Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

3. anywhere but here

[ 3 ]

ANYWHERE BUT HERE

BAXTER

“UNSATISFIED” BY NINE BLACK ALPS

T he cold winter air blasts me as I throw open the door to the courthouse, storming down the front stairs.

I don’t even have words for what a shitshow that hearing was. It was the last thing I fucking expected when I walked in there this morning.

The moment I saw the face of the man responsible for killing Audrey and Brennan, I thought I was going to be sick. Then he said the words not guilty , and I’m certain I looked like I’d seen a ghost.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m still not entirely sure I didn’t.

Seeing the look on that man’s face today transported me right back to when I was twenty-one years old—the last time I had to sit in a courtroom for a drunk driving case.

Who knew that almost ten years later, I’d be living the worst day of my life all over again?

Sure as hell not me .

I fist one hand, pulling a cigarette out of my pocket with the other as I make my way down the street. I have no clue where I’m headed; all I know is I do not want to be alone with my thoughts right now. I need to clear my mind of the disaster this day has been—preferably with the help of a drink or a woman.

Both, if I’m lucky.

I meander down the sidewalk, bringing the cigarette to my lips. I let the smoke burn my throat before exhaling, keeping my eyes peeled for a bar. I pull my phone out of my pocket, checking the group chat with Colt and Levi, my best friends and musicians, as I walk.

Colt

How’s the trial going?

Levi

Have you punched anyone yet?

I huff a laugh. I can always count on Levi for some comic relief, even when all I want to do is punch something. Or someone.

Me

Don’t even get me fucking started. It took everything in me not to punch him. I left early. You guys will never guess who the defendant was.

Levi replies instantly.

Levi

Wait, you know them?

I used to.

Colt

Who the fuck was it?

I clench my jaw as I type the name I haven’t heard in years. On one hand, I’m not surprised in the slightest that he ended up like this. I’d prepared myself for this day. But the other part of me, the one who once knew him, is struggling to believe my worst nightmare came true.

Logan.

It takes a few minutes for them to respond, both of them probably as in shock as I am.

Levi

THE Logan?

The one and only.

Colt

You’re joking, right?

I wish I was.

Levi

Fuck. That blows.

Colt

Plea?

Take a wild guess.

I slip my phone back in my pocket as I catch sight of a dive bar down the street, a neon sign reading ASTRO Bar & Grill sticking out from the wall.

I finish my smoke and put it out under my shoe before tossing the butt into a nearby trash bin. When I swing open the door, warmth engulfs me, and I head inside.

The door slams shut behind me as I take in the space. Dive bars like this can be found all over the city, each one less appealing than the last. All things considered, this seems to be one of the nicer ones I’ve been in, though the eclectic, dated decor dive bars are known for still fills the space.

Old-style photos and neon signs litter the walls. Above the bar, there’s one that reads Stop Thinking, Start Drinking in bold, red letters. It has dim, yellow lighting, and the dark floors are sticky, clearly not having been cleaned well in quite some time.

My nose turns up at that thought. It’s definitely not the most inviting space, but it has booze—cheap as it may be—and is open in the middle of a Monday, so it’ll have to do.

Even better, there are only a few other patrons, meaning my chances of being recognized are slim. I examine the two older men sitting at a table to my left, both of them clearly drunk and completely uninterested in whatever’s happening around them, too engrossed in their conversation with each other to notice me.

My eyes shift to one end of the bar counter where there’s another man, maybe around my age or a few years older. I can’t see his face, and he’s nursing a glass of something, too focused on his phone to pay any attention to me.

My shoulders slump as I take a step further into the establishment. I scan the row of empty stools lining the bar until my eyes land on the back of the head of a woman with long, chestnut-brown hair.

The back of a head I’d recognize anywhere.

My mind flashes back to the day of Audrey and Brennan’s funeral—the first time I saw the woman seated on the stool in front of me.

“QUIET IN MY TOWN” BY CIVIL TWILIGHT

The church is already packed full of people when we arrive. I was shocked when Kevin told me they were having an open funeral for Audrey and Brennan, but being here now, it makes sense.

They wanted to give everyone a chance to say goodbye.

My chest tightens at that thought.

I opt to stand at the back, Levi and Colt by my side. Thorned Roses weren’t the inspirations for them that they were for me, but everyone in the music industry could at the very least appreciate how significant they’d been to the world of rock and roll.

“Hello everyone,” a man says into a microphone at the front of the room. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, maybe a few years older than me. Knowing what I do about the Thornes, I’m guessing he’s their oldest child and only son, Dylan. “Thank you all for coming today.”

A silence settles over the crowd of over seven hundred people. I don’t know how so many people fit in the church, but I’m guessing the service won’t be very long as a result.

“My name is Dylan, and I’m the son of Audrey and Brennan. Next to me are my sisters, Paige and Lennon. It means a lot to us that you’ve all come out to honour our parents. To most of you, Audrey and Brennan were known as Thorned Roses. But to us, they were just Mom and Dad.”

He pauses to gain his composure before continuing. “Speaking from experience, and I know my sisters will back me up here, it was tough growing up with two rock stars for parents. By the time they had me, they’d been in the music business for almost ten years, and they never really slowed down. They were gone on tour a lot of the time, and when they were home, they were always recording new albums.

“They took us out on tour with them when they could, but we spent a lot of time with nannies. It wasn’t until I was seventeen that they started spending more time at home for reasons I’m not going to discuss here today”—he glances sidelong at one of his sisters with a sadness in his eyes—“and by then, I wanted almost nothing to do with my parents. But every chance we had to spend as a family is one I will cherish until the day I die, no matter how miserable I may have been at the time.

“Since growing older and having a family of my own, I’ve come to the realization that while it was difficult for us growing up, it must have been even harder on our parents. They weren’t perfect, but they did their best with what they had at the time, and that’s all any kid can really ask for. They were on their way to becoming the world’s most famous rock stars when they had me, and they couldn’t have stopped if they wanted to.

“They were constantly trying to please themselves, please their fans, and please us, their children, at all times. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful—they were the best parents anyone could ever have, because no matter what, they still showed up. When they were home with us, they were fully present the whole time. And if they were gone and we needed them, they came. Their ten-year-long touring break almost a decade ago was during a time when our family needed them most, and it was at a point when they knew their career would still be there waiting when they got back. And they were right.

“It was because of all of you that my parents were who they were. Attentive, caring, protective, powerful—they loved with their hearts and souls, because you, their fans, let them. You gave them a break when they needed it most, and you welcomed them back with open arms when they were ready. They loved you all more than words can say. Their career was unlike any music career in history, and that was thanks to every single one of you who loved them. I can promise that if they hadn’t been taken from us before they were ready, they would’ve continued for years to come. I’m sorry they won’t get that chance.”

He turns, looking at the photo on stage next to them.

“Mom, Dad, thank you. For everything you did for me, for our family, for your fans. You were two of the best people on this planet, and it breaks me to know that you’re gone. But I know that no matter what, even though you aren’t here anymore, you will live in the hearts of others for the rest of time. You may not have been immortal, but your music is. You made it. You can rest easy now.”

By the time he finishes, there isn’t a dry eye in the place. Even I have tears in my eyes, and I’ve never been a crier.

Dylan steps away from the podium and wraps his arms around one of his sisters, whose shoulders shake uncontrollably. He glances at his other sister and bows his head before stepping off the stage.

I know from years of seeing them in the media that there is a significant age difference between the three siblings, and that the middle one is the same age as me. Considering the one who steps up to the microphone next doesn’t look thirty, I assume she’s the youngest.

She’s silent for a moment as her eyes scan the room, the look on her face one of someone completely broken inside.

She was in the car with them . I remember hearing that on the radio when it came out that they died, but I was too distracted by the news to acknowledge it. Based on the cast she has on her arm and the radio saying she was twenty-four, I’m guessing it was her.

Her gaze lands on mine for a moment as she scans the room. It’s brief, too brief for her to recognize me, but that doesn’t stop my breath from catching. She’s stunning—tall but not too tall, high cheekbones, long, chestnut-brown hair, and big doe eyes. She could make any man fall to his knees begging, guaranteed.

But even from a distance, I can tell her eyes have a hollowness to them that I’ve only ever seen in my own.

Her gaze keeps moving before she finally speaks. “Hi, everyone, I’m Lennon. I know for many of you, my parents were huge musical inspirations. They were mine, too. I was the lucky kid who got their talent for singing, so I’m going to do that here for you today. This song isn’t one of theirs, but it’s one I’m sure you all know. I chose it because where my parents were inspirations for all of you, The Beatles were theirs—so much so that John Lennon is my namesake. So, here it is.”

She inhales shakily as the opening chords to “Yesterday” by The Beatles begin, and then she sings, her eyes closing as everything fades away and the song takes over.

I know that feeling all too well.

Her voice is like magic, and I swear it sends a sense of calm over the crowd—one I’m betting most haven’t felt since they heard the news.

It’s a calm I haven’t felt in eleven years.

I close my eyes, too, letting her singing soothe me until the song comes to an end, her voice breaking on the last note.

“Like Dylan said,” she begins once the song is over. “Thank you all for coming. Our parents were so grateful for each and every one of you.” Her voice is steady as she speaks before she turns to join her siblings offstage.

And then before the rest of the crowd can even move an inch, I leave, though the sound of her voice lingers in my memory for the rest of the day.

Today is the first time I’ve seen Lennon since then. Aside from when I locked eyes with the ones that have haunted me for just over eleven years, I spent nearly the entire hearing with the same view I have right now—the back of her head.

Something about the day of the funeral has stuck with me. Since the moment I first heard her sing, I’ve felt drawn to her in a way I can’t explain.

Maybe it’s because she has the voice of a siren, luring me in and not letting go.

Maybe it’s because she’s the daughter of my biggest musical inspirations.

Maybe it’s because that day, she looked as empty and broken as I did when I lost my mom.

Whatever it is, it’s like we’re kindred spirits—something in my soul recognizes something in hers.

Which must explain how I ended up in the doorway of the very bar she was already drinking in, probably trying to drown her sorrows after that hearing the same way I’m planning to drown mine.

Here’s hoping we can drown in each other instead.

I linger in the entrance for a moment, just watching her. She’s wearing a form-fitting navy-blue dress and nude heels, looking every bit the professional woman I’m sure she is.

That is, until she swigs back a shot of brown liquid before slamming her glass down on the counter.

I chuckle to myself when she waves the bartender over. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can tell by the way his eyes linger a moment too long on her chest that he’s trying to pick her up.

She turns him down, though, if the way his face shifts from interested to insulted is any indication. His jaw clenches as he turns to walk away, but just as I’m about to take a step closer, he turns to her again.

I clench my fists, preparing to make him back down if he won’t listen to her. Except the next thing I know, he’s placing the less than quarter-full bottle of brown liquid—whisky, as the bottle suggests—on the bartop in front of her. With a nod, he leaves to tend to the guy at the other end of the bar.

I smirk. Even though she’ll probably dismiss me the same way she did him, I can’t stop myself from approaching the stool next to her.

I have to know this woman.