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I am a big Max Henry fan and have LOVED every single one of her books however I just wasn't feeling the same connection with Down Beat like others before it.
Max can tell a story unlike no other, her way with words is enticing as it is addicting and you never have to second guess yourself when reading.
Straight off the bat with this one, we are given trigger warnings, letting us know that this book deals with mental health issues and I applaud the author for handling these with the respect, honesty and rawness that they deserved. Bipolar / Depression is no joke, and as a "victim" of depression for many years I loved that she took on this difficult subject matter and nailed it.
Rey and Tabitha were both brilliant characters and the storyline was unlike any rockstar story that I have read. I just wish I was feeling the relationship between them a bit more. One their own they stood tall, and owned the scenes they were in however once they were together I didn't feel the connection. I adored Tabby for the way she handled things even if I did wanna shake her a few times.
I had hoped we would of saw Tabitha grow more within her own career however I am looking forward to the next book in the series, hopefully we can see her growth as a secondary character. Max set the next book up beautifully within the journey she took us on and I am excited for the next installment of those Dark Tide boys and the women that eventually tame them.
Emery especially .... 😉
Some call him a rock god.
Others a celebrity bad boy.
Me? I call him the arrogant bastard who stole my concert venue.
His apology? To take me and my violin on tour with the band.
It’s an offer I can’t refuse, even if it does come with strings attached.
Because Rey Thomas isn’t who he seems.
Life isn’t pretty behind the deviant frontman’s facade.
It’s raw, ugly, and at times downright painful.
But it’s real.
And far better than the lie he presents to the world.
The man behind the face of Dark Tide is beautiful in his chaos.
All I have to do is keep him alive long enough to see that too.
Nobody ever said loving a rock star would be easy.
I pause a moment, enjoying the feel of her hand as she trails it down the side of my neck. She doesn’t appear to be touching me in a desperate attempt to seduce me, like women in the past have. Instead, it’s an exploration. Her hand seems to map my skin as she traces the line of my collarbone with her thumb, reversing direction to skim lower over my chest with the heel of her hand.
I could lie here and let her do this for hours.
It’s insane how good it feels to have somebody touch me as though I mean something to them, especially when all I can associate with myself at the best of times is disgust.
“I fucked up, didn’t I?” I open my eyes to find her watching me, waiting.
“I think that’s a little undeniable at this point, yes.”
I search her eyes for any hint of fear, any sign of doubt. “I hurt you.” There isn’t a single sign that she wants out right now.
Yet I refuse to believe that could be possible.
“You did. Yes.” Her hand skims back to my face. “But I know it wasn’t the real you.”
Fuck. I thought we were getting somewhere. “It is, though.” I jerk free of her hand. “That is the real me, kitty. Can you deal with that?”
“If that’s the real you,” she challenges, pushing up to her elbow to level our faces, “then who’s this right here?” Her finger jabs painfully into my chest. “Who’s this guy right now? Because he isn’t the one who cracked the shits at his hair. He’s not the guy who pushed me away when he needed my support most. He’s somebody entirely different, Rey.” Her rage shows in the pinpointed black of her eyes. “So don’t you give me some bullshit about how that angry motherfucker is you, because he’s not.” Tabby collapses onto her back with the final words, huffing out an exasperated breath as she stares at the ceiling.
I do the only logical thing.
I kiss her.
Her leg closest to me shifts as I roll on top of her, accommodating mine. I bear my weight on my elbows, careful not to crush her as I steal her air. I want to suck in every last bit of that pure optimism she breathes. I want to pull the purity from her soul and mash it with mine, bleed our colors together so that her light can balance my dark.
I fucking need this woman to stay more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.
Her chest presses against mine as she battles to catch her breath, wide eyes fixed on mine as I hold myself over her.
There isn’t a single fucking line I could deliver in this moment that would do her justice.
“I meant it,” she whispers. “I won’t be your fix. You’ve got to do this without relying on me.”
“I know.” I shuffle to bring my hands to her head so that I can stroke the strands from her face. “And I will.”
Just not today.