Travis
October 2013
I was almost finished recording the final track for my upcoming album I’d been working on for the past three months. My last visit to Parry Sound had been incredible for my creative flow. I’d had a lot of good times with my old friends which got my creative juices flowing. There was nothing like being back home, especially when the entire gang was there, including Brock.
It was the first time I’d seen him in years. Brock had avoided Parry Sound since his release. We were both infamous in this town; we couldn’t go anywhere without people noticing us. Our stories were known by everyone, but the community’s perception of me was pride and awe, while their perception of Brock was judgement and contempt.
When he left, things didn’t feel the same. With him back, it almost felt like the good old days. It brought back a lot of memories, memories that definitely helped craft the fun in the final three songs I’d written for the album.
Then there was the inspiration Becky Miller had left in me. It lingered, this creative high that I felt whenever I thought about her.
That night had surpassed my expectations. I hadn’t anticipated things to feel so intense with her. I hadn’t counted on feeling a connection as strong as the one I felt with her. I’d had sex with plenty of women before, only I could honestly say that with Becky, it was different.
Her scars ran deeper than I could have even imagined. The ache and vulnerability in her sky-coloured eyes had told me everything, even though she said little.
She shared a few morsels of information with me before ultimately deciding that serious conversations were off the table for us. I followed her lead, because I wanted to keep the smile on her face…and I was captivated by the way she looked when she felt free.
After that night together, my mind refused to quit, inspiration was running through my veins. I grabbed my notebook and my acoustic guitar and took a walk down to the docks, where I sat with my legs dangling off the end of the dock and played for hours, pausing only to write down lyrics and musical notes. I worked until the sun rose high over the lake and the blisters on my fingers bled.
I hadn’t composed like that in months, and it birthed one hell of a single to complete the album.
In the studio, I played my last guitar riff and crooned the final vocals on one of my favourite new songs, Back Forty.
My producer, Rick O’Malley, gave me a standing ovation. “That’s a wrap!” he announced excitedly, tossing a look at my personal assistant. “We’ll put the finishing touches on it, and in the meantime…get some rest! Tour starts in a couple of weeks!”
“Great!” I said, forcing a smile and ignoring the strange feeling pressing down in my chest. The usual excitement that typically came with a tour was vacant. Instead, I felt a little homesick.
The tour was kicking off in November. If I was lucky, I’d get to fly home for Christmas, then it’d be straight back to the tour bus. My next real break wouldn’t come again until the summer, which I’d always insisted were mine.
The next two weeks were also mine for the taking, and I knew I wanted to spend them at home. It had been a grueling three months with long hours spent in the studio recording, but I was proud of the album. I was excited for it, but in all that time…I hadn’t forgotten Becky.
Images of her bathed in the hotel light constantly played in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t wait to get home.
I didn’t know what would come of this visit, but I knew I had to see her again.
Placing my trusted guitar back in its case, I prepared to leave. My personal assistant, Barbara, was waiting for me in the hallway.
Barbara was a pure southern belle with strawberry blonde hair, brown eyes and her debutant beauty. There was a time when I lusted over her double Ds, but now…the only woman I thought about was back home, constantly on my mind.
“Your flight leaves in an hour,” Barbara told me before relaying a few messages and going over the upcoming week’s schedule. “Your return flight leaves two weeks from today, and you’ll hit Nashville just in time to board the bus. I’ve emailed you the itinerary.”
“Thanks,” I said, flashing her a flirty grin. Even if I wasn’t feeling like my usual self, it was still easy to flirt. I wore my charm like a mask.
“Your bags are in the trunk of the car and Rob is waiting for you out front,” Barbara added, her eyes raking over my chest and arms. She drew in her bottom lip, gently biting down on it. A couple months ago, I’d be having a hard time keeping my dick from jumping at the sight of her looking at me like that, but no lust stirred within me. It was all reserved for that dark haired, blue eyed beauty.
Besides, I’d learned a very hard lesson after sleeping with my last personal assistant. Don’t mix work with pleasure.
“Thanks,” I said before walking around her.
I slept for most of the two hour flight, pulling my baseball cap down over my eyes. There weren’t many people on the plane, but the airport was jammed with travelers. I made it through customs and was waiting for my baggage when an eager fan spotted me.
“Oh my God, it’s Travis Channing!” she squealed, practically diving at me. My bodyguard, Rob, stepped in front of her before she could make contact with me.
“That’s close enough, Miss,” he warned, keeping his voice respectful yet assertive. Rob looked like a guy even I wouldn’t want to fuck with, but the girl was young—maybe sixteen.
She flushed a deep shade of crimson, stuttering her apology out with wide eyes. I stepped around Rob and held my hand out, flashing her a smile that I knew would dazzle her. “What’s your name?”
“Natalie,” she practically whispered, her eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to run at you like a maniac, but my sister is your number one fan and she would be so happy if she got to meet you.”
“Take me to her,” I said, grinning. Rob frowned and made a move to follow us. I held my hand up to stop him. “Grab my bag when it comes around, eh man?”
The girl, Natalie, lead me over to where the rest of her family was waiting. “This is my mom, my dad, and that’s Alexis. She’s your biggest fan, her entire room is like a Travis Channing shrine. She has a 6 foot cardboard cut-out of you!”
Alexis grinned up at me from her purple wheelchair with an ecstatic smile and reached out to me with shaky hands. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen years old. “Travis Channing!” she said, working hard to pronounce each syllable in my name through her excitement.
“Hello darling,” I grinned at her, reaching out to grasp her hand in a gentle shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet my biggest fan!”
Alexis screeched with excitement, putting her hands to her cheeks in awe.
“Maybe we could get a picture of you two together?” Natalie asked timidly, holding her cellphone up.
“Sure!” I crouched so that I was level with Alexis and smiled like an idiot while Natalie took a few pictures. Alexis’s happiness was contagious, and I couldn’t help but feel humbled that I had brought so much joy to this girl’s day, simply by being at the same airport as her at the same time.
“It was really great meeting you Alexis,” I told her, smiling warmly.
“Nice to meet you too!” Alexis responded slowly, her eyes sparkling. I stood up and fished a card from my wallet, turning to offer it to the girls’ parents. Their father was holding their mother in his arms, and both of them were looking on with expressions full of love for their daughters and this moment. “Call this number and I’ll hook you up with free backstage passes for any concert on my upcoming tour.”
“Thank you,” the mother said, a tear escaping down her cheek. “You have no idea how much this means to Alexis. She’s been a fan of your music for years now, it’s helped her through some hard times.”
“My pleasure! Your daughters are wonderful,” I replied honestly, watching as Natalie showed the photos she’d taken to Alexis with an indulgent, loving smile on her face. Giving this family VIP passes was the least I could do.
I said goodbye to Alexis and Natalie and started walking toward the parking lot, pausing only to send a quick text message to Barbara about the family and the backstage passes. “You know, you don’t have to follow me everywhere all the time,” I pointed out to Rob, catching him in my peripheral intimidating folks left right and centre. “Isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be?”
“I love coming out to rural Northern Ontario,” Rob replied dryly, arching his bushy brow at me. Born and raised in Arizona, Rob found weather in Canada to be too humid. The man’s dry sense of humour about it always made me chuckle. He was close to twenty years older than me, but he didn’t look a day over thirty.
He’d been on my security team for five years, but Rob still wasn’t forthcoming about himself. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he had been a Navy SEAL at one point. He was intimidating as all hell and he could cut a man down with one steely look. Even the paparazzi would give him a wide berth when he was by my side.
“Well you don’t have to come to Parry Sound with me,” I reminded him. “You could rent a hotel room and spend your days in the strip club. Or borrow a boat and go fishing on the lake. Do you know how to drive a boat? You probably do. Necessary knowledge for a SEAL, right?” I quipped.
“I know how to drive a boat,” Rob grumbled darkly.
An autumn blanket had fallen over Lake Rosseau. The trees that lined the water’s edge were bathed in rustic paint, and the air had a crisp bite to it. Winter always came quickly up North, and I knew it was only a matter of weeks before it started to snow.
I made a mental note to remind Grady to tend to the driveway and road. During the winter months, my buddy relied on his snow removal company to earn an income, and I hired him every year to make sure that the cottage was accessible for my mom.
Walking through the front door, I was greeted to the scent of Mom’s homemade spaghetti. My mouth watered, and my stomach growled.
“Travis!” Mom gave me a quick hug, standing on her tippy toes to kiss my cheek. She barely came up past my sternum. My charming smile wasn’t the only thing I inherited from my sperm donor. “I’m so glad you could make it home before the tour started!”
“Me too,” I told her, giving her a tight squeeze before releasing her. “Is there enough spaghetti for Rob? I told him he could stay in the guest house this time. Makes sense, if he intends on following me everywhere.”
“I’ll be staying at a hotel,” Rob corrected, shaking his head with exasperation.
“Well, join us for dinner at least,” Mom decided, gesturing to the kitchen. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”
My mom and Rob were around the same age, and I figured if I kept tossing them together, they’d hit it off, and maybe he’d be distracted enough to leave me alone for a bit. So far, both of them remained impervious to my feeble match-making attempts.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket before I sat down at the kitchen table. Unlocking it, I pulled up Grady’s number and sent him a text, asking if the guys were still planning on meeting up for wings and beers. It had felt like ages since I’d seen everyone, and I needed the distraction—otherwise, I’d show up on Becky’s doorstep, and I knew that wasn’t a well thought out plan. I needed to give it a day or so, just so I didn’t seem too eager.
“Put your phone away,” Mom scolded, setting a heaping plate of spaghetti down in front of me. “You know I don’t like them at the table.”
“Sorry Ma,” I apologized, slipping it back into my jeans. “Just following up on some work stuff,” I added, not wanting Rob to know and tag along.
I wouldn’t have been able to get away with a stunt like this in Nashville, but Rob was a little less intense about me going places alone when we were in Parry Sound when it wasn’t tourist season. I still didn’t want to take the chance that he’d shadow me.
My mom’s nose twitched, a small indicator that she knew I wasn’t being honest. Luckily for me, she wouldn’t call me out on it in front of guests. To her, Rob was still a guest—probably because he was stiff and formal, and had never once taken us up on the offer to stay in the guest house. He’d drive fifteen minutes to the nearest dive motel and sleep there—which I was counting on tonight.
I made it through dinner, and waited until Rob left before kissing my mom on the cheek. “Leaving so soon?” she asked.
“I’ll be back later tonight, Ma,” I answered, shoving my arms through my coat sleeves. “I need to blow off some steam.” Whether I was in Nashville or on tour, I rarely had a moment to myself. I was always shadowed by someone from the label, be it Rob or Barbara. It was nice to shake everybody off for a little while, to get back to my roots and remember who I was before the fame.
Humble beginnings and what not.
“Alright. Have fun and be safe.”
I headed out to the garage and jumped into my truck. As I drove into town, my hands tapped against the steering wheel in time to the music pumping out of my speakers.
Gordon, Grady, and Brock’s trucks were all parked in the small lot in between O’Riley’s and the hardware store. I parked and hopped out, tugging up the collar of my brown leather jacket to ward off October’s chill.
The heavy wood door swung shut behind me as my eyes scanned the old bar. The hardwood floors had seen better days, and the lighting sucked—but it was still the best place to go for brews in town. The wings were good too, and it was blissfully quiet. During the summer months, it was packed with locals and tourists alike, but aside from the six people sitting at the bar, a few people shooting pool, and a couple of occupied tables—O’Riley’s was almost empty.
I spotted the guys sitting at a booth to the left of the bar, near the pool tables. Surprise shot across Brock’s face when he looked up and saw me making my way over. “Speak of the devil!” he said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Dread rendered me frozen for a moment, and I had a panicked thought that somehow, Brock had found out about me and Becky. I didn’t relax until Gordon spoke up to clarify.
“Heard you were spotted in Toronto earlier. I figured you’d be bringing your ugly mug back around soon,” Gordon ribbed, moving over to make room for me.
“How long are you back for?” Grady asked as I slid into the booth across from him.
“Just two weeks, then I’m on tour until July,” I answered tiredly. Jet lag was hitting me, but I knew I’d get my second wind in due time.
“Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,” Gordon smirked.
“Whatever, Gordon,” I snorted, glancing around for the old bartender, Mick. I was thirsty, and a beer would wake me up a little. I grinned when I saw that he was already on his way over with a tray of beers in his hand.
“If it isn’t our resident celebrity,” Mick exclaimed, setting a beer down in front of me.
“How’s my favourite barmaid doing?” I shot back with a smile. “Still as gorgeous as ever.”
“It’s the red meat diet I’ve been on for the last seventy years,” Mick responded with a humorous grin. “Let me know if I can get you fellows anything else.”
“We’re good,” Brock said. Something in his voice had me turning my head to look at him. He appeared exhausted and tense, but he wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze as it went over to the bar. Braden sat at one of the stools, hunched over an amber glass, not paying attention to anything happening around him. The tension left my shoulders when I realized that Brock’s mood had little to do with me and everything to do with his younger brother.
“How’s he doing?” I asked as Mick walked off, gesturing to Braden with a slight tilt of my head.
“Still drinking his face off every night, causing a shit ton of trouble for Mick,” Brock sighed, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t know what to do with him.”
“I told you, kick his fucking ass,” Gordon chirped from beside me. “That’s what I’d do if Tommy ever pulled that shit.”
“Not every problem can be solved by your fists,” Grady supplied with a frown. He clapped Brock on the shoulder in a show of solidarity. “I think it’s gotta be up to him.”
My thoughts circled round to Becky, and I wondered how she was doing with all this. I’d known that Braden hadn’t handled the death of their mother very well, I’d seen as much the last time I was down, but I figured he would have come out of it by now.
“How’s Becky handling things?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded causal enough not to draw attention to my interest in his answer. Luckily, Brock was distracted with watching his brother.
“She’s doing alright for the most part. She’s still in school full-time, and she graduates from her nursing program in April. She misses Mom and it’s hard for her to see Braden this way, but she’s not giving up…which is good.”
We all watched as Braden tossed back his drink and brought the empty glass down heavily against the bar. “Another round,” he barked at Mick. The old bartender watched him while he continued drying the glass in his hands.
“I think you’ve had enough, son,” he finally responded with an air of authority and quiet disappointment.
“The fuck I have, I’m a paying customer and I want more fucking whiskey,” Braden retorted angrily.
Mick arched his white wispy brows. He set the clean glass he’d been drying down on the shelf beneath the bar and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Paying customers still get cut off when they’ve had too much.”
“You’re not the judge of that, I am!” Braden said, as he shoved the glass toward Mick a little too roughly, and it fell off the edge of the bar top, shattering against the ground.
Brock stood up warily, cracking his neck. He said nothing as he made his way over to the bar where Braden was still belligerently arguing with Mick.
Gordon, Grady and I all exchanged a look. I got the impression from the lack of surprise on their faces that this was a regular occurrence. We stood up and crossed over to the bar, ready to assist Brock if need be.
“What the fuck do you want?” Braden slurred, scowling at Brock from where he stood beside him.
“Time to go home,” Brock said warily, grabbing Braden’s arm to try and guide him out of the stool.
“Fuck off,” Braden shot back loudly. He yanked his arm free and lost his balance, falling sideways off of the stool to the ground by my feet. He didn’t get up, and a second later he began to snore loudly.
“For fucks sakes, Braden,” Brock huffed, irritation and concern lining his features as he crouched to check the damage. Braden had a small cut on the bottom of his chin from when he’d hit it on the bar stool coming down, but seemed to be okay otherwise.
I helped hoist Braden up, tossing his arm across my shoulders while Brock took his other arm. Braden was like a dead weight between us. He came too, his head rolling as his eyes searched through the spins to lock on his brother.
“Sorry,” he said, shuddering as he closed his eyes.
Every person in the bar was watching as we moved toward the door, and I could feel their judgement. It wasn’t directed at me, but at the Millers.
Anybody else in this town could get piss drunk and fall off a bar stool and not get judged for it. They’d probably get a pat on the back and a few chuckles. If a Miller did it…the whispers and the stares were full of contempt.
The townsfolk had always seen the Millers as hellions. It went back to their old man, Brett. He’d been the town drunk, and in his younger days had gotten into a hell of a lot of trouble. It wasn’t fair that they couldn’t get out from under his shadow, that their every action in this town was watched and scrutinized.
“Oh, like none of you fuckers have gotten too shitfaced before?” Gordon barked at the patrons staring at the show, just as pissed off with the stares and pointed hushed conversations as I was, only more adept to show it. “You drank so much that you pissed your pants last week, Carl!” he added to one of the middle aged men sitting at the bar casting looks of contempt toward Braden. Carl Hanson flushed and looked away, and I grinned with pride.
I used to run my mouth like that; I used to speak whatever was on my mind, but too many times before, something I’d said would get taken out of context and then blasted all over the Internet. Gordon could poke fun all he wanted at my profession of choice, but at least he could give someone shit without it blowing back in his face.
Gordon tossed some bills down to cover our tab as Grady held the door open for Brock and me. We practically had to drag Braden through, and out to Brock’s truck.
Between the three of us, we managed to get Braden in, although he immediately laid down in the back seat and started to snore.
“Mick said he can’t leave his truck here again or it’ll get towed,” Gordon reported, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “Maybe you should let it get towed. Might teach him a lesson.”
“That truck belonged to our grandpa, I’m not letting it get towed,” Brock sighed, sounding torn.
“I can drive it back to the house,” I suggested. The situation wasn’t the greatest, and I knew it wouldn’t result in me getting lucky…but even still, the prospect of seeing Becky again had me perking up.
Brock looked at me for a moment, weighing his options. I knew if he could drive both his truck and Braden’s truck home at the same time, he would. Brock hated getting help, he liked to be the one to handle everything himself. Sighing heavily, he patted down Braden’s pockets to find the keys to his truck. He tossed them at me, and I caught them one-handed.
“Well, that was a fun night,” Gordon said dryly. “I’ve gotta be at a client’s house early tomorrow, so I’m going to have to take off. Are you guys good from here?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”