Heartstrings (A Rock Star Romance Novel)

by Hadley Danes

  “It was very sweet of you to stop by,” I say rather primly.

  “You’ve been very sweet, putting up with my bullshit,” he says, leaning against my car. “I know I can be a lot to handle sometimes, but know that I wouldn’t dish it out if I didn’t think you could take it.”

  “I’m sure I can handle you just fine,” I say, before I can stop myself. “As long as you can take it as well as you give it.”

  “You have no idea how well I can give it,” he smiles. We definitely aren’t talking about witty repartee anymore, that’s for sure. I play with my keys, averting my eyes from his. He doesn’t look like he has any intention of leaving anytime soon. What am I supposed to do now?

  “Do you...want to come inside?” I ask, for lack of any other idea. “I don’t have any whiskey, I’m afraid, but I think there’s some leftover pizza and a couple of beers.”

  “I have a better idea,” he says, “Let’s go for a little trip?”

  “A trip?” I repeat, “What kind of trip?”

  “I’m playing a little show in Jersey, back at one of the venues we used to play when we were nobodies. Do you want to come with me?”

  “To your rock concert...in the morning?” I ask.

  “It’s not really a concert,” he says. “You’ll see when we get there.”

  “I don’t think I’m wearing the right uniform,” I say, looking down at my scrubs.

  “Go change,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

  “Why do you want me to come?” I ask, bemused.

  “Because I like you, Julia. You make me laugh,” he says with a shrug, “And you need to loosen the hell up. I want to show you that there’s more to life than work and more work. You should have a little fun every once in a while. This will be my repayment to you for being such a good nurse.”

  “I have fun,” I say, pouting. “Last week, I organized my garage...”

  “That is not fun.” He cuts me off abruptly. “That is...I don’t know what,” Slade says. “Go put on something a Jersey girl would wear and get your ass back out here.”

  “I don’t own anything a Jersey girl would wear,” I sniff, baiting him.

  “Philly girls and Jersey girls have at least one thing in common,” he says, “They can’t say no to me. Now go change.”

  I stick out my tongue and hurry past him into the house. Every cell in my body is suddenly wide awake, the exhaustion of having just finished a twelve hour night shift is completely gone. I vault over Gustav, who’s waiting patiently on the stairs, and head for my bedroom. As I rifle through my closet, the closeness of Slade to the place where I sleep starts to excite me. Should I demand that he could inside? Give him the opportunity to make a move, if he wants to? I peer through my bedroom window and consider how easy it would be...But no. I want to see where the evening goes if I let him drive a little longer.

  The best I can do is a pair of insanely frayed jean shorts and a loose white tank top that’s just transparent enough to show a little of my baby blue bra. My hair is beyond saving, so I pile it in a messy bun on the top of my head and swipe on some makeup. I look like I belong at one of those music festivals where you’re stuck in a tent and can’t shower for three days. But with this crowd, that might not be too much of a problem, I guess.

  Gustav is waiting for me at the door, looking confused. I crack open a can for him and give him a quick scratch behind the ears. He seems offended that I’m cutting into his cuddle time. But for once, I have to chance to leave my everyday life as a cat lady behind and go hang out with a rock star. Gustav will just have to understand.

  I walk back out to meet Slade, doing a little twirl so he can see what I’ve put together. He smiles appreciatively. “Safe,” he says, “But on point.”

  “A little safety never hurt anyone,” I tell him, planting my hands on my hips.

  “But too much can kill you,” he says, “Spiritually, anyway.”

  “What, do you moonlight as a philosopher or something?” I ask.

  “All musicians do,” he says, “All the good ones, anyway. Now let’s go.”

  He leads me across the street to a sleek black sports car. It’s far more understated than I would have guessed, given his level of fame. But I’m starting to think that there’s a lot about Slade that I simply don’t understand yet. There are sure to be plenty more surprises waiting for me down the line. I catch myself thinking about the possibility of Slade and I having a future, but I very carefully remind myself that this is probably a one-night thing. He’s probably just amused by me, wants to keep me around as a novelty for a night. Come tomorrow, I’ll be spending my day off on my own once more. But right now, I’m going to try my best to just live in the moment, and not worry so much about what’s going to happen when I wake up in the morning. I try to channel my inner Penny, who never seems to be the least concerned about the implications of anything. But there’s only so much progress I can make in one day.

  I slide into the car as Slade starts the engine. We peel away from my house and head for the highway. I watch as my humble little starter home fades away in the distance. It seemed so little when Slade stood before it. I hope that my life doesn’t seem small to him, or unimportant.

  “Will your entourage be annoyed that you’re bringing a nobody along for the show?” I ask.

  “You’re not a nobody,” Slade says, a scowl pulling at the ends of his lips. “And you don’t have to put yourself down for my benefit. What you do with your life actually matters, Julia. And if any asshole roadie or whatever tries to tell you that what we do is better or something, you have my permission to punch him in the eye. The world could do without rock stars, but it couldn’t do without people like you.”

  “Say it again, stud,” I smile.

  “I mean it,” he says, “People build musicians and bands up into gods or something, but we’re just people who get to do something ridiculous for a living.”

  “I promise not to let anyone talk down to me,” I tell him, “But you don’t have to remind me to do that. I don’t take well to people who are too self important for their own good.”

  “I know you don’t,” he said, “You’ve already knocked me down more pegs than I can count.”

  “You deserved it every time,” I told him.

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  We lapsed into silence as Slade pulled onto the highway. His car sailed over the bridge into New Jersey, his home state. Even though we weren’t speaking for the moment, the silence that hung between us was wasn’t uncomfortable. As I turned to look out the window, I felt the fingers of his free hand close around mine on the arm rest between us. I couldn’t breathe right while he was touching me. I tried to keep myself calm, taking deep breaths and reminding myself the best I could that this was OK, that it was actually happening, that it wasn’t all just a dream. I relished his firm grip, the warmth of his hand in mine, and smiled out into the quickly lightening sky beyond the window.

  In no time at all, we were coasting through South Jersey. We seemed to be on a never ending strip of car dealerships, gentlemen’s clubs, and oddly enough, exotic bird stores.

  “Your state is weird,” I mutter, leaning towards him cozily.

  “It’s about to get weirder,” he says, flipping on his turn signal. We swing off the main road, into the parking lot of a broken down pool hall. The place is absolutely deserted, except for us. Still, Slade turns off the engine and unfolds himself out of the car. I step onto the broken asphalt beside him and cock my head up at the pool hall. It’s practically falling apart before my very eyes.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask, looking around for a clue of some kind.

  “This is where it all began,” he says happily. A dreamy look has come over his eyes, which are practically glowing in the morning sunlight. “This is where Flagrant Disregard played its first show, back in the day.”

  “Here?” I ask incredulously. It’s a far cry from the kinds of places I would expect to find Slade. He belonged in arena
s and stadiums, not dumps like this. “Well...What are we doing here, though?” I ask, confused.

  “I thought it would be nice to stop for a visit,” Slade says, popping open the trunk of his car. He pulls out a gorgeous acoustic guitar and starts for the pool hall. “Are you coming?”

  “Uh...Sure,” I say, scrambling after him. Hopefully the roof won’t decide to fall down on my head while we’re inside, though I don’t want to jinx it.

  Slade pushes open the door of the hall with his strong shoulder and steps inside. I follow, blinking in the dusty darkness. Though day has finally come around outside, it might as well be midnight in here. We pick our way over debris and broken furniture, squinting in the darkness. Slade finds a light switch and illuminates a single Edison bulb. The whole place glows with a spectral kind of light. It feels like we’re about to begin a séance, or something.

  “Right over there,” Slade says, pointing toward the corner of the building, “That’s where they used to have the stage set up. It was just a flimsy platform. It’s amazing that it held at all. The four of us were so nervous...There were only about ten punks in the crowd, but that was still the biggest audience we’d ever played for. I never sang in front of anyone but my band mates and my little sisters. It was the most terrified I’d ever been.”

  “I’m assuming it went well?” I smile.

  “It was amazing,” he says, smiling at the memory, “People actually put down their beers and listened to us. We had so much anger pent up back then, so much rage and sadness. It’s powerful to feel that all at once, especially coming from people as young as us. Before that night, we were all just a bunch of half-orphans and losers. But after...We were a band. We had each other, and we had something to give to people, something to prove. The band saved my life.”

  “It’s a good thing we came back then,” I say, touched by his sudden moment of nostalgia.

  “I thought I’d play a little something, cliché I know,” he says, slinging the guitar over his neck and sitting down on a rickety chair. “I hope you don’t think that’s indulgent and weird.”

  “Not at all,” I say, perching on a busted pool table beside him. “I’ve heard your music, a little, but I’d love to really listen to you play.”

  He gives me a quick smile in the darkness and then closes his eyes. His hands begin to move, traveling up and down the instrument. His fingers begin to pick out a sad, sweet melody. It’s not at all what I expected to hear coming from someone so strong, so fierce and intimidating. Every note falls perfectly, and the song builds on itself, complicates itself, until I’m utterly engrossed. I can feel the sorrow that went into this piece, and knowing that it’s Slade’s pain echoing through the chords, I want to lie down and weep. The thought of him in pain is unbearable to me. I want to heal him, even more—I want to make it so that he’s never had to know pain.

  The song ends on a beautifully melancholy note, and he dives into another. There’s an anger pulsing beneath it. The careful notes are sharp as daggers as he sends them spinning out into the room. I find myself holding my breath as the songs intensifies, and Slade begins to sing over the chords. His voice is as rich and sweet as black coffee and dark chocolate. A sweep of goose bumps flies over my skin as his deep growl echoes around the space. There’s so much power in that voice, so much longing and determination and strength.

  I’m gripping the side of the pool table so hard that my knuckles are white. He soars through the end of his second song and looks up at me. “That’s not really my usual stuff,” he says with a grin.

  “I didn’t think so,” I say, “But it was beautiful, Slade.”

  “Why thank you,” he says, “It’s some stuff I’ve been working on by myself.”

  “Solo stuff?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Slade says.

  “Are you trying to get a solo thing going too?” I ask, jumping down from the table.

  “Never,” he says, suddenly fierce, “Ever since we started, people have been trying to pull me away from the band. They love to talk about how much money I’ll be able to make with a solo album, a tour, whatever. They don’t realize that it’s never been about the money. Well, it was at first. I needed to make a living to support my family. But past that, I could care less.”

  “I didn’t mean to suggest that you would ditch them,” I say.

  “I know,” he says, “It’s just a touchy subject. I could never leave those guys. They’re a second family to me. They’re the only reason I managed to make anything out of myself.”

  “You’re not one to let people down, are you?” I ask.

  “Not at all,” he says, meeting my gaze, “Not when someone’s important to me.”

  He takes a step toward me, guitar in hand. I stand still, wanting nothing more than to throw myself into his arms. Is that why he brought me here? To fling me down on one of these old pool tables and have his way with me? I image him pressing me down onto the green felt, the feel of his thick, perfect body on top of mine. He stands before me, a look of serious intent, of tamped down desire is burning in his eyes. I open my mouth to speak, to say what I’m thinking...and to my utter horror, I let out a gigantic yawn. Slade bursts out laughing, and I blush down to my toes.

  “I’m so sorry!” I say, covering my mouth with my hands.

  “It’s OK,” he laughs, “You must be absolutely exhausted.”

  “No, I’m fine!” I say, letting out another huge yawn. “Now that I’m thinking about not yawning, I can’t stop! I promise I’m not disinterested or anything.”

  “You just worked an entire shift, saving people’s lives,” he says, “Trust me. I’m not offended. We should get you some coffee, I think. Maybe some breakfast? What do you think?”

  “Taking me out to breakfast already?” I say, “I think you’ve got the order confused, here.”

  “Come on,” he says, ignoring my jibe, “I know the best diner in the entire world, and it’s right around here.”

  I let him lead me out of the dilapidated pool hall. As we step out into the bright sunlight, the place doesn’t seem like such a wreck after all. I try to imagine what Slade must have looked like, hauling an amp across the parking lot and into the space. He’d been so young at the start, I knew. I wish I could have known him then, comforted him when things were at their worst. I’m glad he had his band mates there at least. As we got into the car, the pool hall looked more like a shrine than a dump. I guess jumping to conclusions about anything, or anyone was a pretty bad idea. One look at Slade and I was sure—there was no use trying to judge a person without getting to know them first.

  The diner was extremely close by—across the highway, to be exact. It was a rundown red and chrome kind of place, with neon lettering and everything. I smiled as we made our way to the front door. This was the quintessential Jersey diner, right here. We stepped into the restaurant and found ourselves face to face with a wall full of Slades. I did a double take and saw that the entire space was covered in newspaper and magazine clippings of my rock star escort. Some of the articles were many years old, from local newspapers, and others were brand new.

  “You’re something of a regular here, huh?” I ask.

  “You could say that,” he says, leading me to the closest booth.

  A wide set woman with kind eyes comes our way, her pile of gray hair bobs as she moves. As she stops in front of our booth, her mouth falls open. In one swift movement, she’s gathered Slade up into her arms. She gives him the tightest squeeze I’ve ever seen and starts to talk a mile a minute into his ear.

  “You’re back! I’m so glad you’re back, Slade, it’s been far too long. I heard you’d be in town soon, and I so hoped that you would stop by and visit. Are you getting enough to eat out there? You don’t have a scrap of fat on you in any of the pictures I’ve seen in the magazines. How are the others? Has Joe gotten any better with his temper? I always said, that boy was going to end up in prison or on the covers of magazines, and lo and behold!”

&nb
sp; “Maggie,” Slade interjects, forcing the woman to pause. “This is Julia.”

  The waitress looks me over, scrutinizing my appearance. “Hello Julia,” she says politely, “Are you one of Slade’s...fans?”

  “I was Slade’s nurse for a couple of days,” I tell her.

  “Oh!” the waitress exclaims happily, “Good! I thought you might be some dirty groupie, or something.”

  “Not quite,” I grin.

  “What were you in the hospital for?” Maggie says, concerned.

  “Just took a nasty spill at one of my concerts,” Slade says, “I’m fine, Maggie. Julia took good care of me.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Maggie smiles, “This one needs a little looking after. He’d be the last one to ever admit it, of course, proud young man that he is. Why don’t I get you two some grub?”

  “The usual would be great,” Slade says, sitting back down, “And a pot of coffee for Julia.”

  Maggie bustles off toward the kitchen, and I shake my head in wonder. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” Slade says, leaning toward me on his elbows.

  “You’re a rock star,” I say, “You’re supposed to be a womanizing, arrogant asshole with no regard for anyone but yourself. But here you are, revisiting childhood haunts and charming old ladies...”

  “What can I say?” he asks, “I’m an enigma.”

  “So this is the real Slade Hale?” I ask, “Not the jerk in my hospital bed who wouldn’t give me a break, not the heartbreaker the tabloids love to talk about?”