Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel)

by Amanada Lawless

  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.

  Chapter Seven

  “Here you go,” I say, gesturing toward a prime patch of backstage real estate. “You can see the whole show from right here. Best spot in the house, I promise you.”

  Ellie peers past the curtains toward the swelling audience. She’s being a very good sport, though I can tell that some part of her wishes she could be out in the crowd, like a normal girl.

  It makes me a little sad for her—now that she’s a known musician, even a minor one, simple pleasures like watching a concert without being bothered by the paparazzi and crazed fans are a thing of the past.

  “This is great, Trent,” she smiles. The corners of her mouth are stretched a smidge too widely for her enthusiasm to be completely wholehearted.

  I avert my gaze, regret twisting my stomach into knots.

  Why did I have to blow her off before? I’ve never lost my nerve with a girl in my entire life. Well, not since I hit puberty, anyway. We were absolutely on the edge of a moment back under that tree, on that little hill overlooking the festival. I saw what was happening, felt it, and still I ripped us away.

  Sure, there was the pressing issue of my concert to consider, but would one kiss have killed
me?

  I’d wanted to kiss her so badly. Those full, soft lips of Ellie’s were inches from mine, and moving closer. In a perfect world, I would have been able to press her back against that tree, pinning her there. I would have been able to kiss her as deeply, and long as I wanted, letting her feel the weight of my body against her own. I would have been able to wrap my arms around her, carry her off to some secluded corner where we could be alone.

  But this is hardly a perfect world we’re living in. If I had let something happen between us back there, a dozen gawkers would have been along to spoil the moment.

  Ellie’s name would be splashed across gossip blogs in the same breath as mine, and that would be it. I don’t want to put her through the media circus that occurs around every development in my romantic life.

  The women I’m seen with are always treated like Groupies of the Week by the music press, and I’m not OK with Ellie being lumped in with the others. She’s as far from them as can be. For one, I actually like Ellie. And the last thing I want to do is hand over whatever privacy she has left to the tabloids.

  If something’s going to happen between Ellie and I, it has to be on her terms. I’m not going to pounce on her in the heat of the moment, tempted though I might be. This is quite a departure from my usual “Anything Goes” philosophy of romance, but it’s not like that school of thought was doing me any real favors.

  “I have to go get ready,” I tell her.

  “OK,” she smiles gamely.

  I can tell she’s confused and a little put off by my evasion. I can only hope that this doesn’t drive a wedge between us. The last thing I want to do is extinguish whatever’s crackling between us. I hope she knows that I’m not trying to avoid her—I’m just trying to avoid making her life more difficult for my sake. No time to worry about it now, though. Hopefully, we’ll be able to sort everything out later tonight. If she deigns to wait that long, of course.