Page 42 of Not Another Rockstar
For two weeks Phoebe slept, letting the world and her problems slip away. She didn’t want to admit Axel was right to insist on her moving in, even if he was. Once she’d reluctantly talked to Nick and the others about her staying for the foreseeable future, the adrenaline she’d been surviving on fled, leaving her exhausted. All she could do was sleep. She only left her room for food—not that she was hiding from Axel. Okay, maybe she was.
With a clear mind, she couldn’t believe how reckless she’d been going to LouderTech alone. Confronting a grown man injured—yes with a weapon, but he could’ve easily overpowered her. The thought of him being out there, and that someone had paid him to do her harm, set her on edge.
Each day, though, the ache of grief eased little by little, sinking deeper under the surface. Questions only popped in when the silence got too much.Was he tolerating my love for the sake of the band?was a thought she couldn’t escape.Lena was right about the missed birthdays and exhibits.She didn’twant to believe it, but the last-minute cancellations and one-word messages all added up.
Phoebe stared at the engagement ring sitting on the sink. She couldn’t toss it or sell it, but it felt like a lie, meant to keep her caged while he lived his life freely. Now she felt caged by her paranoia; she didn’t want to believe what Sheen had said about being hired to ruin her studio. However, she’d been wrong about Cillian, and now she was forced to consider if someone was trying to ruin her and her relationship with the band.
An unknown number appeared on her phone, vibrating on the glass shelf below the bathroom mirror. Panic swelled in her chest. Who would be calling her from a private number? She answered; it might be the police calling about her incident with Mr Sheen.
“Hello?” Phoebe said, hesitantly.
“Ms Fletcher?” A soft Italian accent greeted her instead, and her shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t some journalist or troll. “My name is Rowena. We haven’t met, but Mr Hunt’s lawyer gave me your number. I was hired to look after the villa in Amalfi. I’m so very sorry about the accident, but I was wondering how you would like the villa to be maintained and if you’d like me to stay on, as I believe ownership has been passed on to you.”
Phoebe didn’t realise Cillian had hired someone to keep the place up when they weren’t there. She put the call on speaker as she got ready.
“Yes, please stay on if you can. I’m not sure what needs doing, and it might be a while before I can get out there,” Phoebe said as she moisturised her skin, paying close attention to her scars. “How much do I owe you? I’m sorry if you haven’t been paid; I can make up for whatever’s owed to you.”
“Please don’t be sorry, Mr Hunt already paid for the year. I take care of the grounds and the house. We are a small village and I live down the street, so I keep an eye on the place. Iwas dusting this week, and I was wondering if you’d like me to pack up any of Mr Hunt’s belongings. I wasn’t sure.” Rowena hesitated, and Phoebe understood the woman’s discomfort. Talking about a dead employer to his ex-fiancée wasn’t the easiest conversation to have.
“Don’t worry about his belongings, just keep doing what you’re doing, but thank you for the consideration. I’ll try and get out there soon.” Phoebe flexed her hand; the scar tissue made her skin feel tight and uncomfortable.
“As you wish. If there is anything you need, please ask,” Rowena said kindly while Phoebe riffled through the numerous suitcases she’d been living out of on her unmade bed. Last week, Lena had packed up most of her clothes and things. The others were afraid that if she went back to her apartment she wouldn’t come back. Seeing how upset her brother had been when Axel told him about Sheen, staying was best for everyone.
“Thank you. Maybe if you could find some packing boxes. I can pay you for them, if you send your details,” she asked, finding a pair of mint green sweats and pulling her white T-shirt over her bralette. She felt the fine scratches on her chest and shoulders where the glass had cut her, and shook away the unpleasant memories.
“I’ve already been paid expenses for the year, so it’s no trouble. When you’re coming send me a list of groceries so I can stock the fridge for you,” Rowena offered.
Phoebe appreciated her kindness, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to return to the place where she and Cillian had planned their future.
“Thank you, I’ll be in touch,” she said, and closed her bedroom door behind her.
When she hung up, she contemplated selling the villa. She could use the money to buy her own place, maybe a house withher own studio. Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of her name coming from the TV downstairs.
Downstairs, she hovered in the kitchen doorway so the others wouldn’t turn off the news.
“In entertainment news, we have a shocking update in relation to the death of Brothers of Anarchy frontman, Cillian Hunt. The studio of his long-term girlfriend and established artist, Phoebe Fletcher, has been vandalised, ruining a collection of works scheduled to be shown in Buckland’s Gallery next month. Reports from a source close to the band and Miss Fletcher claim that the break-in was done by a disgruntled fan. We hope that fans can give the band members and Ms Fletcher some space and privacy during this dark time.”The glamourous anchorwoman offered a condescending smile before moving on to the next piece of gossip.
Luckily the break-in wasn’t news to any of them, but they still grumbled about it hitting the news.
“Some space and privacy, while reporting on every single one of our movements,” Phoebe said, alerting the others to her arrival. She picked up the control by the microwave and turned off the TV.
“If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty. We were beginning to wonder when you were going to join us.” Nick got up from his stool at the counter and squished her to his chest. He was far taller than her—much to her annoyance—and she struggled to breathe in his embrace.
“Breakfast looks good,” she said, pushing her brother away.
August pushed a plate of pancakes towards her. “I made your favourite, just in case you came down.”
His thoughtfulness almost made her burst into tears. Being so emotionally raw was a new experience.
Axel cleared his throat as he sat on the counter by the oven with a loaded bagel in his hand. August glared at him, andPhoebe noticed his dark circles had lessened since she’d last seen him; she wasn’t the only one getting some sleep.
“Okay, my idea, but Axel made them,” August confessed, biting into a slice of bacon. Nick had told her Axel’s love language was feeding people. It was the reason they had no need for a chef.
“Thank you.” Phoebe glanced at Axel, who hid behind his breakfast. She hated to admit that he was right to bring her here.
“Don’t mention it, I’m just glad you’re out of bed.” Axel hopped off the counter while the others put their dishes in the sink. “I was beginning to think I’d have to kiss you to wake you up,” he whispered as he brushed past her. Thankfully the others didn’t hear.
“Would that make you my true love?” she said with a smirk, and he winked. Falling for another rockstar wouldn’t be good for her health, but flirting wasn’t off-limits.
