Encore: A Standalone Rockstar Novel

by Selena Laurence

  "Maybe it is," I answer, lowering my lips to her throat. She gasps in response and I lick her earlobe next, because it makes her squirm. "And maybe that’s just how I want it. Today. Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. This is what I want. It’s my decision. And there is not a chance in the world that I’ll ever regret it."

  Then our discussion is over. As it should be. Because no matter what happens with my career, I’ve found my new purpose in life, and I’ll never regret that.

  30

  Carly

  Ali and I are in Ross’s kitchen, unloading some of the things we brought for the party this coming weekend when I hear Ross’s voice from the study.

  "Bullshit!" he shouts. "I said I’ll pay the penalties for this tour, but I’m not giving up my share of the album royalties. You know as well as I do that those are lifelong earnings. I’d be a complete idiot to hand those over, and in case you’ve forgotten, I wrote nine of the ten songs."

  Ali looks at me and winces.

  "Guess the discussions aren’t going so well," I say quietly. "Let’s get this stuff put away in the pantry and move along."

  "He really refuses to finish his tour?" Ali asks as she hands me a stack of paper plates with steamboats painted on them. Ali gets bulk discounts at her catering company, so we ordered a lot of the stuff through her accounts.

  "That’s what he says. I told him if he needed to go, it’s fine, but he swears he doesn’t want to do it anymore."

  She gathers up a handful of the high-end biodegradable plastic ware we’re using, and starts sorting it into spoons, knives and forks, before rubber banding each bunch.

  "I can’t say I blame him," she tells me. "It must get really tiring traveling constantly like that."

  "Yeah, but I worry that eventually he’ll miss it."

  "If he does, I’m sure he can set something new up. He’s Ross Macalester, he can do whatever he wants."

  I shrug. "True. But the last thing I need is to get used to him being here and then have him change his mind six months down the road."

  She pauses and looks at me carefully. "Are you really worried about that? That he'll change his mind?"

  I keep my gaze on the big box of candle holders that I’m counting. "Maybe. I mean, he’s been doing the other stuff—the rockstar stuff—for twenty-five years. It wouldn’t be crazy that he’d want to go back to it eventually."

  "Hey." Ali touches my shoulder gently. "I know this is fast, and I’ll admit, I was worried, at first, that you’d get attached and he’d break your heart. But I see the way he looks at you. And I also know that he hasn’t once wavered in his commitment to his music in twenty-five years. That shows me he’s not the type to follow whims. I think now that he’s decided to commit to you and Sara and Grove City, it’ll be the same. He’ll stick, Carly."

  I smile then. Because Ali always knows exactly the right thing to say.

  "You really think, huh?"

  "Girl." She levels a look at me. "Like peanut butter to the roof of your mouth."

  I laugh, because eww. "That’s just…I don’t know, not romantic, for sure."

  "But sticky," she points out. "So so sticky."

  From the office, Ross’s voice rises again. "I’m not asking. I’ve given you the courtesy of notifying you. Go ahead and tour. I won’t be there."

  "What’s he so angry about?" Sara’s voice comes from the doorway to the kitchen. She’s standing there in her pajamas, hair mussed, Blanco in her arms.

  Ali and I exchange a glance. "Just business stuff, sweetheart. Nothing you need to worry about."

  "He’s still going to be here for the party, isn’t he?" she asks, her eyes big with distress. "He promised."

  I walk to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "Of course he is, hon. Your dad is one hundred percent committed to you and this party."

  "And you’ll make sure he doesn’t take off, right?"

  I stroke a hand down her hair. "You have my word, Sara. No one’s going anywhere. Now, how about you go get dressed and Ali and I will take you to lunch downtown before we have to go back to work?"

  Her expression brightens. "Can we go by the ice cream shop after? They have fresh raspberry chocolate ice cream, and with whipped cream on top, it’s seriously the best stuff I’ve ever eaten."

  Ali grins. "On one condition," she says.

  Sara nods, eyes alight with hope.

  "I get one, too, and Carly pays for both of us."

  "Agreed!" Sara exclaims and scampers back upstairs before I can swat her on the rear.

  "You’re a horrible influence," I scold Ali.

  "It’s the thing you love most about me."

  She’s right. That and the fact she believes Ross really wants to stay here with me. Because I think I need some help believing that myself.

  "Mom!" Quinn yells as he comes into the house after soccer practice.

  "In here." I’m sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop, setting up my fourth new listing of the day. Ever since the gossip spread that I was the agent for Ross, I’ve become extra popular.

  He slides into the room with a tabloid newspaper in his hand, waving it around like a crazy person.

  "Did you see? It’s all over the tabloids!"

  "What’s all over the tabloids?" I admit it—I’m expecting this to be about some rapper—or a YouTuber.

  "Ross leaving Odyssey," Quinn exclaims, tossing the rag down on the table in front of me. "It says the band is breaking up and they’re suing him, then it says, rumors are, that he’s hiding out here and got some woman pregnant." He pauses, gaze narrowing on me. "You’re not pregnant, are you? Does he have a girlfriend somewhere? Cause if so, I don’t care how big he is, I’m going to kick his ass."

  I slowly pull the tabloid toward me, eyes widening at the headline—Ross Macalester dumps Odyssey for pregnant girlfriend.

  "Oh hell," I mutter.

  "Oh my God, Mom. You’re not, are you?" Quinn asks with a mix of dread and disgust.

  "What?" I look up at him. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. "Good lord, no, Quinn!" I scold. "Of course I’m not pregnant. No one is pregnant. He’s only been here three weeks, there hasn’t even been time for anyone to get pregnant."

  I begin to flip through the pages of the horrible trash. Inside, it details how Ross has left his bandmates high and dry, while kidnapping his teenage daughter to hide out in Illinois with his pregnant hillbilly girlfriend.

  And that’s when I start laughing.

  "Mom?" Quinn asks, his face full of confusion.

  I continue to laugh harder and harder, trying to get control of myself, but for several minutes, it’s hopeless.

  When I finally calm down, Quinn has made himself a sandwich and is inhaling it, watching me as if he’s ready to take me down if he has to.

  I wave my hand in front of my watering eyes. "I’m sorry," I say, gasping. "It’s just, that’s the most ridiculous bunch of trash I’ve ever read. I mean, they didn’t even try to get it right, they just published whatever would make the most headlines."

  Quinn seems to consider that for a moment as he munches away. "Then he’s not leaving Odyssey?"

  I sigh. "I’m not really sure. I know he doesn’t want to go back on tour, at least for now. And I know he’s been having a hard time with them, but I don’t know if that means he’s left the band."

  Quinn shrugs. "Do you think we’ll make the papers?" He gestures at the tabloid in front of me.

  "Why? Do you want to?" I can’t imagine anything I’d rather less have happen, but who knows what a teenage boy might think.

  "It might be sort of cool. But then, if they were hanging out in your driveway or something, I guess that would suck."

  I stand and go to the counter to pour myself a glass of wine. Happy hour is starting sooner than usual today. "Yeah, I kind of think the whole thing would suck. Let’s hope they don’t send reporters here to hassle Ross."

  "We could always sick Chuck on them."

  I laugh. "We could. If h
e hates them half as much as he hates Ross, they won’t stay long."

  31

  Ross

  Because wrangling my bandmates isn't enough to give me agita, I decide that the day before Sara's party is the perfect time to call Christine and talk about the rest of the school year, and the possibility of having Sara live here with me.

  I settle in at my desk in the study, happy that Sara is with Ali and Carly for the next hour or so. As much as I'd love to work up to this, my time is running out.

  "Hey," Christine says as she answers her phone, sounding distracted.

  "Hi. Is this an okay time to talk?" I ask. We've had a couple of conversations since Sara got here, but they were short and sweet—she's alive, eating right, and reasonably happy.

  "Yeah, I was just finishing an email, let me hit send..."

  I wait for a half minute, then she's back. "How's everything going?" she asks. "Is everything ready for the big party? I can't tell you how excited she is about that when she calls."

  I chuckle. "Yeah, she's had a blast getting it ready, and I even have a couple of surprises for her tomorrow."

  "Wow. I have to say, Ross, I'm really impressed. When you committed to this, I wasn't sure you'd be able to handle the whole month with her. But it seems like you really came through. She sounds so happy and engaged when she calls."

  Some men might take offense at their ex telling them they couldn't handle their own kid for a month, but I know she's coming from a place of genuine and justified doubt. I wasn't sure I could do it, either, hence bringing Sara to Grove City, where I had a backup crew.

  "Thanks. I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed it—how much it's meant to me to be a part of her life again. And I think we're making progress. She uh..." I have to clear my throat as the emotion rushes through me again. "She's called me ‘Dad’ a couple of times. Granted, it was on accident, but still. It gives me hope."

  I hear emotion flood Christine's voice, too. "Oh, Ross. That makes me happy. It really does. I've never wanted anything more than for you to be part of her life, someone she can rely on."

  "Well, I'm trying, and that brings me to why I called."

  "Sure," she says, no idea what I'm about to throw at her. "What's up?"

  "I'm making some serious life changes. I've dropped out of the next leg of the tour, and told the band that I won't be touring anymore, period."

  There's nothing but silence for a very long breath.

  "Um. Wow. I heard about the tabloids, some co-workers asked me about them, but I didn’t think it was for real."

  "Yeah. I know it's a shock, but I haven't been happy for a while now. It lost its shine in a big way, and honestly, I've missed Sara more and more the last couple of years. Then I came back home for the reunion, and I remembered what it feels like to be around people who actually know me—Ross—not the rockstar. And it's done exactly what I'd hoped for Sara and me. She's formed attachments to my friends, and the community. I think she's starting to trust me again because she trusts them."

  Christine is silent for a moment.

  "You're going to try to keep her, aren't you?" she asks with a shaky voice.

  "Not like that." My voice is hoarse, and my chest aches. "I would never try to take her from you, Christine. You've been an amazing parent. I've been crap. I guess I'm just trying to make a last-ditch effort to build a relationship with her before it's too late."

  "If you're not touring, then you can move to L.A. full-time." Her voice is firm and jagged. "We'll split her time fifty-fifty, if you want. We can alternate weeks or ask her how she'd like to work it."

  I hold my breath for a moment, because I get it. From Christine's perspective, I've never been there, and now I'm saying I will be, but only on my terms. I'm not in a position of strength here, and if I were her, I wouldn't be too likely to compromise.

  "There's something else that's happening here," I tell her. "I think it's been really good for Sara to be out of L.A. Away from the money and the competition, the private school kids, all of it."

  Christine lets out a bitter laugh. "Says the rockstar who's done nothing but write enormous checks for fourteen years."

  "You're right. It's hypocritical in the extreme, but I'm realizing how damaging it can be for anyone, me included."

  "Not only do you want her, but you want her in your tiny hometown in the middle of nowhere?" she snaps. "Jesus, Ross, if I'd known this was what you had in mind, I'd have never agreed to let her spend the month there."

  "Christine." My voice is firm now, but I keep it level, not giving in to what would be really self-destructive—an argument. "All I'm asking is if we can discuss her time for the rest of this school year. Just discuss it. With her. Keep our minds open to some different possibilities that might allow me to be more involved and might allow her to continue the relationships she's developing here."

  I hear her voice waver, and I know she's had all she can take for one call.

  "This is a lot, Ross."

  "It is. Why don't you just think about it for a few days and then we can talk some more? But please remember, my objective here is a win for all of us. I'm not trying to take her away from you."

  She sniffs and I feel like a complete asshole. "Okay. I'll, uh, I'll talk to you in a few days. And tell Sara to call me and tell me all about the party."

  "Absolutely. And I'll make sure you get lots of pictures." I pause and decide I have to work for the best possible outcome here. "And maybe the next time around, you could come, too," I add. "I always want you a part of what she's doing."

  We end the call and I sit back and stare at the wall in my office for a few minutes. I wonder if Christine is going to talk to Sara about this. I've heard the stories from other men. The exes that turn the kids against them. Christine's never had to worry about competing with me, because I was absent. But if she feels cornered now, would she?

  I shake off the ominous thoughts. I have to trust in the woman I've known for fifteen years. I have to trust that as long as I'm fair and honest with Christine, she'll be the same with me.

  "I'm home!" Sara calls as the front door slams behind her.

  "Hey there. I'm in the study, come on back here for a minute."

  She bounces in, all smiles and fresh air, but when she sees my expression, she stops, becoming instantly wary.

  "You're leaving, aren't you?" she asks immediately. It’s like a constant refrain, and she’ll never be confident in my promises.

  But I realize, this is what I've wrought. For fourteen years, I've done nothing but leave this kid, and now it's the first thing she expects from me.

  I hold out my hand and she reluctantly takes it as I pull her to sit on the leather loveseat next to me.

  "Not a chance," I tell her. "I told you I'm done with the touring."

  "Yeah, but I didn't believe you."

  I nod. "Understandable." I gaze at her sweet face, and this warmth rushes through me in a wave that nearly takes my breath away. "I've been a really poor excuse for a father, Sara. I know that." My voice cracks and she shifts uncomfortably, her gaze locked on her hands that she's wringing in her lap.

  "It's okay," she mumbles.

  "No. It's not. And I know I can't fix the past. But what I can do is try to give us a new start. I want to see you. As much as possible. I want to know about your life and be there when special things happen. Go to your soccer games, see your school events, take pictures of you before prom."

  She gives a little eye roll. "Prom's supposed to be really boring, I might not even go."

  "And if you don't, then I'll come take pictures of your science fair entry or your debate team competition. I just want to be there, hon. For you. For anything you do. I want you to trust I'm in your corner and I love you, no matter what."

  She nods, her gaze still fixed on her lap.

  I reach over and put a finger under her chin, so she has to look up at me.

  "I love you, Sara. I've always loved you. I just didn't understand that love was more
important than all the other shit."

  Tears spring to her eyes. "Okay," she answers in a tiny voice.

  "Come here," I rasp as I pull her into my arms. She comes willingly, and for long minutes I just hold her. Trying to convey the only way I know how that I'm the right man for this really important job—her protector, her comfort, her dad.

  "Dad?" she finally asks, making my poor middle-aged guy's heart do a flip-flop in my chest. "Can we go shopping for some stuff for my room?" I nod. "I saw these really amazing photographs in the Garden and Garage store downtown. I'm thinking I might do dusky blue for the accent color and then a rustic cottage theme with lots of throw pillows, and Aunt Dee said she'd teach me how to cross stitch so I could put my name on them and even a picture of Blanco..."

  As she chatters away and I lead her out the door of the house, I hold her hand tight. She might be too old for it, but I know now that I'm not.

  32

  Carly

  "Oh my God, where is the vanilla extract!?" Ali screams from the kitchen. Ross looks at me in terror, and I try not to laugh. We're moving tables and chairs around the backyard as we set up for the party. Quinn is on ice chest duty, filling the multiple huge coolers we have with ice and drinks, so they'll be chilled in time. Ross's parents, who flew in this morning, just ran to the florist shop to pick up all the centerpieces we ordered, and Ali and Sara are in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the food they've been cooking for the last three days.

  "She sometimes gets a little high strung when she's working," I tell Ross, who nods in agreement, wide-eyed. We hear something clatter to the floor. "Maybe I'd better go in and make sure she isn't scaring Sara."

  "Hey," I call out as I enter the kitchen. "You need some help in here?"

  Sara is standing in one corner, nibbling on her fingernail with an amused expression, while Ali, hair tucked under a bright red bandana, body swathed in a white apron that hangs to her mid-shins, is slamming cupboards and ranting to herself like a mad woman.