Rydin' High (Rock-n-Rollercoaster Book 1)

Rydin’ High

In 1980s London, Ryder Wolfe and his bandmates—Pepper, Rags and Reine—are chasing more than fame. From busking on street corners to playing their first real gigs, Rydin’ High begins carving out a place in the world of rock-and-roll, driven by ambition, loyalty, and the thrill of being heard.

But success has a cost. As the band’s star rises, clashing egos, temptation, and the pressures of the music scene begin to strain the friendships and relationships that brought them together. At the heart of it all is Ryder: magnetic, restless, and impossible to ignore. Torn between Reine’s devotion and Pepper’s patient love, he must confront truths about desire, identity, and the price of getting everything he thought he wanted.

A saga of music, fame, friendship, and complicated love, Rydin’ High is the first book in Tyler Colins’ Rock-n-Rollercoaster series.

Start reading Rydin’ High today and step into the rise of a band built on passion, chaos, and rock-and-roll.

Excerpt from the book

Ryder, Pepper, and Rags sat at a rear table in the dim, closed bar. Ryder had his legs propped on the table, as did Rags, and both were holding half-full pints of lager as they watched bar staff clean up the usual end-of-night mess.

Pepper, leaning his chair into the shabby poster-covered wall nearby, was nursing a Pimm’s and lemonade, and staring into a corner, looking thoughtful and serious. He caught Ryder’s eye and winked.

Three tables over, Des Knott was being kept company by a sluttish young woman wearing enough make-up for three and clothes not enough for one. She was making small talk and giggling too much; he was quaffing his second gin and tonic, looking as disgruntled as always. His dirty, shaggy layers hung into his face after the show, thanks to profuse sweat. His gaze moved back and forth between her and the battered bass case on the chair alongside him.

“Des looks like he could use another drink,” Rags smirked, nodding toward him. “Better him than any of us being stuck with Maggie the Slag—”

“Madge,” Pepper corrected.

“We need to ditch that bloke,” Ryder muttered under his breath so only Rags and Pepper could hear. “He can’t play for shit.”

“He's not that bad,” Pepper murmured. “He's only played with us five times. Maybe he just needs time to get his shit together.”

“That’s four times too many,” Rags muttered, pushing back his black wool Mowbray hat. Thin sand-colored, shoulder-length wisps fell into his flat, round face. “The guy’s got bugger all when it comes to talent … well, maybe if he played in some hardcore punk band. Nobody’d care then.”

“He needs to go,” Ryder affirmed, setting his jaw.

“We should wait until we find a replacement,” Pepper suggested. “We have four gigs and three private performances between now and mid-November, and we can’t go canceling them. And there’s that four-song cassette we’re supposed to begin recording. We can’t not have a bassist.”

Ryder scanned his best friend’s attractive face, framed by ear-length dreadlocks, admiring the smooth skin the color of Earl Grey with a splash of semi-skimmed milk. Pepper was perpetually calm, thinking through situations and rarely responding in anger or anxiousness. He helped keep everyone on the straight and narrow.

“He’s not doing us any favors, sounding like that.” Ryder drew a deep breath. “Let's get the word out. Tomorrow.”

“Yeah, let’s start auditioning for a new one as soon as possible,” Rags stated, slapping the table.

“And let’s not go with just anyone either,” Pepper declared. “Replacing one shit bassist with another won’t get us any further.”

“With the places we play, no one’s likely to notice,” Rags chortled.

Pepper pulled a long face. “True. The audience seems more interested in getting pissed, moshing and pogoing, than the actual quality of music.”

“Maybe our Christmas present’ll be a decent bassist,” Rags said, looking hopeful.

Ryder smiled wryly. “I’ll settle for semi-decent.”

Rags pulled his chair closer. “We’re keepin’ the name Rydin’ High, yeah?”

“Unless we come up with a better name,” Pepper said with a quick shrug.

“I think—”

“You talkin’ ‘bout the name of the band, Lawsen?” Des interrupted Rags as he sidled around him.