Encore: A Standalone Rockstar Novel

by Selena Laurence

  "Yeah," Quinn says. "Just like that. He loves having his back scratched."

  A girl's voice drifts outside. "Oh my God, my friends back home would never believe I'm hanging out with a huge lizard."

  It's Sara, and my heart squeezes in relief. She did come to me—or at least to my house—I just wasn't here. I quietly slide my phone out of my purse and fire off a text to Ross.

  Carly: Cancel the rescue team. I found her at my house. But don't come over until I give the all clear. I think a cool down period is in order.

  Ross: She's there!? And she's okay? Promise me she's okay.

  Carly: Deep breath, Dad. She's fine. Hanging out with Chuck and Quinn right now. I'll update you in a bit.

  Ross: I'm going to fucking kill her. I swear to God I've never been so scared in my entire life.

  I laugh softly to myself. Yep. He moved from phase one of a missing kid to phase two pretty quickly. It's universal. First you're more terrified than you thought humanly possible, then you want to kill the little asshole who scared you that badly for no good reason.

  Carly: Pour yourself a drink, sit on the porch for a bit and relax. I'll update you soon.

  Ross: Yes, doc. Thank you.

  I put the phone back in my purse and go on in the house. Quinn, Sara and Chuck are hanging out at the far end of the foyer. Chuck is munching on a slice of apple as Sara carefully strokes the skin on his back, next to his mohawk.

  "Hey," I say as I enter. "I didn't know you were coming over, Sara." I give Quinn a questioning look and he shrugs to indicate he has no idea why she's here, either.

  She glances up and tries to smile at me, but it's not very convincing. "I was kind of bored and you said it was okay for me to stop by?"

  "Of course." I set all my belongings on the foyer table and kneel down on the floor with the kids. Now that I'm closer, I can see Sara's been crying, and I'm so thankful Quinn is the considerate boy he is, and just let her be here in our house, where it's safe.

  "It looks like your second meeting with Chuck is going a little better?"

  She laughs, then sniffs. "Yeah. He's actually pretty cool. And sort of soothing."

  "You know what else I've heard is soothing?" I ask with a smile.

  "Cookies and ice cream?" Quinn replies hopefully.

  "Cookies and ice cream," I confirm. "Why don't you guys put Chuck back and wash up. I'll get all the junk food out."

  "Yesss," Quinn says in triumph. Sara is quiet but nods.

  A few minutes later, they're both in the kitchen with ice cream sundaes and chocolate chip cookies, while Quinn and Sara compare notes about how their schools operate.

  I wait until the conversation dies down and I know the sugar has reenergized everyone, then suggest Quinn go get ready for soccer practice.

  "Oh!" he says, snapping his fingers. "I forgot to tell you, coach texted. No practice today, but some of the guys and I are going to play some pickup instead."

  I see Sara's eyes light up in interest.

  "Oh yeah? Maybe Sara would like to come along. I hear she's the star forward for her team."

  She blushes and shoves another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

  "Is your team good?" Quinn asks in typical blunt boy fashion.

  "We took first in districts and region last year," she answers. "But only made it to the semi-finals in state."

  "But it's California, right?"

  "Yeah," she tells him. "Our region is So-Cal."

  Quinn's jaw drops. "You took first in all of So-Cal?"

  Sara blushes harder. "Yeah."

  "You want to come play pickup with us?" he asks then, looking beyond impressed.

  Sara shrugs as if it's not a big thing, but I can tell she's excited. "Yeah. Sure."

  "Okay. You go get ready," I instruct, "then you can stop off at Sara's house on the way to get her cleats and stuff."

  Quinn nods and takes off upstairs, which gives me ten minutes, give or take, to talk to Sara.

  "So," I say, sitting down at the table next to her. "Your dad's been pretty worried."

  Her gaze shoots to mine. "You knew?"

  I nod. "That's kind of my job. I'm a mom."

  She sighs. "Did he call my mom? She'll be really angry at me."

  "Not that I know of. But you ought to tell her anyway."

  She sighs again.

  "I'm really happy you came here when you were upset. I want you to know you can always do that."

  "Okay. Thanks." Her voice is tiny now, and I can see the tears beginning to form.

  "Sara?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I know there's a lot of history, and I wasn't there for it. But I've known your dad most of my life—even after all these years, he hasn't changed that much. And I know that he loves you and he's trying really hard. What can we all do to help you guys with this? Because he might not be perfect, but he's the only dad you're ever going to have."

  The tears start rolling down her face then, and I finally give in. I can't take it anymore. This sweet child's pain is too much for my mom heart. I lean over and wrap an arm around her thin shoulders. She sniffs and struggles valiantly to stop the tears. She's trying so hard to be tough, but it's painfully obvious she hurts.

  "He's never around. Never. He's not at my soccer games. He's not at my school stuff or my birthdays. I hate him. And now he's made me come here, and he's telling me what to do, and getting mad at me if I don't do it. Maybe he should bother to show up once in a while if he thinks I need him bossing me around."

  I let her rant. And I let her cry for a few minutes. Then, I hand her a Kleenex. "You know what I think?"

  "No." She wrings the poor Kleenex in her hands until it's nearly shredded.

  "I think you have every right to be mad at him."

  She looks at me triumphantly.

  "And I also think he has every right to tell you what to do and expect you to listen to him."

  Her triumph turns to a scowl.

  "Here's the thing. He hasn't been there, but have you ever doubted that if you needed anything, it wouldn't be provided?"

  She snorts. "He has a lot of money. Big deal."

  "What about healthy food?"

  "Uh. Yeah."

  "And a beautiful house?"

  She nods.

  "A really nice school?"

  Another nod.

  "And good doctors? If you get hurt at soccer, does your mom take you to P.T.?"

  "Of course," she scoffs. "I had to go for six months in seventh grade when I kept rolling my ankle."

  I nod. "And what about your mom? She sounds pretty great. Is she a good mom?"

  Sara nods. "Yeah. She's a really good mom."

  "Did you ever think that your dad was watching over all that? Maybe he made sure you had the best of everything? He should have been there himself, but don't you think that if your mom hadn't been doing such a great job, and you hadn't had the best of everything, that he would have fixed it?"

  She seems to consider that. "I guess so."

  "If you were seriously hurt or really sick, don't you think your dad would be there as soon as he could hop on a plane?"

  "Well, I guess that time I got the concussion he came."

  I nod. I know Ross well enough to know he'd do that, even if he was an absentee father.

  "Exactly. He's not been a great dad, Sara, but he has been a dad. There are men who just disappear. No money. No calls or gifts or texts. They just vanish. Those dads are the ones who don't get to tell you what to do. Yours does."

  She watches me for a moment, then her shoulders slump in defeat. "Fine," she mumbles.

  I give her a last quick hug. "And can we also agree that your dad deserves to know where you are when you leave his house?"

  That gets an eye roll, which is the signal that she's going to be okay now. "Yes. I can agree to that."

  "Good. Now here's what I want you to do. I want you to start talking to your dad, even if it's just to tell him how mad he's made you all these years. Because
he also deserves to hear that. It'll be hard for him, but that's okay, because it'll make you feel a lot better."

  "Ugh," she moans. "I hate all that talking."

  "I know, but it's important. You have to tell people how you feel or it festers. That's really hard for all of us, especially girls. But it's how we make things better with the people we love, and I feel really sure that you still love your dad under all that mad."

  She gives me a small smile that tells me I'm right.

  "Good. Now let's call him and you can apologize, and he can yell at you and then it'll all be good."

  I grab my phone and dial Ross.

  "Hey. How are things over there?" he asks as soon as the call connects.

  "They're good. I'm going to put Sara on in just a minute, but first you need to agree that she can go play pickup soccer with Quinn and his friends."

  "A bunch of sixteen-year-old boys?" he asks skeptically.

  "I give you my word that Quinn will take care of her every minute, and deliver her back to you in two hours, tops."

  I wink at Sara, who grins and makes a pleading sign with her hands. Teens. They recover quickly.

  Ross finally agrees, and I hand the phone to Sara. It's been a long afternoon, but I think that Grove City is going to be just what Ross and Sara need. If only I didn't know they're both going to take a piece of me with them when they go.

  19

  Ross

  It's after ten when I finally get dinner cleaned up and Sara goes upstairs to her room. After she got back from playing soccer, I took advantage of the fact she had her cleats on and went out back with her. I haven't touched a soccer ball in a long time, but I still managed to get a few moves off on her, and she managed to clip me in the shins twice as often as needed. I'll take the bruises and cuts if it helps her work out some of her anger.

  We talked a little over dinner about expectations. Hers and mine. She's agreed to give this a chance and not intentionally ignore my rules. I've agreed to talk to her calmly if she does make a mistake, and to really listen when she has something to say. We're making some progress.

  I put the last dinner dish in the washer and turn it on, then look around my kitchen. It's not spotless, but I've done a decent job of keeping it clean. I'll admit, I've hired a cleaning service to come do the heavy lifting once a week while we're here, but I'm kind of proud of myself for remembering how a normal home should look. My places in L.A. and New York were nothing but take-out containers and suitcases. I'd stop in for a week, max, then pack up and go again.

  I go out to the back deck and pull my phone out of my pocket. Carly answers on the first ring.

  "Hi," she says softly, making my heart take an extra thump. I haven't seen her in days, and even as busy as I've been trying to get Sara and I reacclimated to one another, I've still thought about her constantly. So constantly, I think I might be losing my mind.

  "Hey," I reply, leaning back in the Adirondack chair with the big cushions that she ordered for my deck. Somehow, the fact that she anticipated me wanting a chair just like this, makes my yearning for her all the more intense.

  "How is she?"

  "Better," I say. "We played some soccer, she kicked me multiple times, we talked, we ate. It's better."

  "Good. And consequences for running away?"

  I sigh. "Mostly I made her acknowledge how scared that made me, but also she's on dog shit duty for the next two days."

  Carly laughs. "That sounds just right. You're better at this than you think."

  "If I am, it's only because I'm channeling my own parents and I have you to mentor me." I clear my throat. "She told me some of what you said to her today. I can't thank you enough. For being there to help her when she was sad and confused."

  I hear an owl hooting in the tall cottonwood tree that hangs over my yard from the back neighbor's. Then, it's answered by another. I can't help but wonder if they're a pair, calling out to one another, checking up on their mate.

  "I promised you I'd be here for you guys while you try to rebuild your relationship. I'm really happy she was smart enough to go to someone she knew. You can’t be afraid to parent her, though. I don’t think she’s going to try to go back to L.A., because I don’t think she really wants to. Be consistent, be loving, but be her dad. She's going to be fine, Ross. You both are."

  I can't help the feelings that rush through me then. I know I'm supposed to keep this friendly. I know I'm supposed to get on a plane in three weeks and fly off to more arenas, more screaming fans and flashing lights. But something hits me hard in the gut as I sit there in the quiet night, listening to Carly's voice and missing Carly's touch.

  I don't want to leave.

  And I'm not sure what that means, but I am sure it's all wrapped up in what's been plaguing me the last few years. There's a light that's gradually growing brighter, and I'm determined to walk toward it, no matter what. I'm going to find illumination, and something deep inside tells me Carly will be there waiting when I do.

  "Well, hello there," Ali says cheerfully as Sara and I walk into her small storefront a block off Main Street.

  "Hi, Ali. How are you?"

  She comes out from behind the counter that has an array of hors d'oeuvres in it. Little bites of all sorts of things. Behind the counter are swinging doors into a kitchen, and at the front of the store, in a sunny corner, is a delicate white wood desk with curved legs and a couple of matching armchairs in front of it.

  "I'm doing well," Ali answers, smiling at Sara. "What brings you two by?"

  I look at Sara and give her a nod. We talked earlier and I want her to be the one to discuss the party food with Ali. It's good practice for her to learn how to make arrangements like these and talk business with adults.

  "We're having a party," Sara begins. Ali's face splits into a giant smile.

  "Ok then, you need to come right on over to my office."

  She leads us to the corner and sits behind the desk, while Sara and I take the armchairs.

  "Tell me more," Ali gushes, eyes sparkling.

  Sara proceeds to lay out our plans so far—her theme, ideas for decorations, the guest list.

  "Oh, girl," Ali says, nodding. "I'm very impressed."

  "I know that you do catering," Sara continues. "But I wondered if we could do, like, a partway arrangement. I want to make some of the food myself. But I need help. And ideas. And, like, all the recipes and stuff." She blushes, her lips pursing, eyebrows raised.

  "You know what?" Ali's voice drops and she looks around the empty shop dramatically, as if someone might overhear. "Don't share this with the rest of the town, but I actually have a friends and family setup, where we decide the menu together, then we go shopping, bring it all over to your house the day of, and cook up a storm. What do you think?"

  I smile and give Ali a wink. Just like Carly and Craig and Dee, she seems to know exactly what my kid needs. Sara will feel special and accomplished after doing this. She'll learn valuable skills, and she'll be part of a community effort.

  "Really?" Sara asks, nearly breathless. "We could cook it all together and I'd learn how to do everything?"

  Ali's gaze becomes serious. "By the time you've had this party, you'll be able to cook a whole sit-down dinner, if you ever want to."

  Sara's eyes sparkle when she looks at me. "I could cook dinner for you and Mom when you take me back to L.A." It's like hope and promise have taken root in my kid. The cynicism of the Beverly Hills teen banished for the moment.

  "You absolutely could. I bet your mom would love that, and I know I would."

  "Sounds like we have a deal, then," Ali says with satisfaction. "Let me do a little research and then we can start talking ideas for the menu. Why don't you give me your email, Sara, and I'll get back to you in a couple of days."

  They do an email exchange, Ali shoves a bunch of mini-quiches at us, and then we're off.

  "Can we go by Uncle Craig's and Aunt Dee's before we go home?" Sara asks, shoving a spinach and bacon mini-qui
che in her mouth as we walk. “I want to tell them about the party and ask if I can babysit Mandy sometime.”

  "Sure," I answer. "Let's invite them to dinner, too."

  The smile on Sara's face echoes the smile inside my heart.

  20

  Carly

  I'm winding down work for the day when I hear an unusual amount of activity outside my office. High-pitched voices, giggling, loud exclamations. Then my door swings open, and Jess enters with a triumphant look, closely followed by Ross.

  "I'm not leaving him in the lobby this time," she announces. "It's Friday, and most of the office is hanging around up front, planning drinks and open houses for the weekend. He'll be mobbed in a matter of minutes out there."

  I put my hands up in defeat. "Okay, okay. Whatever you say." I look around her, where Ross is standing with a grin and a shopping bag. "Hi, Ross."

  "Hi, Carly." Between his smile and his deep voice, I'm a goner, and it takes me a moment to reconnect my brain to my mouth. When I do, I see Jess with the world's biggest smirk on her face.

  "Thanks, I got it from here," I tell her, my gaze narrowed.

  "Sure thing, boss," she answers pleasantly. I make a mental note to take back the raise I just gave her. Surely that much sass from an assistant isn't allowed.

  As she winks at Ross and sashays out the door, I take another long, needy look at him. It's been days since I've actually laid eyes on him. I've tried my hardest to bury myself in work and caring for Quinn, but it still hasn't erased the memory of his hands and his voice and the way he looks at me—like he is right now.

  "What brings you by?" I ask, trying to maintain a cool business facáde. When his grin gets bigger, I know I'm failing.

  He makes himself at home in the chair in front of my desk. "I thought I'd come by and see what your plans are this weekend."