Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) (10 page)

I take the bottle tentatively. “It is noon yet?” I ask.

“Just barely,” he smiles, cracking open the bottle. I shrug and
join him. This is what Hawk and Dove is all about, after all—a suspension of
real world rules, a total break from responsibility and decorum. A time to do
whatever you want with whoever you want. I let my eyes graze down Trent’s body
as he tosses the bottle caps into the trash. The thick denim of his jeans pulls
taunt against his firm, shapely ass, and I can scarcely rip my eyes away.

Luckily, the sound of bounding footsteps upsets my reverie.
I turn to see three men leap onto the bus, followed by stone cold Kelly.
They’re falling all over each other like puppies, and I can’t help but find
them a little endearing.

They’re all three grown men, but I can tell by their
disorganized energy that they’re little boys at heart. Most of the male
musicians that I know are overgrown boys, come to think of it.

“Trent, you’ve got to come down to the festival!” pants the
tallest and skinniest of the bunch. “This girl group called Baby Doll Disaster
is playing, and they’re smokin’—”

“Who’s this?” asks the thick set one, taking a curious step
toward me.

“I’m Eleanor,” I tell him. I’d like them all to know that
I’m perfectly capable of introducing myself.

“Oh,” says the youngest-looking of the three. “Are
we...uh...interrupting?”

“What?” I say, looking back at Trent.

“Not at all!” he exclaims, a little too loudly, “Ellie is
camping right there next to us. She’s one of the other acts! I wanted to show
her around the bus.”

“That’s usually a euphemism,” Kelly tells me in a sickly
sweet voice.

“Noted,” I mumble.

“What band are you with?” asks the thick man, “I’m Rodney,
by the way.”

“Hi Rodney,” I say, “I’m with...Well, we’re not really a
band, per se.”

“Sure you are,” Trent says, “And you’re great, too.”

“We’re called Ellie & Mitch,” I explain to the others,
“We won the New Voices contest. So, you know, they’re kind of humoring us by
letting us play.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” says the tallest man, “I mean,
thousands of people enter that contest every year, right? It’s an honor to be
chosen!”

“It is,” I say, “And we’re grateful, absolutely. But I
mean...you know. We’re not like, professional musicians or anything. I mean, no
one knows our names or anything.”

“No one knows our names either,” the youngest of the bunch
says, “We’re just Trent Parker’s band, after all.”

“Hey, hey,” Trent says, frowning, “None of that. I floated
the idea of changing our name years ago.”

“Yeah, but Kelly wouldn’t let us,” grumbles Rodney.

“Because it was a stupid idea,” Kelly snaps, rolling her
eyes, “I swear, if you lot were left to brand yourselves, you’d be playing
kids’ birthday parties in Saskatchewan.”

“Beautiful place, I’ve heard,” Trent smiles.

“I like your outfit,” says the tall guy, “Very Janis
Joplin.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I smile.

“Stop trying to sweep Ellie off her feet, Rodger,” Trent
says, “She’s out of your league.”

“I was just being friendly,” Rodger pouts.

“Where’s the other half of your group?” asks the young guy.

“Passed out in the car,” I shrug, “He had a rough night.”

“What a lightweight!” Rodney snorts.

“We’re off to take in the festivities,” Trent announces,
placing his hand on the small of my back.

It takes a herculean effort to stifle a shudder of pleasure
as his fingers graze my skin through the thin fabric of my top.

“You do remember that we have a show this evening, right?”
Kelly asks primly.

“Yes, Captain,” Trent says, leading me back through the
cabin, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, OK?”

“See you later,” says Rodney.

“Nice to meet you, Ellie!” calls Rodger.

I wave at the guys as we step off the bus and into the
blazing hot sun. “They seem nice,” I say to Trent.

“They’re just on their best behavior for a particularly
pretty girl,” he says. I hope my suntanned cheeks hide my blush well enough.

“So, where are we headed?” I ask, eager to change the subject.

“Well, where do you want to go?” Trent asks, gesturing
toward the festival with a wide sweep of his muscled arm, “The Hawk and Dove
festival is your oyster.”

“But, once we leave the talent camp, aren’t photographers
going to start crawling all over you?” I ask, as Trent strides down the grassy
hill.

“Me?” he laughs, “What about you?”

“What about me?” I ask, “My band’s just filler. You’re
heading, for god’s sake.”

“Don’t tell me you’re intimidated,” he says, swinging his
searing gaze my way.

“Of course not,” I lie through my teeth, “I’m just saying.
We’re not exactly on par.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Trent says, digging into his
pocket, “Everyone loves and underdog, Ellie. You might be surprised by how much
people want to know about you.”

He produces a set of huge aviators that match the set
perched among his curls. “These are for you,” he says, “You’ll thank me later,
I promise.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” I say, taking
the glasses all the same. “I’m telling you, no one’s going to recognize me.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, “But don’t say I didn’t warn
you.”

Chapter Six

We reach the bottom of the hill side by side and step toward
the edge of the teeming crowd. As though they could smell the nearby
musicianship, people start looking our way. Unbelievable! I peer at Trent and
see that he is in full incognito mode, hiding behind his big old sunglasses and
pretending he doesn’t notice the stares leveled our way.

Out of nowhere, a petite redhead comes hurtling out of the
crowd towards us. She nearly knocks me to the ground with the force of her
affectionate embrace. I blink up at Trent, astounded by the display. He merely
looks on, amused by my newfound popularity...or rather, by my gob smacked
reaction to it.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” the girl squeals, her
face pressed up against me, “I can’t believe it’s really you! I’m completely
obsessed with you.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks,” I say haltingly, looking to Trent for some
help. He just shakes his head happily—I’m all on my own.

“Where’s Mitch?” the redheaded fangirl asks, looking around
without freeing me from her hug.

“He’s, uh, practicing,” I say. There are more young women,
and a few young men, headed our way. Word of our presence is spreading, it
would seem.

“Oh,” the redhead pouts, taking a step back. “I wanted to
take a picture of you two for my blog!” Her eyes land on Trent, and after a
moment, she recognizes him, too. Her mouth falls open into a perfect little
circle, and a very high pitched squeal pours forth. “Oh my god!” she screeches,
“Trent Parker!”

Now the hordes are upon us. People swarm up out of nowhere,
enclosing Trent and I within a pressing circle of humanity. I look to him for
some kind of idea as to how one behaves in situations like this, but
something’s up.

The moment he was recognized, something snapped on in him.
There’s a showmanship about his motions, his expressions, his very being, that
wasn’t there a moment before. The transformation is subtle but complete. Even
his smile is different—shrewder, more jaded.

He takes a swinging step toward me and rests an arm over my
shoulders.

“They’ll leave once they’ve got a few pictures,” he mutters
in my ear, “Just put on your Famous Musician face. It’ll be over in a second.”

I smile nervously and lean against him. Even if he’s acting
like his own evil twin, the warm, casual embrace of his arm is all I can think
about. His hand hangs down just inches from my chest. If I just moved a little
to the right, those dexterous fingers might brush against my skin, through the
soft cotton of my dress. He might close his fingers around my hard nipple, and
squeeze just hard enough—

“That’s enough for right now,” Trent says authoritatively,
loosing me from under his arm. “Let’s go Ellie.”

I scamper after him, away from the crowd of people. This
time, I’m sure to bring my sunglasses down firmly over my face. He stalks
through the bustling space, and I have to jog to keep up with him. We’re moving
too quickly for anyone to notice us, now, and thank god—that whole
fawning-audience thing is not my cup of tea, I don’t think. And even though
he’s probably used to it, something tells me that it isn’t Trent’s, either.

When he stops suddenly, I run smack into him, catching his
elbow in my stomach. I reel back, coughing, and he finally turns toward me
again. I’m relieved to see that his rock star airs have vanished once again.
His expression is all concern and affection, just the way I like it.

“Shit, are you OK?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” I laugh, looking around. We’ve stopped on a
little rise of earth, beneath a majestic tree.  A stage stands before us,
rising up out of the ground. Hundreds of people are there waiting for the next
act to begin.

Trent leans back against the thick trunk of the tree and
takes a deep breath. “This is more like it,” he says, “Just you and me, away
from the gawking idiots.”

“Be nice,” I say, standing beside him beneath the swaying
leaves, “They’re just excited, is all.”

“Yeah, well. It gets old pretty quickly,” he sighs, “You’ll
see soon enough.”

“You say that like you think I’m actually going to get
anywhere in this business,” I reply.

His green eyes turn toward me, bright with sincerity and
conviction. “I don’t think anything of the sort, Ellie. I know it. You’re the
real thing. Can’t you see that?”

“Trent,” I say, dropping my gaze to the tall grass, “We
don’t even know each other. How can you know something like that?”

“I just do,” he shrugs, “Maybe I recognize something in you
that I’ve known about myself for a long time.”

“What’s that?” I ask over the cheering crowd. The band is
starting to file onstage, all decked out in their indie folk regalia.

“That you’ve been searching for something your entire life,”
Trent goes on, “Somewhere you feel safe, and whole. Somewhere that feels like
home. And if you’re anything like me, you’ve only ever found one place that
comes close.”

“But where?” I ask, “Where do you find that?”

Trent gestures toward the stage as the musicians take up
their instruments. “Right there,” he says, “Inside of the music. The first time
I was up onstage—and mind you, it was really just the back of a shitty bar and
grill when I was fourteen—I felt like I was coming home for the first time. I
felt like I could take a breath, and settle in to stay for a while. And after
that, I knew that no other single place would ever feel like enough. No house,
no state, no country would ever feel as right and as safe as a song does.”

“But what do you do in the meantime?” I breathe, fighting to
swallow the knot in my throat, “When you’re not in the music. Can’t you ever
get back to feeling like you belong somewhere?”

Trent looks at me sadly. “What do you think?” He asks, “If
you’re asking me, you already know.”

“I thought that I was just growing up,” I say, blinking back
the stinging tears before they can well up in my eyes. “I thought I felt out of
place at home because I was growing out of it. But you know, when I’m honest
with myself, it’s not just home that feels too small for me now. It’s
everywhere I’ve ever been. I feel it at school, I even feel it here. And I love
it here, I really do...but it’s not the same.”

“I know it can hurt,” Trent says, looking at me intently, “I
know there’s a sadness that comes with all this. God, do I know it. But
Ellie...think about what you get in return. Would you really trade the music
for anything else in the world?”

“Never,” I laugh. “What could possibly be worth it?”

“Nothing that I’ve stumbled upon yet,” Trent smiles, “All
you can do is keep moving through the world, Ellie. No place you go will ever
feel quite like home again, but it’s not because home doesn’t exist. It’s
because you’ve already found it somewhere else. You’ve found it on the stage,
in the music. And you know what? That will always be there. That feeling of
coming home again doesn’t go away.”

“Really?” I say.

“Well...At least not yet,” Trent grins, “But then again, I’m
only twenty five. Ask me when I’m sixty, I guess.”

I let out a single laugh, and a rouge tear slides down my
cheek. Trent’s green eyes blaze with endless understanding. He edges toward me
beneath the towering tree and, without a word, takes my hand in his.

Our fingers entwine, his grasp strong and full of
compassion. I let my eye flutter closed for a moment, just long enough to
memorize this instant in time. I let the warmth of the evening breeze, the
solid comfort of Trent’s hand around mine, the sad, simple beauty of honest
words come together in my mind. I know that it’s a memory I’ll cherish for the
rest of my life.

The band onstage begins its first number, a lyrical ballad
that perfectly captures the sweet sorrow that’s coursing through me. I love it
when the perfect song comes along at just the right moment. I squeeze Trent’s
hand and sidle in an inch closer to him. He looks over at me and smiles without
a hint of expectation.

I can tell that’s he’s just happy to be in my company. Our
backs press up against the rough bark of the tree, and I lean toward him,
brushing my side against his. His fingers graze my thigh, and I can’t tell if
it's intentional or not.

The wailing, soulful sound of music encompasses us in this
little world of our own. As I hold Trent’s gaze under the swaying, rustling
branches, our bodies press against each other tentatively. Our fingers tighten,
and I can’t help but lift my chin just a hair, offering up my lips should he
want to kiss them. I can feel his breath against the skin of my throat as our
faces move to meet halfway. I feel like I’ve just chugged half a bottle of
whiskey, my head is spinning so.

The entire world has fallen away from my mind, and it’s only
me and Trent, suspended here together, on the verge of a kiss.

His lips part, and I can practically see the words building
up inside his mouth. He’s stopped moving toward me—in fact, I think he’s
drawing away.

Did I do something wrong?

“I’ve got to get ready and head over to the main stage,” he
says, his voice gravelly.

“OK,” I mutter, looking away. I don’t want him to see the
blush in my cheeks.

“Come with me,” he suggests, pulling on my hand, “You can
watch from backstage. You’ll love it, I promise.”

“Sounds great,” I tell him, swallowing my embarrassment.

I let Trent tow me away from our little place in the world,
off toward the center of the festival. My mind is grappling with what the hell
just happened between us, but there’s no time for overanalyzing. I pick up the
pace to keep up with my mysterious guide through this new world of experience.
At least he seems to know where he’s going—that makes one of us.