Love Rock'ollection: The Brutal Strength Rock Star Trilogy, books 1-3 (18 page)

Smiling as Rheta left, Avery closed the door quietly before falling back on the quilted sleigh bed. Sighing contentedly, she stretched out her arms and legs moving them back and forth as if she were making a snow angel in the covers. She’d never been in such a warm and welcoming place. She certainly envied Marcus his childhood.

A little while later, she followed her nose down the stairs. Led by mouthwatering aromas, she found everyone gathered in the industrially appointed kitchen in the back of the farmhouse, evidently a new addition to the original structure with its shiny stainless-steel modern appliances and fixtures.

Marcus called her over to help him peel potatoes. When she asked him to show her how, his eyes crinkled up and his elusive dimple made an appearance. “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve never peeled potatoes?”

Avery glared and kicked him in the shin. “That’s for mocking me.”

“Ow! You turd.” He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her down on the bench next to him. “Just for that, you get to sit here and do the rest by yourself.”

Across the room, Rheta looked pointedly at her husband.

Don acknowledged her with a nod, glad to see his younger son looking so carefree. The rehab doctors had diagnosed Marcus with depression, citing it as a contributing factor in his drug abuse. But both parents had noticed a marked improvement in Marcus’ outlook since Avery had joined the group. But as he continued to watch the two of them interact, Don was troubled by a vague sense of misgiving.

Dinner that night was a congenial affair around the large farmhouse table. Avery took full credit for the huge mound of mashed potatoes, after having peeled, boiled, seasoned and mashed them herself, with a little direction from Rheta. Also on the menu was a caprese salad with mozzarella from the farm, roasted chicken and Brussels sprouts.

Everyone stuffed themselves, especially Don who pushed back from the table, unabashedly loosening his belt to make more room for apple pie.

After the dishes were cleared, everyone retired to the family room for coffee and dessert. Lisa and Dwight moved into the far corner to play chess. Marcus’ parents sat on the well-worn sofa together with Rheta’s bare feet up in Don’s lap. Avery and Marcus sat in adjacent wing back chairs on either end of the sofa talking about the video.

When his parents started nodding off, Marcus asked, “Wanna take a walk? I feel like I need to burn off some calories.”

“Sure, I’m too full to go to sleep right now.”

They walked down the lighted perimeter of the long driveway. Both were silent, enjoying the peacefulness of the nighttime country sounds. They ended up back on the front porch in the rocking chairs. Sam, the black and white farm dog, came up and plopped at Marcus’ feet.

Looking up at the stars, watching the barn swallows soaring and diving in the night sky, Avery sighed. “It’s beautiful out here, Marcus. It must have been a great place to grow up.”

“It was nice, Ace. I miss it, you know? I feel like I can be myself out here.”

“How in the world did a country boy like you end up in a rock band?”

“Well, my mom is a retired high school band director. She insisted that Dwight and I learn how to play the piano when we were really young. But I really got turned on to music when I started playing the guitar in middle school. A couple of years later we formed the band.”

“Who came up with the name?”

“I did. It’s kind of dumb, really. I was reading
Julius Caesar
in English class, ‘Et tu Brute?’ Out of that, I somehow came up with the name Brutal Strength.” He shrugged. “Dwight thought it was kick-ass right away, and JR eventually came around, especially when Dwight pointed out that the initials were BS. Which was totally unintentional, but no one ever believes that.”

“How old were you when you got your first record deal?”

Marcus smiled, amused by all of Avery’s questions. He liked it, though. This was how normal people got to know each other, instead of googling one another online. “Just a little younger than you, actually. We had a gig playing at The University of British Columbia. A father of one of the students turned out to be a record exec at Time Warner. He heard us and liked our sound. We got lucky, I guess.”

Just then, Don started flicking off and on the front porch light. “Hey, you guys are grownup and all, but I’m just the messenger. Mom says it’s late and you should head to bed.” He chuckled softly. “Night.”

“Night, Marcus.” Avery stood.

“Night Avery,” Marcus replied, eyes crinkling up once more. “We sound like a freaking episode of the Walton’s. See you in the morning, Ace.”

A COMMOTION OUTSIDE startled Avery awake early the next morning. She sat up and looked around the room, remembering where she was. Pulling back the gingham curtain, she peeked out to see what was going on. The water buffalo herd was rumbling noisily up the front driveway with Sam yipping at their heels.

After they passed, she closed the curtain, walked over to make sure the bedroom door was still locked, and reluctantly began her manly morning ritual for one last time.

Avery planned to tell Marcus the truth tomorrow, feeling certain that when she did, she would no longer be welcome in his household, his band, or his life.

Since she knew JR was leaving after breakfast the next day, she hoped to get a ride into town from him. From there, she should no doubt have to find her own way back to Vancouver.

Avery wound the now familiar ace bandage around her chest and put on a Henley shirt over a thermal layer. She slipped on her jeans and pulled on her boots. Looking in the mirror, she ran a brush quickly through her shortened tresses.

How she had managed to pull this off for so long, she’d never know.

Rolling her shoulders back and mentally bracing herself for the day, she headed down to the kitchen where she found Lisa and Rheta in their robes making breakfast. They both looked up and smiled at her.

“Good morning, lazy bones. Coffee’s on the counter,” Rheta told her. Avery smiled gratefully, heading straight for the carafe. “Marcus warned me not to expect coherent conversation from you until you’ve had at least one cup.” Rheta cracked another egg into a bowl. “The other guys are out at the barn, getting everything ready for later. Feel free to take the cup with you.”

Avery nodded, taking her first sip of blessed caffeine.

“Could you tell them breakfast will be ready in an hour?”

“Sure, Mrs. Anthony,” Avery responded politely, heading out the door. She leisurely strolled up the path while savoring the strong brew. Once there, she found father and sons dressed in overalls, hard at work clearing out the barn. Smiling, she set down her mug. This was just too priceless.

Marcus glanced up just as she snapped a picture with her cell phone. “Perfect,” she laughed. “Rock legend Marcus Anthony peforms manual labor.” She slipped her phone back into her pocket, but waved her arms in front of herself in a deflective maneuver when Marcus menacingly advanced toward her. “Hey, don’t come any closer, Farmer Marcus. You’re filthy, and I look good.” Holding up one hand like she was swearing an oath she said, “I promise this picture will only be used for my personal amusement.” Avery burst out laughing backpedaling for the shelter of the house.

Marcus caught her by the arm before she could escape. He rubbed the back of his grimy hand across her cheek and forehead. Laughing now too, Marcus pulled out his own cell and snapped a picture. “Ha, Avery Jones, former chick magnet, now muckraker,” he taunted.

“Great,” Avery whined. “Now I’ve gotta take another shower.”

From inside the barn, Marcus’ dad watched the two with mounting concern. He had seen the Besille interview. Normally skeptical about media rumors, he wondered whether there might possibly be some truth to this latest one. He made it a priority to talk to Dwight as soon as possible.

LATER, AVERY PIGGED out on the huge country breakfast Rheta and Lisa had prepared. Pancakes. Biscuits and gravy. Fried eggs. Bacon. She sampled it all. As she pushed back from the table, Rheta recruited her to help with the dishes.

“Sure, Mrs. Anthony. I’d be glad to. If I sit down, I’ll probably pass out from food coma.” Everyone chipped in to help clear the dishes from the table. Rheta had them all well trained. She was a woman very much in charge of her domain.

“Why don’t you wash, and I’ll dry, since I know where to put away the dishes.”

“Absolutely, Mrs. Anthony.”

“Call me Mom, Avery. They all do.” She put her hand gently on Avery’s shoulder. “Marcus told me about your mother and brother.”

Avery’s eyes flashed up to hers.

“I’m so sorry. I hope you come to think of us as your family.”

Overwhelmed by the offer of something she had never dreamed of having again, Avery was silent as her throat tightened with emotion.

“Here, put these gloves on. I can’t have Marcus fussing at me that his guitarist can’t play today because he has waterlogged hands.”

Clearing her throat, Avery said, “Good plan. He can be a little bossy, can’t he?” Her green eyes sparkled with humor as she met Rheta’s gaze.

“Yes, he can,” Marcus’ mom returned with a deadpan expression, “I don’t know where that trait comes from. He must have inherited it from his father.”

BY MIDMORNING, THE peace and quiet at the Anthony farm had succumbed to a growing cacophony of sound and bustle of activity. JR arrived shortly after breakfast, pulling up in a flashy black Corvette. Dwight escorted him into the kitchen to heat him some pancakes.

Mary and the film crew arrived next and immediately began setting up equipment in the barn. A bus carrying Beth, her entourage, and about two dozen excited fans rolled in around noon. Beth relegated the group to a cordoned off area in the back, manned with security personnel and set up with tents so they could congregate in comfort. Rheta moved expertly through the crowd, making everyone feel welcome.

Beth had meticulously scripted the entire event. A barbeque picnic lunch and an informal meet and greet with the band would be followed by a live performance in the barn. Everything would be filmed. She’d ordered the band inside the house, along with the stylists, to get ready. Circulating with the fans and crew, she crossed her fingers, doing her best to assure that all would go well.

Inside the house, the stylist finished Avery’s hair and left. For obvious reasons, Avery had rejected outside help with wardrobe, insisting upon wearing her own clothes. Glancing in the mirror, she smiled. Benito would be proud. She looked every inch the preppy teen idol clad in black jeans, a light grey button down shirt, a dark grey vest, and with a thin black tie loosely wrapped around her neck. Avery glanced out the window at the crowd and let out a shaky sigh.

“What’s wrong, Ace?” She jumped a little. She hadn’t heard Marcus come in.

“Oh, nothing,” she lied, turned toward him, and immediately gasped. Where- the-heck-was-his-shirt? The sight of his bare chest riveted her boots to the floorboards. Her jaw unhinged. The effects of Coleman’s relentless work-outs were readily apparent. Marcus’ torso was every month of the year calendar worthy. He also had a black cursive BS tattooed on his right pec. She felt an overwhelming desire to trace it with her fingertips.