Page 21 of Starstruck
I smile to myself, proud of how nicely things are coming together. The benefit isn’t until August, but there’s so much to do between now and then, it’s nice to be able to check another thing off the list.
I look up at Isa. “This is gonna be good, isn’t it?”
“It’s gonna be so good. I’m proud of you, Lenny.” Isa smiles as she places her hand on mine. “And so are your parents, even if they aren’t here to tell you so themselves.”
I smile, tears welling in my eyes.
It’s been almost five months since that horrid day, and though it has gotten easier, they weren’t lying when they said grief comes in waves—whoevertheyis.
One day, I’ll wake up and it’ll be like the accident never happened.
The next, I’m back to wishing it was me who died instead.
But this concert has been a decent distraction from the prison that is my mind lately. And I know Isa’s right—my parents would be proud of me for this. I still feel like their deaths were my fault, and I don’t think that feeling will ever go away, but this feels like a good way to remember them.
Not that anyone has had a hard time doing that on their own. Every coffee shop, every bar, even every radio station is playing Thorned Roses lately. It’s becoming less so as more time passes, but even the top-forty and country stations have had some of theirstuff in rotation. They were a rock duo, but there’s so much one can do within just that genre that even people who aren’t fans of rock music like some of their stuff.
My parents wrote songs for the people. They wrote songs that make people feel heard, make them feel seen. They wrote songs for the hurt, for the healed, for the healing. Their words have touched the lives of so many individuals, and it’s because of that I’m confident that even though they aren’t here anymore, they’ll never fully be gone. They’ll continue to live on in the words they shared with the world and the hearts of all the people they touched.
I miss them every day, but knowing that makes things just a little bit easier.
“Thank you, Is,” I tell her, squeezing her hand holding mine. “I think they would be, too.”
[8 ]
WHERE ARE YOU NOW?
BAXTER
“ROCKSTAR” BY NICKELBACK
Iput my car into park in front of Revolution Records with Levi in my passenger seat, watching in my rearview mirror as Colt pulls up on his motorcycle behind us.
In the past week, the guys and I finished demos of my next album,Rockstars Never Die. The idea for the title track came to me after the deaths of Audrey and Brennan, but figuring out the best words to honour my biggest musical inspirations turned out to be a difficult feat.
At least it was, until their youngest daughter spent a night in my bed. Since then, inspiration’s been flowing pretty steadily. The song itself may be about her parents, but the words never would’ve come to me if she hadn’t.
I don’t know what the fuck it was about her, but she hasn’t left my mind since that night six weeks ago. I’ve reread the note she left on her receipt from Astro at least once a day, each time hoping there would be something more to it, despite knowing all it says isthank you.
From the roots of her chestnut-brown waves all the way down to her pinky toes, I haven’t been able to get the image of her out of my head. The way she looked so at peace, naked and wrapped in my sheets. The way she smelled like a delicious combination of coffee and vanilla with a hint of rose. The way her porcelain skin felt smooth against my rough, calloused hands. Her golden-brown eyes shining like the sun through a glass of my favourite whisky. Her perfectly plump, pouty red lips that looked even better wrapped around my cock than I expected.
I memorized her, just like I promised her I would.
I’ve never reacted this way to a woman before, and just the idea of spending one more night with her has me growing hard in my jeans. I’d hoped putting her in my songs would lessen my thoughts of her, but if anything, they’ve only gotten worse.
One night together, and she became my muse.
I haven’t told Colt and Levi who it was, but they definitely know something’s up—I’ve had my head up Lennon’s metaphorical skirt since that night, and they’re starting to catch on. Because this isn’t fucking normal for me. And I don’t think I fucking like it.
But now that the album demos are recorded, we’re meeting with the new head of the label, Jeremy, and the rest of the team for the first listen. This is always my least favourite part of the job, because someone always has something to say, and I really couldn’t give a fuck what others think. But it’s the next step to get moving on getting the masters done, so I don’t have a choice.
I hit the lock button on my keys and head through the revolving doors at the front, entering the lobby.
It has a black-and-grey colour scheme with dark-red accent furniture, records and awards littering the walls, and a ridiculous chandelier hanging over the couches to the left. To the right stands the reception desk. There’s a set of stairs directly across from the front entrance and elevators to the left, next to the waiting area. It’s not a huge space, but it’s well-decorated and welcoming. I don’t spend a ton of time at the label, but I always like it here when I do.
We head toward the front desk where the receptionist, Adrianna—or Addie, as she’s known by everyone—greets us. She’s a tall, late-thirty-something woman, with flawless golden-brown skin, long, dark, curly hair, high cheekbones, slender hands, and deep-brown eyes framed by dark lashes. She’s gorgeous and just about the kindest person I’ve ever met.
“Boys! How are you?” She smiles as we approach.
