Page 4 of Trapped with the Growly Rock Star

His words hang in the air, heavy and bitter. This man who once had the world at his feet now seems defeated, a mere shadow of the icon he once was. But I think I still see a hint of the fire that burned so brightly before in his smoldering eyes.

“That’s too bad. I know I’d doanythingfor my family and friends. And as a proud member of the Sheriff’s Department, I risk a lot for other people…for nothing in return.”

He doesn’t answer, so I get ready to leave. I know I'm in danger of overstaying my welcome any second.

Just then, a gust of wind slams into the cabin.

We both jump and turn to look out the windows.

Everything is white. The sky, the trees, the ground. You can barely make out the shapes of anything.

“I made gumbo,” he grunts, turning back to me. “You might as well grab a bowl for dinner. Doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere for a while.”

CHAPTER2

LENNOX

Ipace the confines of my cabin, feeling like a caged animal. The snowstorm raging outside only mirrors the chaos of white noise within me.

This damn creative block is killing me. My deadline is looming larger and larger, and I'm no closer to penning a hit than I was when I first arrived at this godforsaken place.

Frozen Heights…more like Frozen Hell.

I shake my head, trying to clear my mind and ignore the frustration simmering inside me. My daily routine has become a repetitive cycle of self-inflicted torture. I wake up, force myself to hold my dad’s old Gibson acoustic, and stare at the blank notepad, willing something…anything…to come. Some days, I scribble down a few meaningless notes and phrases before crumpling the paper in disappointment. Others I don't even bother, instead wandering listlessly around the cabin, or sitting in the armchair by the fireplace staring at the flames, wishing they’d consume me once and for all.

The silence here is supposed to be therapeutic, but it's driving me insane. I miss the chaos of being in the studio, the buzz of ideas bouncing off the walls, feeding off the energy of others. But I lost almost all my work contacts, friends, and even family years ago from my addiction to alcohol. I think my manager, Wally, only sticks with me because he’s nutty enough to believe I’ll be back on top again one day, making him rich.

It's left me alone with my demons. Not the ones I booted to get sober, but the ones that continually whisper I’m way past my prime.

I take a hot shower, then walk into my bedroom and stretch, taking a big, deep lungful of this mountain air. Even with all the snow, I like to keep the window cracked open. I grab the Gibson and sit on the bed, strumming aimlessly. This instrument, once my trusted companion, now feels foreign and unfamiliar. And silent.

I've been away for five years, which is officially a lifetime for a musician. My last album,Soul's Farewell, was a farewell to more than just my life as I knew it back then—it apparently marked the end of my creative flow, leaving me hollow and empty. Once, I could seduce thousands and come up with endless melodies and lyrics, but now, even a single verse feels beyond me.

Cradling the guitar close to my body, I try a few broken words, then curse under my breath.

“Focus. Prove everyone wrong, especially yourself,” I mumble.

But any inspiration has long faded. I strum a few more notes, nostalgia and past glories hitting me like a freight train. My fingers freeze mid-chord, and I stare aimlessly out the windows.

Then I spot a blur of movement out in the snow, near a thick pine tree.

Is someone...out there?

No way. Not in this weather. It’s probably just some animal.

I rise from the bed and cross to press my face against the window.

Wait.

That vibrant green hat in the middle of the snowdrift wasn’t there before.

I hurriedly tug on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and run to the door where I pull on my boots and coat. For a second I consider grabbing my rifle, but something tells me I don’t need it. My heart pounds as I rush outside, the cold air hitting me like a slap to the face. I charge across the yard, snow crunching under me until I reach the hat.

A tiny young woman lies in the snow, struggling to sit up. There’s a broken tree branch beside her.

What the fuck? Was she spying on me in the middle of this blizzard?

I pull her up into a sitting position and kneel down. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

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