Chapter Three
Rose Anyone?
Nash
When I first met Grant Hardy, I was at a crossroads. College was my last attempt to find respite from the nightmare that had become my life. The only reason I was even attending was to get away from home and the memories that constantly plagued me. Rachel’s death was an accident. It was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The authorities assured her loved ones that she didn’t suffer. She may not have suffered, but I sure as hell did. In the blink of an eye I lost my best friend and lover, the one person with whom I shared all of my secrets. How someone could be there one moment and gone the next made no sense to me. My heart was obliterated and my mind was blown. Without Rachel nothing mattered. Every fiber of my being felt her loss. I held it together for a few months after the wreck, but then the finality of her death became more than I could handle, and I began looking for an escape from the pain. When I wasn’t drowning in memories, I was discovering new ways to abuse my body. Anything that could be sniffed, snorted, or swallowed was fair game. In the rare moments I was sober, I played my guitar. Music was both my friend and my foe. Some days it filled my soul, while others it rendered me a shredded carcass of self-hatred and loathing. When the time came to leave for college, I ran.
A little over a month into my freshman year I was called into the dean’s office. As I had yet to attend a single class, this did not surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was seeing my mother sitting across from the Dean’s giant, mahogany desk with her hands folded in her lap, and a look of disappointment in her eyes. All it took was that one look for my bravery to fly right out the window. Shame and embarrassment washed over me. My mother, the woman who’d worked her ass off to support me after my father bailed, the one person in the whole world who loved me no matter what, was about to find out what a worthless piece of shit I’d become. The meeting was short and to the point. Either I agreed to start attending classes and make up all of the work I’d missed, or I was free to go home. The Dean may have given his verdict, but we both knew it was my mother who had the final say in the matter.
“Either you pull yourself together, Nash Aaron Bostwick, or you won’t have a home to come home to,” she told me before she marched out the door.
And that was that. Needless to say, I cleaned up my act and started going to class. This is where I met a guy by the name of Grant Hardy. Grant was also from Austin. We had a few friends in common, but lived on different sides of the city. Like me, Grant hated school and loved music. Also like me, he could play both lead and bass guitar. Where I fell short and Grant excelled was on vocals. The kid could fucking sing. His voice had the rasp of Eddie Vedder and the depth of Billy Corgan. From the moment we met, we clicked. Grant taught me how to channel all of my anger and resentment into the music, and I taught him how to shred. When I wasn’t studying or in class, I poured every last ounce of myself into my instrument.
Slowly, time moved on, and with it, so did I. Rachel grew to be nothing but a sweet memory. She also became a lesson learned. Never again. Love equaled heartache. Heartache hurt. In order to prevent one, I had to steer clear of the other. This was something I was perfectly happy to do. After Rachel’s death I built walls that were both high and tight. I drank for fun. I fucked for pleasure. I lived for the music. Above all, I avoided anything that remotely resembled an emotional entanglement.
And then Dale’s addiction took him down.
And my mom got cancer.
And Luke betrayed the band.
Now my mother was terminal, and I should be home taking care of her, but where was I? On tour with my best friend, who I really didn’t know anymore, our moody-as-shit drummer, who I really didn’t like, and the new guy, who I could give fuck-all about, except that he was a damn good keyboardist.
“We’ll be at the hotel in five!” Hank called out. “You’ll be happy to know that Blane has secured the top floor of suites for us. You’ll have just enough time to pick a room and take care of business. Then we’re heading to the venue for a practice session. Thirty minutes, guys. Don’t make me hunt you down,” he warned.
“The man has spoken!” Grant called out. Hank scratched the side of his nose…with his middle finger, causing Grant and Newbie both to laugh. If Luke was with us, he would have had something funny to add. Grant was still pissed at Luke. He refused to talk about him, but I was past the point of anger. I missed my friend. If only I’d known what he was going through, then maybe I could have prevented his death.
Ten minutes later, we piled out of the bus and waited for the security team to get into place. Once we had the all clear, we headed into the hotel. Cheers and catcalls followed in our wake as we passed through an abnormally crowded lobby.
Grant gave Hank an exasperated look. “Did Blane leak where we were staying again?” We stepped into the elevator and waited for the doors to close. Hank pulled out his phone and called Blane.
“Fuuuuuck,” Newbie hissed. Newbie was a guy by the name of Evan Walker. Out of the fifty or so tryouts for Luke’s spot in the band, he was the best of the bunch. There was only one problem. He wasn’t Luke.
“You’ll get used to it,” Grant consoled.
A doubtful look appeared on Evan’s face. “Is it always this intense?”
“No, it gets much worse,” Chaz informed. Grant shot him a dirty look and he scowled. “What? Did you want me to lie?”
“For future reference, Chaz is a dick,” I informed.
“Fuck you,” Chaz responded.
“My case in point,” I added.
Hank hung up with Blane right as we stepped off the elevator. “Blane said that he and Marcy are the only two who have access to the schedule.”
“And you believe him?” Chaz snorted.
“Being that I hold Blane’s nuts in the palm of my hand, I’d have to say yes.” Grant responded. He glanced over at me and I looked away.
As far as I was concerned, Blane Kirkland Hamilton II was an untrustworthy snake in the grass. Six months ago he lost his label in a poker game – the same label that Meltdown headlined for. Kirkland, his dick of a father, bailed him out by purchasing the label. Kirkland wanted the label about as much as he wanted a severe case of genital warts. That is, until he realized how lucrative the band was. By that point Grant was seriously disenchanted with Happenstance, and was contemplating dropping the label altogether. Before Grant got the chance to run it by the rest of the band, Luke slipped Oxy into Grant’s drink, Grant did a nose dive off of the stage, and Kirkland had him shipped off to rehab. Not only did Kirkland occupy a seat on said rehab’s board, but he paid the doctor and nurses to hold Grant there under false pretenses, all because he was a greedy bastard. The only reason Blane wasn’t some jail bird’s bitch right now was because he’d stuck his neck out and helped Grant take down Kirkland. In exchange for Blane’s help, Grant agreed to keep him on as manager, which was a decision I wholeheartedly disagreed with.
We spent twenty minutes getting our stuff together before we were back on the bus and heading to the venue. Tonight we were playing one of Charlotte’s smaller arenas. Blane thought that playing to smaller audiences on this tour would help us garner more positive press. Blane was full of shit. Nothing was going to erase the fact that Luke tried to kill Grant in order to avenge his dead lover. The story was scandalous and had been sensationalized to the point of ridiculous.
A handful of Melties greeted us as we made our way down the hall to the dressing room. I was too busy texting Rowan to pay them any mind. I’d already sent her two texts, and was somewhat irritated that she wasn’t responding.
“Fucking hell,” Grant muttered under his breath.
“What?” I raised my head from my phone and immediately spotted Paula. Paula was Chelle’s best friend. “What the hell is she doing here? Don’t tell me Chelle’s here?” I fucking hated that bitch.
“I told her she could come,” Chaz interjected from behind us. Grant shot me a what-the-fuck look, but I didn’t have a response. I had no idea what Chaz was up to.
“Who is she?” Newbie asked.
“Grant’s stalker’s best friend,” I half-joked.
Evan’s eyes bugged. “Grant has a stalker?”
“No, Nash had the stalker. I just had a woman who didn’t know the meaning of the word no,” Grant clarified, before turning to Chaz and asking, “What do you mean you told her she could come?”
“Before Grant met Mallory, he used women up and flushed them like toilet paper,” Chaz told Newbie. Grant cut his eyes to me, and I couldn’t help but laugh. And Chaz wondered why we didn’t want to sing his songs. The douche couldn’t even string a proper sentence together.
“You better hope Chelle isn’t here,” Grant warned.
“Fuck you, Grant. All Chelle did wrong was care about you. We agreed to cut her out, but we never said anything about her friends. Paula is my friend and I want her here.” I hated to admit it, but Chaz did have a point. Except for when Chaz was trying to make Grant jealous by flirting with Mallory, this was the first time I’d seen him remotely interested in a woman. Grant gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged. As far as I was concerned Chelle was the problem, not her friends. As long as she wasn’t here, I really didn’t care.
“Fine, but the first time she causes a problem, she’s history,” Grant warned.
“Duly noted,” Chaz snarled. The door opened and I caught a glimpse of Blane. As usual he was surrounded by people.
“Shit, I forgot to tell you. We have three new interns joining us for the tour,” Grant said.
Before we could respond, Blane spotted us standing in the doorway. “Welcome to Charlotte!” he called out. “I know you’re chomping at the bit to practice, but first, I want to talk to you.” He waved us into the room. “After all of the negative publicity we’ve been receiving, I thought it would be a good idea if we participated in an intern program. With Grant’s permission, that is,” he sheepishly added. We all turned to glare at Grant.
“What? It’s a good idea,” Grant defensively stated.
“Anyway, I want you to meet Maggie, Angie, and Steve. All three are at your service for the duration of the tour. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.” I had no idea what to say to this.
Evidently, Chaz didn’t feel the same, because he drolly replied, “Funny, I thought this was our company now.”
“Awww, come on, don’t get all butt hurt,” Grant said. “It’s just an intern program. Look at it as free help.” No one said a word.
“You do realize you just insulted everyone in here,” Chaz pointed out. Grant held up his hands in supplication, before attempting to defend his point.
While Grant and Chaz debated Grant’s comment, I focused on our new interns. Maggie had short brown hair and glasses. She looked like a leprechaun in her plaid dress and dark green platform shoes. She also looked petrified. I bet if I yelled “Boo,” the poor girl would piss her pants. Angie, with her long, blond hair, vintage Aerosmith t-shirt, and skin tight jeans, was the polar opposite of Maggie. She flicked her tongue across her lips in invitation when she caught me staring at her. Yes, Angie was definitely a Meltie in the making. She spelled trouble with a capital T. Thanks, but I had plenty of trouble in my life at the moment. Steve was a tall, skinny dude with short, black hair and a face full of zits. The look of adoration on his face as he stared at Grant was both comical and pathetic.
We left the interns with Blane while we went to practice. We had to work out a few glitches with Evan, so we barely had time to rest before the show. Much to Blane’s disappointment, the band unanimously decided that the dressing room was a personnel only zone before the show. This meant no Melties, no cameras, and no partying. I had just enough time to text my mom, before Blane appeared in the doorway.
“Time to go, boys. Angie, you come with me. Maggie and Steve, you’re with the guys,” he instructed. Angie looked mutinous, whereas Maggie looked terrified. I felt bad for her. Kind of.
“Come on. We’ll show you where to hang out while we play,” I told them.
“This is so cool,” Steve said as they fell in behind us.
“Steve, my man, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Grant replied. As we waited at the door for security to get into place, Mom texted me back. She told me not to worry, that Rowan was okay, and to stop bugging them. While Grant was cautioning the interns to stay near the security escort at all times, Chaz, Evan, and I signed autographs, shook hands, and high-fived the budding crowd. The entire time I thought about my Mom’s text. What did she mean Rowan was okay? Did something happen to Rowan? I snagged my phone from my back pocket and shot off one last text, asking her to explain.
Right as we hit the steps to the stage, a crazed fan got her claws on Chaz’s shirt.
“I love you!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs. Then she ripped his sleeve off and waved it back and forth over her head. Chaz dove for her, but Hank and I pulled him back, and pushed him up the stairs onto the stage.
“I fucking liked this shirt!” he yelled over his shoulder at her.
“I want to have your babies!” she screamed at him. The look of mortification on poor Maggie’s face was seriously funny. The girl needed to grow a spine or she was going to get eaten alive.
The show went better than expected, but we still had a long ways to go. One of my strings snapped and I had to play one of Grant’s guitars, which fucked with my head. That, added to the fact that Evan was off key on at least three different songs, was unacceptable. We could do better.
During the after party I kept checking my phone. Mom had yet to respond to my last text, which was typical. Sometimes I wanted to throttle the woman. Finally, I stepped into the bathroom and called her. When she didn’t answer, I tried Rowan. When she failed to answer, I left a message on her voicemail. The last time they’d both disappeared, Rowan had taken Mom to a triple feature at the movie theater. This was before I found out that Mom was dying. It was shit like this that drove me nuts.
After several beers and signing who knows how many autographs, Grant finally called it a night. If he was worried about Paula, he shouldn’t have been. She stuck close to Chaz the entire night, which was a very wise decision on her part. Grant meant it when he said he wasn’t going to put up with the bullshit. I didn’t blame him one bit. Chelle sealed her fate when she circumvented the band and took a job with Kirkland. Now she was a nothing going nowhere. Stupid bitch.
By the time we were in the van and heading back to the hotel, it was well past Mom and Rowan’s bedtime, and way too late to call them again. If Mom hadn’t texted earlier and said everything was okay, I would be on a plane for Austin right now.
“What was up with your strings?” Chaz asked.
“What’s up with his playing?” I countered, nodding at Evan.
“Yeah, sorry. I was okay until I got out there and started playing. It was amazingly cool, but at the same time shit-your-pants scary,” Evan commented. The fact that he was so damn chill about it completely deflated my sails, and I felt bad for being a dick.
“You can’t let the crowd get into your head,” Grant advised.
“Luke liked to face the audience, but I can see how that could be intimidating if you aren’t used to it,” I added.
At the mention of Luke’s name, the van went silent. After a long pause, Grant said, “Nash is right. How about we position the keyboard to where you can see us and the audience at the same time?”
Evan nodded his head. “That could work. It’s worth a try.” The guy’s easy going nature was definitely a plus.
“We’re here,” Hank called out. We pulled into the circular drive of the hotel and a large crowd of fans immediately swarmed the van. Sampson and Sean hopped out to do crowd control. Once they had it marginally managed, Marcel and Hank escorted us inside the hotel, across the lobby, and up to our suite.
I heard Evan practicing the keyboard while I was brushing my teeth. I should apologize. He was actually damn good on the keys. I remembered how scared I was the first few times we played a big crowd. Hell, I was pretty sure I didn’t make it through one song without fucking up, much less fifteen. Shoving my toothbrush back in my bag, I exited the bathroom and ran smack into Grant.
“What the hell?” I growled. He was staring at the bed with a strange look on his face. I followed his line of sight to the one, long stemmed rose that was lying across the pillows.
“All I got was a chocolate,” he muttered. My eyes shot back to the rose. Oh shit…a rose. As if reading my mind, Grant said, “Is it just me, or does that remind you of…?”
“Don’t even say it,” I warned.
“Say what?” Chaz asked from behind us, and we both jumped.
“What’s everyone staring at?” Evan asked.
“When we first started the band, Nash had a serious stalker. One of the things she liked to do was to leave roses on his pillow,” Grant explained. “We never did figure out how she got into our rooms, did we?”
“I’m confused. I thought you had the stalker?” Evan directed at Grant.
“Who, Chelle?” Grant laughed. “Naw, Chelle was just cock hungry. Nadine was a bonafide whack job.” Chaz snarled when Grant mentioned Chelle. Apparently the guy had a hard on for her. Either that or he was trying to look good so he could get inside her best friend’s panties.
“What happened to her?” Evan asked.
“What did happen to her?” Grant asked me.
“Blane said he took care of the situation.” Truth be told, I wasn’t really sure what happened to Nadine.
“How long ago did this happen, and why haven’t you ever mentioned her before?” Chaz asked.
“It was the first year we signed with Happenstance,” Grant recalled.
“Yeah, and Dale was fucked up nine-tenths of the time, but no one wanted to admit that he had a problem,” I added.
“Chelle had just come into the picture. That was right about the time she established the Melties, right?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, it seems so long ago.”
He nodded his head in agreement. “A lot has happened since then.”
“Nadine?” Evan asked.
“Nadine was one of her posse. She set eyes on Nash and that’s all she wrote.” Grant winked and blew me a kiss. I grabbed my crotch and held up my middle finger, and we both laughed.
“In my defense, I only slept with her a handful of times. She acted normal. How was I supposed to know she was certifiable?”
“Certifiable is putting it mildly. She wanted to tie your ass down. And then you went and woke her crazy when you slept with… What was her name again? Rita?”
“Rosa,” I corrected.
“Rosa, that’s right. Damn, that chick was smoking hot.”
“I take it Nadine didn’t approve?” Evan inquired.
“She went fucking ballistic. She beat the shit out of Rosa and then tried to kill herself. It was some seriously fucked up shit,” Grant told him.
“Have you ever considered that maybe the band is cursed?” Evan asked. Grant and I both laughed.
“Uhhhh, no, and please don’t tell me you’re into all of that wedgie crap?” Grant said through his laughter.
“Not wedgie, weegie, and no I’m not, but you have to admit, a lot of crazy shit has gone down with you guys.”
“People love us. What can we say?” I flippantly replied.
“Whatever,” Chaz said. “I’m going to bed.”
“I think I’ll practice some more,” Evan stated. Right as he reached the door, he turned back and said, “Tonight was fucking amazing. I know I have a lot to learn, but I just wanted to say thanks for giving me the chance.”
Once he was gone, Grant said, “I wanted to hate him.”
“Same here.”
“He really is a good guy.”
“He’s not Luke.”
“No one will ever be Luke, Nash, but Luke is gone. He almost killed us both. You may be ready to forgive, but I’m not. I’m not saying I won’t get there, but I’m not yet, and I really need for you to respect that, okay?” I got what he was saying. I may not agree, but I couldn’t fault him for his feelings.
“Okay.”
His eyes drifted back to the rose. “You don’t think…”
After staring at it for a few more seconds, we both answered, “Naaaaaa.”
While Grant went to call Mallory, I worked on a song I’d been stuck on for the past few months. The tune was there, but I couldn’t seem to get the lyrics right. Finally, I gave up and called it a night. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. We had back-to-back radio interviews before playing our final night in Charlotte. I made sure to set my alarm an hour earlier than I normally would so I could call home. Rowan had best answer her damn phone tomorrow, or else.
Like every other night since Mom’s diagnosis, sleep refused to come. While I was awake, Mom’s cancer was manageable and Rowan was just a friend, but the minute I lay my head on my pillow, the reality of the situation came crashing down upon me. Mom was dying, and Rowan… she would laugh her ass off if she knew that she was the star of my night-time fantasies. With her milky white skin and her sultry green eyes, Rowan Burns wasn’t like any woman I’d ever known. She was pure class. I pictured her lying in her bed. She had a smile on her lips, her hand on my cock, and a look of lust in her eyes. She smelled like heaven and tasted like perfection. With a firm grip and exact strokes, she jacked me off. Her named spilled from my lips as my release shot across my stomach.
As I stared down at the mess I’d made, I sighed. I would give anything to be home right now.