Feels Like Home

by Kelly Elliott

  I sighed. “Robert, if you weren’t my manager and my only friend, I would hang up on you.”

  He laughed. “I’m not your only friend. You have Lanny. Jen.”

  “The two women I pay to be in my life.”

  “You pay me.”

  “That’s different. If I stopped paying you, I’m pretty sure we’d still stay friends.” When he didn’t answer, I felt my mouth twitch with a smile as I asked, “We would stay friends, wouldn’t we?”

  “We would, Anson, and it has nothing to do with how much money you’ve made me, which has been a lot.”

  This time I laughed.

  “Did you call her?”

  “Ah, so this explains your wondering if my head is in it for tomorrow night thing.”

  “Right. Well?”

  “Yes, my head is in it, and yes, I just got off the phone with her. We may have a problem.”

  “Fuck, don’t say that to me. We’re so close to negotiating your contract. The last thing we need is trouble.”

  “It’s not bad press, Robert. If anything, it would most likely feed the interest.”

  He sighed, and I could tell he was sitting down to steel himself for whatever I was about to say. “Tell me.”

  “Bristol was at my grandmother’s when I called. She said a couple had just left. At first Bristol thought they were interested in the house. Turns out, they were reporters. They got her name and took her picture.”

  “That sucks for Bristol. She managed to stay out of the limelight all this time, just for something like that to happen. Do you think they’ve been watching the house? Or Bristol?”

  Anger boiled up. If I found out it was Mack, I’d punch him again.

  “I don’t know how they would find out about Bristol. My guess is they were watching the house.”

  Robert cleared his throat. “Do you want to get ahead of it?”

  “If you mean get ahead of it by saying something about Bristol, then no. I will never mention her unless she agrees to it or she says something first. Otherwise, it’s out of the question.”

  I could almost feel him nodding. “Okay. Then let’s just move on. You’ve got three shows left and then a week-long break. Then we’re heading to Europe to finish out the last few dates of the tour that you had to reschedule when you got the flu. I also got a call from Lindsey Ashton’s manager. They want to do another duet, but with a spin on it. The song was written by Lindsey’s new husband. They’re pitching it as a video, the two of you singing as Ryan is playing the guitar.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Why are they pitching another song?”

  “Yes, and why the show of Lindsey and her husband playing with me?”

  “You both won male and female vocalist of the year. You both had a number one single together, and besides, Lindsey is tired of the rumors that you two had a fling and that Ryan can’t stand you.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Ryan and I just wrote a damn song together, Robert.”

  “Yes, that hasn’t been recorded or released, or even talked about. Rachel—you remember her, she’s Lindsey’s manager—she wants to set up an interview with the three of you where you can casually mention the song writing and the new song you have that will hopefully be coming out on a new record. She was thinking Ryan could pull out his guitar and you could both sing a few lines.”

  I sliced my fingers through my hair as Zeus barked for me to throw the ball again. I absentmindedly picked it up and threw it.

  “You know I hate playing games, Robert.”

  “Yes, and I also know you want the rumors about you and Lindsey to stop.”

  He had me on that one. I wished I could just go away for a few months. Out of sight, out of mind, if only for a few weeks.

  “I need a vacation, Robert. Time away from everything. The public eye, the record company, prying eyes that are always on me. I’ve been going non-stop for six years. I’m tired.”

  “Okay, once this tour is over, we can arrange that. Where do you want to go?”

  “Somewhere where no one gives a shit who I am. And nobody wants anything from me. I want to walk into a restaurant and not have cell phones come out to take my picture.”

  “You’ve got enough money to buy your own island, Anson.”

  I closed my eyes. “I don’t want my own island. I want a sense of peace, Robert. I’m very blessed, I know that. I know this gig landed in my lap, and I have no right to complain. But I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally. I’ve lost a lot, and what I did lose, all the money in the world can’t buy it back.”

  “It or her?” he asked.

  I chose to ignore him. “I’m just letting you know, after the tour is up, I’m telling Lanny I’m out of pocket for a couple of months. Maybe I’ll stay in Europe for a month or two. People tend to leave you alone in Europe.”

  “As long as there’s a recording studio where you’re going.”

  My entire body slumped. “Right, because I didn’t just say I wanted a break.”

  He completely ignored me and went on. “I’ll meet you at the arena tomorrow afternoon. Does Lanny have everything for the meet-and-greet?”

  “Does she ever not?”

  He laughed. “Get a good night’s sleep, Anson. You’ll be able to take a break soon. Just think about it: you, a beach villa, a notebook and pen in your hand. The perfect storm. I feel good things are going to come in the way of words.”

  For the first time in my life, I had no desire to write a song. To sing a song. To even think about music. The only thing I could think about was Bristol. And the sadness in her voice.

  “See you tomorrow, Robert,” I said as I ended the call and stood. Zeus had worn himself out, and the only thing I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for days.

  “Come on, buddy. Let’s head inside and find some ice cream.”

  Zeus barked and ran ahead of me. Clearly, he was on board with our evening plans.

  Sittin’ on our rock

  The sun at our backs

  Starin’ at those old railroad tracks

  Hell, nothing was gonna hold us back

  It was you and me, baby

  A life full of dreams

  Now I’ve got nothin’ but regrets

  And an empty hole in my chest

  I stared at the words on the paper as I sat in my dressing room. The light knock on the door had me setting the notebook down and glancing up at Lanny.

  “You ready?”

  With a forced smile, I stood. “Did you tell the band about the change in the line-up for the encore?”

  “I did. Robert won’t be happy, you know. You always close with ‘Let It Burn,’ so why the change now?”

  “I’m gonna do another song with just my guitar.”

  Her brows rose. “Like when you first started?”

  I nodded.

  The first two years I toured, I closed out every concert, no matter how big or small, with me sitting on a stool, my guitar in my hand. I would sing a song—or part of a song—that I was in the midst of writing. The fans loved it. They felt like they were a part of a once-in-a-lifetime moment…and they really were.

  “What are you going to sing?”

  “A new one.”

  “I’ll let the band know.”

  Lanny turned and walked out of my dressing room, quietly closing the door behind her.

  I placed my black cowboy hat on my head, grabbed my guitar, and put it back into the case. It was the only guitar I used when I wrote songs, and the only one I used when we recorded. I hadn’t played it onstage ever—only because Bristol’s name was on the side of it. She had given it to me when I turned sixteen.

  My fingers ran over the engraving.

  To Anson.

  Use this to soar to the stars and beyond.

  Love forever,

  Bristol

  “Bri,” I whispered as I dropped my head and pushed away the pain in my heart.

  Two hours later, I walked back out onto the stage alon
e for my encore. A stool with a guitar stood in the middle of the stage. I sat and motioned for everyone to quiet down.

  There was a camera crew that was filming the concert for a documentary that the record company was doing, but they were down to just two guys. When they found out I was simply going to sit here and sing, Lanny stated it should be filmed more organically, and the producer of the documentary agreed.

  After I took a drink of water, I picked up the guitar and placed it around my neck, looking out over the sold-out crowd.

  “When I first started out, I used to close out my shows with just me and the guitar. I miss those simpler days and thought we would do that tonight.”

  The crowd went wild. I glanced down and saw some girl holding up a sign that said, “I burn for you, Anson!”

  I winked at her, and for a moment, I thought she might faint. The fans would eat this moment up. But that’s not why I had changed up the playlist.

  “This is a little song I wrote about a girl.” Then I laughed and shook my head. “What is it about that one girl we let get away, guys?”

  I heard a few guys whistle and call out.

  “Let’s take a walk down memory lane, y’all.”

  The first notes from the guitar started, and a hush fell on the arena. Flashlights from camera phones came on as I played the intro to the song. Tens of thousands of people filled this place, and I swear you could have heard a pin drop in the moment when I stopped strumming, right before I sang.

  “Sitting on my back porch, tryin’ to clear my head

  But the thoughts of you stay with me like a story left unread

  You own every piece of my soul

  Though I’ve tried to move on

  Girl, I can’t let you go

  Remember that time I said I love you

  You told me I was your everything

  I never felt more complete than when I was wrapped up in your arms

  Walking down memory lane

  It’s painful and it hurts

  But the thought of never having had you, darlin’, is worse

  I’d rather hurt a thousand years than to have never known your touch

  You’re seared into my heart forever

  This I know as much

  Walking down memory lane

  The first time I had you, I never wanted anyone else

  You were meant to be my forever

  With that smile and your touch

  But what I wanted never came to be, so that’s why I keep

  Walking down memory lane

  It’s painful and it hurts

  But the thought of never having had you, darlin’… hell, that’s so much worse…”

  My voice trailed off, and I smiled and shook my head as my emotions overcame me. The crowd went wild.

  I skipped the rest of the chorus and went to the bridge.

  “The feel of your lips was a balm to my soul

  It soothed the storm that brewed

  The smell of your skin still lingers on, so I keep…

  Walking…walking down memory lane

  Shit, it’s painful and it hurts

  The thought of never having had you, darlin’, is worse

  I’d rather hurt a thousand years than to have never known your touch

  You’re seared into my heart forever

  This I know as much

  Walking down memory lane

  I’ll never leave…memory lane”

  I took the guitar off, placed it on the stand, and then lifted my hand and leaned over the mic.

  “Thanks, y’all. Have a good night.”

  The moment I set foot offstage, Robert was in my face.

  “What in the hell was that?”

  “That was called singing from the heart, Robert. Something I used to do.”

  He followed me as I made my way past all the stagehands. They didn’t have to break down the set tonight since I had two more shows here. But they did cover all the instruments and clean off the stage to get ready for sound check tomorrow.

  “You do sing from the heart, Anson. Every fucking time you get on that stage.”

  Lanny walked next to me, not uttering a word.

  “I rather liked it,” Bob McAllen said as he walked along with us. Bob worked for the record company. “I liked how you went back to your roots. I liked that I heard the hurt in your voice. I also liked that you didn’t give them the whole song.”

  That made me smile and roll my eyes. Leave it the record executive to think along those lines.

  I got to my dressing room and paused. “I’m closing out the rest of the tour with that song, exactly how I sang it.”

  Robert and Bob exchanged a look.

  “Can you sing it with that same emotion again?” Bob asked.

  With a hard stare, I replied, “Considering I wrote the fucking thing, I think I can.” Plus, all I had to do was think of Bristol the moment I started to strum that guitar.

  I walked into the room, Lanny right behind me. I turned and looked at Robert and Bob and smiled—then shut the door in their faces.

  Lanny stared at me, a confused look on her face.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.

  She slowly shook her head. “I don’t see how she hasn’t forgiven you with songs like that. Does she even listen to your music? To the words?”

  I sat down on the sofa. “No.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My grandmother and Mother have told me she doesn’t.”

  “Hmm.”

  I gave her a hard stare. “What does that mean?”

  With a half-hearted shrug, she frowned a bit. “I’m trying to figure out a way to get her to listen. That girl needs to know how much you’re still in love with her, Anson, since you won’t tell her yourself.”

  “Nah, she’s moved on, Lanny.”

  “Has she?”

  Lanny pulled out her phone and looked through something. When she turned, I saw an Instagram post Bristol had done late last night.

  It was a picture of a book, a cup of tea sitting on it, and a vase of flowers next to it.

  “Look at the book title, Anson.”

  Leaning in, I read it. Learning How to Heal a Broken Heart.

  Lanny went on. “The caption says…” she turned the phone to read it. “I’m passing this book down to a friend who needs it. It didn’t do shit for me, here’s hoping it helps her.”

  My eyes looked up to see Lanny had one perfectly arched brow nearly hitting her damn hairline.

  “I wonder who the friend is?” I asked.

  Lanny sighed. “Ugh, men. I swear to God. I can’t with you. I just can’t.”

  Laughing, I pulled her to me and hugged her. “Maybe what you need is a raise?”

  “Ha. When you go on that little vacation of yours, I’m going on one as well. Across the world from wherever you are, and I won’t have my cell phone or laptop with me. I will, however, have my Kindle.”

  It was my turn to raise my brows. “Are you a self-help kind of reader?”

  She huffed. “Romance, Anson. I’m a lover of a really good HEA. Where men are perfect and romantic and say all the right things.”

  “And on that cue, I’m leaving.”

  I grabbed my guitar case, shoved my phone into my back pocket, and made my way out of the dressing room and down the long hall that would lead to the limo that waited to take me home.

  As I stepped out of the building and glanced over to the crowd, I immediately saw him.

  Mack Miller stood off to the side, talking to Robert. If I had been smart, I would have kept walking straight to the limo. But then the fucker looked at me and smirked. He fucking smirked. I stopped dead in my tracks. There was a young girl standing next to him. She was snapping pictures of me.

  The conversation yesterday with Bristol came back to me.

  It was a younger couple. I thought they were there to ask Ida about the house. I’m not always on guard for reporters you know, and they didn’t fit the
part at all.

  I stared at Mack and the girl. If hadn’t known any better, I would have thought they were like any other couple. Except, she had a camera in her hand.

  She took a picture of us.

  “Keep going to the limo, Anson,” Lanny warned. My eyes darted to Robert. He was giving me that look that said I needed to climb into the car and keep going. I turned away from Mack and started for the limo.

  “I met Bristol yesterday at your dear old grandmother’s place. Pretty girl, I’m surprised she’s still single.” That motherfucker actually called out those words to me, so loud I could hear them over the noise of the crowd.

  Something inside me snapped, and I dropped the guitar case and made my way over to Mack.

  “Anson, no!” Lanny yelled.

  Before Robert could stop me, I walked up to Mack, drew my fist back and hit him. He stumbled back as the young girl and Lanny both screamed.

  When Mack’s ass hit the ground, I smiled. Then I grabbed the girl’s camera and smashed it to the ground.

  She stood there, stunned, as Mack scrambled to his feet. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

  “And did you know I had a restraining order filed on you for harassing my seventy-year-old grandmother and grandfather? You broke it yesterday.”

  Robert and Lanny both said, “What?”

  Mack rubbed his jaw. “I’m going to sue you for this.”

  I pointed to him. “You want to play, motherfucker? I’ll play. You better check with that lawyer of yours since you went on Ida’s private property.”

  “Fuck you, Meyer,” Mack spat out.

  When I swung at him again, I missed. Arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me back.

  “I want him arrested for battery!” Mack shouted. “Arrest him now! You saw him hit me!”

  The police officer who always walked a few feet behind me as I left the arena looked at me.

  I smiled, turned, and walked to his patrol car. When I glanced back over my shoulder, Robert stood there, stunned. Lanny ran up behind me.

  “Anson.”

  “Call Paul. Tell him to meet me at the police station.”

  She nodded, pulled out her phone, and hit a button to call my personal lawyer. “Right. Okay.”

  I took one more glance over at Robert and winced.