Page 17 of Opening Strain

Easier said than done.I stare into the cabin and will myself to take the final step. When my ass lands in the seat, I hang my head. If I can’t do something as simple as enter a helicopter, how will I perform in front of thousands in under two weeks?

The pilot points to his headset and I put mine over my ears. His voice comes through them. “Welcome to the Airborne Jitney, Mr. Hardy. It’s a pleasure to transport you today. Please sit back and enjoy the quick ride.”

“Thanks.”

Enjoy? I wish I had an ice pack to soothe my angry thigh muscle. At least the pilot refrained from making fun of how I entered the chopper. I can hear my bandmates from here, and I’m glad I left them at the hotel.

A short eight-minute flight later, we land at an airfield in the Hamptons. I manage the exit much the same as my entrance. A couple stands near an SUV, waving at me.

A blond guy with amber eyes—like his father’s—greets me. “Hi, I’m King Hunte. Your manager Luke called us. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

His sentiment is shocking, considering his father’s in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ve had the pleasure of hanging with your father and brother before, and they’re cool. I’m very happy to finally get to meet you.”

The helicopter attendant brings my luggage to me, for which I give him a big tip. Feeling like a douche but knowing I can’t do this myself, I point to the car. “Can you please put them over there?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Hardy.”

King and I follow him. When King realizes I’m not keeping up, he shortens his stride. I sigh. “Normally, I’m much faster. I pulled my groin muscle, and it hurts like a bitch.”

“Got it.” He tilts his head. “If you’re hurt, may I ask why you’re coming all the way out to Aroostook?”

“My physical therapist is out here.”

If King thinks my answer is weird, he keeps his own counsel. Westow—rather he puts the luggage into the trunk while I stand helplessly next to him—and his co-star wife Angie greets me. “Nice to meet you, Bennett.”

While she seems perplexed at why I’m not helping with my bags, she doesn’t ask. Which prompts me to tell her about my injury.

“Oh no. Who are you going to see?”

“Jenna Westfield of At Your Service PT.”

“I’ve met her a few times,” Angie supplies. “We both go to the same Chamber of Commerce. She’s quiet but has a good reputation.”

Her assessment of Jenna provides a bit of comfort. At least coming here was the right decision. After we get into the car, I redirect the conversation. “Luke mentioned you might have a short-term rental for me?”

Switching into professional mode, Angie rattles off the details of three, fully furnished places she wants to show me. I hold up my hand. “Thanks for all your research, but I’m not up to checking out different places. Can you pick one for me? I trust you.”

Truth is, I don’t really care. Eleven days will pass in the blink of an eye. Even if it were a year, I wouldn’t be bothered. I’m not one to put down roots.

King replies. “Sure. We have one pretty close to where Jenna’s clinic is located, so it might be the most convenient.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He pulls up to the front door of a one-story bungalow, where he unloads my luggage. Again. “Since I’m not usually such a prima donna, how about I take you guys out to dinner as a thank you?”

Angie’s full lips tick upward. “I’d love to, but I need to get home to our kids.” The two share a soft look. “Our baby is six months and starting to get into everything. Her older sister is three.”

“Congrats.” Kids are not something on my bucket list. Growing up in my dysfunctional household taught me never to repeat my parents’ mistake.

King says, “How about this? I’ll drop Angie off whileyou get settled in your new house. Then I’ll come back and we can go out to dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to deprive you of family time.” I may not want rugrats running around, but I’m also not a total douchebag.

“That’s a good idea,” Angie replies. “It’s total chaos at the house between feeding them and baths, and King had to do evening duty twice this week. It’s my turn.”

“If you’re sure?” I don’t want to intrude, but it might be nice to get the inside scoop about my temporary town.

“Definitely.” King wheels my luggage into the house. “I’ll be back in an hour. Will that be enough time?”

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