Misadventures with a Country Boy

by Elizabeth Hayley

  Except the more he thought about it, the more he’d convinced himself that she should have to tell him about all of her shit. Or at least some of it. Because as much as whatever she was running from was her business, at a certain point, it became his business too. And that point was when she’d forced him to leave the place abruptly and with absolutely no explanation. Cole had no issue protecting her; he’d done it once before, and he’d sure as shit do it again if he had to. But since Brooke had refused to tell him who the enemy was, he decided he’d have to find out for himself.

  He knew there was no guarantee that googling Brooke would provide him with any information he didn’t already know. It would probably only result in some dated Facebook account or information about her college volleyball team or something. It wasn’t like he suspected she had a warrant out for her arrest in some other state that would come up with a few clicks on the internet. But he knew there was a chance something might result from a search. And something was better than nothing.

  He waited until Brooke went into the bathroom and he heard the shower turn on before taking out his phone. On the off chance the search resulted in something disturbing, he didn’t want her there for his reaction. He walked toward the window to get a better signal before opening up Google and typing in “Brooke Alba.” Hitting the search button, he prepared himself one more time for all of the fucked-up scenarios he could imagine. Maybe she was wanted for grand theft auto or for knocking over a liquor store or for squishing a fucking praying mantis with a designer heel.

  The possibilities were endless, and each one caused his pulse to speed up. Especially the ones that involved Brooke running from something that someone did to her rather than something she did herself. He tried not to focus on how messed up it was that he’d rather read about her skipping bail on a drug trafficking charge than see her name come up on some sort of restraining order she’d put on an abusive ex.

  But no matter how many ideas popped into Cole’s head before his search, none of them were close to the reality.

  Shutting off the shower, Brooke ran a towel through her short hair. She wasn’t sure that she’d ever get used to how quickly it dried or how little time it took to style it. Every time she looked in the mirror, there was still an element of shock when she saw her reflection. It wasn’t like she expected to see her long dark hair. Logically she knew she wouldn’t. It was more like the air where it used to be still held a place for her hair’s memory, like some kind of supernatural ghost limb.

  She put some lotion on her body and pulled on some cotton shorts and a soft T-shirt, which she figured wouldn’t stay on long anyway once she climbed into bed with Cole. But before she could think any more about the two of them naked and rolling around in bed together, a sound from outside the door made her freeze. She wasn’t sure she was actually hearing what she thought she was hearing since the music had been so low at first. But gradually, as the song continued, there was no denying what it was. And though she hoped it was only a coincidence that Cole was playing the single from her first album, she wasn’t naïve enough to actually believe that it was. The ex-military Southern charmer wasn’t exactly a huge fan of teen pop.

  She’d had her hand on the doorknob for at least thirty seconds as she decided how to address the situation before Cole’s voice interrupted her internal dialogue. “Come on out, Brooke. Come dance with me.” He didn’t say anything else directly to her, but she could hear him trying to sing along with a song he clearly hadn’t heard until now.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she asked after pulling open the door and heading out into the hotel room.

  “What does it look like?” he asked. “Dancing.”

  Brooke thought about telling him the weird jumping and head-bobbing he was doing only counted as dancing if you were in preschool, but she had an agenda she needed to pursue. And that involved finding out exactly what Cole knew about her.

  “I love this song,” he said. “Don’t you?”

  “Turn it off,” she practically yelled over the music.

  He continued his awkward jerks like she hadn’t even spoken.

  “Cole!”

  His eyes had been shut as he pretended to be caught up in the beat, but when she screamed his name, they shot open. “What?” he yelled back before finally bringing the volume down to a level where she could barely hear it.

  “You think this is funny?” she asked. Her arms were crossed, and her jaw went rigid after her question. She regretted ever telling Cole her last name. At the time, she’d figured keeping her stage name to herself would be enough to conceal her identity. Clearly that wasn’t the case.

  The corner of Cole’s lips lifted into a goofy smile, but for the first time, it was anything but cute. “Kinda,” he said. “When were you gonna tell me you’re famous?”

  “I wasn’t. And I’m not famous.” That description, oddly enough, was exactly what she’d been trying to avoid when she’d decided to get the hell out of Philly.

  Cole raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re pretty famous,” he said simply.

  “I can’t be that famous. You didn’t know who I was until about five minutes ago. How did you find out anyway? Google me?”

  “Yeah.” He paused for a moment to turn her song off when it started over again. “Wait. Why do you seem mad?”

  “Because I am. That was a complete invasion of privacy.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew how ridiculous the accusation was.

  “It wasn’t an invasion of privacy. It was an internet search. And a pretty easy one. I typed in your name, and I clicked on the first link that popped up.” He seemed to be assessing her mood as he spoke, and she tried to make it clear that his explanation did nothing to lessen her anger. “Are you seriously bothered by this? You’re in the public eye all the time, from what I can tell. What’s one more person?”

  She hated how casual his explanation sounded, like he couldn’t give a fuck less that she was irritated. “Don’t even act like I’m a psycho. If I wanted you to know I was some pop star who middle school girls sing to at sleepovers, I would’ve told you.” This was exactly the kind of shit that made her want to get away in the first place—people wanting to know her business, looking into every detail of her existence. Sure, not everyone knew who she was. And she was certainly thankful for that. But she wouldn’t have any fucking chance of living a normal life if she kept on the path she was headed.

  Cole tossed his phone onto the bed with more force than was necessary and stretched his jaw as he ran a hand over his stubble. He looked as irritated as she was, though she didn’t know how that was possible. “Listen, Princess. I’m gonna be honest here. You’re gonna have to get over yourself, because I don’t give two shits who you are or how much money you have. I don’t care how many little girls dress up as you for Halloween or download your songs to the phones that their mommies and daddies pay for. None of that shit matters to me. You want to know what I do care about?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before he continued. “Us. And our fucking safety. I asked you why the hell you wanted to leave suddenly today, and you wouldn’t tell me. For all I knew, there was some abusive ex-fucking-boyfriend there trying to hunt you down, so I googled you to try to find out who was chasin’ us. That’s it. Stop acting like I went through your fucking trash or something.”

  “Stop cursing. And stop calling me Princess.”

  “Then stop being so secretive,” he snapped back. “If someone’s after you, they’re after us. I have a right to know that.”

  “No one’s after me. Not yet at least. And for the record”—her voice was louder now—”I’d have hoped you’d know me better by now than to think I’d put you in some kind of danger.”

  “The bar in Kansas wasn’t dangerous?”

  This motherfucker couldn’t be serious. “Don’t you dare blame me for that,” she warned.

  Cole rubbed his neck with his hand. “You’re right. That was uncalled for. But come on, Brooke. You act like I violated
your privacy or something. You’re famous. Doesn’t having your business available at the click of a button kind of come with the territory?”

  Brooke took a deep breath in an attempt to sound calm, even though she was anything but. “I got my first contract when I was fourteen. I was too young to understand what I was getting myself into, and I sure as hell wasn’t prepared for life in the spotlight. People critiquing my every move, every hairstyle, every outfit. You think judgment’s bad in high school? Try living life in the public eye. I had no idea what all of it was gonna be like.” She hadn’t meant to let all of that out so quickly—or at all—but it was the truth. And Cole needed to hear it. She shook her head, her anger dissipating as sadness began to replace it. “Just when I was actually enjoying being with someone who knew me as Brooke Alba and not Brooke Devereaux, you had to go and ruin that,” she said. Then she snatched her bag off the dresser and headed for the door. But before she opened it, she turned back to look at him. She thought she saw a hint of remorse on his face, but it was too late to make her feel any better. She did allow her voice to soften a bit though as she said one last thing before leaving. “For once it was nice not to be somebody.”

  Chapter Ten

  Brooke knew that running off again was stupid. God only knew what would’ve happened to her last time if Cole hadn’t shown up. She didn’t even want to think about it, but the memory had imprinted on her deeply enough to keep her from leaving the hotel. She found an empty banquet hall that was dimly lit and went inside. There weren’t any chairs out, so she leaned against a wall and sank to the floor.

  If she let herself be rational, she couldn’t blame Cole for what he’d done. But he’d fucked everything up. She’d had such a good time being herself—such fun learning who the hell she even was—and now it was done. Because she wouldn’t be Brooke Alba, the hitchhiking pain in his ass anymore. She’d be Brooke Devereaux, the B-list pop singer who’d been portrayed in the media as a vapid fame whore for the past ten years. Would he even want to call her Princess anymore now that he probably thought she was some rich spoiled brat?

  Tears stung her eyes, and she swiped at them angrily. Why did everything always get so fucked up? For all she knew, Cole was upstairs at that very second calling some tabloid to sell his story. Though as quickly as she thought it, she dismissed it. Brooke wasn’t certain about much, but she did know Cole would never betray her like that.

  Though she also knew things would be different from here on out. Even if he let her still travel with him, he’d treat her differently. Brooke cursed the moment they decided to stop for ice cream. She’d seen all the teenage girls there with their families, but she’d had such a great day—such a normal, great day—that she’d forgotten for a while she was mildly famous. But when she’d seen the group of three girls whispering and pointing in her direction, the truth had slammed back into her, and all she could think about was getting the hell out of there.

  If she hadn’t acted like such a crazy person, maybe Cole wouldn’t have noticed anything was even up with her. But no, she’d practically sprinted to the truck, barely talked to him on the drive back to the hotel, and then locked herself in the bathroom.

  Brooke bumped her head back against the wall as she realized those girls could have already splashed it all over social media that they’d seen her. And while a sighting of her wasn’t actually big news, it might get noticed by someone who was looking. Namely her parents.

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket, thankful she’d grabbed it on her way out of the room, and called her sister.

  “Hey, Brooke. I’m so glad you called.” Natasha’s voice sounded rushed, and it immediately made Brooke tense.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Natasha sighed. “I think it’s time to come home, Brooke.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Mom and Dad are seriously freaking out. They’re talking about getting the authorities involved. Saying you’ve been missing and possibly kidnapped. Shit is getting fucking intense around here.”

  “They wouldn’t. There’s no way they could keep that under wraps.” But even as Brooke said the words, she knew they were hollow.

  Which was only confirmed when Natasha gave a humorless laugh. “How quickly you forget. Any publicity is good publicity to them. They won’t care if it gets out as long as it also gets you back home.”

  “Why is everything always such a clusterfuck?” Brooke muttered.

  “Listen, I get it. I really do. I can’t even imagine the pressure they put you under. But…isn’t enough enough? I mean, running away isn’t the most mature thing in the world.”

  “I’m not running away. I’m a fucking adult, and if I want to go across the country or across the fucking world, then that’s my right.”

  Natasha was quiet for a minute and then said, “You’re right. It is. But it’s not like you just took a trip out of the blue. You are running, Brooke. All because you can’t just say no to them.”

  Brooke stood, her anger causing her to pace. “Because you’re so great at telling them no? How’s that business degree treating you?” It was a low blow. Brooke knew that, but she didn’t care. If Natasha was going to call her out on kowtowing to their parents, then Brooke wasn’t above reminding her that she was getting forced into a career she had no interest in at all because their parents wanted Natasha to be able to manage Brooke’s money.

  “At least I didn’t take off on a Greyhound.”

  “Because you don’t have the balls to.”

  “Yeah, it takes a lot of courage to be a twenty-four-year-old runaway.”

  “Screw you, Natasha. I really don’t need this shit right now.”

  “And I do? I feel like I’m living with the KGB right now. They’re constantly making calls, logging potential sightings. The den looks like a goddamn war room.”

  Brooke was silent for a few seconds, and when she spoke next, she couldn’t keep her voice from breaking. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  Natasha sighed. “I know. But I didn’t either. And they’re getting crazy. You know how they can be.”

  “I can’t come home. The deadline’s almost here. I just need to last two more weeks.”

  “Maybe just call them, then. Because even though they care about the deal, they’re also worried about you. They’re still your parents.”

  Brooke wasn’t sure how true that was. They’d been more managers than parents for so long, Brooke no longer knew which of their emotions were familial and which were professional. But maybe Natasha was right. If they really were genuinely concerned for her safety, maybe hearing from her would go a long way to make them stop forcing her into things she had no interest in. “Okay. I’ll give them a call.”

  Natasha breathed a sigh of what Brooke guessed was relief. “Good. I’m not saying you have to tell them where you are. But I bet just hearing from you will keep them from doing anything over the top.”

  “I hope so.”

  Natasha was quiet again for a few moments before she said, “I love you, Brooke. I’m sorry if I was a bitch.”

  “Me too. I love you too.” And Brooke did. Her sister was the only one who knew just how complicated her life had been. But while she knew it, she didn’t always understand it. She didn’t know what it was like to actually have to live with someone else calling all of the shots and leaving you no choice but to live out the consequences of those shots in the public eye. Sure, their parents had picked Natasha’s college major, but they’d picked Brooke’s last two boyfriends, her friend-group, as well as most of her wardrobe. Brooke hadn’t been in any semblance of control over her life until she’d gotten into a truck with a cowboy just under a week ago.

  Had it really only been a few days? Brooke felt like she’d squeezed more living into the past week than she had into the twenty-four preceding years. And it wasn’t something she was willing to give up. Not now. Probably not ever.

  But the first step in keeping things on her terms was to stay away just
a little bit longer. Her parents always had a way of manipulating her into bending to their wills. But they couldn’t control what was beyond their grasp.

  Brooke and Natasha said their goodbyes, and Brooke stared at her phone, knowing what she needed to do but not wanting any part of actually doing it.

  Cole fought with himself for fifteen minutes before his concern overrode his anger and he went to look for Brooke. He knew she was a grown woman and had a right to her space, but he also couldn’t forget the last time she’d gone off half-cocked. If anything happened to her, Cole would never forgive himself.

  Hoping she’d remained in the hotel, Cole searched all over. He was just about to head back up to the room to see if she’d returned, when he saw a hallway off the main lobby. A quick look around showed that no one was paying him any mind, so he set off down the hall, which had a door at the end. It made him think of the scene in The Shining, where the little boy saw the creepy twins, but Cole shook off the thought. It wasn’t the time to be dramatic.

  He opened the door a crack and peeped inside. It was so dim he had to step inside in order to see. He let his eyes rove over the space, almost missing the small figure sitting against a wall at first glance. A sigh of relief left him as he thrust his hands into his pockets. Now that he knew she was safe, part of him wondered if he should head back upstairs and leave her be. But the way she was curled in on herself, hugging her knees, made him want to comfort her, despite the agitation still riding him.

  Approaching slowly, Cole cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her. She didn’t move an inch. He sat down beside her, letting his arms rest on his bent knees, and waited. And waited.

  Finally, after a few minutes of silence, she spoke. “I’m sorry for taking off.”