Notes of the Heart: Book 2 of the Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series

by Charli B. Rose

  He looked at his bandmates, and they all exchanged smiles at the memory. “You see, there was a special person who was there from the beginning. She was there the very first time I picked up a guitar.”

  My heart lifted as he shared.

  “She made it her mission as we were learning how to play, to pick random songs for us to learn. Some of them fit our image, like this one.” He launched into “Sweet Child o’ Mine”. After a verse and a chorus, he said, “But sometimes she gave us these obscure songs to learn.”

  ♪ Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns ‘n Roses

  The guys all chuckled at his comment, and I grinned like a maniac.

  “This is one song I never really even understood, but I get the meaning behind this old country song now. Because I try to think about everything but the one thing that’s always on my mind.” The band started to play “I Try to Think About Elvis”, but with a rougher edge to it than the original upbeat country hit.

  ♪ I Try to Think About Elvis by Patty Loveless

  Tears filled my eyes as I recalled all the random songs I threw at him over the years. He never failed to learn the challenge song. I was so proud of the musician he’d become. Then he sang a new song about taking things for granted. I could identify with that myself.

  Then they sang an upbeat song which got the crowd on their feet. I danced along with everyone, unable to stop myself. The bass dropped into one of the songs they always saved for near the end—“Love Rocked”. It was a hot, sensual song. One they’d always performed. One that hurt my heart once they recorded the music video for it. Whenever they performed it live, Dawson normally strutted around on the stage, getting the crowd all hot and bothered with the sultry way he moved. It used to get me all hot and bothered too. My body started to respond to the beat, anticipating his moves. He’d sung this song to me in private countless times. It was great foreplay.

  But this time as Dawson moved to the front of the stage, he pointed to several people in the audience randomly. The people were assisted on stage by security. They were all girls in skimpy clothes, just like the music video for the song. One went to grind on the back of the drummer, Jett. Another stepped over to Maddox at the keyboard and ran her hands all over his chest and arms. A third made her way to the bass player, Brooks. Another moved to Wilder, the rhythm guitarist. I’d never watched the entire music video because it was released shortly after our breakup, but I imagined it played out much like the scene on stage.

  The last girl, much to my dismay, slinked up to Dawson. She ran her hands all over him. He didn’t touch her back. His hands were occupied playing guitar, but it was too much for my wounded heart. Through blurry vision, I pushed my way out of the venue and left.

  I returned to my hotel and cried all night. I remembered how he described the concept for the video—sexy dancing with members from the crowd at a concert for the first verse, the guys developing relationships and falling in love with the dancers from verse one for verse two, and verse three breakups and the fallout of love gone wrong.

  My traitorous mind kept imagining Dawson going backstage with that groupie. My heart ached just like it did in the days and weeks following our breakup. Over a year later, I wasn’t even remotely over him. It was madness.

  ♪ Madness by Muse

  The next day, I woke up feeling like crap. No amount of rubbing relieved the itch in my eyes. Thankfully, I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, so I didn’t even have to bother with makeup or anything else that would indicate I cared. Determined to follow my itinerary, I drove to Gorman Falls. There, the Earth cried like me. Water cascaded in rivers and trickles down the face of the cliff. I devoted a whole day there to capturing the never-ending flow.

  When I finished, I continued on to the Cavern of Sonora. When I made my way inside the next morning, the cool air clung to my skin. In the darkness of the hollow, I lost myself in the vast cavity carved and eroded by water.

  Would the same thing happen to my heart? Would the grief I couldn’t seem to shake even a year later chisel a permanent crater in the organ that once burst with love?

  I spent too many hours drawing in the damp air and caught a chill. My fingers trembled to the point where I couldn’t properly grip my pencil any longer. With a sigh of resignation, I turned to head back to my hotel. Lying in bed that evening, a melodious chime alerted me to an incoming video call. When I accepted it, Beckett appeared on the screen clad in his crisp white lab coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck and deep dimples appearing just for me.

  “Hey. Are you working tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’m taking a break right now, so I thought I’d check in on my favorite patient and see how Texas was?”

  “Big,” I joked weakly.

  He rolled his eyes. “Lame, Isabelle. You can do better than that.”

  “Nope, sorry. That’s all I got tonight,” I murmured.

  His face moved closer to the screen. “You don’t look like you feel well. It’s been a while since your last checkup. Are you feeling OK?”

  “I’m just tired. I’ve had three full days of travel and creating. It’s draining,” I said with a shrug.

  “Maybe you should turn in for the night,” he suggested.

  “I think that’s a great idea. Thanks for checking in on me, Dr. Beckett.” I mustered up a tiny grin.

  “None of this doctor stuff, now. We’re friends, right?” He winked.

  We were friends. Maybe a little more. But it was complicated. He was my doctor. But we’d been on a couple of casual dates.

  “Yeah, Beckett. We’re friends. Thanks for checking on me, pal.” I tugged my blanket up as a chill ran through my body.

  “No problem, buddy,” he teased.

  “Bye,” I croaked out, eager to go to sleep.

  “Talk to you soon.”

  When the call ended, I collapsed against the pillows and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning, I couldn’t find the strength to walk, so I crawled to the bathroom. I had a fever and the chills. With a quick call to the front desk, I extended my room reservation and asked them to deliver some toast, juice and Tylenol. After eating, I went back to bed and slept all day.

  My phone woke me when it was dark outside. When I accepted the call, alarm filled Beckett’s face.

  “Isabelle, tell me what’s going on?” he asked in a tense voice.

  “I’m tired and don’t feel well. Maybe it’s a cold,” I groaned.

  “Have you run a fever?” Gone was Beckett, my friend teetering on the edge of more. In his place was Dr. Beckett, the guy who’d been in charge of my experimental treatments over the past countless months.

  “Yes.” I brushed damp strands of hair off my forehead.

  “Chills?”

  “Yes.” Just speaking of them made me shiver.

  “Nausea?”

  “Some.”

  “Hang tight. Stay put, and I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” his voice was authoritative. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else other than what he commanded.

  As I was dozing off, my phone went off again. Without preamble, he started talking, “I have a colleague who happens to be in the area. Her name is Dr. Rebecca Mitchell. She’s agreed to come by and evaluate you. She’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, OK?”

  “’K,” I muttered.

  “Isabelle, focus,” his tone was sharp. “I need for you to call down to the front desk and authorize them to give Rebecca a key, so she can get in if you fall asleep. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. Hold on.” I laid the phone down and picked up the room phone. My finger stabbed the zero button.

  “Front desk, how may I help you?” a pleasant voice asked.

  “This is Isabelle Clark in room 214. I’m not feeling very well. A Dr. Rebecca Mitchell is coming to check on me. I need for you to give her a key to my room in case I fall asleep before she gets here,” I mumbled.

  “Can you verify your address, phone number and credit card used to book your room?”
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  Once I provided all my booking information, he agreed to give Dr. Mitchell a key to my room. I settled the receiver back in its cradle and picked up my cell phone. “They’re going to give her a key. I’m going to lie back down now, OK?”

  “OK, Isabelle. I’ll talk with you again soon.” Worry lines marred his handsome face. But I didn’t have the energy to try to ease his concerns.

  I felt like I’d just closed my eyes when a distant voice called my name. For several moments, I struggled to open my eyes. When I finally cracked them open, I was staring into the concerned face of a woman.

  “Isabelle, I’m Dr. Mitchell. Dr. Thomas sent me. Do you know where you are?” Her smooth fingers clasped my wrist.

  “Hotel in Sonora,” I croaked out.

  She pressed her cold stethoscope to my chest and listened intently.

  “Nothing too alarming. Lungs sound clear,” she said out loud.

  “How’s her blood pressure?” Beckett’s voice sounded alarmed. I looked around, confused. Where was Beckett? As my eyes searched for him, the lady doctor wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm and proceeded to squeeze the life out of it.

  “It’s a little high. Here, put this under your tongue.” She stuck a thermometer at me.

  Moments after holding it under my tongue, it beeped.

  “Temp’s 103.4.”

  “I think she’s been taking acetaminophen,” Beckett’s voice came again. I finally figured out he was on video call with the lady doctor.

  “Isabelle, have you been taking Tylenol?” the doctor asked as she flicked a light in front of my eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “When was your last dose?”

  “Um… I think four.” I wasn’t really sure. It was dark in the room. I barely moved when I took it.

  “She’s due for another dose. I’ll get that in her in just a minute,” Dr. Rebecca told Beckett.

  “Check her incision site,” he ordered.

  “Isabelle, I’m going to lift your shirt a little to check your incision. OK?” Her voice was soft and soothing. Thankfully, my illness had forced me to lose all my modesty when it came to doctors.

  “OK.”

  She pushed the covers low on my hips, then lifted the hem of my pajama shirt up above my belly button. Holding the phone over me, she showed Beckett my scar.

  “It looks inflamed,” he remarked.

  Her cool fingers touched my feverish skin. “The incision site is more feverish than the surrounding area.”

  She pressed gently with her hand around my abdomen. When she neared the site, I winced. “Ow.”

  “Marked tenderness in the area. Beckett, I think she needs to be admitted,” her tone was slightly concerned.

  “No,” I said emphatically and tried to sit up. “I don’t want to go to the hospital. I’m just tired and caught a cold or something when I was out in the damp air of the cavern.” I had spent enough time in hospitals. Unless there was no other option, I didn’t want to go back. Especially to a hospital far away from home.

  “Calm down. I’m on my way. I just need to make some calls,” Beckett said urgently.

  I peered at the phone screen. “Beckett, I don’t want to go to the hospital. Especially here with strangers.” I was nearly in tears.

  “It’s going to be OK. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Then we can figure out what to do. But you can’t stay in your room. If you go to the hospital, I can sign you out when I get there,” his voice pleaded.

  I adamantly shook my head but couldn’t speak because of a coughing fit.

  Dr. Mitchell sank down next to me and the phone, so both of us were on the screen. “How about this? I’ll stay here and keep an eye on you until Beckett can get here. And Beckett, if her condition worsens, I’ll drive her to the hospital myself.”

  I nodded.

  After she gave me some pills to swallow, I slipped into a deep sleep. Sometime later, the sound of voices pulled me from my slumber. Through blurry vision, I saw the lady doctor from last night and… Beckett. My movement must have caught his eye because he rushed over and began examining me. The lady doctor came over as well.

  “Beckett, it was great to see you again. I loved catching up with you half the night. But if you don’t need me anymore, then I’m going home to catch some sleep before my on-call shift starts. Isabelle, I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I hate having to meet people because they’re sick.” She offered me a warm smile as she stood from the couch where she’d been sitting with Beckett.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Beckett told her. Turning to me, he said, “I’ll be right back.” His hand brushed along my cheek.

  His arm rested along Rebecca’s waist as he walked her to the door. I watched as she turned towards him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. She held his hands in hers as they spoke in hushed tones. The two of them looked very familiar and at ease with each other.

  I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come with a new hurt in my heart. When I woke again, Beckett was watching me from the other side of the bed.

  “Hi,” he whispered.

  “Hey,” I mouthed. “How long was I out?” My mouth was so dry.

  “This time, over five hours. When I first got here last night, Rebecca said you’d been asleep for about four hours. Then once I got here, I checked you over, and you didn’t move an inch. You did wake up briefly after I’d been here for about five hours.”

  “I think I remember that.” I frowned, trying to grab hold of the details.

  “Once you woke up, Rebecca decided you were probably out of the woods, so she told you goodbye and left.” As he talked, he pressed his fingertips to my wrist, checking my pulse.

  Now I remembered everything. I’d thought the phone calls, texts and casual dates were leading somewhere with Beckett. But I was an idiot. He was with Rebecca. I was just a patient he’d formed a friendship with. That was why we hadn’t even kissed yet.

  “How did you get here so fast?” I wondered out loud.

  “I pulled some strings and flew on a private plane into the naval base here in Sonora. When I landed in the middle of the night, I caught a ride here.” He grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table. After he unscrewed the lid, he held it up to my lips, and I sipped slowly—learned that lesson the hard way in the hospital months ago.

  “Did you sleep any?” I asked when I finally quenched my thirst.

  “No, I stayed up with Rebecca. Keeping an eye on you. We caught up on each other’s lives. I told her about the experimental research project you’re part of and shared your medical history, so we could make some decisions about what you needed.” He twisted his fingers together as he talked.

  “How do you know her?” I hated myself for asking. But I had to know.

  “We were in pre-med, then medical school together.” He perched on the edge of the bed next to me.

  “You dated.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, for six years.” His eyes didn’t meet mine.

  “Wow. Why’d you break up?” That was longer than me and Dawson. I couldn’t imagine what that would feel like.

  “I was offered a position on the research team in Atlanta. She couldn’t find a job in Atlanta, so we decided to part ways. She took a job here in Texas. We still keep in touch.” Beckett shrugged like it was no big deal to end a six-year relationship like a business transaction.

  I nodded as if I understood. He didn’t owe me anything. We weren’t officially anything. And I wasn’t sure I wanted us to be. I was just in a fragile state. “So, what’s the plan?”

  He took my hand in his. “While you were sleeping, I arranged a flight for us back to Atlanta. When we get there, I’m going to admit you to the hospital. I’m afraid you’re in rejection. So, please don’t fight me on this.”

  “OK,” I agreed in defeat.

  “Take a nap while I pack your stuff up.” He gave my fingers a squeeze before he got to his feet.

  “I need to go to the bathroom and get dressed so we c
an go.” I pushed the blanket down.

  Beckett helped me get to the bathroom. I gasped when I caught my reflection. My eyes had dark purple circles beneath them. My cheeks were hollow. My skin looked sickly. And my hair couldn’t be helped. It was no wonder Beckett was all cozy with Rebecca. As I took care of business, my fingers raked through my hair. It was no use. I gave up.

  When I emerged, Beckett helped me slip into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from my suitcase. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to help me. It was purely clinical. No heat or desire ever filled his eyes.

  “Everything’s packed. You ready to go?” he asked as I sat down to slip my shoes on.

  “Yeah.”

  WHEN I WAS ADMITTED to the hospital back in Atlanta, they adjusted my meds. For two weeks, Beckett pretty much slept in my hospital room. Until I started recovering.

  Once the change in meds kicked in, I improved drastically. The head of the research team came by to tell me I was out of the woods and would be released in a couple days.

  I immediately got on my laptop and started planning a trip to Italy. Life was too short to not go to the places I’d dreamed of. Besides, I needed to get away.

  When Beckett arrived after his shift ended, he found me with itineraries spread out on my hospital tray.

  “What’s all this?” he asked as he picked up one of the papers.

  “Doc says I’ll be out in a couple days. So, I’m booking my next trip.” I grinned up at him.

  “Where are you going?” His lips turned down as he scanned the paper.

  “Italy,” I said, though I didn’t need to since he was holding my travel plans in his hand.

  “You can’t go to Italy,” his tone was no-nonsense.

  “Doc gave me the all-clear to go. And I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. This whole setback made me realize I can’t keep waiting, or I may never make it there,” I explained.

  Dropping the paper back on the tray, he sank down in the chair next to my bed. “I’m asking you not to go.”

  “Why?” I frowned.

  His fingers wrapped around the metal railing of my bed, the knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip. “Because seeing you so sick and being away from you was so scary. It made all these feelings rush forward. I care about you. A lot. As more than a friend. And I want to explore that.”