Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) (19 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“Ellie, why don’t you sit down?” my mom suggests, awkwardly
patting the couch cushion beside her.

I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground, across the
living room from where my parents are seated stiltedly on the sofa, as if it
were the most natural thing in the world. Kate has taken to splitting the
difference, pacing anxiously across the carpet. My sister is used to being able
to control emergency situations as a nurse—it must be killing her to have no
way of fixing this particular mess.

“I’m fine where I am,” I tell the room, crossing my arms
firmly across my chest and keeping my gaze well away from my father.

He’s planted himself in our home as if he has every right to
be here. The same dopey, oblivious grin has been plastered onto his face since
I walked in the door. Mom’s ushered us all into the living room for some
deranged version of a family meeting, or something. And to think, I came home
from Hawk and Dove for the sake of finding a little pocket of sanity waiting
for me. Right on the nose, as usual.

“I can’t believe how grown up you girls are,” Dad spouts
cheerfully.

“Go figure. Years pass, children get older,” Kate mutters,
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so surprising if you’d actually been around to watch us
grow up.”

“That’s not entirely fair,” he says condescendingly, “I
didn’t leave you three. Your mother thought it was best to buy a house behind
my back and move out on me.”

“Gee Dad,” I spit, “You think the double life of coke and
hookers had anything to do with that?”

“That has been wildly exaggerated,” he sniffs, leaning back
into the couch.

“I resent that,” Mom says quietly.

“Damn right, you do,” Kate says.

I watch my mother shift uncomfortably in her seat. Why does
she feel squeamish about her role in all this? Getting us away from this man
was the best thing she could have possibly done for us. I can barely remember
my parents as a married couple, but watching their dynamic now only makes me
more furious.

My mother, an empowered and actualized woman, is shrinking
away from my dad, as if he still has some kind of control over her. I never
realized how entwined they’d actually been, or how hard it must  have been for
her to pick up and leave him. I feel a new sort of respect for my mom in this
moment, and a whole new level of contempt for my father.

“I don’t know if anyone’s said it yet,” I begin, “But I
really don’t think you should be here, Dad.”

“I agree,” Kate says, planting her hands on her hips,
“Whatever you’re looking for from us, I think you’re going to be disappointed.
There’s no place for you in this family.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Dad laughs, “Of course there’s a place
for me. I helped make you, didn’t I?”

“You provided genetic material,” I say, “But you didn’t have
a hand in raising us, that’s for sure. And it’s the raising part that counts.
You’re just a glorified sperm donor.”

“Ellie,” he frowns, “Don’t say such hurtful things! I don’t
know where you picked up these manners. Maybe from your wild and crazy musician
friends?”

“First of all, you don’t deserve any cordiality,” I tell
him, “And what are you talking about, my musician friends?”

“Come on,” he says, winking at me, “You’ve been all over the
place the last few days! You’ve made quite the splash in the music scene,
haven’t you? I bet it has to do with your name. That was my idea, you know.
Naming you after The Beatles' song. Your mom wanted to go with Lucy in the Sky,
but I knew better. I knew you’d be a big star someday.”

“I’m not a big star,” I tell him, growing wary. I knew that
this little drop in visit was too well-timed to be coincidental. He’s here for
one reason, and one reason only—he wants to glom onto whatever beginnings of a
career I’m building.

For a fleeting moment before the anger set in, I had almost
let myself be excited to see him. As a kid, before I understood the severity of
his grievances, I would pray for my family to put itself back together again.

All of my friends growing up came from standard-issue
suburban families. Sure, there were some divorced parents, but all the kids
still had two parents in their lives—sometimes even three or four if there were
step parents involved! Kate and I were always the strange kids with just a mom.
And though no one mentioned it as we got older, I still remember being quizzed
and teased about my unconventional family when I was younger.

Mom did a good job of keeping her boyfriends away from us,
unless they were very serious contenders for her heart. She didn’t shy away
from dating, of course, but never again did any man permeate our little
three-person family once Dad was out of the picture.

We learned to be self-sufficient, without any help. I grew
up with the keen knowledge that men were inherently untrustworthy. It was
always my understanding that they weren’t necessarily bad, as a gender, but
that they were so naturally flawed that they simply weren’t worth relying on.

I myself have never had a real, loving relationship with a
man in my life. The boys I’ve dated never warranted a real commitment on my
part, and I’ve kept my heart well-guarded.

I feel a hard knot in the pit of my stomach as I realize why
my flight from Hawk and Dove felt so desperate. It wasn’t as though Trent had
really done anything wrong, it was simply the fact that I care enough about him
to be hurt by him that drove me away.

If things fall apart with Trent because of my fractured
relationship with trust and loyalty, I’ll never forgive myself. A new surge of
anger ripples through me as I stare down the man sitting beside my mother.

“So, what is it you’re looking for?” I all but snarl, “Are
you expecting some share of my earnings, or something? Are we finally worth
your time and affection now that I might stand to make a little bit of money?
Or is it just the vicarious fame you’re after?”

“Whoa! Slow down!” he says, holding up his hands, “There’s
no need to vilify me!”

“You’re right,” I say, “You do a perfectly good job of it
yourself, after all. How dare you come back here just to take advantage of us!
You can’t just waltz in and pick things up as if you’d never left.”

“Why not?” he says, playing dumb, “I’ve missed out on a lot
with you girls, and I take the full blame for that, really I do.”

“Well obviously,” Kate says.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,” Dad goes on. I half
expect him to pull out a soapbox for this pathetic little soliloquy. “I never
appreciated my family. Your mother and I were very much in love as young
people. I can’t tell you how wonderful those years were when we had no money.
We just enjoyed ourselves with what little we had, without a care in the world.
Those were some of the best times of my life.

And then you girls came along, and we really had a little
family. I fell in love with you both as soon as you were born. Most of the
time, all I wanted to do was stay home and play with you.

But do you know what happened? I started making money, and
everything went straight to shit. I was corrupted by the opportunities that
money creates. I started wanting more than I needed, more than anyone could
ever need. I started being nasty to people, and I grew to be incredibly
selfish. I was a man of simple pleasures before I started getting rich, but as
soon as I had a little money to throw around, nothing was good enough anymore.
I forgot that I already had everything I needed in my family, I lost sight of
that, and I started scrambling around for as much as I could get.

After your mother took you girls and left, there was nothing
for me. I lived for excess, and ran myself straight into the ground in my
pursuit of the next moment of pleasure. I lost my job, all of my money,
couldn’t even help out with you girls in the end. I was forced to take a good,
hard look at my life and discover what was important again. And what I realized
was that I didn’t need to have the best material things in life.

I got sober, found an honest job in a sporting goods store,
and lived as simply as I could. And it’s been life-changing, it really has.”

“That’s a charming story,” Mom says, unable to hold her
silence any longer, “But you’ve yet to tell us what, exactly, you’re doing here
now.”

“To be perfectly frank,” Dad says, “I did come here because
I caught wind of Ellie’s success. I haven’t done a good job of keeping up with
you girls, so at first I didn’t even realize that the Ellie all over the
Internet was
my
Ellie.”

“I’m not
your
Ellie,” I mutter.

“But then it clicked,” my dad says, ignoring me, “That was
my little girl in all the pictures! There was so much chatter to wade through.
Gossip about that Mitch fellow, and all that talk about Trent Parker. I have to
tell you dear, some of those images were rather difficult to look at.”

I blush hotly, remembering the pictures of Trent and I
dancing together, racing back up the hill at the end of the night. It already
felt like an invasion of my privacy for them to have been printed in the first
place, but to know that my dad was looking at them is a whole new level of
mortification.

“What’s your point?” I ask him hotly.

“My point,” he says, “Is that those pictures worried me. You
must have more than a little bit of my temperament in you, Eleanor. I never had
any interest in booze and parties and drugs before I had a taste. Seeing you
out of control like that took me right back to my wild days.”

“It’s not for you to determine when I’m out of control!” I
shout, “For one thing, I’m a grown woman, not answerable to anyone. And, more
importantly, don’t you dare say that I’m anything like you.”

“But you are, dear,” he goes on, “As much as it might
disappoint you. You’re my daughter whether you like it or not. And I’m not
jumping to any conclusions—those pictures speak for themselves. You can’t let
wealth and celebrity spoil you, Ellie. You’ll regret it for the rest of your
life.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I say, “But I’m perfectly capable of
deciding for myself what happens in my own career.”

“Sometimes these things are difficult to control,” Dad
insists, “They can get out of hand really quickly. By the time you realize that
something is off, it might be too late.”

“So, what exactly are you suggesting?” I ask, taking a
menacing step forward, “That I hang up my songwriting career, go back to school
for something practical, and resign myself to being unhappy? Is that your grand
idea for my future?”

“Of course not!” my dad says, his eyes wide, “I would never
suggest that you back down from your dreams. Your mother was an artist too,
remember? I supported her ambitions, and I fully support yours. I just think
that you need to be strategic about how you handle your fame.”

“Is this coming to a point sometime soon?” My mom asks.

“I really hope so,” Kate answers.

“Of course,” Dad says, spreading his arms to us all, “I have
an idea that will not only bring this family back together, it will also ensure
Ellie’s good fortune and secure her future.”

“Oh, do tell,” I say sarcastically.

“I would like to offer my services as your manager and
conservator!” he says grandly.

For a moment the room is dead silent. The three of us women
stare dumbly at this near-stranger who has barged back into our lives. I think,
at first, that I must have heard him incorrectly. He couldn’t possibly be so
crude, so brazen.

“My...conservator?” I repeat, tasting the sour word on my
tongue.

“Yes,” Dad says cheerfully, “I have quite the financial
mind, you know. I could help you invest and manage your income properly, to
make sure that you never go overboard the way I did.”

“Let me get this straight,” I fume, “You came here, after
years of radio silence, to suggest that I put my fledgling career in your
hands, because you’re the responsible adult in this scenario?” 

“More or less,” he says.

“You’re asking me...for money,” I say, my entire body
trembling with outrage. “You have the audacity to ask me for anything, after
what you’ve done to us?!”

“Ellie, don’t get upset,” he says, standing up to approach
me. The mere thought of his embrace makes me want to vomit.

“Stay away from me!” I screech, backing up against the wall,
“You’re unbelievable!”

“It’s OK,” Kate says, coming toward me, “Ellie, he can’t
hurt us now.”

“I don’t care,” I scream, beside myself with hurt and anger.

“You must be overtired,” Dad says, looking offended by my
reaction.

“Fuck you,” I spit at him, “You know what? Even after
everything you did, I never really hated you. Not once in my entire
life...until this moment.”

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“Oh, but I do,” I tell him, “I think that you’re a
repulsive, presumptuous, pig-headed—”