Friendship, Texas Series: Volume 1

by Magan Vernon

  “Well, then you can just put forgiveness in the cake. It’s either that or you can ride your bike the fifteen miles to Rockwall and see what money you have in your piggy bank to get something at the grocery store.”

  I sighed, tying the apron around my back. “Fine. Baking, it is.”

  ***

  Two hours later, I stood in front of Brooke’s back door with a fresh sheet cake. It would have been sooner, but I had to shower to get all the flour off me.

  Brooke’s mom was at the back door after I knocked twice.

  “Hiya, Mrs. Carrington, is Brooke home?” I asked, putting on the biggest smile I could so my dimples would show. I always hated that they made me looked like a cherub, but I seemed to be able to get away with more when they added to my smile.

  Mrs. Carrington smiled and opened the door. “Come on in, Eddie. She’s in the living room.”

  “Mom! You weren’t supposed to tell him I was here!” Brooke whined, standing up and pouting her bottom lip.

  Now that we were in middle school, Brooke had changed. Her parents let her get contacts and bras. Combined with her long silky brown hair and the raspberry lip-gloss sheen she always had on her lips, I had to cover up my growing bulge that I seemed to have trouble keeping down whenever I was around her.

  “What do you want, Eddie?” she spat, folding her arms across her chest which just made her boobs pop out of her V-neck top and my pants grow even tighter.

  “I came to apologize, and I brought a Texas sheet cake. I made it myself,” I said, holding the pan out toward her.

  Brooke raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think you can win me over that easily with some chocolate cake?”

  I wiggled the pan and my eyebrows. “My mom also has homemade ice cream at the house.”

  Brooke’s eyes widened then she looked toward the kitchen. “Mom, can I go to Eddie’s?”

  Brooke’s mom laughed, not even looking up from the dishwasher. “Sure, Brooke. Just cut me off a slice of cake first.”

  Chapter 18

  If chocolate and ice cream worked fifteen years ago to apologize to Brooke, I figured it would do the same now. I would just possibly have to up the ante and make it chocolate diamonds or something.

  But before I could even plan a shopping trip into Dallas, my cell phone rang with Stan’s number flashing across the scene.

  I swiped to answer and put the phone to my ear. “Yello?”

  “Eddie, my man, long time, no talk!” Stan said in his typical nasally voice. Stan had been my agent since I was seventeen years old. He was like a second dad to me.

  “I just saw you yesterday, Stan.”

  Stan laughed. “You’re right, you’re right. But how’s about I see you tomorrow too? There are some guys who want to meet with you in Nashville, maybe talk about a comeback?”

  I raised an eyebrow even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “Wasn’t that what the show in Austin was for?”

  Stan sighed. “Look, Eddie, I know you’ve got the new girlfriend and family stuff in Friendship, but it’s been three months since the incident with Mary, and you left Nashville and the music scene. One little concert in some honky tonk isn’t going to help. Either you can stay in your small town and probably live comfortably off your millions while doing a few small gigs in Dallas, or you can keep your superstardom and have the comeback of the century. What do you say, Ed?”

  I thought about what he said. As much as I enjoyed my time with Brooke and at the ranch, now that some of the reporters had left, I couldn’t deny that I missed the stage and making music. I never felt more alive than when I had hundreds of people screaming my name and begging for my attention.

  “All right, Stan. Send the plane and I’ll be there tomorrow. I just want to sleep tonight.”

  “Okay, Eddie. I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow.”

  As soon as I hung up, my phone rang again with a number I didn’t recognize. My phone number had been leaked more than once on Twitter, and I’d had to change it at least a dozen times in the last two years. Normally, I’d ignore the call, but tonight I was a glutton for punishment.

  “I don’t know how you got this number, but now that you’ve heard Eddie Justice speak, are you satisfied?” I huffed.

  The voice on the other end laughed. “Dude, do you always answer your phone like this?” a low voice with the hint of what I’d call a “Southern California accent” said.

  I sighed, slumping my shoulders as if I was letting the weight of the world off them. “Is this Jay?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Unless you have another Jay in your phone.”

  “Your number didn’t pop up,” I replied.

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. I dropped my phone in the pool again and just got a pay-as-you-go one. Coach said it would be easier to just buy a shit-ton of those than going in every few days to get a new phone on my plan.”

  “Seems legit.”

  Jay Morningstar was the golden boy of US Swimming and soon-to-be brother-in-law of Ry Stone, former drummer for the pop punk band Shat Harding turned producer. I’d worked with Ry on a couple of songs I did with some blonde pop star whose name escapes me, then couldn’t help but become friends with the enigmatic, tattooed drummer. By proxy, I met his fiancée, Ashley, and her brother, Jay, who was now training in nearby Rockwall with his swim coach. We’d hung out a few times when I was in LA, and I thought it was empty promises that we’d catch up somewhere in Texas. I guess I was wrong.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Jay asked.

  “I was literally about to crawl into bed. It’s been a long day.”

  Jay laughed. “Yeah, that show in Austin was good. What I saw of it, anyway. I had to leave early, which is why I’m calling you.”

  I laughed, shaking my head even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “So you didn’t want to watch my show, but you want a favor?”

  Jay sighed. “Okay, it’s stupid, but I met this girl in Friendship, and I want to impress her.”

  “Isn’t having a few world records and some gold medals enough?” I asked.

  “This girl’s different, Ed. I just wanted to try something. Would you be willing to help?”

  I glanced at the clock beside my bed. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet. I could crawl into bed and try to forget about my fight with Brooke, or I could call my publicist to send a gift to her house. But I didn’t do either of those things. “Okay, Jay, what do you need?”

  ***

  The basement of First Baptist Church in Friendship hadn’t changed in all the years I’d lived there. It still smelled like old people, fried chicken, and had the same missing bulbs as it had when I attended vacation Bible school.

  I’d been down there for an hour with my guitar slung over my neck and Jay fiddling with Joey Bianchi’s bass. Jay wanted to impress the youngest member of the Conti family by playing a song for her. I thought maybe he’d want to do one of my classics, but he had the idea of playing some punk rock song I’d never heard of and had to look up on YouTube a few times for the lyrics.

  After another set, Jay was still messing up most of the chords, and he finally set the bass down. “Lia’s about to get off work, so I’m gonna meet her outside. Think you’re ready?” Jay asked, running his hands through his spiky dark blond hair.

  I’d helped plenty of guys out. Usually, it was for people who worked for me and wanted me to record a message for their girlfriends or something, but this was something entirely different. Kind of made me think I needed to do something more for Brooke than just writing a song or bringing sheet cake. I had to woo a girl for the first time in years.

  “All right, man, we’re gonna probably play a little something while we wait for you to get back,” I said as Jay handed Joey back his bass.

  Even though the guys were younger than I was and not experienced with music, I enjoyed sitting in the church basement and playing. Noah on drums, me on guitar, and Joey on bass. If I was ten years younger, and not a worldwide star, I would’ve suggested we star
ted some sort of a garage band. But I liked this. I liked that we didn’t talk much and just communicated through our music.

  I looked over my shoulder at the deaf drummer. “Wanna play something that we actually know?”

  Noah grinned and started the beat of an old Hank Williams’s song.

  We played some Hank, Willie, and even a Johnny Cash song. By the time we were done with a country version of Led Zeppelin, Jay finally showed up with the wide-eyed Lia Conti at his side.

  I stopped playing, signaling to Noah and Joey before turning toward the couple. “Hey, Jay, wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

  Jay bumped fists with all of us before going back to Lia’s side and putting his arm around her waist. “Lia, this is Eddie, Noah, and I think you know Joey.”

  “Hey, y’all,” she said doing a little wave.

  “So this is the girl you won’t stop talking about?” I asked, flashing a grin.

  She looked down at the floor, her cheeks turning bright red against her olive complexion.

  “Yeah. This is her. She’s the one who has better taste in music than you do,” Jay said with a laugh.

  “Whatever you say, man.” I shook my head but couldn’t help the smile that crossed my face.

  “So ... how did this all happen?” Lia asked, pointing between the three of us behind our instruments.

  I gestured toward Noah. “Well, Noah cleans my pool and plays piano here, so I asked him if he ever wanted to accompany me on something. He told me that he also plays drums and his friend Joey plays bass, so a few months ago, we started getting together here, where Noah’s drums are, and jamming at least once a week. It helps to try something different.”

  “Cool. I can dig that,” Lia said then winced. She didn’t seem to be much of a social person, but I could see why Jay liked her. It was good to be with someone who was normal and not someone who fed on the ego and bright lights of it all.

  Finally, I turned toward Jay. “So are you going to play or what?”

  He squeezed Lia’s hand. “You okay with that?”

  “Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sure,” she said, blinking rapidly.

  Jay whispered a few things to Joey, and then Joey handed him the bass before Joey sauntered over to Lia.

  Joey and Lia said a few words to each other as Jay slung the bass over his shoulder.

  “Hey, quit hitting on Jay’s woman, Bianchi!” I yelled in Joey’s direction, and Joey slowly took one step to the left.

  I strummed a few chords and then turned to Noah, who joined in with the drums, and then Jay with the bass.

  Slowly, I started in with the words of “Stay with Me” by The Dictators. It wasn’t the exact punk rock version. It had more of a country vibe because I told Jay there was no way I could play it like them.

  I caught Lia’s gaze and, as cocky as it sounded, I expected her to be staring at me, but her eyes never left Jay’s. No matter how many times he messed up the chords, he kept his gaze on her.

  It made me feel even more like shit for not talking to Brooke about everything and overreacting. I had to make it up to her.

  When we were done with the song, Jay gave Joey back his bass, and he and Lia headed out with some sort of an excuse about Jay needing an early practice. I figured that was just his keyword for boning, so we said our goodbyes.

  “I should probably head out too, y’all. I gotta head to Nashville in the morning,” I told the guys before packing up my guitar.

  “Okay, man, next time?” Noah said, pocketing his drumsticks and shaking my hand.

  “Definitely.”

  After catching Lia and Jay in a lip lock outside, which they played off as just a kiss goodbye, I made my way out to my truck and pulled my phone out of my back pocket.

  I still didn’t have any missed texts or calls from Brooke, but that was to be expected.

  I dialed her number, and it immediately went to voicemail so I tried again and again. Then I sent a text.

  Shit. She was probably ignoring me, and I deserved it.

  So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I stopped by the grocery store, picked up a bouquet of roses, and then headed toward Rockwall and Clay’s tiny house.

  The flowers were half-dead by the time I pulled in the driveway, but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. I could have walked up and sang one of my songs about loving the girl next door, but I had a feeling she didn’t want to hear from Eddie, the music star, but Eddie, the boy next door.

  I followed the path lined with new solar lights to the front door and rang the bell. I could see a faint glow from the TV through the curtains, so I knew someone was in there. I stood there for what felt like forever before I finally rang the bell again.

  It was another few minutes before the door was thrown open. I expected to see an angry Brooke; instead, Clay stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a scowl and a pair of blue gym shorts. I was used to the snot-nosed little boy who always bothered Brooke and me, but now, fresh out of the Army with a ton of tattoos, a Mohawk, and towering well over my six-foot-two, he was a menacing looking dude.

  “Hey, Clay, is Brooke home?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even. If someone had asked me ten years ago, I would have said that I wasn’t afraid of the skinny little blond kid next door. Now, I was trying not to shake in my boots.

  Clay crossed his arms over his broad chest, and in the dim illumination from the solar lights, I could barely make out the black ink covering his arms, but I could clearly see the bald eagle spread across his chest that looked like it was glaring at me. Like it knew I messed up.

  “She is, but she doesn’t want to see you or your dead flowers right now,” Clay said, his voice gruffer than I’d ever heard it.

  “These flowers aren’t dead … yet …” It was the only thing I could think to say with my wilted bouquet.

  Clay sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, Eddie, I’ve known you all of my life and so has Brooke. I know I’m the little brother to y’all, but my sister has been through enough shit these past few months. If you really care about her, you’ll give her some time to wrap her head around things and maybe she’ll call you when she’s done that.”

  I opened my mouth to argue then had a better idea. The one I should have thought of in the first place. “Okay, Clay, tell her to call me and that I stopped by?”

  Clay nodded. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

  He didn’t even say goodbye as he shut the door and left me standing alone on the front porch. I went back to my truck and drove around the block twice before parking down the road. I made sure to stay in the shadows until I got to the back corner of the fence surrounding the sad excuse for a swimming pool in their backyard.

  Fishing into my pockets, I pulled out some of the gravel pieces I had picked up along the road then cocked my arm back, ready to aim at Brooke’s window.

  “If you break my window, you’d better find a guy to replace it right now like you did with my shower,” a low voice said.

  I spun around to see Clay standing with his shirt still off and the glare prominent on his face even in the dim light of the moon.

  “You scared the hell out of me. How did you know I was here?” I asked, putting my arm down.

  Clay laughed, but there was no humor to it. “You’re predictable, Jahid, even though it’s been years. Your MO is to knock, and if you don’t get your way, you go to Brooke’s window.”

  I sighed. “Damn, didn’t think I was that predictable.”

  Clay put his hand on my shoulder. “Go home, Eddie. Go home, and maybe you’ll get lucky, and she’ll call you back.”

  I wanted to argue and keep fighting for her, but it was already almost one in the morning, and I had a flight to catch in a few hours. I’d just have to think of another way to get Brooke’s attention when I got back from Nashville.

  “All right, Clay. Good night.”

  “Good night, Eddie.”

  Chapter 19

  I hadn’t been back to my place in Nashville for months.
/>
  Thanks to my agent and round-the-clock housekeepers, it hadn’t gone into disrepair. Not that the six-thousand square foot private home of Eddie Justice ever would.

  The place smelled like new paint and didn’t even feel the same as I walked through the door and looked at the grand staircase. I bought the house as one of my first big expenses. I was nineteen and had just hit number one on the country music charts. I didn’t think about actually living in the place, just that I wanted something big in Nashville with a pool and a media room. But something about the place never quite felt like home. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I walked into the foyer with my boots clicking on the marble floors.

  This wasn’t my home. Texas was home, and I shouldn’t have ever left. I had a place in LA and one in Nashville, and my own private plane. Why did I need the roots in Nashville?

  Because that was where I thought I needed to be …

  “Eddie, sweetie, are you ready?” Pam’s voice carried through the bedroom. I’d owned the house for five years now and still had barely furnished it.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said, taking one last look in the mirror before grabbing my white hat and turning toward my publicist.

  “What do you think you’re doing with that?” Pamela could barely raise her Botox-filled eyebrows as she glanced from the hat back at me.

  “It’s my hat. I always wear this,” I replied, fingering the soft material between my fingers. Even after all of these years, it still felt the same. It even had the lingering scent of the pond and Friendship, Texas. Every time I wore it, I was reminded a little bit of home. A home I hadn’t been to in years because I’d been busy recording, doing world tours, and making appearances like this teen award show I was about to present and perform at.

  “That’s not what the stylist set out for you. I specifically asked she get out the Dallas Cowboys hat that you wear backward. You in a backward hat tested better with the sixteen-to-twenty-four-year-old crowd who will be watching this segment,” Pam said, knitting her eyebrows together.