Free Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) by Amanada Lawless

‘Rock is not a moral code. It’s the negative
space of one. It’s not a prescriptive movement, it’s how you choose to
interpret it’?”
    “That...sounds familiar,” I admit.
    “What in the world were you thinking, acting all
philosophical?” Kelly cries.
    “I told her to scratch it out. I told her it was off the
record!” I yell back.
    “She’s a blogger, you idiot! Not a real freakin’
journalist,” Kelly says, exasperated.
    “So I’ve got one smart line out there to counteract the
usual, macho bullshit you have me spouting,” I say, “So what? I think that my
image will survive unscathed.”
    “Is that so?” Kelly says, shoving her phone in my face,
“Because your little friend seems to have penned a wistful little think piece
about how you feel trapped by fame, how the real, genuine Trent Parker is being
squashed by the pressures of celebrity. She’s painting you as a sensitive,
intelligent bed-wetter who really just wants to sit on his front porch and sing
love songs into the goddamn sunset.”
    “Is that so terrible?” I ask.
    Kelly’s face hardens. “It is if you’ve created your image by
being a crude, rule-breaking bad boy. Which you have.”
    “You have,” I correct her viciously.
    “That’s right,” she snaps, “And if you’re so exhausted by
being a successful musician, you can always pick up and get the hell out of
here. I’m not going to pull you kicking and screaming through the rest of your
career, Trent. Either nut up, or shut up.”
    She storms away into the depths of the tour bus before I can
get in another word. The guys have fallen silent, each trying very hard to
avoid my gaze. I grab the bottle of rum from Rodney and take a long gulp.
Furious, I tuck the bottle under my arm and march out of the bus, into the
darkening night. Red, boiling rage is popping and seething behind my eyes. How
dare that woman try to dictate how I go about presenting myself in the world?
It’s not like she was going anywhere fast without me to bring her along on the
ride to stardom. Sure, she’s the one who “found” me back in LA, but I’m the
reason she has a career at all. I’m her meal ticket. Her show pony. And I’m
fucking sick of it. 
    I lean against the front grill of the tour bus and take
another long, satisfying pull of booze. This is not the first time in recent
memory that Kelly has driven me to drink. Honestly, I think she does it on
purpose sometimes, just to keep my image edgy enough for her own liking. I
thank my lucky stars that photographers are banned from our camp site—I’m
putting on quite the show for them right now.
    I close my eyes and let the myriad sounds of the busy
festival float up the hill to me, hoping that they might calm me down. But the
nearby sound of shouting voices drowns out the happy murmur from down below in
Normal People Land. I peek around the front of the bus, toward the source of
the shrieking argument.
    Ellie and Mitch’s tent is illuminated from the inside by an
electric lantern. I can see their shadows moving around in the enclosed space,
darting and pacing in aggravation. Ellie’s shadow sticks its finger into
Mitch’s thin chest, and I hear her muffled voice lobbing angry accusations his
way. I know I shouldn’t look, I know I should keep to myself and enjoy my
bottle in peace...but I can’t help it. My voyeuristic side is intrigued. I only
wish I had some popcorn, is all.
    The tent’s zipper is torn open, and Ellie lunges out into
the open air. Her face is flushed and furious, and her eyes are positively
sparking with the need to fight. Her long fingers are balled up into fists, and
I half expect her to start swinging. I know she’s mad, and I know I shouldn’t
be thinking this way...but her passion is more than a little sexy.
    Mitch climbs out after her, his face set in a grim mask. He
doesn’t look like he’s taking his scolding passively, that’s for sure. Neither
of them seem keen on cooling down anytime soon, either.