Homecoming Hearts Series Collection Read online

  Typically, his parents hadn’t come themselves. According to one of his many texts, they’d sent him a car instead. A driver in a well-cut black suit and tie was waiting for him with a placard that simply read ‘Blake Jackson’ on it. He walked towards him, keeping his head down.

  He’d like to think his mother hadn’t added ‘Below Zero’ to the sign out of respect for his privacy. But deep down he knew it was because she was so mad at the label she was already set on putting it behind them. Omitting the band name was simply an act of spite Sun City would never know about.

  The driver was nice enough. Pleasant, but painfully formal, insisting on taking Blake’s bags across the concourse, then not uttering another word.

  Blake couldn’t help but look at other families being reunited. Little kids waiting on tiptoes with bunches of flowers. Couples embracing tearfully. When they reached the curb outside one guy in military gear dropped unashamedly to the ground to scoop up his frenzied German Shepherd.

  That wasn’t the kind of greeting Blake had ever expected here today. So he swallowed down the ridiculous lump in his throat and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. No one particularly gave him a second glance, and for that he was grateful.

  He dozed throughout the drive, despite it only being mid-afternoon. Cincinnati International was also the Northern Kentucky Airport. So technically, they started out of state then drove around the city to reach Perryville.

  “Home sweet home,” Blake murmured heavily as they got off the interstate.

  He pressed his temple against the cool window glass and watched all the neatly trimmed lawns go past. Everything was so low here. Cincinnati had its fair share of tall buildings to make the skyline vaguely interesting. And Perryville, like most of Ohio, had plenty of hills. But it was like the buildings barely dared climb above a second story.

  The grass and trees were a lush green, thriving in the spring weather. Sadly, the buildings were an overwhelming wash of grays and whites, all blending into one.

  Blake knew these streets, and yet he didn’t. He wouldn’t get lost if he had to find his way home. But what did this town really hold for him? Who lived behind these doors now?

  When fame had come calling, he had been more than happy to leave it all behind without a second thought. Now, this was all he had, and he had no clue what ‘this’ was.

  It was still early days, he told himself sternly. And he was definitely still young enough. He could do anything. He just had to put his heart into it.

  His family home was on a quieter road. It was set further back from the sidewalk after a long stretch of lawn. Oak trees bordered the property. They were taller than both the dark slate roof and telephone poles running down the street.

  Unlike most of the other homes in the town, the Jackson residence was a rich brown with large stones set into the walls. The darker tones gave it grandeur and Blake tried not to gulp as the car swung into the driveway.

  He’d last visited a few months ago at Christmas. His parents were generally more interested in flying out to see him in L.A. or on tour. Jodi got dragged along whether she liked it or not.

  He smiled. At least he was genuinely stoked to see his kid sister.

  The driver helped him with his bags again, but nipped back into the car before Blake could offer a tip. His parents probably took care of that on their account. It still made him feel kind of cheap.

  Great. Just what he needed as he walked up to their four-story mansion.

  It didn’t feel right to use his key. It felt even dumber to ring the bell, but that was what he did before he got caught loitering.

  Footsteps and voices filtered through the mahogany door. They were then punctuated by scrabbling claws and the tell-tale piercing howl of a certain naughty girl.

  “Watson!”

  As soon as the door opened Blake dropped to his knees. He knew he should probably greet his family first, but none of them would be half as pleased to see him as the three-year-old beagle that launched into his arms.

  “Who’s a good girl? Did you miss me? Did you?”

  Eventually, he couldn’t delay looking up any longer. In one motion he lifted his gaze to meet his parents’ eyes and stood. His shoulders ached a little where he pulled them back. His dad’s face was a mask, but his mom’s crumbled as he soon as he gave her a weak smile.

  “Oh sweetheart,” she cried. She was several inches shorter than him, yet somehow still managed to throw her arms around his neck. “Don’t worry. We’ve got it all figured out.” She sniffed and hugged him tighter.

  Blake gingerly patted her on the back. He didn’t trust himself to say anything, but dread welled up in his gut. What was ‘all sorted out’ supposed to mean?

  Without his mom, he probably would have been content to dance in local shows and compete for state titles and the like. She’d always been the one with the big dreams, so the band’s demise was probably taking a greater toll on her than it was him.

  When she let him go his father clasped his shoulder with a large hand, squeezing tightly. There was no mistaking where Blake had inherited his stature from. Richard Jackson had the height and shoulders of a linebacker and the jaw and steely eyes of a huntsman. It was part of what made him so intimidating in court.

  Blake was no stranger to have his photo taken. He was glad he always saw a warmth in himself that he’d never once seen in his father. Not even in times like these, where, presumably, he was offering comfort.

  “Welcome home, son.”

  Blake dragged his bags over the threshold into the foyer, Watson skipping around underfoot. Then, finally, he felt a familiar solid punch to his arm.

  “Took you long enough, jerk.”

  “Jodi!” their mother admonished, appalled. But Blake just grinned.

  “Hey sis,” he said, pulling her slim but wiry frame into his arms. As usual, she was dressed in athletic gear with her long hair up in a ponytail. “You got big.”

  “Can you believe our baby’s going to college in the fall?” their mom cooed.

  Jodi rolled her eyes as their mom placed her hands on her shoulders from behind and shook her.

  “Don’t jinx it,” Jodi said tiredly.

  “We’re waiting to hear back from the NKU scouts,” their dad said gravely.

  Blake’s eyebrows shot up. “Northern Kentucky? They want you to play softball?” Jodi shrugged, like it didn’t mean the world to her. “Dude, that’s incredible!” It was his turn to thump her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because we don’t know anything yet,” Jodi told him.

  She called Watson to heel from where she was still winding between their legs, her tail whacking into everyone’s shins. For a small dog, she certainly managed to make her presence well known. Jodi then turned and the two of them marched purposefully across the entrance hall, past the stairs and down the corridor towards the kitchen.

  Blake swallowed the lump in his throat. This one felt an awful lot like guilt. He’d missed a lot by being away.

  His mom wrapped her hands around his thick bicep and tugged. “Come on sweetie, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  2

  Blake

  The guilt morphed back to nerves as Blake let his parents steer him to the kitchen after his sister and their dog. As much as he wasn’t sure what he was going to do now, he had nurtured the vague hope he’d be allowed two seconds to catch his breath before the subject of his uncertain future cropped up.

  The kitchen was about the size of his and Joey’s entire flat back in L.A. The center was dominated by a large marble island with tall, white stools planted around at regular intervals. Jodi was already sitting with a carton of juice. Watson was dutifully by her feet, waiting for the drama to begin.

  Blake nervously ran his thumb up and down the glass of iced tea he was handed. “Thanks,” he said automatically.

  “Oh honey, don’t look so blue.”

  His mom hopped up onto one of the stools. Like Jodi, she was kitted out in work out gea
r, although Blake suspected this was the kind of outfit she wore traveling to yoga or pilates or step class. It was too expensive actually be sweated in.

  “Winners don’t wear frowns, they wear…”

  Blake was sorely tempted to snap that he wasn’t thirteen any more. But his dad was there, standing by the fridge with his arms crossed.

  “Crowns,” Blake supplied wearily.

  His mom gave a little clap. “Now, look at both my babies here, together. Jodi is on the up and up and so! Are! You!” She punctuated the last three words with a wag of her manicured finger towards Blake’s face across the island table. “I told you your Momma had your back.”

  Blake swallowed. “Mom…” he began.

  I just need a break. I haven’t even been up to my room. I want to sleep.

  She waved her hand then grinned like a cat with a canary. “How would you like to dance?”

  “Right now?”

  She tutted patiently. “All the time. For a career.”

  Hope fluttered tentatively through Blake’s chest. All he’d ever wanted to do was dance. Singing had come a distant, awkward second to that feeling of his body moving perfectly in time to the music.

  “I’d love to,” he managed to stammer.

  His mom clapped again. However Jodi bit her lip and focused on stroking Watson’s big, floppy ears. There was something he was missing.

  “Well,” said his mom. She laid her hands flat on the counter top and fixed him with her bright, blue eyes, the lashes spiky with black mascara. “You remember that old community center over near the international market? The strip with the discount tire store and pizzeria?”

  Blake blinked at the non-sequitur. “Uh, yeah?”

  She waved her hand at his confusion. “They did it up. Or, they are doing it up. And thanks to a generous donation from your dad’s firm, it’ll be completed in no time.”

  Blake still wasn’t getting it. But he raised an eyebrow at his dad, who simply nodded once back him. “That’s good.”

  His mom was getting agitated that he wasn’t connecting the dots she was giving him quicker. “We got first dibs on the space. It’s yours, every week day three thirty until six, and every Saturday nine until seven!”

  Heat prickled cross Blake’s skin. He was supposed to have guessed by now, but he couldn’t see what she was saying. He didn’t need all the time and space to dance. Sure, the mirrors, if they had them, would be nice. But he could totally just use one of the rooms here for a studio.

  He felt a hand slip over his fingers. He didn’t realize he’d clenched into fists and he tried to relax.

  Jodi gave him a small smile and squeezed her long fingers against his knuckles. “To open a dance school,” she said softly. “To teach.”

  For a moment Blake couldn’t breathe. Then it was like all the air rushed into his lungs at once and he gasped embarrassingly loudly. “Are you serious?” he cried. He tried to stop the tears welling in his eyes. Men didn’t cry, after all. But of all the ways he thought this God-awful week could end, he never thought this would be it.

  “That depends,” his mom replied, clutching her hands to her chest. “Are you happy?”

  Blake stumbled off his chair and threw his arms around her small frame, making her squeal in delight. “This is the best… I can’t… How did you?”

  She laughed and he felt his dad pat his back. “You’ve worked hard, son,” he said. Blake pulled away to look at him. “You deserve this.”

  “We already have some potential other teachers for you to meet,” his mom gushed excitedly. “And thanks to some quick old-fashioned flyering by my girlfriends we’ve already got so much interest for auditions. That is, if this is what you want?”

  Blake shook his head, the grin on his lips threatening to split his head in two. “Want? Mom. Dad.” He looked at each of them in turn and squeezed Jodi’s hand. “This is a dream come true.”

  His mom slapped her own hand in a sort of self-high-five and jumped down from her stool.

  “Great, this is just great. Baby, I knew you’d love it. See! Momma knows best! Okay.” She started fiddling with the collar of her pink velour sweatshirt. “Did you get that?” she asked cheerfully. Blake wasn’t sure who she was speaking to.

  Without warning, a stranger walked into the kitchen from the hall. Blake jerked in surprise, quickly looking to his folks for an explanation.

  “Yeah, that was great Jenna,” said the petite, dark-haired guy. He was looking at a small video camera in one hand and adjusting the head-set he was wearing with the other. He paid no attention to Blake, despite his spluttering. “Let’s set up the shot again for some medium close ups, and get the boom mic in to grab better audio off of Blake.”

  “What – Mom?” Blake’s heart was hammering against his chest as he floundered. Jodi still wore the same scowl she’d had at the front door. His mom was all a-twitter and his dad simply continued to loom.

  “Honey,” said his mom. She placed her hand on the small of his back and steered him towards the guy who was still only paying attention to his technical gear. “This is Seth, our show runner. I’m sorry to spring that on you, but we all know acting isn’t your strong suit. We had to get the real surprise on camera.”

  “Hey man,” said Seth. He still didn’t look up from the playback screen, instead walking over to a laptop a P.A. had appeared with from out of nowhere.

  Blake’s brain was whirring at an alarming rate. There was no room to consider anything beyond the fact there was a dude with a fucking camera in his home. And not just him. Now a chubby, dark-skinned guy had materialized from behind where Blake had been sitting. He was carrying a boom mic while three people with cameras positioned themselves around the island counter.

  “Why is there a film crew?” Blake demanded. He didn’t want to get too angry with his dad beside him. The last thing he wanted was a fight. But he was pretty fucking pissed. What the hell were these people doing? Was the dance school thing even real?

  “Honey!” cried his mom as a tall woman with ear gauges moved Blake into place in front of one of the cameras. “What point is there opening a dance school if no one knows about it?” Well at least she hadn’t been faking about that.

  “By releasing the content directly ourselves online,” his dad’s low voice rumbled, “we control the output and take the lion’s share of the advertising profits.”

  “It’s perfect!” his mom cooed.

  “Can I give you this mic pack, Mr. Jackson?” Ear Gauge Girl held up a small, black box with an antenna and a cylindrical microphone the size of his thumbnail. Experience told Blake the box was the battery pack and sure enough, the girl slipped it into his jeans’ pocket leaving him to thread the mic wire up under his t-shirt.

  But he just held the bullet shaped device between his finger and thumb. Counting to ten wasn’t working. He kept getting to three or four then his temper flared again. The breaths he was taking weren’t quite reaching his lungs. “You want me to make a TV show?”

  His dad moved from by the fridge. Now Blake was looking for them, he could see that he, his mom and Jodi were all discreetly wearing the microphones too.

  “After everything we’ve invested into you son, we couldn’t let you down.” He landed his heavy hand on Blake’s shoulder. “This is your future.”

  “We have to strike while you’re still hot,” his mom told him, shaking her fist.

  Somehow, Blake’s feet were moving, and he found himself sat back on the same stool as before. It was his usual spot at the table. He’d eaten Lucky Charms here and done his Spanish homework. Now there was a camera lens in his face and a boom mic above his head.

  Jodi hadn’t moved. Neither had Watson by her feet. As the crew rearranged to set up the shot, a smile lit up Jodi’s face again. Leaning over, she gave Blake’s wrist a tight squeeze, digging her fingernails in. The sharp pain focused Blake, bringing his attention back into the room, clearing his head.

  Still smiling, Jodi winked at him.
>
  “Just go with it,” she said between her teeth, barely moving her lips.

  “Okay,” said Seth loudly. “Reset for take. Jacksons as you were. This is a special. Blake.” He looked up at the sound of his name and met Seth’s gaze for the first time. “We won’t ordinarily ask you to repeat a scene, but like your mom explained, the first shot was for authenticity.” He looked back down at his camera screen. “We’ll grab some pick-ups of you looking confused, happy, then re-do the hug. All set?”

  There were several nods of consent, then Blake realized they seemed to be waiting on him. “Uh, yeah,” he stammered. He’d done more than enough work in front of a camera. In the past though, he’d always known he was going to be filmed before it had begun.

  What had happened? He’d walked through the door thinking he’d take a week or two off to re-evaluate his life. Of course, teaching dance had crossed his mind as an option many times. He wasn’t sure how to set up something like that. But for thirty seconds he’d believed his parents had covered it and he was actually going to be able to do something that he truly loved, away from the spotlight.

  Now there was a makeup girl powdering his face and two lights set up behind the camera with a reflector angled to give him the best coverage. His heart was still racing and cold sweat was running down his back. But he dug his thumbnail discreetly into his palm and took in a slow, steading breath.

  “Alright,” Seth cried. He settled himself into one of the seats, pointing his camera at Blake’s mom. “And…rolling!”

  There was nothing Blake could do but smile.

  3

  Elion

  There weren’t many places Elion would consider to be even fractionally sophisticated in Perryville. But the Cool Beans coffee house certainly tried its best. The attempt to pull off Seattle-style chicness was adorable. At least the owners were trying for original.

  Which was probably why it was the only place he’d stuck around long enough to hold down a job. Good vibes, little responsibility, easy routine. There were worse ways to earn a buck.