by RB Hilliard
By the time we were in the van and heading back to the hotel, it was well past Mom and Rowan’s bedtime, and way too late to call them again. If Mom hadn’t texted earlier and said everything was okay, I would be on a plane for Austin right now.
“What was up with your strings?” Chaz asked.
“What’s up with his playing?” I countered, nodding at Evan.
“Yeah, sorry. I was okay until I got out there and started playing. It was amazingly cool, but at the same time shit-your-pants scary,” Evan commented. The fact that he was so damn chill about it completely deflated my sails, and I felt bad for being a dick.
“You can’t let the crowd get into your head,” Grant advised.
“Luke liked to face the audience, but I can see how that could be intimidating if you aren’t used to it,” I added.
At the mention of Luke’s name, the van went silent. After a long pause, Grant said, “Nash is right. How about we position the keyboard to where you can see us and the audience at the same time?”
Evan nodded his head. “That could work. It’s worth a try.” The guy’s easy going nature was definitely a plus.
“We’re here,” Hank called out. We pulled into the circular drive of the hotel and a large crowd of fans immediately swarmed the van. Sampson and Sean hopped out to do crowd control. Once they had it marginally managed, Marcel and Hank escorted us inside the hotel, across the lobby, and up to our suite.
I heard Evan practicing the keyboard while I was brushing my teeth. I should apologize. He was actually damn good on the keys. I remembered how scared I was the first few times we played a big crowd. Hell, I was pretty sure I didn’t make it through one song without fucking up, much less fifteen. Shoving my toothbrush back in my bag, I exited the bathroom and ran smack into Grant.
“What the hell?” I growled. He was staring at the bed with a strange look on his face. I followed his line of sight to the one, long stemmed rose that was lying across the pillows.
“All I got was a chocolate,” he muttered. My eyes shot back to the rose. Oh shit…a rose. As if reading my mind, Grant said, “Is it just me, or does that remind you of…?”
“Don’t even say it,” I warned.
“Say what?” Chaz asked from behind us, and we both jumped.
“What’s everyone staring at?” Evan asked.
“When we first started the band, Nash had a serious stalker. One of the things she liked to do was to leave roses on his pillow,” Grant explained. “We never did figure out how she got into our rooms, did we?”
“I’m confused. I thought you had the stalker?” Evan directed at Grant.
“Who, Chelle?” Grant laughed. “Naw, Chelle was just cock hungry. Nadine was a bonafide whack job.” Chaz snarled when Grant mentioned Chelle. Apparently the guy had a hard on for her. Either that or he was trying to look good so he could get inside her best friend’s panties.
“What happened to her?” Evan asked.
“What did happen to her?” Grant asked me.
“Blane said he took care of the situation.” Truth be told, I wasn’t really sure what happened to Nadine.
“How long ago did this happen, and why haven’t you ever mentioned her before?” Chaz asked.
“It was the first year we signed with Happenstance,” Grant recalled.
“Yeah, and Dale was fucked up nine-tenths of the time, but no one wanted to admit that he had a problem,” I added.
“Chelle had just come into the picture. That was right about the time she established the Melties, right?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, it seems so long ago.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “A lot has happened since then.”
“Nadine?” Evan asked.
“Nadine was one of her posse. She set eyes on Nash and that’s all she wrote.” Grant winked and blew me a kiss. I grabbed my crotch and held up my middle finger, and we both laughed.
“In my defense, I only slept with her a handful of times. She acted normal. How was I supposed to know she was certifiable?”
“Certifiable is putting it mildly. She wanted to tie your ass down. And then you went and woke her crazy when you slept with… What was her name again? Rita?”
“Rosa,” I corrected.
“Rosa, that’s right. Damn, that chick was smoking hot.”
“I take it Nadine didn’t approve?” Evan inquired.
“She went fucking ballistic. She beat the shit out of Rosa and then tried to kill herself. It was some seriously fucked up shit,” Grant told him.
“Have you ever considered that maybe the band is cursed?” Evan asked. Grant and I both laughed.
“Uhhhh, no, and please don’t tell me you’re into all of that wedgie crap?” Grant said through his laughter.
“Not wedgie, weegie, and no I’m not, but you have to admit, a lot of crazy shit has gone down with you guys.”
“People love us. What can we say?” I flippantly replied.
“Whatever,” Chaz said. “I’m going to bed.”
“I think I’ll practice some more,” Evan stated. Right as he reached the door, he turned back and said, “Tonight was fucking amazing. I know I have a lot to learn, but I just wanted to say thanks for giving me the chance.”
Once he was gone, Grant said, “I wanted to hate him.”
“Same here.”
“He really is a good guy.”
“He’s not Luke.”
“No one will ever be Luke, Nash, but Luke is gone. He almost killed us both. You may be ready to forgive, but I’m not. I’m not saying I won’t get there, but I’m not yet, and I really need for you to respect that, okay?” I got what he was saying. I may not agree, but I couldn’t fault him for his feelings.
“Okay.”
His eyes drifted back to the rose. “You don’t think…”
After staring at it for a few more seconds, we both answered, “Naaaaaa.”
While Grant went to call Mallory, I worked on a song I’d been stuck on for the past few months. The tune was there, but I couldn’t seem to get the lyrics right. Finally, I gave up and called it a night. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. We had back-to-back radio interviews before playing our final night in Charlotte. I made sure to set my alarm an hour earlier than I normally would so I could call home. Rowan had best answer her damn phone tomorrow, or else.
Like every other night since Mom’s diagnosis, sleep refused to come. While I was awake, Mom’s cancer was manageable and Rowan was just a friend, but the minute I lay my head on my pillow, the reality of the situation came crashing down upon me. Mom was dying, and Rowan… she would laugh her ass off if she knew that she was the star of my night-time fantasies. With her milky white skin and her sultry green eyes, Rowan Burns wasn’t like any woman I’d ever known. She was pure class. I pictured her lying in her bed. She had a smile on her lips, her hand on my cock, and a look of lust in her eyes. She smelled like heaven and tasted like perfection. With a firm grip and exact strokes, she jacked me off. Her named spilled from my lips as my release shot across my stomach.
As I stared down at the mess I’d made, I sighed. I would give anything to be home right now.
Chapter Four
Maeve to the Rescue
Rowan
“It’s Nash again.” Maeve sighed as she stared down at the screen of her phone. “He’s like a dog with a bone right now.”
“I’ll call him later,” I lied.
“I’m just going to shoot him a quick response to let him know we’re okay.” While she texted Nash back, I stared out the window and tried to keep my teeth from chattering. “All done,” she announced, and placed her phone on the coffee table in front of us. “Honey, are you sure the EMT checked you out? You look a bit pale to me, and the shaking hasn’t stopped.”
Three hours ago I’d set out in Maeve’s car with my purse and my grocery list. The grocery store was a mere seven miles away. I could be there and back in an hour with no issue. Other than the fact that the store had subpar
blueberries and was completely out of the dish soap I preferred, the trip was productive and I was in and out with twenty minutes to spare. On the way home I noticed a large, dark colored truck behind me. I didn’t think anything about it until it was barreling down upon me, and I was being forced off the side of the road and into a ditch. To say that I panicked was putting it mildly.
“When you called, you mentioned Conor. Who’s Conor?”’ Maeve asked. I closed my eyes and scrambled for a plausible explanation.
The day I discovered that my father had whored me out to Conor O’Brien was the worst day of my life, or so I thought. Due to my limited funds and quickly disappearing data plan, Gavin and I texted once a day, but didn’t actually talk until I reached St. Augustine. It took me a full week to find a marginally decent apartment to rent. St. Augustine was better than I ever expected. The second I had an address, I called and gave it to Gavin. Instead of using a moving company to deliver my things, Gavin talked me into letting him rent a truck and move me himself. Not only would it cut costs, but it would give him a chance to experience the drive from New York to Florida. I had a plan. I’d already enquired about a radiology position. The pay was decent, and the rent cheap. Little did Gavin know, but once I got him here, I was never letting him go back to New York.
The very next day, Gavin texted that he’d secured both the truck and the vacation time with the hospital. The drive to Florida would take him a little over fifteen hours. The plan was for him to leave Thursday morning, spend the night on the road somewhere, and arrive late Friday afternoon. I couldn’t wait for him to experience St. Augustine. He was going to flip when he got an eyeful of the eclectic selection of men. I’d never seen so much tan skin in my life. New York was consumed by brisk walking, fast talking busy people. Not Florida. Florida was bikini wearing, slow speaking beach lovers, and I absolutely adored it.
Gavin was supposed to call Thursday morning as soon as he was on the road. The call never came. Each time I tried to call him and got his voicemail, my worry increased. When Friday arrived and there was still no sign of him, I began inching toward the ledge. Something was wrong. Gavin knew I would worry about him. I tried to convince myself that maybe he’d been called in for a last minute shift, but that didn’t explain why he hadn’t called or replied to my text messages. When Friday turned into Saturday, and Gavin was still a no-show, I called the hospital. After twenty minutes of waiting, Gavin’s boss picked up. What he told me made no sense. Gavin was dead. It was a hit and run. No one saw it. The police had no answers.
In the blink of an eye my life was forever changed. Gavin was my person, my best friend in the entire world, and he was now dead. How was this possible? I had a million questions, but no one to answer them. Gavin’s mother was a junky and his father was a dead beat. They barely spoke to him. It was highly likely they had no clue he was dead. The thought of my funny, sweet Gavin lying in the morgue, unclaimed and unloved, was more than I could bear.
I have to go back.
That night I didn’t get a wink of sleep. Between bouts of uncontrollable crying and staring aimlessly at my walls, I came up with a plan. I would explain to the hospital that I’d had a sudden death in my family and would need some time off. As I had yet to finish the first week of training, it shouldn’t be a big deal. After paying my first month’s rent, I had just enough money for a round trip ticket to New York. While there, I would stay in Gavin’s place, so I could pack up his things. Selfishly, I was going to have him cremated. That way I would always have part of him with me.
I woke to the sound of my phone ringing. It took me a moment to process that I was in St. Augustine and not New York. When had I fallen asleep? And why was I still wearing my clothes? Then it hit me. Gavin was dead. My eyes filled with tears as my phone rang again. With a groan, I threw back the covers and slowly made my way over to the dresser to see who was calling. Gavin’s name scrolled across my screen, and my lungs seized in my chest.
Whipping the phone from the dresser, I hit the answer button and gasped his name, “Gavin?”
“Hello, Gillian,” a familiar voice responded.
“Conor?” I whispered.
“You shouldn’t have run.” The meaning behind his words hit me, and I dropped to my knees.
“Please, tell me he’s alive,” I barely managed to get out.
“Gavin wouldn’t tell me where you were, so I had to use force,” he calmly stated. I slapped my hand over my mouth to muffle my sob. “He was surprisingly tough for a faggot.” His words seared through me and without even thinking, I disconnected the call. With a scream of anguish, I slammed the phone against the dresser as hard as I could. Because of me, Conor O’Brien had killed my best friend. I let out another blood curdling scream as I dashed to the kitchen, jerked open the drawer, and pulled out the first thing I could get my hands on. The potato masher. Because of me, I would never set eyes on Gavin’s, beautiful, smiling face…ever again. I raised it over my head and brought it down onto my phone with such force that it chipped part of the table underneath it.
Crunch!
Because of me.
Crunch!
My best friend in the entire world.
Crunch!
Was dead.
I swept the remains of my decimated phone into the trash can. Then I marched it out to the dumpster and tossed it in, trash can and all.
One singularly awful night with a man I didn’t even know, much less like, was all it had taken to ruin my entire life.
“That’s it. I’m calling the hospital.” I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I’d completely forgotten about Maeve. Her worried tone jerked me back to the moment. Get your shit together, Rowan.
“I’m okay, just a little shaken up. Give me a moment and I’ll be as good as new,” I lamely replied.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a horrible liar? Even Nash lies better than you, and that’s saying something.” Maeve’s dry humor was just what the doctor ordered. I laughed, and felt myself slowly began to relax. “Are you sure you didn’t recognize the driver?” she asked for the fiftieth time.
“It happened so fast. One minute they were behind me and the next I was off the road in the ditch, and they were gone. I told the police everything I remembered, but there really wasn’t much to tell.”
“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt you?” Her question rattled me, and I tensed back up. Why, yes, Maeve. I know someone who not only would hurt me, but would also hurt you. The only reason I wasn’t running for the hills right now was because the two people in the car behind me, who also witnessed the accident, told the police that it was a truck full of teenagers.
The timer on my phone dinged, and I exhaled loudly. I was thrilled to be saved from her interrogation. “Time for your meds,” I announced, and, before she could respond, I escaped to the kitchen, where I leaned against the counter to catch my breath. I’d gotten too complacent. Even if it wasn’t Conor in that truck today, it was a reminder. I’d let my guard down. I knew better. Maybe it was time to move on? I didn’t want to. I loved Austin. I loved taking care of Maeve. Most of all, I loved…Nash, which was exactly why I should leave.
“Rowan!” Maeve called out.
“Coming!” I replied, and quickly gathered her pills. Maeve couldn’t tell Nash about this. He had enough on his plate. The last thing he needed to worry about was me. Somehow I had to convince her of this.
“I’m in the bedroom. Don’t forget my Gatorade!” she shouted. The doorbell rang as I reached into the fridge to retrieve her drink. “Rowan!” she called again.
“Got it!” I shouted back, and headed for the door. As I pulled it open, I recognized the police officer from the accident.
“Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know that we found the kids who ran you off the road this afternoon.” My shoulders slumped with relief. “Would you like to press charges?” I hadn’t made it that far in my thought process. The last thing I wanted was to call attention to myself or to Nash
for that matter.
“No. Being caught by the police is punishment enough. Hopefully they’ve learned their lesson.”
“Are you sure?” The look of concern on his face made me uncomfortable.
“I’m positive. Ummm, I should get back to work. Thanks for stopping by, though. I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure. You take care now,” he said. I waited for him to get halfway down the front walkway before closing the door and locking it.
“Thank God,” I whispered as I pressed my back to the door and slid down onto my butt.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Maeve said, “If you don’t tell me right this minute what’s going on, I’m calling Nash. And don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing.” She looked like the angel of vengeance as she stood in the doorway of her bedroom with her cane in one hand, a rolled up newspaper in the other, and an extremely pissed off look on her face. Suddenly, it was too much. My life, the secrets, the heartache was simply…too much. In front of me stood this amazingly lovely woman who was ready to defend me at the drop of a hat, and I couldn’t even tell her that my name wasn’t Rowan. Or that I was from New York and not Florida. Or that I was running for my life. Today, when I was run off the road, I thought Conor had finally found me. Just the thought of him hurting Maeve or Nash like he did Gavin, was more than I could bear. I dropped my head to my knees and sobbed. For once, my tears weren’t from fear, but in relief. Once I’d cried it all out, I scrambled for something to say. In the end, Maeve pieced it together for me, or so she thought.
“Conor was your boyfriend?” she asked. I answered her with a stare. “He abused you, didn’t he?” I lowered my head back to my knees and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t have the courage to tell her the truth. “Men are pigs. It’s probably best that you learned this early on. Are you running from him? Does he know where you are?”
I jerked my head up and gasped, “No.”
“Uh huh, just as I thought. Well, your secret is safe with me. Now stand up and give me a hug.” And, like that, the moment was over. God, I loved Maeve.