Book Title: Gamble On Me (The Road to Rocktoberfest 2022 series)

Author: Ann Lister

Publisher: Rock Gods, LLC

Release Date: November 15, 2022

Genre: M/M Rockstar Romance

Tropes: Second Chance, Friends to Lovers

Themes: Recovery, Rockstars, Musician and Cop

Heat Rating: 4 flames

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger

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Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

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Blurb

Two teenage boys were certain they’d be best friends for life. They had clear paths planned for the future and they were ready to take on the world. All it took was one deep—very adult kiss to throw them off kilter and their plans turned to dust. One chose a path toward stardom and stage lights, the other stayed behind in their hometown to pursue his own dream of being a cop. Both hoped they’d see each other again. Neither thought it would ever happen.

No one can turn back time but perhaps the future can be altered with a little luck—and a lot of love.

Gamble: I was fifteen when I realized I was in love with my best friend, Bix. Since then, not a day has passed when he didn’t cross my mind. I arrived in L.A. at eighteen with nothing more than raw talent and a dream and then fell face-first into drug addiction. But not before my band hit it big and earned us awards and million dollar paychecks. Success was one thing, but I still wanted Bix and the simple life we once had growing up on Starfish Island.

Bix: I spent a lot of years worrying about Gamble. The entertainment news was great about airing his dirty laundry which kept me aware of how low he was sinking. Now I worried he might not survive. I’ve wanted him since that one perfect kiss we shared graduation night and I’ve wanted a lifetime of more with him ever since. Too bad I don’t see a way it’ll ever happen.

Possible Triggers: Mentions of drug addiction, overdoses, recovery, and also a gunshot wound.

Gamble on Me is part of the multi-author The Road to Rocktoberfest 2022 series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but why not read them all and see who hits the stage next? Hot rockstars and the men who love them, what more could you ask for? Kick back, load up your kindle and enjoy the men of Rocktoberfest!

Prologue

Gamble

Some considered me a walking cliché, but I’d prefer the word survivor. Why? Because I’d skirted the edge of death from substance abuse for longer than I’d care to remember, sliding in and out of four different rehab centers over the last three years, trying my best to get clean and sober to no avail. I’d no sooner finish a program at one facility, go off on another bender as soon as I returned home, and fall right back into the old bad habits that ultimately landed me inside another. A new crew of doctors, therapists, and dozens of other residents from group sessions would feed me the same message I’d heard many times before.

I freely admit to being the worst kind of patient—the one who didn’t want or feel they needed to be fixed. But addicts lie, and I’d been lying for years that I was only worth a life of drugging, drinking, and detoxing.

It was fun at first being the designated life of the party, but the joy ride soon ended when staying high enough became a full-time job. It was a vicious cycle, and I felt powerless to change.

Some days were easier to conceal the inner turmoil I drowned in; other days, the old wounds would eat away at my insides like acid. I could feel it happening—those tiny, razor-sharp Piranha teeth nipping at me from the inside out. It wasn’t fun, but I was too far gone with the drugs to understand why I was running away. In many ways, I was still trying to find the answer to that question.

“Get clean or die,” a social worker told me after my last overdose—the time I stared death in the eyes. The ER doctors almost couldn’t revive my sorry ass. I wasn’t entirely sure why they’d fought so hard to keep an addict like me breathing. It would have been much easier to let me slip into the great beyond. I wasn’t convinced I was worth saving since my long list of relapses was well-documented, and the odds were high that I’d end up right back in the ER from another overdose.

I’d like to say I went toward the light and share stories of loved ones who’d welcomed me to the other side, but I didn’t see any of that. I was probably too high at the time to memorize any visions I might’ve seen while floating around in limbo. The funny thing was, I didn’t even remember what drugs I took that night or how much booze I might’ve drank. I only knew that none of those substances belonged in my system—period.

The day after my relentless addictions almost took me, I wallowed in my hospital bed with hours alone to think. It gave me time to consider the path I was currently on. If I didn’t make serious changes to my life, there was no doubt I’d be dead within the year. I didn’t have a death wish, as some would think by my behavior. I wanted to live, but I wasn’t sure how to do that anymore without the aid of substances.

My bandmates and agent arrived at the hospital later that day for a visit. They looked sullen as hell.

“How you feeling, Trip?” my agent, Randy, asked.

“Better,” I replied. “I had an epiphany after I started breathing again—like I’d been reborn. Jesus, I came close to checking out for good.”

I was raw with emotion, but my guys didn’t seem to be listening to me.

Our rhythm guitarist, Seth, came to the side of my bed and sat on the edge.

“Ah, listen, Trip. The guys and I had a meeting, and we decided it’s best if we cut ties,” he said. “You need to focus on your health and sobriety, and being around us and other bands who are still using would be too much for you.”

“You’re firing me? I asked incredulously.

“We all agreed this was the only outcome that would help you,” Seth said.

“Are you kidding me?” I seethed. “I created this band ten fucking years ago and gave everything to it.”

“I understand that, but then drugs took over your brain, man, and we can’t work with your sporadic consciousness anymore,” he explained while the rest of the band stood there like zombies.

“And you’re okay with this?” I yelled at Randy.

“I think right now you need to get yourself cleaned up for real, get your head on straight, and we’ll talk at a later date,” Randy informed me.

“Everyone, get the fuck out! Your so-called support means nothing,” I exclaimed. A moment later, my room turned silent as the door slowly shut behind them.

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