waiter, or a taxi driver, for a week, a month, once for even three months, until they paid off the bills and were, once more, current, at which time, he quit. They sometimes lived almost hand to mouth.

  But Rob always promised Joelle that it would only be that way until the band made it big. And Joelle believed, right down to her core, it was only a matter of time, before Rob got the recognition his talent truly deserved. And now, four years later, she still said it was just a matter of time, exposure, and having the right person hear them. Rob was a fantastic singer, performer, and bandleader. Their music encompassed hard rock to alternative, with a few surprisingly tender ballads interspersed. All they needed was a big break.

  The first year, Zenith struggled very hard, routinely playing gigs and practicing in all their spare time. They developed a real following in Seattle, but it went to their heads. All of them, even Joelle, quit their day jobs so they could leave town and start touring. They traveled down to L.A., and wound up with nothing to show for it, but rejection. By the time they came back to Seattle, completely broke and broken, the fans they previously had were gone. It had been too long. Now, they had to start over, and none of them were the hard-working, eager musicians they previously were, even though it was only two years ago.

  They discovered the joys of drugs and alcohol in their quest for not just stardom, but also recognition. They wanted to be known for their truly extraordinary talent. So when any kind of disappointment occurred, they used it as an excuse to party.

  Then everything changed. Now, they only seemed to party more than work, and rarely wrote new songs, or practiced, or even played music anymore.

  Rob and she never lived alone, but always with the band. From the start, Kenny and Mitch resented her, and often complained about her. Rob, on the other hand, liked living with the band. The only one who was nice to Joelle was Spike. Spike was so named for the Mohawk-style in which he wore his hair. He was strangely always nice to her, sometimes more considerate of her feelings than even Rob.