There’s No Crying in Rock-N-Roll

PROLOGUE

Henley

MS. HENDRIX, CAN I ask you to step into my office for a moment? she asks.

I frown. Is something wrong?

She hesitates. Uh, no ma’am. I have a call for you in my office.

A call? What is she talking about? Jessica’s phone chirps as I look at her for help with the manager. The look on her face is one of horror.

What is it, Jessica?

Nothing. Let’s go take that call.

Let me see the message.

Come on, Hen. Let’s just go to the office.

I swear to everything holy if you don’t show me the message, I will make a scene.

She flips her phone over for me to see.

Samantha: Get her the fuck out of Saks. The shit just hit the fan!

What is she talking about?

I honestly don’t know, Hen.

The paparazzi begins banging on the windows and calling out my name. What’s up with them? The manager is waiting impatiently.

Ms. Hendrix, for your own safety, I’m begging you to follow me to my office.

Jessica and I look at each other and shrug. The manager escorts us to her office, but she stops Jessica outside the door. She whispers something in her ear, and Jessica struggles with her poker face. I can see the second shock and anger pass over her face, and I know no matter what I do, she won’t tell me what she heard. So I sit in the middle of Saks wondering what the hell is going on in my life that the paparazzi acts like I’m a cat in heat, and two of my best friends feel the need to be cryptic.

An alert sounds on my phone letting me know there is an update with my name on it. I set my bags down and take a seat in the chair in front of the manager’s desk. I open the alert and Google takes its time connecting me to the story with my name in it. I’m in the middle of the building inside another room, so the signal isn’t stellar. I wait some more. What now? Did someone hear me fart? Did I pick my nose in public? Did I forget to pay something?

Google finally connects me the article.

OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

Jessica rushes to me. Breathe, Henley. Breathe. Seriously, take some deep breaths.

Please call Samantha.

Jessica calls my publicist’s L.A. office, but she doesn’t pick up her direct line. She tries her personal cell, but she doesn’t pick it up either. She then phones her secretary who also doesn’t pick up. They are avoiding me. This is what Samantha does when she is dealing with the Mack daddy of cluster fucks. This can’t be happening. I need to talk to Samantha. Jessica spends the next ten minutes blowing up every phone Samantha can be reached on.

When she finally answers her cell, she sounds defeated. Hen?

Yeah.

Where are you? Her voice is so soft it scares me. Samantha is soft when the world is about to implode.

Saks.

We gotta get you out of there. I’m going to work on an escape . . .

Shut up, Samantha. She rambles when she’s nervous. She stops talking. I finally ask the one thing I need to know before I can figure out how in the hell I’m going to deal.

Is it true? I ask.

She doesn’t say anything for a long minute. Yeah, Hen.

The tears run down my face, the phone drops, and I begin to shake my head. No. No. No. No. No. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I just can’t.

I know, Hen, she says.

1

JAGGER

W HAT THE HELL, Jagger? Samantha screams through the phone.

What’s wrong? I ask.

What did you do? How could you not tell me? I can’t get in front of this! she screams.

Oh God.

Jagger! Say something! she screams again.

I . . . I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about, I softly whisper, hoping denial will cover me.

You’re having a baby! I’m your publicist, and I’m supposed to know about this before any other soul on this planet! I can’t fix this. It’s too late! They’re all over Henley as we speak, but luckily she’s oblivious for now, but that won’t last much longer, she growls.

My gut churns. Where’s my girl?

She’s at Saks with Jessica, and the media’s been outside for the last thirty minutes. She doesn’t have a clue, and security at Saks is trying to keep her away from the front of the store.

I pace the floor with worry. My mind is in shock. This can’t be happening.

I spoke to her two hours ago, after they got to the store, how did this happen so quickly?

Claudia Windsor set you up. She told the media to be at that doctor’s appointment. What were you doing there? she asks.

I wasn’t at a doctor’s appointment, I asked for a paternity test, and she asked for money. I met her to pay her off, so she’d shut up. I didn’t tell anyone because I know she’s lying! She refused to take the money, and now I know why. Fuck! I growl in frustration. I’m sorry Sam, I should’ve told you and my attorney, Meghan. Get Hen out of there and bring her to me so that I can explain everything.

If I try to save her myself, it will only make the situation worse.

She lets out a big sigh. I love you like a brother, but you have to be honest with me about this. Did you sleep with the woman within the time frame of her conception?

Yes, but that’s not my kid. She didn’t contact me until she was almost seven months pregnant and conveniently after her Facebook status states she’s newly single from what looks like a long-time boyfriend.

I can feel Samantha seething through the phone. Stay away from Henley. She’ll be humiliated. I can’t believe you did this and I don’t care whose baby it is. You cannot blindside her, your parents, and your band like this. I’ll call you in a few days when I can figure out what to do. Keep your ass in your house and do not under any circumstances leave. If that motherfucker is on fire, you better put out the fire yourself and stay inside. I have to deal with the girl whose heart you’re about to break in front of the entire world. What’s done is done and I can’t do anything else from here for you right now. Hen is a priority. You get me?

Yeah. Sam . . . call me and tell me how she is? I beg.

She hangs up in my ear, and I break out in a sweat. How did this happen? I was with Claudia less than an hour ago. This happened too quickly—of course, she set me up. The bitch set me up, no doubt forcing me to acknowledge the possibility of being a father to the world.

Fuck!

The bile rises, and I quickly run to the bathroom where I barely make it in time to empty the contents of my stomach. Once my stomach can no longer heave, I push back and lean against the wall. I glance around Henley’s bathroom.

Her hairbrush is filled with blond hair and still sits on the counter from when she used it this morning. Her toothbrush hangs next to mine, and my razor occupies the space next to her makeup bag. This is how my life is supposed to be. My things are supposed to be intermingled in with hers. Our lives are meant to be interwoven.

I’m not sure if she’ll forgive me. How will I survive?

The doorbell brings me back to the here and now. I walk to the front of the house quietly and look out the window for media, but see Koi, my lead singer and Henley’s brother, standing in front of the door. He’ll probably kill me. I sigh and open the door to face my fate at the hands of my best friend.

He stands with his hands in his pockets and looks me over as though I’m a petulant child who’s been caught stealing candy in a store. He doesn’t speak, and the silence weighs down on me.

I can’t take it any longer, so I break it. I was not at a doctor’s appointment and that’s not my baby.

He doesn’t miss a beat. Did you sleep with her seven months ago?

He sees the answer written on my face and takes that as his cue to rear back to punch me in the jaw. I fall back a few steps but manage to stay upright from the crushing blow.

I was sent by Sam to tell you to get everything you own and get out of Henley’s house. She doesn’t care where you go, but you can’t be here when Henley gets home, he says so quietly that it scares me.

Let me stay so I can talk to her. I just need a chance to explain, I beg.

Time for explaining was over when the story hit every news outlet in the world.

I sigh. I’ll pack. I just need . . . I need to see her before I go.

Don’t imagine she wants to see you right now. You have one hour to get your shit out of her house. You aren’t coming back to my house after this, so find another place to go.

He plops down on Hen’s couch and turns the television on much louder than it should be.

2

HENLEY

ISTARE AT THE cup of pens on the Saks manager’s desk. She only has black pens in her cup. How does someone live in a black and white world? Where is the color and passion? The laughter and love? Love, laughter, and passion aren’t black and white, they’re vivid colors of emotion that alternate through various shades of intensity. My love for Jagger Carlyle is reds and oranges, and sometimes yellows. The passion I have for him overwhelms me. He invokes all these feelings I can’t decipher.

When he looks at me, I feel like the sun is shining on my world, but the sun just exploded in my universe. The only thing left behind is black, darkness; like the manager’s cup of pens. My poor assistant and publicist are attempting to do damage control.

Henley? Samantha leans down and eyes me like a concerned parent.

Jessica hovers nearby with pity on her face. I hate that look.

Poor Henley.

I can’t talk about it. I’ve said this for an hour, but they aren’t listening.

Okay. We won’t talk about it, but we need to get you out of here. I have an SUV waiting in the back. You need a bodyguard and using Broken Access’s security means a weaker team for your brother and his band, so I’ve brought in new security for you, and they’re able to help get you out of here today, Samantha says as she handles me with kid gloves.

Okay.

She looks like she wants me to say more, but I have nothing else to give right now.

Sam introduces me to Cory, who is a large, attractive man in that body builder sort of way; he’s just a gigantic wall of white muscle in a black suit.

I always wondered why bodyguards wear black suits—I wish mine would wear blue jeans and a band shirt. If I had to beat someone’s ass, I’d want to do it in jeans and a T-shirt, not a black suit in California weather. Cory says he’s going to take care of the problem outside. Let’s hope he does.

Jessica then introduces Maurice, who isn’t as large as Cory, but I wouldn’t be caught in a dark alley with him alone. He has long, beautiful dreadlocks. Maurice asks if I want him to carry me, and I shake my head no. I am not being photographed while this mountain of a man with pretty hair carries me out like a child.

I stand without speaking, walk out of the office toward the back of the store as Cory and Maurice flank my sides. I wonder if they have guns—Kevin Costner did in the movie with Whitney Houston. He’s a badass; I should hire him too.

A black Escalade waits outside the back of Saks; Cory opens the passenger door for me as I climb inside. Jessica and Samantha follow and sit on either side of me. As they hold my hands, I stare ahead and wonder if Jagger knows how much this hurts.

Arriving in front of a nearby hotel, Maurice slips out to book our rooms. Cory quickly ushers us inside. We stop at the bank of elevators and wait. I close my eyes and remember Jagger’s smile this morning in bed. He kissed every inch of my body and made sweet love to me. He said he loved me repeatedly, and then made me breakfast in bed. We lounged in the hammock, listened to the ocean, and held each other until noon. He begged me to stay home with him instead of shopping with Jessica. I was so worried about finding him the perfect gift, I didn’t think about this morning being the last moments I could’ve spent with the man who holds my heart. If I had stayed, maybe I could’ve prevented this.

I barely register the elevator ride or the walk to the hotel door, where I enter and immediately locate the mini bar. I need cigarettes and something strong to drink. I hear Samantha instruct the men that no one is to enter my room. All room service must be left outside for Cory or Maurice to bring in.

Good thinking, Sam.

I open the balcony door and step outside to smoke. Jessica and Samantha follow me.

Henley, I don’t think you should be on the balcony right now. It would be difficult for photographers to see you, but we don’t need to take any chances, Jessica speaks softly.

Will you call my mom and tell her I’m okay?

Yeah, I’ll call her right now. Hen, can you come inside, please? Samantha pleads.

No.

Okay, Samantha humors me.

Will you find someone to trim my hair? I ask after I notice split ends.

Yes, Samantha agrees.

Can you come inside until I can find someone to do your hair? Jessica asks.

No, I’m not coming in, so stop asking me. Can you find someone to do my hair?! I shout.

I return to my whiskey and cigarettes. People should listen to me the first time I say something. No one ever listens to me until I yell. They finally leave me to my own devices. Samantha returns a few moments later. I called your mom. She’s worried sick, but I told her where you are, and that you’re doing as well as can be expected.

I am not okay.

I know, she sighs.

Keep telling people I’m fine though, yeah?

Okay.

Did you find someone to do my hair?

Jessica is working on that now.

I drink more whiskey. I need some things from my house.

I’ll send Jessica to pick them up. Can you make me a list?

Yes, Samantha, I can make you a list. I still have two arms, I snide.

Fine, she snips and slips out to leave me alone on the balcony once again.

It’s probably for the best. I’m not in the mood for the Poor Henley looks those two keep giving me. Before Jessica leaves, Samantha suggests she take one of my goons with her.

I like that. I think I will refer to them as my goons from now on.

Samantha walks out and sits at the table with me and takes a swig of whiskey, then she lights up a menthol. She’s having a really bad day. Not as bad as mine, but she’s the one the world wants answers from.

I didn’t know.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Okay, she sighs with acceptance.

An exotic, Polynesian brunette shows up half an hour later to do my hair. I don’t understand why she’s doing hair when she could be a model. She’s starstruck when she sees me, and I force myself not to be a bitch. It’s not her fault my world imploded.

When the small, glass whiskey bottles run dry, I retrieve the vodka bottles. Why do they make these things so damn small?

Will you ask Jessica to pick up several bottles of Crown?

Yes, Samantha answers quickly while she works from her iPad on a plush red sofa in the suite.

Glad we had that talk.

Next, I consult with the hairdresser and decide I want to color the lower layers of my hair blue. My hair is all one length that’s seven inches from touching the bottom of my back. She cuts long bangs and layers into my hair to add volume. Naomi, the hairdresser, foils color into my hair. She tries to talk to me once, but Samantha gives a shake of her head to discourage her. I pretend not to see because I don’t want to talk to anyone, but I don’t want to be rude either.

I really love my hair when she finishes. Change is good. I thank her with a smile and a big tip because I’m not a total bitch. Jessica returns with bags loaded with items from my home. Maurice pushes in a cart of food. I opt for the bottles of whiskey Jessica so sweetly brought me instead. A silent exchange occurs between Jessica and Samantha, but I don’t care. Cory carries my bags into one of the rooms. I’m in a suite, so I guess Jessica and Samantha are staying. I don’t care about that, either.

I walk into the room and sit on the edge of the bed. I love expensive hotels; they always have the softest beds. Samantha rolls the food cart in front of me.

Do you think you could eat a little? You’ve had a lot to drink, she worries, ever the maternal friend.

Yup, I sure have. I answer her by taking another swig from my bottle.

Please eat, Jessica begs.

I don’t speak to her either. These two aren’t getting it. I close my eyes and remember Jagger this morning. We talked about getting a puppy, but I joked I wanted a potbellied pig instead. We made up many names for the hypothetical pig. Pork Chop, Sir Oinks-a-lot, Albert Einswine, Elvis Pigsley, Porky, The Delicious P.I.G., and Kevin Bacon were possibilities. Albert Einswine was our favorite, though. I smile at the thought of our ridiculous conversation. We even talked about what it would be like to take Albert on tour. He would be the life of the party. The recent memories bring a smile to my face. I wish I could stay lost in my memories of Jagger . . . and even Caleb. The loss of my best friend and bandmate still tears my heart apart. Reality is so much less appealing.

Henley, I know you don’t want to talk about it. You take your time, but you still have to take care of yourself, Samantha says. Please at least eat the bread.

I grab the edge of the tray on top of the cart and sling it across the room, and then take the cart and flip it over, kicking it again and again.

I don’t want to eat. I want Jagger. I need him. I don’t understand. Why did he do this to me? Why did this happen?

I scream through my tears. My heart wrenches inside of my chest. I want a pig. I want my sunshine back. This hurts too much. I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t do this. I just can’t find the strength inside of me to live through this. I cry and cry for hours. I haven’t cried like this since Caleb died. Jessica and Sam hold me while I sob. They hush my cries and rock me while their own tears cascade down their faces. I finally cry myself to sleep in their arms.

Will you take a picture with me? Jagger asks.

A picture?

I want something to remember this moment by, he answers.

What are we remembering? I ask.

He chuckles. I need this picture, so I can tell people I knew you before you became a bona fide rock star.

Whatever, it’s not like we won’t always be friends, Jagger.

Yeah?

Of course. Now, come here, and we can take that picture. If I ever get too big for my britches, you show me this picture, and I’ll know I need to stop being a diva, I answer.

Jagger hands me the camera and moves me in front of him by placing his hands on my hips. I’ve never had sex before, but I’m pretty sure the way he’s touching me makes me want to. When he leans his chin down