Page 3 of Rockstar Baby

Not me. I wasn’t doing anything for the sake of tradition or appearances. And I was lucky enough not to have to please anyone but myself.

“Don’t remember, sorry.” I shrugged it off. “I won’t be your best friend, but I’ll help you get that hit single you’re looking for.”

“Fine by me. I’ve already got a best friend and no particular fondness for the warm and fuzzies myself.” Kellan paused. “So, give me that call if you can’t find your way back to the Cove, or else text me in the morning and I’ll meet you before we come back here to use my studio. Hope you can find accommodations. See Sage at The Hummingbird’s Nest if all else fails.”

I grunted and disconnected the call.Thanks for nothing.

Goddamn rockstars. Always thought the world revolved around them.

The sad part was they were usually right. Especially the successful ones like Kellan McGuire. As the frontman for the rock band Wilder Mind, he made the girls scream and his songs climbed the charts. Until one of the members had quit and Kellan had gotten the itch to play on his own on the side.

I played music now and then, sitting in with bands for my own entertainment or if a song needed something the artist couldn’t provide. But I was a part-time rocker at best. I treated music as art, but I also kept an eye on the business end. Whether or not my pop believed my work to be “artsy fartsy”, his words not mine.

I kept driving until I found the gas station Kellan had mentioned. I didn’t entirely trust his directions, and they were hard to follow in this inclement weather in any case. It was practically impossible to see anything. But somehow the huge sign for Heaphy’s still partially worked, a couple of the letters gleaming in neon in the darkness.

After making a U-turn, I went back the way I’d come from. I drove and drove and drove until I was about to turn to the GPS out of desperation. I didn’t see any 4-way stop. Maybe Kellan had been drinking. Maybe I’d become snow blind.

Struck incapable by lake effect, whatever the flying fuck that was.

Then a stop sign appeared out of the darkness like a battered red angel. The sign was moving in the wind. I would’ve said that didn’t seem possible, but my rental car was too.

Definitely getting a truck next time. Or a battering ram.

I made the left turn. Barely. The car fishtailed and the ditch on the side of the road came frighteningly close before somehow the tires bore down and gripped the road.

Heart in my throat, I soldiered on at the brisk speed of…eleven miles an hour.

This place was a hellhole. I was not ever returning. I didn’t care if Kellan bribed me with a million dollars and a lifetime of producing credits. I’d just stick to sunny California, thanks. When I needed a taste of cold, I’d go home to Ireland or visit my sister in Cheltenham.

It felt as if I was driving forever, although that might’ve been due to my reduced speed. I didn’t trust this car. Certainly didn’t trust the road. Weren’t they supposed to be out sanding or salting or something?

They probably would’ve been had it not been approaching eleven now. No one was driving out here but me.

A colossal idiot.

When the small green sign for Crescent Cove swam into view, coming out of the snowy dark like an oasis in the desert, I nearly wept.

Sweet bleeding Christ, I was here. I’d found it.

Now to acquire lodging for the evening.

I peered through the windshield at the rows of tidy buildings and storefronts as I passed them, most of them dark and closed up for the day. Kellan had mentioned an inn. I’d have to turn on the GPS for that one. Small town or not, there were enough side streets that I didn’t want to be circling around all night.

Assuming I didn’t end up sleeping in my car. I’d probably freeze.

I scratched my chin. Huh, that’d be a new experience. Maybe I could get a song out of it.

One I wouldn’t give to Kellan. He was on his own.

A sign labeled Main Street came briefly into view and I grinned. Thank God. The place Kellan had mentioned was probably near here.

I hoped.

My stomach growled as I slowed to a crawl near the famed lake Crescent Cove was known for, at least according to Kellan. The snowstorm made it seem like a huge dark bowl of wind-whipped water with spots that were flat and dense. Likely parts that were iced over. I squinted at the festively lit gazebo and tried to imagine this quaint little spot festooned for Christmas. Probably quite pretty, if one was into small towns. I’d grown up in one and had been eager to leave it as soon as I turned eighteen.

What was quaint to some seemed like a strait jacket to others. I’d had no desire to live in a snow globe, with or without the flakes.

A sign caught my eye not far from the pier that led down to the gazebo. The Rusty Spoon.