The Hope That Starts

by Heidi Hutchinson

  “Meow,” Hüsker Dü replied as if he understood. But Zelda didn't understand.

  “Considering what?” she couldn't help but ask.

  Carl shifted his attention to her and crossed his arms over his chest, propping one ankle on the opposite knee. “Considering where they started, what they've been through, the bad choices they've made along the way.”

  “But I thought most of that was made up by the tabloids,” she said carefully. “I mean, isn't that why I'm here? To set the record straight?”

  Carl frowned, like he was trying to figure out the best way be honest with her without shattering her little fandom ideals. “The new stuff is all crap. Total shit.” He dipped his head to the side. “The rest of it? The wild parties, the drugs, booze, and women? Not so much.”

  Zelda's heart began to sink. She knew that it was ridiculous to assume that her favorite band was an organized and musically talented group of saints. But she couldn't help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.

  She wondered if this was how kids felt when they found out that Santa wasn't real. Her parents had always just told her he was a character from a story. The same as Captain America or She-Ra. So she'd never had to experience the deep emotional letdown of finding out the fat man wasn't actually visiting her house in the middle of the night expecting cookies.

  But Double Blind Study?

  They were the kind of band that was easy to admire. Their music, their stories, their loyalty, their longevity. Zelda would be hard pressed to find something about them that wasn't attractive.

  “Shit,” Carl broke into her thoughts. “You look like I just kicked you in the gut.”

  Zelda tried to school her features but it was too late, the truth had been exposed.

  It was like meeting the person who played your favorite Muppet. Some of the magic was just... gone.

  “Listen, kid,” Carl said as he leaned towards her. “They were young. They made mistakes. But they fixed it. They grew up, straightened everything out, and now they really are the band they always hoped they could be. The band you obviously already believed they have always been.”

  Zelda took a deep breath and smiled shyly. “Of course. They're human beings. I should really learn not to build things up in my mind to be something they're not. I mean, look what I did with Matt.”

  “Who's Matt?”

  Ugh. She did not mean to say his name.

  “Matt is my boyfriend—” She stopped herself and grit her teeth. “No, no. See? He's got me doing it now, too. Matt is my ex-boyfriend. I broke up with him clearly and concisely.” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently, according to my best friend, he was always stupid and I had decided to look past it.”

  “But it's over now?” Carl questioned with a cocked eyebrow.

  “Yeah. Not if you ask him, though,” she amended. “If you ask him, we had a fight and he's giving me my space.”

  He stared at her. “How did it really play out?”

  Zelda sighed. “The truth is, he's a bum without a job and has been cheating on me for”—she shrugged—“who knows how long. I told him it was over. He just... doesn't get it.”

  “I like him,” Carl said with a smirk. “He sounds smart.”

  “I sure know how to pick 'em,” she agreed.

  “Eh, don't be so hard on yourself,” Carl encouraged. “Lots of great girls end up with stupid guys. It's good you figured it out. Just don't go back.”

  Zelda chuckled without humor. “That will not be an issue,” she muttered under her breath as she remembered their final interaction that morning.

  As she had lugged her giant suitcase down the stairs, Matt had passed her on his way to get breakfast.

  She'd gotten lodged in the bend of the stairs, wedging herself between the wall and her parcel. Matt had come jogging down the steps and observed her struggle.

  “You stuck?” he'd asked.

  “Nope. I was feeling lonely so I created an apparatus to hug me without mercy. I'm still in the trial stages,” she'd answered with a grunt.

  “Huh.”

  After a second, he had braced one arm on the railing and simply hopped over to the next set of stairs.

  “I'll be back in a little bit,” he'd called over his shoulder.

  For moment, Zelda had let herself get angry over his insensitivity. Then she'd realized what a waste of energy that was, especially since her ride would be arriving shortly.

  Jose must have heard the voices in the hall because his door opened and he came to her assistance.

  After helping her get situated next to the curb, he had waited with her until the car came, citing how he needed some fresh air before his morning coffee. But Zelda knew it was because Jose didn't believe that women shouldn't be left to stand alone on a street corner.

  No matter the circumstances.

  One time she had seen him wait outside with his girlfriend after they'd had a huge fight and her sister drove all the way from Bakersfield to pick her up. She wouldn't speak to him, but he had waited, nonetheless.

  Zelda pulled her hair back into what could be considered a ponytail and secured it with an elastic. No, she definitely would not be going back to Matt. If this whole gig with the band worked out, she'd maybe try a different city.

  New York sounded cool.

  Carl checked his watch.

  “We'll be there soon. Don't worry about your bag, I'll have the crew get it and load it onto the bus.”

  Zelda panicked, envisioning her suitcase being thrown about all willy nilly by a man with ape arms like she had witnessed on her last trip home. Carl saw her expression and gave her a reassuring version of his scowl.

  “Don't worry, it won't get stored underneath. These guys move some pretty sensitive equipment, so I'll tell them to be careful.”

  “Awesome,” she sighed in relief.

  Carl studied her briefly then lifted his chin.

  “Do you drink coffee?”

  Zelda snorted. “Does Captain Malcolm Reynolds use sarcasm?”

  He stared at her.

  “Yes.” She nodded soberly. “Yes, I drink coffee. Coffee is the nectar of the gods and I would die without it. I've already had a whole pot today.”

  Carl's lips twitched, then he shook his head. “I have a feeling I'm gonna end up liking you, Zelda Fitzpatrick.”

  She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Good. That's all part of my plan to take over the world. Get the tour manager on board first.”

  Then Carl Darrow, professional standoffish grump, barked a laugh. Zelda had never been so proud of herself.

  ***

  “I'm telling you, read the book!” Sway demanded, pressing the hardcover against Harrison's chest.

  Harrison grabbed it reflexively. “Wow, fangirl much?”

  “Shut it,” Sway warned. “It's good. Read it.”

  It was the big family meeting before they hit the road. The band and lead crewmembers were told to gather in one of the conference rooms at Double Blind Records. Carl wanted to go over the schedule and make sure everyone knew everyone. It was like a mixer, but without food. Harrison's stomach growled in protest of that small detail. He ignored it.

  Harrison turned the book over in his hands, examining the cover. “Unstoppable by David Warren,” he murmured out loud.

  He remembered meeting the author at his sister's wedding. The guy was Carl's best friend and Harrison remembered thinking that made sense. Carl didn't have friends, but somehow this guy fit.

  Blake dropped into the chair on his other side and leaned over to look at the cover. “Lucy reads his stuff, too.”

  “Has everyone read it?” Harrison asked with a frown.

  Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven't read it yet, but I probably will.”

  “Can't I just wait for them to make it into a movie starring Scarlett Johansson or something?” Harrison asked

  “You suck. Just read the damn book,” Sway grumbled.

  Suddenly the book was snatched out of Harrison's hands.
r />   “Ooh, a hardcover!”

  All three men raised their heads to see a petite chick with olive skin and curly hair that was equal parts brown and blonde barely restrained at her crown, paging through the book lovingly. She stopped on the front page where the signature was and traced the fine lines with her fingertips.

  “It's signed,” she whispered, almost reverently.

  “And you are...?” Blake asked.

  Carl smacked Blake on the back of the head as he walked past him. “She's the photographer.”

  Harrison narrowed his eyes at the girl, who looked over the three of them sheepishly.

  “Guilty.” She flashed them all a wonky smile and shrugged one shoulder.

  She was not forty. That was Harrison's first observation. She barely looked seventeen. Her army green cargo pants hung loosely on her slim hips while her burgundy tank top hugged her torso snugly. A flash of silver caught in the fluorescent lighting, drawing his eyes to her neckline. The pendant was too small for him to make out what it was.

  “How old are you?” Sway asked, obviously thinking along the same lines as Harrison.

  “Twenty-six,” she answered with a suspicious scowl.

  “I call bullshit,” Blake retorted. She focused her jade green eyes on him and her mouth grew small.

  “She's twenty-six,” Carl hollered from the front of the room, then continued his conversation with Sam, head of security.

  “You're Zelda, huh?” Sway asked.

  Harrison watched her mouth relax. He tried not to notice the perfect bow shape, or how full her lips were. But at the same time, he couldn't take his eyes of the movement. She was talking to Sway, probably giving details about her life, her name, her situation. Then she smiled again, all crooked and goofy as hell.

  Seriously, who smiled like that? It was open and sweet and not the smile of a twenty-six year old. It was more innocent than that.

  No. It wasn't innocence... it was vulnerability.

  “Dude, you're drooling,” Blake muttered in his ear.

  Harrison took a breath and looked away, the back of his neck heating up.

  “If everyone is done playing grab-ass, we can get this meeting over with,” Carl announced at the front of the room. “Miss Fitzpatrick, will you please join me up here.”

  Zelda rolled eyes. “So grumpy,” she muttered. Replacing the book in Harrison's lap, she flashed him that bright smile. “When you're done with that, I want to read it.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled immediately.

  “Miss Fitzpatrick?” Carl called again.

  “I'm comin', Grumpy Bear!” She gave Sway a wink when he chuckled nervously. Then sauntered her way to Carl who was, miracle of miracles, holding back a smirk.

  “Okay, what the hell?” Blake asked in a low voice, sounding legitimately concerned. “How does she get away with that? If I were to call Carl Grumpy Bear, he'd throw me into traffic.”

  Harrison just shook his head. He had no answer. But he had a theory it was related to that smile.

  “I want to make a formal introduction to your new photographer, Zelda Fitzpatrick.” Carl's hands rested on his hips and he let his gaze sweep over the room, pausing briefly on Harrison and Sway, before continuing. “You will treat her with respect, just the same as you would Lenny or Lucy or your mamas. She and I have gone over a few ideas to make you look more presentable to the public. I don't want any arguments or hissy fits. Just do what the woman asks and I'll stay happy. Any questions on that?”

  Of course no one had questions on that. Carl very rarely left room for actual discussion. That was one of the things that made him such a good tour manager. His word was law.

  Carl nodded to Zelda to take her seat.

  The meeting lasted another hour as Carl went over the schedule and his expectations this time around. Harrison was only half listening. The rest of his thoughts were a tangled mess.

  Her name was Zelda. She was going to be staying on his bus. He really liked her smile.

  He jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Text from Kiley.

  Kiley: I want to see you tonight. I'll be over around 8.

  Harrison felt guilt try to make its way into his stomach. He pushed it back. He hadn't done anything wrong. He had simply observed a few things about the new addition to their crew.

  He was with Kiley.

  And that night he would be with Kiley before embarking on another cross-country tour.

  On that thought, Harrison decided to ask Kiley to come with. Carl would be pissed, but the rules still held that serious girlfriends were allowed to accompany them.

  Tonight, he'd ask Kiley to make it official: to be exclusive.

  He tapped out his reply to her and felt his conscience settle down.

  Kiley was one-of-a-kind. He was still amazed that she gave him the time of day. Knowing he was going to be seeing her in a couple of hours pushed all remaining thoughts of the new photographer with the crooked smile and the River Song hair out of his mind.

  Chapter 3

  Fidelity

  Harrison pressed the power button on the remote and the television screen went dark. He tossed the remote to the side, where it landed on the couch and bounced onto the floor. His head tilted back to look up at the eleven-foot ceiling as he slouched further back in the soft, gray cushions.

  It was almost midnight.

  He'd come straight home after the band meeting, eaten, showered, and then waited.

  And waited.

  As amazing as Kiley was, her inability to show up on time always left him feeling a little more like a convenience to her than a priority.

  With the television off he could really hear the sound of the city below. It was a clash of comforts that he had always enjoyed. The heartbeat of the city just outside competing with the stillness of his loft.

  His loft.

  He never failed to miss his home while they were on the road.

  Blake and Mike had similar lofts in the same building. They liked to stay close to one another. It made it convenient for those late-night brainstorming sessions when inspiration struck.

  Fourth floor, secure private entrance through the garage area, and management that respected their privacy made it the perfect place for three rock stars to call home.

  Harrison couldn't really pinpoint what his favorite part of the loft was. The high ceilings, the dark wood floors, the huge windows, the original steel fire door that separated his bedroom from the rest of the loft, or the black countertops with stainless steel appliances in his enormous kitchen. Then again, maybe it was the state of the art bathroom or the track lighting in every room. Or perhaps it was that he had hired a lady to decorate it based on the things he liked, so it sort of reminded him of where Tony Stark might feel comfortable. Because. Tony Stark.

  At least, Harrison always felt like a bad ass when he was at home.

  Except for those moments Kiley left him waiting. Then he mostly felt like an overly excited teenager waiting for the prom queen to blow him a kiss.

  They needed to talk. He needed to know, for his own peace of mind, where this was going. What she wanted from him. Because he was willing to jump through her hoops. If she would just tell him where they were.

  Except that Kiley wasn't ever really interested in talking. She was usually interested in making sure they both had their clothes off.

  The intercom buzzed and he swiveled his head toward it. So she was finally here. He had been starting to think that she was going to stand him up. It wouldn't have been for the first time.

  He got up and ran a tired hand through his curly hair before moving to the speaker by the door. The dark wood was smooth under his bare feet, and his jeans made scuffing noises along the way.

  “Yeah,” he said after pressing the Talk button.

  “It's me,” Kiley giggled.

  Harrison shook his head, fighting a smile as he signaled the entrance.

  He heard giggles in the hallway
as she and her friends staggered to his door, but he waited for the knock before opening it. Trying to wipe any remaining disappointment on his face away, he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  He caught Kiley's soft body around the waist as she slipped her arms around his neck and immediately pressed her strawberry daiquiri lips to his. Staggering back half a step, he shifted her in his grip so she fit more to his side.

  The warm summer weather of Boston had influenced her clothing choice for the evening. Very short denim shorts, a pale pink gauzy top that slipped off of one sun-kissed shoulder. Her perfectly straight and too-shiny-to-be-believed blonde hair tickled his unshaven jaw line as she nuzzled against him.

  “Hey, Harrison,” her friend Shelby greeted him with a giggle even as Kiley's lips began a trail down his neck.

  “Ladies,” he replied with a polite smile.

  “We got her here, it's your job to get her home,” Shelby said, cocking a knowing smile at him as the other two girls giggled again.

  They turned as a unit and staggered back to the elevator. Harrison felt like maybe he should stop them. Maybe he should make them take Kiley with them. Because he knew all too well what was going to happen when they were alone together and maybe, if he tried something different this time, the outcome would be different.

  “I missed you,” Kiley said low in his ear, and he felt his pulse roar. He liked hearing that. He wanted to know she missed him like how he missed her.

  She ran her hand down the front of his white t-shirt and slipped it beneath, trailing her fingers along the sensitive skin just above the fly of his jeans.

  The elevator shut on the girls and Harrison backed further into his loft, kicking the door closed with his foot.

  Kiley found his mouth again with hers as she pushed his shirt up higher and over his head. He didn't know if she jumped or he lifted, but her legs wrapped around his waist, her high-heeled wedge sandals crossing behind his back. And any thoughts of doing things differently were wiped clean away.

  The skin of her back was warm and soft as one of his hands made its way underneath her gauzy shirt. His other hand ran over the curves of her backside and gripped her thigh tightly.