Take Me Home Read online

  Take Me Home

  Carrie Elks

  Contents

  Join Me!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Elks

  Acknowledgments

  TAKE ME HOME by Carrie Elks

  Copyright © 2020 Carrie Elks

  All rights reserved

  210320

  Edited by Rose David

  Proofread by Proofreading by Mich

  Cover Designed by Net Hook & Line Designs

  Interior Image: clipartof.com

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Thanks for reading! Carrie xx

  Chapter One

  The auditorium resounded with cheers, whistles, and catcalls. The thump of feet on the sticky tiled floor echoed with the sound of blood rushing through Gray Hartson’s ears. He stood for a moment, his guitar hanging from his shoulder, his hands wrapped around the microphone, and let himself take it in.

  This was the high. The rush that never lasted. But he’d take it while it did. For as long as it did.

  “Sydney, you were awesome. Thank you and good night.” Even with ear monitors in, he couldn’t hear his own voice over the crowd. It didn’t seem like they would be stopping any time soon. He lifted his hand and turned to go, but the noise increased, wrapping him like a blanket as he strolled off the stage.

  In the wings, one roadie removed Gray’s ear monitors, the other lifted his guitar over his head to carefully place it on a stand. Gray took a towel from somebody’s hands and wiped the sweat from his face, then grabbed a bottle of water and swallowed the whole thing in one go.

  “They’re gonna have to turn the lights on if they want them to go home,” his manager, Marco, said, grinning at Gray as they walked down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. “Three encores. Three! Thank god we rehearsed them all. They’re in love with you out there.” Once upon a time that would have made him feel ten feet tall. Now he was just exhausted.

  Gray pushed the dressing room door open, frowning at all the people inside. The guys from Fast Rush, the up-and-coming band that played his opener for the last leg of his world tour, were already on their third – or possibly fourth – drink, surrounded by a group of women who were giggling with them. He recognized the A&R guys from his record label, and a whole other bunch of groupies who were turning the dressing room into a party. He tried not to sigh.

  It wasn’t their fault the low was already hitting.

  “Oh my god! It’s Gray Hartson!” One of the girls surrounding Fast Rush had noticed him. All of a sudden, the support band was forgotten as the women surged forward.

  “Is the other dressing room empty?” Gray asked Marco, his voice low.

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, I’ll use that one.”

  The second dressing room was used by the local musicians who’d supported the final part of the tour. He turned to leave, but one of the girls grabbed his arm. She slid something into his jeans pocket, and he found himself recoiling at the pressure of her fingers against his hip.

  “Something to make you happy,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. “And my number. Call me.”

  Marco closed the door to the first dressing room and rolled his eyes. “I told them not to invite people back. I’m sorry, man.”

  “It’s okay. It’s their first major tour.” Gray shrugged as they walked down the hallway. “Can you make sure somebody stays sober to look after them? And to make sure they get back to the hotel safely?”

  Marco nodded. “Of course.”

  “If there’s any damage, put it on my bill.”

  They’d made it to the second dressing room, and as Gray pushed open the door, Marco walked off to take care of the support band, muttering something about calling for a car. Unlike the first room, this one was almost empty, save for one of Gray’s session guitarists drinking a glass of orange juice.

  “You not partying with the others?” Gray asked the older man as he grabbed himself another bottle of water.

  “Nope. I’m heading back to the hotel shortly. My bed is calling me.” Paul’s eyes crinkled. “How about you? I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

  Touring created strange allies. The only thing Gray had in common with this fifty-something, grizzled Australian was the fact they both played guitar. And yet, for the past two weeks they had hit it off, talking quietly at the back of buses and airplanes while the rest of the entourage shouted and laughed at the front.

  “I’m too old to party.”

  Paul chuckled. “You’re thirty-one. Just a baby.”

  “Tell my muscles that. And my bones.” Gray rotated his head to iron out the kinks in his neck. “Anyway, I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow. I don’t want to miss it.”

  “You’re heading to see your family, right?”

  “Yeah.” Gray sat back on the leather sofa and crossed his feet on the coffee table in front of him. “That’s right.”

  “Funny place. Hartson’s something…” Paul grinned. “Not many people I know have a whole town named after them.”

  “Hartson’s Creek. And it’s not named after me. Probably my great-great-great grandpa or something.” Gray’s brows scrunched together thinking about the small town in Virginia where he’d grown up. The same place he hadn’t been back to since he left more than a decade earlier.

  “What is it they used to call you and your brothers?” Paul asked, a grin pulling at his lips. “The Heartbreak Brothers?” He’d overheard one of Gray’s interviews while on the bus and hadn’t let him live his past down since.

  “Don’t remind me.” Gray shook his head. He couldn’t remember who’d invented the damn name, but it had stuck to them like superglue. He and his three brothers – Logan, Cam, and Tanner, had rolled their eyes every time they’d heard it while they were growing up. Yeah, they were four strong, attractive teenage boys growing up in a small town, but that stupid nickname always drove them crazy.

  Not as crazy as it drove their little sister, Becca, though. She hated hearing her female friends describing her brothers as ‘hot’.

  Something was digging into Gray’s thigh. He frowned and pushed his hand into his pocket, finding wh
at the woman had slid in there earlier. Pulling it out, he could see it was a clear plastic baggie, with white powder inside. She’d written her name and number in blue pen on the outside.

  “That what I think it is?”

  “Yup.” Gray threw it in the trash can and leaned his head back against the wall. There was a time when he would have been partying like crazy after a gig. As his stardom rose up, he’d been like a kid in a candy store for a while, feeding on the fruits of his fame like there was a famine right around the corner.

  But after the rise had come the crash. Waking in one strange bed too many, his head thumping with pain, his body filled with so many chemicals he could have set up his own lab. All followed by a three-day hangover that cost the record company thousands of dollars in unused studio time, and a missed performance on Jimmy Kimmel that had made him feel like a piece of shit.

  It hadn’t taken much to clean up his act. He was an idiot, not an addict. Marco had arranged for him to rent a studio in a secluded spot in Colorado, and he’d put his head down until he’d finished his second album. The record that raised him up from being a little famous to being a star.

  God, he was tired. It wasn’t just the tour – though that was draining on its own. It was everything. Trying to work on songs for the next album, talking with Marco about what kind of tour he wanted to promote it, and dealing with the calls from his sister about his dad being in the hospital with pneumonia.

  It felt like all the energy had been sucked out of him. He wanted to sleep for months.

  “Your car is here,” Marco said, pushing the dressing room door open. “You just need to say goodbye to a few people first.” He frowned at Gray, slumped on the bench. “Hey, you okay? You haven’t showered.”

  “I’ll do it back at the hotel.” Gray stood and rolled his shoulders.

  Paul walked over to shake his hand. “It was a pleasure working with you.”

  “And with you. Take it easy. Enjoy that family of yours.” Gray had seen all the photographs of Paul’s wife, three children, and six grandchildren.

  “I intend to. I hope your father’s feeling better soon.”

  “That reminds me,” Marco said, steering Gray out of the room. “I spoke to your sister earlier. Your father was discharged and is recuperating at home. She wanted your flight details so they know when to expect you.”

  “She could have called me.”

  Marco laughed. “Do you know when your flight gets into Dulles?”

  Gray frowned. “No.”

  “Which is why she called me. I also told her you’d be staying for a while, like we talked about. Give you a chance to write some songs in peace. There’s no place like home, right?”

  Home. Gray swallowed hard at the thought of the imposing Victorian building with the pristine lawn that led down to the creek that gave the town it’s name. His father’s house. The one he’d left as soon as he could and had sworn he’d never return to.

  And yet here he was, about to return for the first time in more than ten years. To the place where his father still lived, along with his Aunt Gina and his sister, Becca.

  After a quick talk with the people from his record label, they made it to the exit. Cool air was wafting through the open doors, reminding him that although it was spring in the US, Australia was slowly slipping from fall into winter. A security guard was waiting for them at the door, and he talked into his headset as soon as he saw Gray approaching. “Mr. Hartson,” he said, turning to greet him. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll make sure you get to your car safely.”

  The tour was over. It was time to begin the long journey home. From the arena to the hotel to the airport, and onward to the US. His final stop being Hartson’s Creek.

  As he followed the guard through the doors, and into the dark Sydney night, he felt his stomach contract at the thought of where he was headed.

  The crowd of fans gathered at the back of the arena roared as he stepped out, their voices loud as they began to chant his name. Gray lifted his hand to wave goodbye to them.

  It was time to go home.

  * * *

  “According to the GPS, we should be there in five minutes,” his driver said as they passed into the Hartson’s Creek town limits. According to the weather-beaten sign, the town’s population was still 9,872, the exact same number it had been when he left.

  Gray turned his head to look out of the window. His stomach clenched at how familiar it all looked. The painted Victorian houses, the long lawns, and the wide, weatherworn roads. Had the town stood still for the last decade? Even the shops looked the same. As they stopped at a red light, he stared into the window of Bella’s Bakery, taking in the iced cinnamon swirls and donuts he used to adore as a kid. He could almost taste that buttery, sugary goodness on his tongue. And next door, as always, was Murphy’s Diner, the scene of his first gig – the one that led to the infamous Homecoming Brawl of 2005. His lips twitched at the memory of the carnage. At the way Ashleigh Clark had rubbed ointment onto his cut eye and split lip, telling him he looked hotter than hell after he’d been in a brawl.

  He hadn’t felt so hot the next morning when his dad received the bill for the damage done to the diner. Nor when he’d spent the following summer cleaning every inch of Murphy’s greasy kitchen. He shuddered at the memory.

  “We’re here.” The driver pulled the car to a stop.

  Gray looked out of the window again. They were about a hundred yards short of the driveway to his family home, and he was okay with that. “Can we wait here for a minute?” he asked.

  The driver shrugged. “You’re the boss.” He turned off the engine and leaned back in his seat as Gray looked toward the green hedges that bordered his father’s land. He couldn’t see the driveway but he knew it was there. Gray-and-red gravel that made a hell of a noise when you were trying to sneak home after curfew. It led to what he remembered as an imposing house. Tall red roof, white boarded walls, and a cupola in the center you could only reach via a rickety staircase.

  The climb was always worth it. Because when you got to the top, the lantern windows gave you a three-sixty view over Hartson’s Creek. To the west you could see the fields that stretched out in a green carpet to the Shenandoah Mountains far beyond. To the east was the sparkling blue of the creek, leading to the wheat farms that would be colored a burnished gold come fall.

  The house didn’t look so white anymore. The boards were peeling and decayed, down to the base wood in places. Even from here he could see where some shingles had slipped from the roof. But more than that, it looked small. So much smaller than he remembered. Like a miniature version of its real self.

  He shook his head, his lip quirking up. Houses didn’t shrink. Maybe he’d grown.

  Two minutes later, Gray was standing at the base of the driveway, lifting a hand in goodbye as the black sedan made the turn out of Lawson Lane. Even the air smelled different. Cool, with a hint of corn coming up from the fields. And something else. Something old. As though every molecule of oxygen held memories of the past centuries since Hartson’s Creek was founded.

  “Gray. You made it!” The front door flew open and a blur of pink and blue rushed toward him. He had just enough time to put his guitar and suitcase down before Becca was jumping into his arms, her dark hair flowing out wildly behind her. “I thought that was you,” she told him right as he caught her. “I saw a car stopped down the road. Aunt Gina owes me five dollars.”

  “You bet on that?” Gray’s smile was broad. It always was when he saw his little sister. Gina had brought her out a few times to watch his shows, and he was always pleased to see her.

  “The Wi-Fi’s out again. We have to keep ourselves entertained somehow.” Becca shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. “Why didn’t you get that big ol’ car to drive up to the house? That would have given us something to gawk at.”

  “And that’s why I didn’t have it drive up to the house,” Gray told her, deadpan.

  Becca pulled herself out of his hug
and grabbed his hand. “Come on, everybody’s waiting inside.”

  “Everybody?” He ignored the pulling at his gut.

  “Well, there’s me and Aunt Gina. And Tanner’s here for a couple of days,” she said, referring to Gray’s youngest brother. “Logan and Cam couldn’t make it now, but they’re coming in for Tanner’s birthday.” She grinned broadly. “All the Hartsons in one place. People won’t know what’s hit them.”

  “And Dad? Is he in there?”

  “He’s in bed.” Her voice dropped. “His recovery is slow.” She waited for him to pick up his things before she pulled him up the front steps, skipping over the middle one with a gaping hole in the plank. When he got to the top, he saw Tanner standing in the doorway, leaning casually on the doorjamb. At twenty-eight, Tanner was the youngest of the four brothers, but still four years older than Becca.

  “The wanderer returns,” he drawled as Gray reached the door, and leaned his guitar against the weatherboard wall. “What, no paparazzi? No screaming fans?” He dropped his voice an octave. “No groupies?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.” Gray wrapped his brother in a bear hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York.”

  Tanner shrugged, lifting his hand to push his sandy hair from his eyes. “I heard you were coming. I came for the groupies.”

  Becca wrinkled her nose. “You’re disgusting,” she said, swatting his arm. “Both of you.”