Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) (17 page)

“I just...I need to go,” Ellie says distractedly.

She turns from me and hurries away, but I’m not letting her
go so easily. I catch her arms as she tries to move away from the bus, but her
rain-soaked skin is slippery. She darts away from me, back toward her meager
little camp. But instead of throwing herself back into the tent, she wrenches
open the car door and slides inside. My heart twists itself into a knot as the
engine roars to life. I spring forward, but the vehicle is already speeding
across the uneven land. She takes off like a shot, ripping off through the rain
like a loosed bullet.

I stand in the midst of her abandoned camp and watch her
taillights disappear into the distance. Soon, every trace of her is obscured by
the falling rain. Just as quickly as she fell into my life, she’s slipping away
from me.

Chapter Twelve

I slam down the gas pedal, half expecting my foot to crash
through the undercarriage of the car.

The heavy rain splashes against my windshield, outpacing my
ancient wipers. I’m hurtling along the muddy road, bumping with every stray
rock and grassy patch along the way.

The last thing I’d ever call myself before this week is
reckless, but while my head may be begging me to slow down, my body and heart
have other ideas. All I know is that right now I need to put as much distance
between myself and this festival as possible, as quickly as I can.

I just need to get away.

A thick, irrepressible knot is throbbing in my throat. I can
feel the hot tears welling up behind my eyes, threatening to blind me, but I
don’t have time for them right now.

My thoughts are ricocheting around my skull like fireworks,
and the racket they create is just as overwhelming. All I can do is keep my
hands on the wheel, force my eyes to stay on the meager sham of a road before
me, and keep driving, no matter what.

At this moment, it feels like my life depends on it.
Keep
moving
, I coach myself,
keep moving, don’t stop
.

The front wheels of my sedan bounce up, dragging me along
onto the highway. A long, seemingly endless expanse of asphalt stretches out
before me. The road looks like a black river in the rainy gloom, and I intend
to ride it as far along as I can. I press my foot down hard and gasp as my car
rears forward, behaving more like a bucking bronco than any sophisticated
machine.

I take off down the highway, swathes of muted green flying
by on either side. Forcing deep breath after deep breath down into my lungs, I
do my best to staunch the flood of emotion that needs so badly to be let loose.
Between that storm surge and the torrential rain outside, I might just drown if
I’m not careful.

Desperate, I fumble through my CD collection for something
that will clear my head, and root me back to the ground. I snatch up the first
promising disk and slide it into the dusty player, waiting for the sweet
release of music to cure what ails me.

The CD whirs to life, and the voice of Joni Mitchell washes
through the cockpit of my car. My breath catches in my throat as she glides
through the first verse of “River”, taking me along with her through this mire
of heartache. Silently, the tears begin to slide down my face. I let my
favorite songstress carry across the threshold of feeling, guiding me into the
depths of my confusion and pain.

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on...

I swerve over to the shoulder of the road as a throaty sob
rips from my body. The twin headlights of my car illuminate the rushing rain as
it pours down against the roof of my beat up ride.

Giving over to the swell within me, I let my forehead rest
against the steering wheel, and I weep.

The overwhelming, disorienting events of the past few days
play in my memory like a film reel, coursing along with the soundtrack of
Joni’s music. I feel as though I’ve lost every point of reference grounding me
to real life. It’s like I’ve been washed away into someone’s else’s story...but
all I want is to return to my own.

Gazing out the windshield at the stormy road ahead, I marvel
at how my life has been completely rewritten in a matter of days. Before I made
this trek to Hawk and Dove, I was just Eleanor Jackson—student, daughter,
sister, unknown-musician.

I had a friend and partner in Mitch, a wonderful home to return
to, and hopes of sharing my music with the rest of the world. But ever since
that first bit of exposure opened me up to the masses, everything’s changed.

My relationship with Mitch is destroyed, my private life is
a thing of the past, and the staggering presence of Trent Parker has altered my
world forever. From this point on, nothing will ever be the way it once was. I
don’t know how I can possibly learn to be OK with that.

It would be one thing if I were trading in my old life for a
brilliant, secure future with this amazing man I’ve found in Trent. For a
moment there, I actually let myself believe that such a seamless transition,
and winning bargain, would be possible. Effortless. How naive I was to let
myself think, even for a moment, that Trent was mine for the taking.

I let myself forget everything I knew about Trent Parker
before the festival began. For years, I’d heard about Trent the rock star—the
womanizing, drunk, fuck-the-world musician with a terrible reputation. I’d read
the gossip blogs about his uncountable bimbo girlfriends, his bad behavior, his
addictions. But the moment I’d met him in the flesh, I let all of those
impressions slip away.

I couldn’t believe that the media’s version of Trent could
live in the same person that I’d fallen so hard for. And sure, most of that
behavior was an act, but that’s not to say that it wasn’t also real, wasn’t
also a part of him.

There’s no way that I can have Trent the man without also
accepting Trent the rock star. But if there’s anything this week has taught me,
it’s that a career in music comes at a much higher cost than I could have ever
imagined.

Do I really want to be a musician
that
badly? How can
I know whether Trent is worth the price I’d have to pay to have him? How do I
know he’s not just going to turn back into the monster the press makes him out
to be the moment my back is turned? I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust
him around that bitch manager.

My stomach twists in disgust as my last glimpse of Trent
comes back into my mind’s eye. I see him framed in the doorway of his tour bus,
that blonde harpy lingering half-dressed just behind him. I should have known
what was going on with her from the start. Why else would she have been so
terrible to me this whole time? And even if nothing’s really going on between
them, the fact that there are women in the world who would throw me off the
nearest cliff to get closer to Trent makes my skin crawl. Can I invite that
much hatred into my life without it eating me alive?

I see it clearly now. Being with Trent would mean accepting
the ire of thousands and thousands of people. Being visible as a musician in my
own right would be risky enough, but to enter the media frenzy on Trent’s arm
would make things exponentially more hazardous. What if the world were to think
that I was using him for his fame? What if his fans hated me for making him
soft? What if he got sick of me in a week and cast me aside for the gossip
vultures to pick clean?

I’ve seen enough of life to know that happy endings are hard
to come by. Do I really think that I’m so special as to deserve one? What makes
me think that I can somehow triumph over the pressures of celebrity, sustain a
happy relationship with Trent despite all odds? Even just saying it in my head
sounds absolutely ridiculous—childishly wrongheaded.

There’s no logical reason to think that something between
Trent and I would stand even the slightest chance.

But if that’s true...then why is it so hard to believe it?
Why can’t I chase away the hopeful, optimistic longing to be his? I know,
rationally, that the best thing for me to do at this moment is turn away from
him, and from any career in music altogether. I know that I should just go back
to school, find a new path, and let my fifteen minutes of fame run out. I know
what I should do...I just have no idea how to convince myself to do it. My
heart won’t hear of it.

My entire life up until this point has been devoted to
creative expression. The one thing in the world that’s made me happy has been
putting voice to beautiful, sad, universal ideas through song. And the best way
I’ve found to do that is through my music. There’s no way I can let this week
destroy my relationship to songwriting. The prospect of spending the rest of my
life away from music is too depressing to even consider.

No—I’ll find a way through this, somehow. I’ll deal with the
question of whether Trent has any place in this new world later. Right now, I
need somewhere to rest my weary head.

Joni’s voice trails off, leaving me sniffling but with a
clearer mind than when I first took flight. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and
straighten up, taking stock of my options.

From where I’m haphazardly parked on the side of the
highway, I can go one of two ways—back to the festival, or away from it. I consider
turning around, taking back my place at Hawk and Dove...but how can I do that
when my band is no more? Mitch has probably hitched a ride out of the state by
now. And I can’t just go latch onto Trent. Not until I’ve had some time to
think. No...I can’t go back there.

Instead, I swing back onto the highway and start to drive.
At first, I have no idea where I’m headed. The simple act of motion is enough
to soothe my frayed nerves. I let my car glide along the highway, staving off
decision-making until the last possible second. I could stay at a motel
somewhere...but I don’t want to risk being seen by anyone. I just need to be
somewhere safe.

Suddenly, I know what my destination has to be. A warm,
familiar calm falls upon me like a blanket as I realize that I have to go home.
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel, as if this might make the journey
go faster.

All I want in the world is to fall into my mom and sister’s
arms, ask their advice, hear them tell me without a shadow of a doubt that
everything is going to be OK. With them in mind, I settle in for the long trip
home. It will be worth it once I finally arrive.

Thank god I’m not totally alone for this long, anxious trip.
Joni ushers me through the first leg of it, but there are others on hand to
carry me through. One by one, I bring them each along with me. Carol King,
Carly Simon, James Taylor, Janis Joplin...their music fills my car and my
heart. Each one of them has a piece of advice, a bit of insight I’d do well to
remember. With them by my side, the journey doesn’t seem so bad. I feel like I
can find the strength I need, with these faithful companions to help me.

The hours pass, one by one, as I bear down on Barton once
again. I got quite the early start on my travels, and it isn’t even dusk by the
time I drive across the border, back into my home state. Even after only a few
days, the familiar landscape of my hometown seems aged, foreign.

That nostalgia I’ve come to know is magnified tenfold after
the events of this week. Still, I know this is where I need to be right now. I
speed along until my mother’s home comes, at long last, into view.

Our little Victorian house stands serenely in its place,
just where I left it. As I approach, I can feel exhaustion starting to creep
through my body. The adrenaline of my flight has carried me this far, but I
suddenly feel as though I might collapse into a heap on the porch before I even
get inside.

Just knowing that Mom and Kate are close makes me feel safe
and sound. I know that they’ll be able to help me through this mad time without
any agenda. All I need right now is good advice—and this is certainly the right
place to get it.

I swing into the driveway of our home, elated to see Kate’s
car parked on the curb. She must not be working tonight, for once. I wonder
whether they’ve been following all my madness as it’s unfolded? I haven’t
turned my phone on since the first wave of gossip hit, not wanting to deal with
anyone’s opinions. I couldn’t even bring myself to call home before I came
back, lest Mom advise me to stay at the festival and wait all the nonsense out.
But it doesn’t matter. I know that this is one place I’ll always be welcome.

Stepping out of my car, I take a deep breath and fill my
lungs. The smell and sounds of home soothe me as I make my way to the front
door. I cross our crowded, cluttered porch and ease the front door open. It’s
unlocked, as usual.

“Hello?” I call, stepping inside. I can hear people moving
about in the living room, and catch the last snippet of a heated conversation
that cuts off the minute I come in. Quick footsteps echo through the front
hall, and my mom steps out to meet me.

“Ellie...” she breathes, her face white.

“Mom?” I say, stepping toward her, “What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing back?” she demands, “You’re supposed to
be at the festival.”

Her anger cuts me to the quick. I’m so startled by her
manner that my words leave me. Here, I was expecting a warm welcome, a loving
embrace. But instead, Mom stands before me, quivering with outrage. What the
hell is going on?

“Did I...did I do something wrong?” I ask, my voice
trembling on the edge of despair.

Mom’s eyes widen, and it’s like she sees me for the first
time right at that moment. Her hand flies to her mouth, and sympathetic tears
spring to her eyes.