by Katie Ashley
Maybe it was the perfectionist in me, or maybe it was the part of me that always felt inferior. While my siblings all had amazing voices and played multiple instruments flawlessly, my only talent was in songwriting. I didn’t have Eli’s outgoing personality or Abby’s sweetness or Micah’s spiritual and emotional strength.
Abby brought me out of my thoughts when she asked, “Did you catch anything?”
The twins bobbed their heads enthusiastically. “My fish was this big!” Jax exclaimed, his small hands widening to indicate a huge catch.
“Not quite, bud, but it was pretty big,” Jake countered before bestowing a kiss on Abby’s lips.
“It’s still big enough for us to eat, right, Daddy?” Jules asked.
Jake grinned. “Of course it is. All the fish we caught are. I’m going to start cleaning them right now.”
“I’m sure TMZ would pay big money to see a video of rock star Jake Slater cleaning fish scales,” Eli teased.
With a laugh, Jake replied, “Before you get any ideas, they won’t give you jack for any video that doesn’t involve me and Abby in a compromising position.”
Abby’s eyes bulged. “Jake!”
“Like the twins know what compromising means, Angel,” Jake replied.
I fought my gag reflex as Jake called Abby by his pet name for her, one he’d given her right after they met. She’d taken it so far as to name their Golden Retriever Angel as well.
Huffing out a frustrated breath, Abby said, “I don’t know why I even bother. With everything they see and hear on the road, my babies are going to corrupt their classmates next year at kindergarten.”
“There’s nothing wrong with corrupting others. I think I did a fine job of it with you.” He playfully smacked Abby on the ass while giving her a look that made an older brother want to throat punch him.
Abby’s outrage waned, and instead of giving him a piece of her mind, she winked at him. “Go get the fish.”
Jake saluted Abby. “Yes ma’am.”
As Jake headed back to the Jeep, Abby steered the twins over to our table. “Are you hungry? I made your favorite kind of pound cake.”
While Jax dove at the dessert, Jules hopped up into my lap, threw her arms around my neck, and placed a kiss on my cheek. “Hiya Uncle Gabe.”
“Hi Jules,” I replied as I squeezed her tight. She was a tiny thing like her mom, but she had a personality that surpassed her size.
Her curious blue eyes peered up at me. “Didya write some songs last night?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Her tiny brows furrowed. “Daddy said that’s what you came up here for, and that’s why you couldn’t play with us.”
Inwardly, I groaned. I mean, Jesus, could it get any worse than catching shit for my writer’s block from a four-year-old? “It was.”
Jax leaned over to whisper rather loudly in Jules’s ear. “Shh, Daddy said not to talk about that in front of Gabe, remember?”
Jules clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, I forgot.”
I glanced past the twins to eyeball Jake, who had just walked up on the porch balancing a cooler brimming with fish on his shoulder. “I see my writer’s block was a matter of discussion among you guys,” I said tersely.
He winced as he set the cooler down. “Sorry. I was only trying to help.”
Deep down, I knew he was. The man had not only offered up his guesthouse for me, he’d also shuffled his kids away for a night. Still, in spite of being a celebrity, I was a private person. I didn’t like anyone knowing my business. It was bad enough that Eli, Abby, and Jake had to know about my writing issues, but now the twins did as well.
“I’m sowwy I mentioned you can’t write songs,” Jules whispered.
Inwardly, I was unraveling, but I couldn’t let Jules see that. I couldn’t have her thinking less of me. I basked in the fact that she thought I was ten feet tall. “Thanks, Julesy-pie.”
Swallowing hard, I fought the anxiety that slithered its away up my body. It was the same kind of feeling I got when enveloped by a crowd of fans. I could see now that trying to escape to Jake’s farm was just a bust. “I think I’m going to head back to Atlanta.”
Jules tightened her grip around my neck. “Don’t leave yet, Uncle Gabe. I haven’t gotten to play my drum set for you yet.”
In true annoying uncle form, Eli and I had gone in together to get a mini drum set for Jax and Jules for their birthday. After two seconds of listening to them bang loudly, Jake had threatened to kick our asses for getting them such a gift. While we’d had a good laugh, Eli and I really did have good intentions. It was never too early to get the twins started on the musical path. Considering how talented both their parents were, it was a given that they would be as well.
“I really want to hear you play, Julesy-Poo, but I’ve got to write these songs. If I don’t, your mama and Uncle Eli and I won’t have anything to put on the album.”
Jules’s lips turned down in a pout. To show how I’d made her sad, she crawled out of my lap and went over to her mother. “Maybe going home isn’t such a good idea,” Abby said.
“It’s not like I’m getting anything done here.”
“You could head south to Savannah and stay at Rhys and Allison’s house, or head over to their condo on Tybee Island. I know they wouldn’t mind.”
Rhys McGowan was the bassist for Runaway Train. He’d grown up in Savannah, and now he owned a house in the historic district as well as a condo on Tybee Island. After a long engagement, he’d just married Jake’s little sister, Allison, a few months ago. They were spending some of Runaway Train’s downtime in between album recording and touring by heading over to Scotland, where Rhys’s grandparents were from.
“That’s a nice idea, little sis, but I’m not a fan of crowds at the moment.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Jake said.
With a questioning smirk, I asked, “And what’s that?”
“Heads up.” Before I could question what the hell he was talking about, he tossed me his keys. “Better than wasting all that time on the road to Savannah, take my Jeep and go off-roading in the mountains. It’s still packed with camping gear and food. Then you won’t have to worry about running into anybody.”
“Except some toothless hillbilly playing the banjo who might think you have a purty mouth,” Eli joked.
Jake laughed. “For your information, there are very few Deliverance-esque people in the mountains.”
“For Gabe’s sake, I hope you’re right. I’m not sure I want to see the type of songs he might write after being tied up and told to squeal like a pig.”
“You’re impossible,” I muttered as I ran my fingers over the key fob. Maybe Jake was right. Maybe I needed to get off by myself, just me and my notebook with no distractions whatsoever, not even my family. “You’re sure you’re okay with me running off with your Jeep?”
“I think I’ll be fine. You’ve seen my garage—I think I’ve got enough vehicles to pick from.”
I laughed. One building on Jake’s property was a tricked-out garage where he had several cars and trucks, and then there was also the Volvo SUV and the Escalade he and Abby used to get the twins around. After grabbing my notebook and pen, I popped out of my chair. “I guess I’ll see you guys later.”
“Make sure you text us and let us know you’re okay,” Abby said.
“As long as I have a signal, I will.”
She frowned at me. “Don’t make me worry about you, Gabe.”
I smiled. “I’ll try hard not to.” I wrapped one of my arms around her. “Thanks for having me last night and for trying to help.”
“Any time,” Abby murmured.
Eli rose out of his chair to come over to us. “I hope you break through, brother.”
“So do I.”
“Just remember what an amazing talent you have.”
I grinned. “I think that’s one of the nicest and most serious things you’ve ever said to me.”
With a lau
gh, Eli replied, “I know. I shock myself sometimes.”
After hugging the twins and giving Jake one of those typical bro hugs, I headed off the porch and to Jake’s vehicle. I’d need to make a quick pit stop at the barn to grab my things, and then I’d be off. To where, I had no idea. The only thing that mattered was if I would find the words when I got there.
“Fuck!” I shouted as I banged my fist against the hood of the Jeep. The acrid smell of burning rubber still hung in the air and stung my nostrils, the aftermath of me stomping on the accelerator in an attempt to free the Jeep from being imprisoned in mud. While the trip up 515 into the North Georgia mountains had been smooth sailing, I now found myself in a brand new hell: thoroughly and completely stuck somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
Just like in the movies, everything had been going great until I made one wrong turn. When the gravel road turned into a stream, I figured I could ford it. I was in a four-wheel drive Jeep for fuck’s sake. Yeah…it so hadn’t worked out like I’d planned. Not only were the back wheels encased in the sloshy Georgia clay, I was standing in water up to my knees.
With a growl, I dug my phone out of my pocket. Glancing at the screen, I thanked God that somehow I still had cell service. “Siri, what’s the nearest wrecker service near me?” I demanded.
“Hart and Daughter Wrecker Service is ten miles away.”
“Then Hart and Daughter it is.” After I dialed the number, it rang three times before a perky sounding woman answered it.
“Hello, Hart and Daughter. How may I help you?”
“Uh, yeah, my name’s Gabe, and I seem to have gotten my Jeep stuck while doing some off-roading. Can you guys come get me out?”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll just need your location.”
“Somewhere in backwoods bumblefuck,” I grumbled.
The woman had the audacity to laugh at me. “You must be from the city.”
“If I said I am, would that make a difference?”
“It’s just most people who are from around here know the road names, or at least they know points of interest close by.”
“Okay, fine. I turned off Briarwood Road then followed it until it turned into gravel and then dirt. A path to the right looked good so I took it. That’s when it all turned to shit.”
After hearing scribbling in the background, the woman said, “Got it. I think someone will be able to find you with those descriptions. Just let me get some information. What’s your name?”
“Gabe Renard.”
There was a pause on the line. “Did you say Renard?”
“I did.”
The woman giggled. “You wouldn’t happen to be the Gabe Renard of Jacob’s Ladder, would you?”
At that moment, I had two choices. I could tell her no and keep some semblance of anonymity, or I could say yes and hopefully parlay my celebrity status into getting faster service. I decided to go with option B. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.”
A high-pitched shriek pierced my eardrum, and the shock almost caused me to fumble my phone. When I brought it back to my ear, I heard, “OMG, OMG, OMG, OH MY GOD! I can’t believe it! We never have any celebrities around here. Then, the first time we have one, it’s one I absolutely love.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“It’s funny because I thought your voice sounded familiar.”
“I take it you’re a fan of my band.”
Her response came in the form of another high-pitched shriek. “Oh my God, YES, I’m a fan. I’ve been to each and every one of your concerts in Atlanta. I even went to one in Chattanooga.”
“That’s amazing. Thanks for the support. Maybe I can sign something for you when the technician gets out here.”
“You would really do that?”
“Hell yeah. Anything for a true fan.”
I heard some rustling of papers before the woman’s voice became slightly muffled. “Listen, there are actually two towing calls ahead of you, but I’m going to radio Ray to come to you first.”
Jackpot. “Thank you so much…I’m sorry, but I don’t think I got your name.”
“It’s Candice, but everyone calls me Candy.”
“Thank you, Candy.”
At the sound of her name coming from my lips, Candy dissolved into a fit of giggles. After a few deep breaths, she managed to compose herself. “Okay, now, you just sit tight, Gabe, and Ray should be there in about ten to twenty minutes.”
“I will. I can’t thank you enough for all your help,” I replied in my sincerest voice.
“Oh, trust me, it was my pleasure.”
“Bye, Candy,” I drawled.
After another fit of giggles, she replied, “Bye, Gabe.”
I shook my head as I hung up the phone. Even after years of being famous, it never ceased to amaze me the reactions fans had. When it came down to it, I was a person just like anyone else, but to them, the fact that I played in a successful band elevated my status slightly above them.
While I waited on Ray, I hopped back onto Jeep’s front seat, thanking God again, this time for the leather seats so my soaking jeans wouldn’t ruin the upholstery. After opening the dashboard, I took out my notebook. I figured I might as well try to make the most of the time I had. Sure, the Jeep might be stuck, but part of my plan was still intact. After all, I was in the middle of nowhere with no distractions. Nibbling on the pen cap, I closed my eyes and searched for the right words.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. Fuck. Nothing was coming. Not words, not images—absolutely nothing. With a frustrated grunt, I hurled my pen onto the dashboard. Once again, a sense of dread cloaked me. I swallowed hard before taking in a few deep breaths. The last thing I needed was to go into full-on panic attack mode in the middle of nowhere. Lifting my head, I gazed up at the sky. “I could really use some help right now.”
At the sound of a vehicle coming down the road, I tossed my notebook back into the glove compartment. I threw open the door and jumped back down into the muddy water then watched as the black and red wrecker moved closer to the stream. After the engine was cut, the driver’s side door opened.
When a chunky high-heeled boot slid out, I slowly trailed my hand down my face. Another boot dangled out the open door before the driver jumped down, and I muttered, “Holy shit.” The stereotype of a potbellied, trucker hat-wearing guy named Ray was not what I saw in front of me. The owner of the sexy boots wore skin-tight blue jeans, a white tank top, and an open flannel shirt. One would adequately describe her body as bangin’, and if I focused any longer on the way her perky tits strained against her tank top, I was going to get a boner right here in the boonies.
I forced my gaze back to her face. Her long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her dark eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t help being further surprised by the somewhat amused glint burning in them.
“Looks like you got yourself into mess, city boy,” the woman said with a teasing lilt in her voice.
After huffing out a frustrated breath, I dipped my paintbrush into the container of bright yellow paint. Usually when I sat at the table in our formal dining room, I stared out at a sea of culinary delights. Today, however, I merely saw red Solo cups filled with vibrantly colored paints, Styrofoam balls, and a black poster board sitting on top of the plastic drape protecting the table. Basically, it was everything you could possibly need to construct a model of the solar system.
Normally, I didn’t enjoy spending my Sunday afternoons painting the planets. After a full week of managing my family’s collision business, I wanted nothing more than to drink a glass of wine while catching up on the Real Housewives I’d DVR-ed. But, as it tends to be with motherhood, my life wasn’t truly my own, and Sundays inevitably became project time.
“Remind me again when this is due?” I asked as I put the final yellow touches on the largest sized ball we’d deemed the sun.
My nine-year-old son, Lincoln, AKA Linc, glanced up at me sheepishly. “Um, Tuesday.”
I shot him my best ticked
off mom look. “And why have you only started working on it today?”
“I guess ’cause I forgot.”
“Please tell me we’re not going to have to go back to me really checking your agenda every night instead of me just signing it so you don’t get in trouble with your teacher?”
With a scowl, Linc replied, “No. I’ll do better, I promise.”
My older sister, Kennedy, shook her dark head of hair at me before turning to Linc. “Don’t let your mom give you grief. When we were growing up, she was notorious for waiting until the last minute to do her homework and projects. It used to drive Papa crazy.”
I stilled my paintbrush to glare at her. “Thank you so much for undermining my parenting.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome.”
As I sat the sun down to dry, I said, “You know, you really shouldn’t feel like you have to help. I’m sure you have a ton of other things you could be doing.”
“Nope, I’m good. Just waiting until it’s time to head to the shop to get started on tomorrow’s prep.”
Kennedy was co-owner of Harts and Flowers, a combination bakery and florist that used a cutesy play on our last name. The other half of the business was owned by our younger sister, Eleanor Rose—or Ellie, as we called her—who did the floral arrangements.
From our names, one might assume our parents had a thing for the presidents. The love of historical figures really falls to my dad. It had started when his parents gave him the moniker of Abraham Lincoln Hart. He was known as Abe for the better part of his life, and most people in town also called him Honest Abe for the way he ran our family’s collision business.
Our mother hadn’t really cared too much for the business of naming us, so she had deferred to my father. The truth was Mommie Dearest hadn’t really cared too much for anything regarding her three daughters. She’d blown town with a traveling musician when I was just four years old, leaving my father to raise us girls all on his own.