Here! Here! And our families toast while he kisses my lips.
Me: If you told me our Thanksgiving five years ago would be Caleb’s last, I would have called you crazy. It was an amazing Thanksgiving, and this one reminds me so much of that week. I’m thankful for the amazing memories of Caleb. I’m also thankful to each one of you for loving and supporting me through my journey to find peace in his death. I will never forget that. I’m thankful for a grandfather and a father who gave me music. I’m also thankful for my mother and grandmother who held it all together so the crazy musicians in the family could chase their dreams. You kept us grounded and never let us forget where we came from. I’m thankful for my brother who always has my back and loves me like a big brother should. I’m thankful for the love in this room tonight. If you take a look around, someone is holding someone else’s hand. There isn’t a soul at this table that isn’t holding the hand of someone they love. Life is crazy, and our lives are even crazier, but it is these moments that we hold closest to our hearts; the moments when we are surrounded by unconditional love. I’m very thankful for Jagger. You are the love of my life. I’m also thankful for a little boy named Noah, who gave me the biggest gift I have ever received.
“I’m holding my mom’s hand,” Kip says. “I should’ve hired an escort.”
“You what?” my grandfather asks.
“You know Red, like a woman you pay to be your lady friend for the night?” he winks at my grandfather.
“You mean like a street walker?”
“No sir, we don’t call them that anymore. They are called prostitutes or hookers now. An escort is someone you can hire to give you companionship for a set amount of time. You aren’t buying hanky panky, just her time.”
“So, what do you do with her? Talk?”
“Well, it depends on what language you speak, sir.”
“What in the hell are you talking about, boy?”
“Well, if you speak the language of love, you can definitely talk… ALL NIGHT LONG!” Kip lets out a yelp when his mother hits him in the back of the head.
“Was that boy dropped on his head as a child Paxton?” My grandfather asks Kip’s dad.
“I think they gave us the wrong child at the hospital. I have tried to talk her into taking his ass back for 28 long years.”
While everyone else cracks up, I narrow my eyes at Kip’s father. I know his words cut my friend to the bone. He’s a piece of shit father.
“I said nice things about you people in my toast. Shame on you! I’m so not feeling the love tonight,” Kip deflects with humor.
“Maybe you should hire one of those escorts, so you can feel loved,” my grandfather says, and Kip has finally been rendered speechless.
We busy Kathrine with washing dishes and wrapping the food. Jessica, Sam, Cam, Koi, Jagger, Kip, and Big Daddy state we are going on a big ass liquor run. Everybody makes up their own convincing excuse as to why they need to go to the liquor store. We set up the lights on the beach. We then wait on the beach out of sight while I send Big Daddy in to retrieve Kathrine. Once he goes in, the remaining guests know to join us on the beach.
I see Kathrine exit the French doors with her dad, fussing about the dishes still left in the kitchen. Her dad points to the lights on the beach. They read, “He asked me. I said yes. What will you say?” She looks at her dad in confusion, and I hold my breath. He points down to the beach where Cam is waiting amongst the lights. Her dad kisses her on cheek and escorts her down to Cam. He steps over to our crowd, and Cam drops to one knee. I throw my hands over my mouth to suppress my squeal of joy. I want to jump up and down, but she can’t see us in the shadows, and I don’t want to take away from their moment.
“I have felt so lost these last few years. The music was great, but it just didn’t make me feel whole anymore. I couldn’t put my finger on what was missing. I have known you a long time, but when you came to New Orleans, I found what I was missing. When you left, I felt lost again, but each time I heard your voice or saw your face, I was whole again. Please do me the honor of being my wife and making my life whole, always. Will you marry me?”
I hold my breath. If she says no, I’m kicking her ass. She starts saying yes as she nods her head vehemently, and he places that gorgeous ring on her finger. Our massive group finally lets out the hoots and squeals. Kathrine turns towards us in shock, and the fellas light the Tiki torches so she can see us. She hugs her parents and makes her way through the family and friends. When she gets to me, I hold her tight. We jump up and down holding each other squealing like teenage girls. Jessica and Sam join in our hug and squeal fest too.
Chapter 27
Two weeks after Christmas, I’m still shopping. Luckily, the guys have chartered a private jet back to Georgia. So, I can just wrap presents here and take them with me. I still haven’t figured out what to get Jagger. Jessica and I are out shopping today for Jag and Koi. They aren’t easy to shop for, so we need the moral support and lots of coffee. My phone chirps as I leave Starbucks after lunch.
Jagger: What ya doing?
Me: Still trying to find the love of my life the perfect gift.
Jagger: The love of your life already has the perfect gift. You.
Me: Awww… I can’t think of a damn thing to get you that you don’t already have.
Jagger: I’ve given you some ideas, baby.
Me: I know, and I have bought everything you asked for. I just need to find the big gift. The special one.
Jagger: You will find it. You always figure it out.
Me: What you doing?
Jagger: Running some errands. Want to meet me for dinner after you shop?
Me: I would love to. I will text when I’m finishing up.
Jagger: K. I love you so much.
Me: Love you too babe.
Jessica and I hit Saks to finish shopping for our moms. Our moms love clothes and perfume as much as we do. We spend hours in Saks, and I buy everything I see that I think mom would like, and I even pick up some jeans for Koi. After I check out, the manager approaches me. She is a beautiful woman with shoulder length grey hair. Her smile is so warm that it makes her feel familiar.
“Ms. Hendrix, Can I ask you to step into my office for a moment?” she asks.
I frown. “Is something wrong?”
She hesitates. “Uh, no ma’am. I have a call for you in my office.”
A call? What is she talking about? Jessica’s phone chirps as I look at her for help with the manager. The look on her face is one of horror.
“What is it, Jessica?”
“Nothing. Let’s go take that call.”
“Let me see the message.”
“Come on, Hen. Let’s just go to the office.”
“I swear to everything holy if you don’t show me the message I will make a scene.” She flips her phone over for me to see.
Samantha: Get her the fuck out of Saks. Shit just hit the fan!
“What is she talking about?”
“I honestly don’t know, Hen.”
The paparazzi begin banging on the windows and call out my name. What the fuck is up with them? The manager is waiting impatiently.
“Ms. Hendrix, for your own safety, I’m begging you to follow me to my office.”
Jessica and I look at each other, and shrug. The manager escorts us to her office, but she stops Jessica outside the door. She whispers something in her ear, and Jessica struggles with her poker face. I can see the second the shock and anger pass over her face, and I know no matter what I do, she won’t tell me what she heard. So, I sit in the middle of Saks wondering what the hell is going on in my life that the paparazzi act like I’m a cat in heat, and two of my best friends feel the need to be cryptic.
An alert sounds on my phone letting me know there is an update with my name on it. I sit my bags down and take a seat in the chair in front of the manager’s desk. I open the alert and Google takes its time connecting me to the story with
my name in it. I’m in the middle of the building inside another room, so the signal isn’t stellar. I wait some more. What now? Did someone hear me fart? Did I pick my nose in public? Did I forget to pay something?
Google finally connects me the article.
“OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”
Jessica rushed to me. “Breathe, Henley. Breathe. Seriously take some deep breaths.”
“Please call Samantha.”
Jessica calls Samantha’s L.A. office, but she doesn’t pick up her direct line. She tries her personal cell, but she doesn’t pick it up either. She then phones her secretary who also doesn’t pick up. They are avoiding me. This is what Samantha does when she is dealing with the mack daddy of cluster fucks. This can’t be happening. I need to talk to Samantha. Jessica spends the next ten minutes blowing up every phone Samantha can be reached on.
When she finally answers her cell, she sounds defeated. “Hen?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?” Her voice is so soft it scares me. Samantha is soft when the world is about to implode.
“Saks.”
“We gotta get you out of there. I’m going to work on an escape…”
“Shut up Samantha.” She rambles when she is nervous. She stops talking. I finally ask the one thing I need to know before I can figure out how in the hell I’m going to deal.
“Is it true?” I ask.
She doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “Yeah, Hen.”
The tears run down my face, the phone drops, and I begin to shake my head. “No. No. No. No. No. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I just can’t.”
“I know, Hen,” she says.
There’s No Crying in Rock-n-Roll
Guitar Face Series, Book Two
By Sasha Marshall
There’s No Crying in Rock-n-Roll
Copyright 2015 Sasha Marshall
Published by: Sasha Marshall, LLC
Edited by: A. Calvert, K. Thompson, JMC, C. Hulsey, & J. Fason
Cover Designed by Sasha Marshall
Photographs on Cover: © prochkailo/ Dollar Photo Club
Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
For an angel, Kaitlyn. May your wings cover and protect us throughout this life. May your love be like the wind, strong and neverending.
Check out SashaMarshall.com to view character profiles and biographies.
Please be advised there are sexual situations, profanity, and other situations which are not suitable for anyone who is younger than 18 years of age.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Prologue
The Black Keys play in the background, and damn if I don’t see Caleb plain as day. “These Days” is one of my favorite Black Keys songs, and I ride my high as they sing softly over smooth instrumentation. I can see Caleb screaming, but I can’t hear him over the music. I take another hit of my cigarette, lay my head back against the wall, and close my eyes.
My body suffers the numb, and for once, I don’t care that Caleb is here, I don’t even care he is gone. He left me in this mess, to deal with all the shit life keeps vomiting in my wake. I’m coping the only way I can, so fuck him and everybody else who has been in my face lately. I’m being told how I am supposed to live, and what I am or am not supposed to do. I’ve decided it isn’t anyone else’s life to live. Only I can figure out how to lift my head off my fucking pillow every day.
I sit there for hours as the depressing play list continues in the Hollywood mansion I found myself in hours ago. I replay last night over and over again in my head. He wouldn’t sleep with me. He finds me repulsive, and I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. I’ve been the Guitar Goddess longer than I have not, and not once have I ever faced rejection in my super star life. Rejection is like a good bottle of tequila. It burns like hell at first, but the after effects of it are far worse than the burn. It fucks with you, fueling all your insecurities, running a feed of them on replay in your head, then shoving them down your throat, straight to your fucking heart.
I found a back room in this mansion to hide in not long after my arrival. In this empty room, I don’t have to be the center of attention or the Guitar Goddess. I came here to escape the repudiation that only scarred my black heart even further in the wee hours of the morning. I just want to be invisible for a little while. I want to ride out the euphoria I’m experiencing and then I will take my ass home and crawl in bed, alone, again.
So for hours I sit against a black wall. The entire room has black walls, and dark carpet. Perhaps I’m drawn to this room because black, dark, and empty is exactly how I feel inside. It’s better than experiencing the pain I feel when I’m sober. I can’t take that shit for another day. My existence may have become pathetic, but it will do until this life comes to an end. I don’t have the balls to end it myself, so I pray to whatever is out there to take me every night. I have given the entity or cosmic universe every reason to take me. I keep giving, hoping it will take.
I thought I had found my footing again, but I was wrong. I broke again. The people who love me most broke me. They break me, and when I react they wonder why I reacted the way I did. I’ve had enough hurt for a lifetime. I’ve had enough love for a lifetime because love is overrated. If you don’t love, then you can’t hurt. So, little by little, I numb the part of me that yearns to love, to be loved.
I’m sober enough to escape this place and find my car in the gated driveway. I buckle in. Why? I’m not sure. I often hope a coyote runs in front of my car so it will all just end. Caleb is in the front seat screaming for me to call a cab, so I turn the music up. I don’t want to hear it anymore. He left, and he doesn’t have a say any-fucking-more.
I make the drive to my home in the Pacific Palisades while listening to “Fuck the Pain Away” on repeat. The house is dark when I enter the gates, and I hope it means Kip and my friends are out. I am in no mood to deal with their accusations and tears. I park in the garage and wind my way up the stairs to the main level. Kip has lived in my basement since before this past Christmas, and I genuinely enjoyed him as a roommate until the last few months.
My clothes smell like pot and cigarettes, so I soak under the hot water in my shower for half an hour. I dress in short boxers and a little wife beater before I grab a glass of water to swallow my sleeping pill with. The little white pill is the only way I can guarantee sleep these days. It takes another half an hour before the pill kicks in and I find sweet sleep.
Kip wakes me sometime in the night rubbing my face down with a coo
l rag. The light from my lamp shines brightly in my eyes.
“What are you doing, Kip?”
“Hen, you don’t look good. You’re pouring sweat and your skin looks grey,” he says with concern.
“I am fine Kip, go get sleep.”
“Can I sleep in here with you tonight? I won’t be able to sleep in the basement. I’ll worry about you all night.”
I sigh, “Yeah, sleep in here. No porn in the morning!”
He smiles a half-smile, not the usual mega-watt Kip smile, and undresses to slide into bed with me. While he undresses, I make my way to the restroom for a pit stop. When I flip the light switch, the entire room lights up like an explosion. My head pounds as though a jackhammer is vibrating against my skull. The room spins and whirls around me, and I can’t find my footing any longer. I fall to my knees, and pain shoots up my back. I grab my head with both hands as the pounding comes on stronger with the sync of my rapid heartbeat.
I attempt to yell for Kip, but I can’t push the words from my belly. I can’t breathe. It’s as though the oxygen is sucked out of the entire room. I collapse on the floor completely because I can’t find the strength to sit on my knees any longer. I need Kip. I stare at the wall and wonder if this is it. Part of me hopes it is, and part of me is scared to death. Do I want this?
Chapter 1
Henley
I stare at the cup on the Saks manager’s desk. She only has black ink in her cup. How does someone live in a black and white world? Where is the color? The passion? The laughter? The love? Love, laughter, and passion aren’t black and white. They are vivid colors that alternate through various shades depending on the intensity of the emotion. My love for Jagger is reds and oranges, and sometimes yellows. The passion I have for him overwhelms me. He invokes all these feelings I can’t make sense of. I feel like the sun shining through the world when he looks at me, but the sun just exploded in my universe. The only thing left behind is black, darkness; like the manager’s cup of pens.
Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4 Page 26
