Pieces Of Us

by Elks, Carrie

  Marco nodded. “Of course.”

  “If there’s any damage, put it on my bill.”

  They’d made it to the second dressing room, and as Gray pushed open the door, Marco walked off to take care of the support band, muttering something about calling for a car. Unlike the first room, this one was almost empty, save for one of Gray’s session guitarists drinking a glass of orange juice.

  “You not partying with the others?” Gray asked the older man as he grabbed himself another bottle of water.

  “Nope. I’m heading back to the hotel shortly. My bed is calling me.” Paul’s eyes crinkled. “How about you? I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

  Touring created strange allies. The only thing Gray had in common with this fifty-something, grizzled Australian was the fact they both played guitar. And yet, for the past two weeks they had hit it off, talking quietly at the back of buses and airplanes while the rest of the entourage shouted and laughed at the front.

  “I’m too old to party.”

  Paul chuckled. “You’re thirty-one. Just a baby.”

  “Tell my muscles that. And my bones.” Gray rotated his head to iron out the kinks in his neck. “Anyway, I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow. I don’t want to miss it.”

  “You’re heading to see your family, right?”

  “Yeah.” Gray sat back on the leather sofa and crossed his feet on the coffee table in front of him. “That’s right.”

  “Funny place. Hartson’s something…” Paul grinned. “Not many people I know have a whole town named after them.”

  “Hartson’s Creek. And it’s not named after me. Probably my great-great-great grandpa or something.” Gray’s brows scrunched together thinking about the small town in Virginia where he’d grown up. The same place he hadn’t been back to since he left more than a decade earlier.

  “What is it they used to call you and your brothers?” Paul asked, a grin pulling at his lips. “The Heartbreak Brothers?” He’d overheard one of Gray’s interviews while on the bus and hadn’t let him live his past down since.

  “Don’t remind me.” Gray shook his head. He couldn’t remember who’d invented the damn name, but it had stuck to them like superglue. He and his three brothers – Logan, Cam, and Tanner, had rolled their eyes every time they’d heard it while they were growing up. Yeah, they were four strong, attractive teenage boys growing up in a small town, but that stupid nickname always drove them crazy.

  Not as crazy as it drove their little sister, Becca, though. She hated hearing her female friends describing her brothers as ‘hot’.

  Something was digging into Gray’s thigh. He frowned and pushed his hand into his pocket, finding what the woman had slid in there earlier. Pulling it out, he could see it was a clear plastic baggie, with white powder inside. She’d written her name and number in blue pen on the outside.

  “That what I think it is?”

  “Yup.” Gray threw it in the trash can and leaned his head back against the wall. There was a time when he would have been partying like crazy after a gig. As his stardom rose up, he’d been like a kid in a candy store for a while, feeding on the fruits of his fame like there was a famine right around the corner.

  But after the rise had come the crash. Waking in one strange bed too many, his head thumping with pain, his body filled with so many chemicals he could have set up his own lab. All followed by a three-day hangover that cost the record company thousands of dollars in unused studio time, and a missed performance on Jimmy Kimmel that had made him feel like a piece of shit.

  It hadn’t taken much to clean up his act. He was an idiot, not an addict. Marco had arranged for him to rent a studio in a secluded spot in Colorado, and he’d put his head down until he’d finished his second album. The record that raised him up from being a little famous to being a star.

  God, he was tired. It wasn’t just the tour – though that was draining on its own. It was everything. Trying to work on songs for the next album, talking with Marco about what kind of tour he wanted to promote it, and dealing with the calls from his sister about his dad being in the hospital with pneumonia.

  It felt like all the energy had been sucked out of him. He wanted to sleep for months.

  “Your car is here,” Marco said, pushing the dressing room door open. “You just need to say goodbye to a few people first.” He frowned at Gray, slumped on the bench. “Hey, you okay? You haven’t showered.”

  “I’ll do it back at the hotel.” Gray stood and rolled his shoulders.

  Paul walked over to shake his hand. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

  “And with you. Take it easy. Enjoy that family of yours.” Gray had seen all the photographs of Paul’s wife, three children, and six grandchildren.

  “I intend to. I hope your father’s feeling better soon.”

  “That reminds me,” Marco said, steering Gray out of the room. “I spoke to your sister earlier. Your father was discharged and is recuperating at home. She wanted your flight details so they know when to expect you.”

  “She could have called me.”

  Marco laughed. “Do you know when your flight gets into Dulles?”

  Gray frowned. “No.”

  “Which is why she called me. I also told her you’d be staying for a while, like we talked about. Give you a chance to write some songs in peace. There’s no place like home, right?”

  Home. Gray swallowed hard at the thought of the imposing Victorian building with the pristine lawn that led down to the creek that gave the town it’s name. His father’s house. The one he’d left as soon as he could and had sworn he’d never return to.

  And yet here he was, about to return for the first time in more than ten years. To the place where his father still lived, along with his Aunt Gina and his sister, Becca.

  After a quick talk with the people from his record label, they made it to the exit. Cool air was wafting through the open doors, reminding him that although it was spring in the US, Australia was slowly slipping from fall into winter. A security guard was waiting for them at the door, and he talked into his headset as soon as he saw Gray approaching. “Mr. Hartson,” he said, turning to greet him. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll make sure you get to your car safely.”

  The tour was over. It was time to begin the long journey home. From the arena to the hotel to the airport, and onward to the US. His final stop being Hartson’s Creek.

  As he followed the guard through the doors, and into the dark Sydney night, he felt his stomach contract at the thought of where he was headed.

  The crowd of fans gathered at the back of the arena roared as he stepped out, their voices loud as they began to chant his name. Gray lifted his hand to wave goodbye to them.

  It was time to go home.

  * * *

  “According to the GPS, we should be there in five minutes,” his driver said as they passed into the Hartson’s Creek town limits. According to the weather-beaten sign, the town’s population was still 9,872, the exact same number it had been when he left.

  Gray turned his head to look out of the window. His stomach clenched at how familiar it all looked. The painted Victorian houses, the long lawns, and the wide, weatherworn roads. Had the town stood still for the last decade? Even the shops looked the same. As they stopped at a red light, he stared into the window of Bella’s Bakery, taking in the iced cinnamon swirls and donuts he used to adore as a kid. He could almost taste that buttery, sugary goodness on his tongue. And next door, as always, was Murphy’s Diner, the scene of his first gig – the one that led to the infamous Homecoming Brawl of 2005. His lips twitched at the memory of the carnage. At the way Ashleigh Clark had rubbed ointment onto his cut eye and split lip, telling him he looked hotter than hell after he’d been in a brawl.

  He hadn’t felt so hot the next morning when his dad received the bill for the damage done to the diner. Nor when he’d spent the following summer cleaning every inch of Murphy’s greasy kitchen. He shuddered at the memory.<
br />
  “We’re here.” The driver pulled the car to a stop.

  Gray looked out of the window again. They were about a hundred yards short of the driveway to his family home, and he was okay with that. “Can we wait here for a minute?” he asked.

  The driver shrugged. “You’re the boss.” He turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat as Gray looked toward the green hedges that bordered his father’s land. He couldn’t see the driveway but he knew it was there. Gray-and-red gravel that made a hell of a noise when you were trying to sneak home after curfew. It led to what he remembered as an imposing house. Tall red roof, white boarded walls, and a cupola in the center you could only reach via a rickety staircase.

  The climb was always worth it. Because when you got to the top, the lantern windows gave you a three-sixty view over Hartson’s Creek. To the west you could see the fields that stretched out in a green carpet to the Shenandoah Mountains far beyond. To the east was the sparkling blue of the creek, leading to the wheat farms that would be colored a burnished gold come fall.

  The house didn’t look so white anymore. The boards were peeling and decayed, down to the base wood in places. Even from here he could see where some shingles had slipped from the roof. But more than that, it looked small. So much smaller than he remembered. Like a miniature version of its real self.

  He shook his head, his lip quirking up. Houses didn’t shrink. Maybe he’d grown.

  Two minutes later, Gray was standing at the base of the driveway, lifting a hand in goodbye as the black sedan made the turn out of Lawson Lane. Even the air smelled different. Cool, with a hint of corn coming up from the fields. And something else. Something old. As though every molecule of oxygen held memories of the past centuries since Hartson’s Creek was founded.

  “Gray. You made it!” The front door flew open and a blur of pink and blue rushed toward him. He had just enough time to put his guitar and suitcase down before Becca was jumping into his arms, her dark hair flowing out wildly behind her. “I thought that was you,” she told him right as he caught her. “I saw a car stopped down the road. Aunt Gina owes me five dollars.”

  “You bet on that?” Gray’s smile was broad. It always was when he saw his little sister. Gina had brought her out a few times to watch his shows, and he was always pleased to see her.

  “The Wi-Fi’s out again. We have to keep ourselves entertained somehow.” Becca shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. “Why didn’t you get that big ol’ car to drive up to the house? That would have given us something to gawk at.”

  “And that’s why I didn’t have it drive up to the house,” Gray told her, deadpan.

  Becca pulled herself out of his hug and grabbed his hand. “Come on, everybody’s waiting inside.”

  “Everybody?” He ignored the pulling at his gut.

  “Well, there’s me and Aunt Gina. And Tanner’s here for a couple of days,” she said, referring to Gray’s youngest brother. “Logan and Cam couldn’t make it now, but they’re coming in for Tanner’s birthday.” She grinned broadly. “All the Hartsons in one place. People won’t know what’s hit them.”

  “And Dad? Is he in there?”

  “He’s in bed.” Her voice dropped. “His recovery is slow.” She waited for him to pick up his things before she pulled him up the front steps, skipping over the middle one with a gaping hole in the plank. When he got to the top, he saw Tanner standing in the doorway, leaning casually on the doorjamb. At twenty-eight, Tanner was the youngest of the four brothers, but still four years older than Becca.

  “The wanderer returns,” he drawled as Gray reached the door, and leaned his guitar against the weatherboard wall. “What, no paparazzi? No screaming fans?” He dropped his voice an octave. “No groupies?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Gray wrapped his brother in a bear hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York.”

  Tanner shrugged, lifting his hand to push his sandy hair from his eyes. “I heard you were coming. I came for the groupies.”

  Becca wrinkled her nose. “You’re disgusting,” she said, swatting his arm. “Both of you.”

  Gray held his hands up straight in front of his chest. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

  “He doesn’t need to say anything. They flock to him.” Tanner grinned. “Hey, Becca, did I tell you about that time I saw Gray in Vegas.”

  “What’s all the noise out here? You trying to drive your father crazy?”

  Aunt Gina walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway, her eyes lighting up when she saw Gray on the porch. “Grayson. You’re here,” she said.

  “Yep. And you owe me five bucks,” Becca told her.

  Aunt Gina shuffled over the threshold and pulled Gray into a hug. “Oh, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she whispered into his chest. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

  “Then why did you get his room ready?” Tanner frowned.

  “Because I always have hope.” Aunt Gina took a step back and looked Gray up and down. “Is that new?” she asked him, pointing at the edges of a tattoo peaking out from under his sleeve.

  “This old thing?” Gray grinned at her, and went to pull his top off to show her more. “You wanna see?”

  “No, I don’t. You keep your t-shirt right where it is.” She shook her head. “We have standards in this house.”

  “Unlike in Vegas,” Tanner drawled, winking at his aunt. “Gray’s top was constantly off there.”

  “You can be quiet,” Aunt Gina said, shaking her head at Tanner. “And bring your brother’s things in.”

  Tanner frowned. “He can carry his own stuff.”

  Gray swallowed down a laugh. Some things never changed. Becca’s over enthusiasm, Tanner’s bitching, even Aunt Gina’s cluckiness felt so familiar it made his stomach twist. It was like he was straddling two time zones, somewhere between the man he was and the kid he used to be. “I’ll carry my bags,” he told Tanner. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt your back, sweetheart.”

  Tanner rolled his eyes. “I’ll take it,” he said, grabbing the handle. “I’d hate for you to hurt those pretty hands of yours. They must be insured for a million dollars.”

  “Two, actually.” Gray shrugged, remembering his own outrage when he’d first discovered that fact.

  Tanner reached for the guitar case, but Gray got there first. “I’ll bring this one,” he said, gently lifting the strap over his shoulder. As he followed his aunt inside, the smell of butter cookies filled his nose, making his mouth water.

  He was home. Whatever that meant. Maybe a few weeks here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Click here to read TAKE ME HOME right now!

  Dear Reader

  Thank you so much for reading this book. If you enjoyed it and you get a chance, I’d be so grateful if you can leave a review. And don’t forget to keep an eye out for CHASING THE SUN, the next book in the series, coming in JANUARY 2021

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  Carrie xx

  About the Author

  Carrie Elks writes contemporary romance with a sizzling edge. Her first book, Fix You, has been translated into eight languages and made a surprise appearance on Big Brother in Brazil. Luckily for her, it wasn’t voted out.

  Carrie lives with her husband, two lovely children and a larger-than-life black pug called Plato. When she isn’t writing or reading, she can be found baking, drinking an occasional (!) glass of wine, or chatting on social media.

  You can find Carrie in all these places

  www.carrieelks.com

  carrie.elks@mail.com

  Als
o by Carrie Elks

  ANGEL SANDS SERIES

  Let Me Burn

  She’s Like the Wind

  Sweet Little Lies

  Just A Kiss

  Baby I’m Yours

  Pieces Of Us

  Chasing The Sun

  THE HEARTBREAK BROTHERS SERIES

  Take Me Home

  Still The One (Coming Aug 2020)

  THE SHAKESPEARE SISTERS SERIES

  Summer’s Lease

  A Winter’s Tale

  Absent in the Spring

  By Virtue Fall

  THE LOVE IN LONDON SERIES

  Coming Down

  Broken Chords

  Canada Square

  STANDALONE

  Fix You

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