Encore: A Standalone Rockstar Novel

by Selena Laurence

  She smacks me lightly on the arm before affecting a very loud stage whisper. "Ross Macalester!"

  My heart does this funny little fluttering thing, as if it's suddenly remembered what it used to feel like in 1994. I swallow, and the feeling subsides, but it leaves me almost as jittery as Ali.

  "Seriously?" I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

  "Dead, sister," she assures me, her shiny dark-plum lips curving into a told you so smile.

  I clear my throat. "Wow. I wonder what made him decide to come back now?"

  "Obviously, he heard it was going to be the bomb," she tells me with a nod.

  "You do realize no one says the bomb anymore, right?"

  She scowls.

  "But for real. I heard Ross came back once or twice before his parents moved to Florida, but he never even saw anyone except Craig, and that was years ago. Why now?"

  She loops her arm through mine and turns so she's facing the gym, leaning back against the wall behind us. "I have no idea, but this whole reunion just got a lot more interesting."

  Shit. That's an understatement. I mean, yeah, the only celebrity to ever come out of Grove High will definitely make a splash when he walks into the reunion after nearly twenty-five years away. And the thing is, Ross isn't just a celebrity, he and his band, Odyssey, are enormous. They still perform to sold out arenas. People compare them to The Rolling Stones, saying they'll never fade or become irrelevant. Ross showing up to our high school reunion is like Mick Jagger walking into his kid's soccer match. People like them don't just show up places with the rest of us.

  But Ross coming to the reunion isn't only a big deal for our class and the school and the town. It's kind of a big deal for me, too, although no one but Ali really knows the details of that.

  See, once upon a time, Ross was my prom date. It was senior year, and everyone already had their next steps in life planned. Ross was going to music school in L.A., but everyone knew he was only doing it to appease his parents, and that he'd drop out the minute he got in a band out there. Being a rockstar was the only thing Ross had wanted since he was about eight. We all knew it and, in some way, I think we all knew he'd manage to do it, too.

  Meanwhile, I was signed up to go to Western Illinois University. I didn't know what I wanted to major in, but it was only an hour and a half away, and my parents were paying, so there was an unspoken agreement that I'd figure something out by the time the school required me to declare a major.

  Neither Ross nor I were dating anyone that spring, but no one wanted to miss prom. We didn't exactly hang with the same set, but there were overlaps, and we'd always gotten along pretty well. So, when he suggested we go together, I said yes, and figured I'd have an easy, fun time at prom with a nice guy who wasn't hard on the eyes, either.

  "Carly?"

  I blink away the memories and look at Ali. "Sorry, yeah?"

  "Can you start lighting the candles? But make sure you get to the locker room by five, can't have you still in your work clothes when you see Mr. Rock and Roll again for the first time in twenty-five years."

  I sigh. I can't imagine what Ross Macalester will think of his prom date from 1994, but I guarantee nothing I wear will make a difference. I'm a divorced mom in a small town in Illinois. He's Ross Macalester. Grammy winner. Celebrity. Rock god.

  He's also the man who took my virginity—and I took his.

  3

  Ross

  "Dude," Craig says as he pounds me on the back. "I can't believe you decided to come."

  Craig was my best friend from the ages of five to eighteen, and while we haven't seen each other much in the intervening years, we never lost touch. Between texts and emails and the occasional voice mail message, we've managed to keep up with the main life events.

  I pull my baseball cap down tighter as we head out onto the concourse, making our way toward the terminal and the parking structure. The airport is nearly empty, and only a couple of people give me a second look. You can tell it's the "hey, that guy looks just like Ross Macalester" kind of thing. They simply can't believe I'd be walking around this little regional airport, so their minds tell them it's not actually me, just someone who looks like me.

  As we reach an escalator, Craig leans over and grabs my duffle bag from me. I keep the laptop case.

  "It's good to see you, man," he says with a grin. He's put on about twenty pounds since I last saw him.

  "Deanna's feeding you too much," I tell him, jabbing him in the gut. He's a big guy, and the extra weight is distributed pretty evenly, so he doesn't look all that different than he did in our high school soccer days. And when he smiles, I feel like I'm staring at that goofy, loyal sixteen-year-old all over again.

  "Shit," he complains mildly. "After fifteen years, I'm lucky if she tosses a sandwich my way. The extra weight's just too many stops at Taco Haven with the kids."

  Craig met Deanna in college, and after a few years in Chicago, they decided to move back to Grove City to raise kids in a small town. Craig's daughter Mandy is four and his son Rob is eight. I get e-cards with their pictures every Christmas, and I send them random things that kids might like when I'm out on tour. They call me "Uncle Ross," but the truth is, I've only met them twice.

  After we make it to the car, Craig proves true to the Taco Haven habit as he takes me to the drive-thru. I keep my head down as we get the ginormous order that includes taquito bonitos for the kids and a Tex-Mex salad for Deanna.

  "I'll drop you at the hotel, go get dressed and grab Deanna, then we'll be back to pick you up," he says.

  "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. I can't believe the airport rental car places couldn't find me something last minute. I'd have taken anything, but they said they didn't even have a Smart car left."

  He snorts in disgust. He's driving a Toyota Sequoia that's bigger than the living room in the first apartment I had in New York. I'm honestly not sure Craig could fit in one of those Smart cars.

  "You're home for the first time in years, man. I'd have insisted on picking you up no matter what."

  I smile. In all the years I've been on the road with the guys in Odyssey, all the places we've seen together, all the crazy things we've done to each other, not a one of them has ever been a friend the way Craig is. There's something about a person who shares your earliest history that makes the bond with them extra. Someday, when I'm eighty, I'll sit around and feel nostalgic about my bandmates, but it won't be the same as what I feel when I sit here with Craig.

  "Well, if you can get me through tonight, they said they'll have a car delivered to the hotel tomorrow morning."

  An hour later, Craig drops me at the nicest hotel in town, The Illinois Palace, right on Main Street. I know my security team worried about me being here alone, but I feel comfortable with these people. Even here in the middle of downtown, they know me, they remember me when I was still me, a kid with a dream and a guitar, tearing around town on my BMX bike.

  I make my way through the lobby that tries to be elegant, but tends to look like a turn of the last century brothel, all red velvet and crystal chandeliers. At the marble-topped check-in desk, I keep my baseball cap on and slide my driver's license over.

  "Checking in," I say. The twenty-something behind the counter is busy tapping away at her computer and hasn't looked up yet.

  "Of course, sir, just one moment." She reaches for my license as she finishes with whatever she was typing, and looks down at it to see what name to pull up for the reservation.

  "Oh! Um, oh! Okay..." Her gaze darts to me and I see her eyes grow wide.

  I give her a smile. "So, it's not under my name, but my assistant's. Thayer. Stacy Thayer."

  "Thayer," she repeats, her cheeks turning pink as she moves her gaze back to the monitor. I notice that her hand is shaking as she holds my license.

  "Hey," I say softly. "How long have you worked here..." my gaze dips to her name tag, "Eloise?"

  She freezes for a moment before punching at the keyboard again, her breath
somewhat short. "Um, like, um..." She closes her eyes, tense everywhere. "I uh, I can't remember right now." She stops what she's doing and fans her face rapidly. "I'm so sorry. I think, um, I think I might be having a little panic attack." Then her eyes fill with tears and her cheeks turn an even brighter red.

  I reach over the counter and touch her hand, just for a second, to break her out of her frenzy. "Eloise?"

  She nods rapidly, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  "It's fine. I'm not in a hurry. Just take a minute and remember to breathe. Also, remind yourself that I'm just a guy who plays guitar and got lucky. I grew up right here in Grove—did you know that?"

  She nods again, and releases a big breath, a small smile curving her lips.

  "In fact," I tell her conspiratorially, "I once worked here at the Palace."

  Her eyes widen again, and she grins. "Really?"

  "Yep. Lasted exactly six hours. I was a busboy in the restaurant when I was fourteen and by the end of my first shift I'd broken six glasses, spilled wine all over the carpet in the main walkway, tapped a little kid in the head with my loaded tray, and accidentally mixed up two servers’ tips. They fired me as soon as I clocked out."

  She giggles then, and visibly relaxes. "Oh my God. You poor thing. Fourteen is kind of young to be bussing tables, though."

  I shrug. "It was the nineties, life was hard."

  She laughs some more. Then she picks up my driver's license from where she laid it on the counter. Her hand isn't shaking anymore.

  "Thank you, Mr. Macalester," she says sweetly. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you."

  "No worries. It happens."

  She finishes checking me in and hands me my keycard and instructions on how everything works.

  "So, Eloise. I'm hoping that where I'm staying won't be all over your social media this weekend. As much as I love fans, I'm sort of wanting to have a quiet weekend at my high school reunion. See some old friends. Rest up. That kind of thing. You think you can keep this between us?"

  I've found in my many years of doing this that people are mostly good. Generally, if I ask nicely, they'll keep things low key and I won't be mobbed unexpectedly. That's not to say there aren't assholes, because there are, but I like to assume the best until someone proves me wrong.

  She looks at me very seriously. "Mr. Macalester, there are laws about guest confidentiality. I really love my job here, so I'd never break them."

  "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

  I lean down to retrieve my duffle bag and when I stand back up, she's looking at me with a watery smile.

  "Can I just tell you one more thing?" she asks.

  "Of course."

  "When I was sixteen, my mom got breast cancer." Her lip trembles just a touch and her voice wavers. "It was really scary, and she had to go through all the treatment—surgery, chemo, the works. My dad had to work so we'd keep that health insurance, and my brother was only twelve, so I ended up taking care of my mom a lot when I wasn't at school."

  She takes a shuddery breath. "There was one thing that always made her feel better, no matter whether she was throwing up or just really down—" She looks me in the eye. "It was your music. She used to listen to it on repeat in her bedroom, over and over again. Every album, your solo stuff, Odyssey, all of it."

  I swallow down a lump in my throat. No matter how many times I hear stories like this, it never ceases to amaze me. It's one thing to know people like your work, it's another to know it really affected them.

  "I just wanted to say thank you," she finishes. "You had no idea, but you helped save my mom's life."

  "So, she's healthy now?" I ask.

  Eloise grins. "Cancer-free for almost ten years."

  Now I grin, because damn. "I'm going to drop something by for you to take to your mom," I tell her. "Because she's the real rockstar."

  After I've made it to my room and raided the mini-bar, I change out of my jeans and Henley, and into a pair of black dress pants and a black button-up shirt. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to guess what all those people I haven't seen in twenty-five years will think. Of course, they've had the advantage of seeing me in photos and online all that time. It'll probably be a lot less shocking for them to see me than the other way around. They know I'm old. In my mind, they're all still eighteen.

  I decide to go all out and put on a tie—bright blue with a black guitar woven into the silk. My black leather jacket, a pair of short black boots, and I'm ready to go just as Craig texts from downstairs. I snap a selfie and send it to Sara.

  Ross: What do you think? Does the old man clean up okay?

  I take a deep breath before I walk out the door. I'm not sure what I'm hoping will come of this reunion, but I know I need a change of some sort. Because as much as I love giving people like Eloise's mom hope, I'm really due for a dose of it myself. I can't be eighteen again, but maybe tonight will remind me who that kid was.

  4

  Carly

  I've been divorced for half of Quinn's life. And during that time, I've pretty much done two things—work and raise him. My ex is a decent guy, but I don't think we were ever really in love. I was in my late twenties, and I wanted to have a family. Greg had similar values, we had a nice time together, it seemed like a good idea. But experience has taught me that if you're using words like decent and nice before you've even married the guy, it'll never last.

  But we did one great thing together, and that's Quinn. He's sixteen right now, so of course, he's annoying and a smart-ass, but he's also the single best thing I've ever done. And because I've put my all into him and into keeping a good roof over our heads, dating has sort of taken the back burner. As in, I won't admit even to myself how long it's been since someone has touched me below the waist.

  I've had the occasional drunken encounter during the last few years—like with the guy from my agency's Chicago office at the annual statewide convention—but only one of those even made it all the way to sex. I guess you could say I'm underutilized in that department. But while I'd love to meet someone, and I think Quinn's old enough to handle me dating now, I'd also be just fine with some really good sex.

  Which, of course, is what's rolling through my head as I get dressed in the girls' locker room of my old high school. And that inevitably leads to thoughts of the very first time I had sex. Just outside this very building, in the back seat of Ross Macalester's mom's Suburban. How we ended up there was a strange, but sweet tale.

  When Ross asked me to prom, it was just as friends. We talked about how neither one of us wanted to start dating anyone April of senior year, when we were both about to head off to college other places. It was like asking to have your heart broken. So going to prom as buddies was a great way to have some fun, hang out with friends, and keep the expectations super low.

  But we hadn't counted on whatever the hell was in Craig's flask. That flask was passed around the senior class at least a dozen times, and somehow it never emptied. Craig must have smuggled in a bottle somewhere, and he kept that thing filled to the brim as it made its way up and down the gym, hidden in girls' dresses, boys' tuxedo pockets, and at least one cowboy boot. And as Ross and I got looser, so did our tongues.

  At first, it was just chatting, but eventually we relaxed so much with each other that I found myself sitting against the folded-up bleachers at one end of the gym, around the corner from where everyone was dancing. He'd casually flung an arm around my shoulders, and I'd snuggled in, trying to decide if it was easier to keep talking or just fall asleep, because he made a really great pillow.

  "You know the one thing I regret not doing in high school?" I confessed.

  "What's that?" he asked, his finger rubbing a soft circle on my bare shoulder.

  "I didn't lose my virginity," I said on a sigh. Somewhere in the back of my head I'm sure a little voice was saying, STOP. ABORT. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? But I was just toasted enough to ignore it.

  Ross cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted a to
uch. "Oh yeah? So, you and Kevin never...?"

  "Nope." I let my hand that had been tucked against my waist wander over to his waist instead. His shirt was soft. His abs were hard.

  "Wow," he answered. "You guys dated awhile, I thought for sure you'd...you know..."

  "I was afraid, I guess. I don't know, it just never felt right. I think that's one reason we broke up. You know he's getting it from that junior, Rebecca."

  Ross laughed. "Yeah, he is. He tells everyone about it all the time."

  I sat up in outrage, glaring into his hazel eyes. "And that right there is why I didn't do it with him. My gut said he'd be a sleaze about it."

  Ross chuckled as he pulled me back to his embrace. I went without hesitation.

  "Want to know a secret?" he asked quietly.

  I waited.

  "I never have, either."

  I swallowed, something hot and thick settling in my throat.

  "Um. Wow. I didn't see that one coming," I answered, my voice sort of huskier than usual.

  Then, Ross Macalester did the thing that changed my life forever. He sat up and looked me in the eyes, his hands on my shoulders, caressing, his breath warm on my face that was only inches from his.

  "I've never dated anyone that I wanted to do it with that much." His voice was low, and so sweet, my poor teenage heart nearly beat right out of my chest. "But I'd do it with you in a heartbeat."

  If I'd been a cartoon, I would have had heart eyes for sure. "Really?"

  He nodded, one of his hands skimming up my shoulder to cup my jaw. "I know I asked you to prom as friends, but the truth is, I've always had a thing for you."

  "Why didn't you say anything?" I asked, leaning into his touch.

  He shrugged noncommittally. "Timing, I guess," then looked a little sheepish, "maybe nerves."

  I grinned. "But here we are at senior prom."

  "Here we are. Both virgins." He rolled his eyes dramatically.