A Rocker and a Hard Place
By: Hunter J. Keane
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE
Kindle Edition
Copyright©2014 by Hunter J. Keane
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To my family.
CHAPTER ONE
Tyler
You’re not chasing your dreams, you’re running from reality.
Those were the last words my father ever spoke to me. A day later, he was dead. Three months later, I packed all of my possessions into my POS truck and drove to Nashville. A year later, I had a record deal, a top selling single, and a second home in Malibu.
Last week, exactly thirteen years after I moved away from Salvation, Indiana, my perfect world came crashing down.
I never intended to return to my hometown. There was nothing in Salvation for me to return to, no one that I wanted to see. With my father gone, I had no family left. During my rise to fame, I’d blown off all of my friends. And six months after moving away, I’d so thoroughly destroyed the heart of my childhood-sweetheart that I was certain if we ever met again, one look from her would strike me dead.
Salvation was so far in my past that I rarely even thought about it. That’s why it was strange when I had a dream about that place last Friday. I had gone to sleep early; our tour had just come to an end and it would be at least a week before I recovered from the exhaustion. Miranda was snoring softly next to me. She was one of my backup singers, and we had been seeing each other for a few weeks. Actually, it would be more accurate to say we had been shacking up occasionally since about the last month of the tour.
Miranda was pretty, no denying that. But she was also a total bitch. I had no idea why I had gotten myself involved with such a horrible person, but that was pretty much my M.O. these days. If I wasn’t being arrested for punching photographers or getting wasted at clubs, I was sleeping with terrible women.
That night was the first night in a long time that I went to bed sober.
Maybe that was why I dreamed about Salvation, and the girl whose heart I had broken so many years ago. Or maybe it was because just before Miranda had drifted off to sleep, she’d asked about the scar under my chin.
Suddenly, I was twelve again, and so was she. We’d grown up together, in all the same classes since we were five. Her name was Emma, and her hair was so blond it was nearly white. She had big green eyes, the same shade as the outfield grass on a baseball field. In seven years, we had never had a single conversation.
Sure, Emma said hi to me when we passed in the halls. She always left a valentine on my desk every year. She even volunteered to be my partner when the teacher assigned us group projects, something none of the other students dared to do. But I was painfully shy back then and could barely force out stuttered words. Having an actual conversation was out of the question.
But Emma never seemed to mind. She was kind, and mature beyond her young years. At some point that year, I’d developed an intense crush on Emma. A crush I was certain would never be reciprocated, but that didn’t make me like her any less.
That was why I jumped in when I saw two boys cornering her on the playground after school. They were the class bullies, and their preferred victim type was anyone that was alone. One of them was pulling at her ponytail, and the other was trying to lift her skirt with a long stick.
As I watched them, I felt a rage burning in my chest. Without any regard for my own safety, I rushed forward. Using my book bag, I hit the first one squarely in the chest. He groaned loudly while I swung at the second boy and missed.
Still a scrawny, prepubescent boy, I was badly disadvantaged. They took turns pummeling me, each blow sending sharp pain through my ribs. Emma launched herself at one of the boys, her attempt to help as futile as my own. They stopped only when I was shoved to the ground, my chin connecting solidly with concrete and knocking me out cold.
When I came to, Emma’s beautiful face hovered over mine, blurry but perfect.
She helped me sit up and thanked me for coming to her rescue. She fished a crumpled napkin from her bag and pressed it to my bloody chin. When my vision cleared, she walked me home. After thanking me again, she kissed me on the cheek and said that I was her hero. I watched her skip off down the street, hypnotized by her energy and beauty.
Years later, I would still be just as mesmerized by Emma as that little boy had been on that front porch, the scene of that very first kiss.
Twelve hours after that dream, I was watching news footage of that very porch, leveled to the ground in a massive storm.
It destroyed 100 homes in Salvation, and damaged many others. Thankfully, no one was killed, but it was going to take a lot of time and effort to rebuild. And money.
Salvation was a poor town. People didn’t have savings accounts, 401ks, or stock investments. Most people lived paycheck to paycheck, and they worked hard for their money. Blue collar to the core, the people of Salvation started rebuilding just hours after the storm passed.
“I don’t understand why you have to go,” Miranda whined as she watched me pack a few days later. “Why can’t you just send them money?”
I hated the nasally pitch off her voice. I also hated that she was asking the same question that had been playing in my head on repeat. I had no idea why I felt compelled to return home.
“I need to check on the house,” I explained.
After my father passed, I hadn’t had the heart to sell the house. He’d had life insurance, and it was enough to pay off the mortgage. I paid someone to check in on it every couple of months and keep the dust from piling up, but it was still filled with everything we had owned while I was growing up.
“If the storm damaged the roof, I need to get it fixed before it rains again.”
It had taken some work, but I’d managed to clear my schedule for the next few days. Besides checking on the house, I felt like I owed it to Salvation to help out. As much as I had hated growing up there, it was because of that hard place that I’d been so dedicated to finding an easier life. In many ways, you could say Salvation made me the man that I became.
I had to keep telling myself that as I drove into town. I’d flown from L.A. to Nashville first. In Nashville, I picked up my car and drove up to Indiana. When I’d left Salvation, I was in a twenty-year-old car that had a loud muffler and no air conditioning. I rode back into town in a brand new BMW. More than a few locals stopped to stare.
I drove past the old house first, pleased to see that it was intact minus the front porch. Not ready to face the ghosts inside, I drove toward the town center. Volunteers were helping dig through rubble and if I was going to join them, I need
ed some supplies. The town only had one hardware store, and I knew the owner quite well
Wellington Hardware was a staple in the community. Bob Wellington had opened the business fifty years ago and his son, James, took it over when I was a boy. I’d even stocked shelves in the store during high school.
I parked my car by the curb and headed toward the familiar storefront.
“Excuse me.”
A young boy, oddly familiar looking, stepped in front of my path. I estimated him to be nine or ten. He was wearing a dirty ball cap and held a carton of candy bars.
“What’s up, kid?”
“Would you like to buy a candy bar? The proceeds will be used to buy my baseball team new uniforms.” The boy couldn’t make eye contact and his hands were shaking. I remembered what I had been like at that age- shy and awkward- and I immediately sympathized.
“Here.” I handed him three twenty dollar bills. “Keep the candy.”
His face lit up, wide green eyes and a brilliant smile. “Thank you, sir. This is awesome.”
“No problem.”
The boy ran off to guilt a group of old ladies into supporting his cause and I entered the store. I was surprised by how much it had changed.
The walls were freshly painted and the shelves were neatly stocked. I should say, some of the shelves were, but many of them were bare. Helpful signs at the front of the aisles gave customers directions, and the store no longer only sold hardware items. The product offering had been extended to auto parts, farm supplies, and a myriad of other options.
I approached the young woman at the lone register and asked, “Could you tell me, do you still have any supplies for the storm clean-up?”
Tired eyes looked up slowly, widening when they focused on my face. “Holy. Crap.”
It used to please me when I was recognized by a stranger in public. Somehow, it had felt like validation that I was someone that mattered. In the last few years, I dreaded this type of situation. Anonymity was not an option for me anymore.
“Gloves. Do you have gloves?” If I kept the conversation short, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“You’re Tyler Cole,” the girl said. Her name tag told me that her name was Maggie.
“I am. Do you have any gloves in stock, Maggie?”
She blinked several times and stammered, “The shelves are empty.”
I nodded. “I saw. Do you have any in the back maybe?”
“Um.” More blinking. “Let me ask.”
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to happen next, but I flinched when she yelled, “Emma! A customer needs help.”
Emma.
Emma Wellington.
Beautiful Emma.
This was her father’s store. I had suspected that I might see him, but not even once had it crossed my mind that Emma might be here. She’d moved away at eighteen for college. She had plans to be a lawyer. We had spent hours talking about our life together away from Salvation. She shouldn’t be here.
But then I saw her rounding a stack of light bulbs and everything else faded away.
Emma. My Emma.
I ran from the store.
CHAPTER TWO
Emma
The day started with a feeling of dread. I couldn’t really explain it, but I’d had a knot in my stomach all morning. Even settling into a normal work day hadn’t calmed my nerves. It was finance day at the shop, which meant balancing the books and writing out paychecks.
Maggie was at the front register, chatting on the phone during lulls in customers. If I was a stricter boss, I’d ask her to save her personal calls for after work, but I didn’t really mind. She was a good girl- just a year out of high school and working to help support her younger siblings. Her casual chatter with friends was a welcome distraction from my uneasy feeling.
Just as I was closing the ledger for the month, Maggie called out to me. A customer needed help.
It wasn’t a big store, but my office was at the very back and it took a while for me to round the aisle at the front of the store. Maggie stood at the register, alone, the door swinging shut.
“Where’s the customer?” I looked around, but no one was there.
“He left.” She looked at the door in confusion. “He was looking for gloves.”
“Gloves?” It wasn’t that surprising. We had sold a lot of work gloves since the storm came through. “Who was it?”
Maggie shrugged, her expression bewildered. “Not a local.”
“Really?” We rarely had anyone come through the store that didn’t live within a fifty mile radius.
“It was Tyler Cole,” she said, her voice breathy and soft.
My heart skipped.
“Tyler Cole?” That name hadn’t left my mouth in ten years.
“You probably don’t know who he is,” Maggie said, “but he’s a famous musician. And he’s totally hot. Like, even better looking in person than he is on television.”
“I know who he is, Maggie.” Boy did I know who Tyler Cole was. “You’re wrong about him though.”
Her head tilted questioningly.
“Tyler is definitely a local. He’s just been gone for a while.”
Thirteen years to be exact.
“I need to go out. Can you handle the store by yourself until Charles gets in?”
She nodded, already dialing her cell phone to tell her friends about her close encounter with Tyler. I was hoping to do everything possible to avoid my own close encounter with him.
“T.J.!” I yelled across the street to where he was chatting with our mailman. “Time to go.”
He waved to Harry and quickly looked both ways before crossing the street. “I thought you needed to work,” he said.
I smoothed down the messy waves of his hair. “I finished early. Want to get some ice cream?”
“Duh, Mom.” He rolled his eyes like I was the dumbest person he had ever met.
“How’d you do with the fundraising?” I eyed his money jar which looked surprisingly full. “That isn’t all from the quilting club ladies, is it?”
“Some guy gave me a bunch of twenties!” T.J. said, proudly displaying his haul for the day.
The knot in my stomach tightened and grew. My legs felt numb, but I forced them to walk toward Hanson’s Dairy. “What kind of ice cream are you thinking today?”
“Chocolate!”
T.J. got a waffle cone, piled high with chocolate ice cream and topped with sprinkles. I went with a root beer float. We settled into one of the diner-style booths and he filled me in on the latest book he was reading.
My son was a nerd, in the best sense of the word. He loved books. But he also loved to play baseball and dig in the mud, like other boys his age. I was proud that he hadn’t given up his love of reading in recent years despite the occasional teasing from his friends.
“I’m almost done with it though, so can we go to the library tomorrow?” He took a big lick of ice cream.
“I don’t think they have reopened yet,” I said, distracted by a text vibrating my phone. Connor. I chose to ignore it. “Maybe we can drive over to Morgan.”
“That would be sweet.”
I glanced nervously out the window. I didn’t have an exit strategy if Tyler should appear, but at least I would be able to see him coming.
“You know what would be really sweet?” I kicked T.J.’s leg under the table.
“What?”
“If you cleaned your room when we got home.” I loved my son. He was smart, kind, funny, and I loved him more than anything in the world. But he was also a messy, ten-year-old boy.
I was rewarded with another eye roll.
“Fine.”
“You are definitely my favorite child.”
T.J. giggled. “I’m your only child, Mom.”
“That’s only because I gave away the bad ones that refused to keep their rooms clean.”
“Funny.” T.J. jumped to his feet. “Can we go see if they need help with the cleanup?”
He was ob
sessed with the storm damage. When the storm had come through town, we’d been home, huddled in the basement. By all accounts, we had been lucky. Aside from a few missing shingles and a broken gutter, we hadn’t suffered any damage. Others had not been so lucky.
“We’ve helped every day this week,” I reminded him. “Wouldn’t you rather go home and read?”
“People need our help, Mom.”
Nothing like having your child make you feel like a bad person.
“Okay, fine. But we can’t stay long. I have a lot to do at home.”
“You need to get a life,” T.J. quipped.
I sighed dramatically. “You are my life.”
“You love me.” He grinned, looking eerily identical to his father.
“I do. You’re too charming not to love.” I stood and ruffled his hair. “Let’s go.”
Two hours later, I was sweaty, dirty, and tired. I had filled ten bags with trash and debris littering streets and yards. T.J. had been enlisted to chase down tools and lumber for the men repairing the court house.
“Lookin’ good, Emma.” Freddy Parks sent me a sly wink. Just a couple of years older than me, he had been flirting with me for years. It didn’t seem to matter to him that I was in a relationship with his cousin, Connor.
“Sweat and grime is the latest trend,” I said, wiping my brow with the back of my hand.
“Mom!” T.J. came flying across the parking lot. “Billy said I can ride in the forklift with him to pick up the supplies down the street. Can I go?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned, picturing all of the disasters that could possibly happen.
“Come on. You never let me do anything fun.” T.J. could whine with the best of them.
I waivered. “You have to stay seated the entire time.”
“Yes!” He pumped his fist. “Oh hey, there’s that guy.”
“What guy?” I whirled, searching the crowd.
“The one that gave me the twenties earlier.” Billy yelled to T.J. that he was ready to go. “Gotta go, Mom. I promise I’ll be safe.”
He was off in a flash and I was still trying to find the mystery man. When I at last found him, perched precariously on a ladder leaning against the police station, my heart started to race.
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