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Seeing Chloe again had him in knots.
Roman rubbed a hand over his face and pulled on his lightweight jacket. There was a fine mist falling outside his hotel window, and it was Ireland, no telling how worse it might get.
“Hey man, I’ll be back later,” Roman told Asher as he walked to the door of the hotel room.
Asher gave him a curious glance as he scratched at his five o’clock shadow. He’d just come in to tell Roman they were all heading to breakfast. Fuck breakfast; he was too knotted up inside.
“Where the hell do you think you are going?” Asher called out.
“Out.” Roman shrugged. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t anyone’s business. He was going to also attempt to stay under the radar of the paparazzi. “I’ll be back in a little while. I just need a little fresh Ireland air.”
“But, breakfast!” Asher called out as Roman exited the room.
It was true; he needed peace and quiet. His nerves were rattled. He needed to be alone to re-center his thoughts and regroup a little. He had an aggressive hangover too, and he figured the best cure was to go out into the misty fog and gain refreshment straight from nature. Cheesy, but it had always worked for him before. His temples pounded, and his body begging for his bed, but he wouldn’t cave and relent back to the comfort of his air-conditioned room and down feathered pillows.
Every time he tried to sleep last night, he kept seeing an odd blend of Chloe’s face mixed with Alexis’. It was as if the sweet girl and the villain girl were all mixed up, or maybe the same person. He knew that was wrong. Chloe was too sweet, too good to the bone to do anything close to what Alexis had pulled.
Then again, he’d never expected his ex to do something so damn evil, either.
He walked down the side streets, making his way down to the crest of the seawall. From there, he could enjoy the rocks overlooking the sea wall, spilling sea foam everywhere as the waves crashed to the shore. On the other side, he had an enhanced view of the beautiful green space that Ireland had to offer, with rolling hills as far as the eye could see out to the horizon.
He took a deep breath and drew up the sides of the hood of his North Face rain jacket over his head. Nobody would recognize him with the hood shielding his face, which was just fine with him. He wasn’t out there on a quest for attention today. He needed to reflect and take a breather.
Roman enjoyed visiting Ireland. This was his second trip here, and he was growing fonder of it each time he walked down the charming cobblestone streets and looked out into the gray sea. It brought him a sense of serenity and peace that he wasn’t able to absorb or obtain anywhere else in the world. His heart had a special spot for Ireland.
He also didn’t mind the dismal weather. Growing up in Chicago, he was well equipped with bleak and rainy dull skies. It was different in Ireland. It was something that the local townspeople became accustomed to. They seemed happy enough, warming their bellies with a hearty beer or two in the evening along with delicious meat and potato stews. The food around here was terrific and made Roman’s mouth water just thinking about it. If the Ireland natives were enjoying life, he might as well try his best to live life to the fullest too.
He missed his sister terribly. He couldn’t push that pain to the back of his mind, no matter how hard he attempted to distract himself. He saw her face everywhere he went. Everything and everyone reminded him of her as if she were floating out there in limbo, trying to keep a slice of her memory alive in his mind no matter where he went in the world.
He walked down to the rocks, being careful not to slip and fall. The last thing he needed was a broken wrist or a broken arm. Not recommended for a drummer. He crouched on his bottom, purposefully using his feet to guide him until he reached the edge of the sand.
He could smell the salt in the ocean. It brewed all around him, along with a light drizzle and a hazy fog that might yield eventually if the sun ever came out. As he stared at the horizon, a faint rainbow etched its way across the sky, sending Roman into a state of pure, brilliant silence.
Roman was more of a social type of guy, but he relished in his quality alone time too, especially these days when the stress of the tour, his sister’s death, and his evil girlfriend all bombarded him at once.
His mind began to wander back to Chloe. She was so vibrant, bubbly and sassy. He’d had an excellent time catching up with her last night at the pub. He’d forgotten how sexy she was, a spitfire with a banging body. He smiled at the memory of her doing a shot with him last night, a dare that he’d enforced. She’d taken the bait like a champ and had held her alcohol better than he had. The vivid memory of her dazzling blue eyes kept working its way into his mind’s eye.
He stood, stretched and inhaled a deep breath of the salty air. He couldn’t go down that road right now, not with any woman, even Chloe. His heart was sealed, at least for now. It would take his heart a while to learn to trust again. He just never got the timing right with Chloe, that’s all.
Besides, Chloe had shot him down after their first tour ended, in Hawaii. She’d said at the time that she wasn’t looking for anything serious and that she needed to find herself. It was the usual speech that Roman was used to giving girls, not the other way around.
He had told her at the time that it was no big deal, and if she changed her mind, then she knew where to find him. But then her father got sick with cancer, the tour was gearing up again, and he’d begun to date, Alexis. He’d had a lot on his plate recently. It was probably best if he focused on himself and his career for a while before he sabotaged his life even further. The damage of the past had been done; now there was nothing left to heal from the temporary scars.
Restlessness began to creep in. Sitting on the rocks and reflecting on his past and the mistakes he’d made along the way wasn’t doing him any favors. He needed a way to release the anxious energy swirling inside, to free the heaviness on his chest.
He climbed his way back up the rocks, pushing his way to solid ground once again. He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued on, a trek to nowhere in particular. He would take the road less traveled by until the screaming in his mind came to a halt.
He had to find a way to burn off his anxiety about the future, and all the people who had wronged him. Roman usually preferred to engage in activities that made him feel carefree. He wanted to make sure he stayed grounded, no matter what kind of chaos ensued or how famous he became. He and his band brothers had all made that pact together, long ago, long before they ever recorded a single demo in the studio.
There was only one problem with his mental barrier. His guard was up. The walls were solid, made of concrete filled with distrust. Roman hadn’t loved Alexis; it would be an absurd idea to even entertain. He hardly even knew her because they had only been dating a little over a month, but if you were to actually add up the time they physically spent together, it would be less than two weeks.
He was a trusting person by nature, and he had been having fun with her, a non- stop thrill ride of chemistry and sex. She’d made him feel energized, and she’d been his boost of natural adrenaline. But she’d been a bad seed, the type of women men like him are warned against dating. He couldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t walk through life with blinders on, allowing people to use him for his fame and fortune. He didn’t become a drummer in a wildly popular and successful rock band to make people fawn over or love him. He did it because he enjoyed feeling the sweat drip down into his eyes as he pounded out notes. He relished in the way his drum stick pounded against the snare or the kick drum. It was more of a way of life for Roman. It wasn’t just a career. Drumming was part of his heart and soul, and always would be. Looking out into the crowd and connecting to the fans who were chanting his name or throwing their arms into the air in adoration made him wild, crazy and breathed fresh new life and rejuvenation into him.
Roman was caught on the adrenaline high train, and he never wanted to reach the station.
He shoved his hands back into his pockets as his boots pounded into the wet earth beneath his feet. He kept his eyes to the ground as he walked, careful and diligent not to misstep on the uneven terrain and somehow fall before he was able to catch himself. The grass seemed greener here, plush and soft. Part of him wanted to sprawl out on it so he could gaze up at the sky and empty his mind until it became a blank canvas.
He didn’t stop. He kept walking, wandering again—something he was doing a lot of lately, it seemed— until he had ventured so far off track that he had no idea how to get back where he’d come from. He glanced up at the sky and around the valley-lined horizon.
“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, realizing his mistake. He did a spin, trying to gain back his bearings. He’d been so deep and lost in his thoughts that he had only walked off in a trance-like state, utterly oblivious to his path or surroundings.
That’s when he stumbled upon some goats on a hill. A few of them were ashen colored, almost a moon gray. A pair of them were creamy white. They hobbled along, blissfully and contentedly chewing on patches of grass.
Roman glanced. He didn’t see any houses or sign of a farm nearby. One of the goats sauntered over to him, nose sticking out as if looking for food.
“Hello.” He extended his arms as a smile skirted across the edges of his lips for the first time in hours. “What is your name lil’ fella?”
The goats who skittishly jumped away as a throaty, scratchy sound escaped its mouth.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, little buddy.” Roman crouched onto his haunches, hoping if he stayed still and unassuming, the goats wouldn’t be nervous. He waited, locking gases with the beady, black eyes of one little cream-colored goat. Soon, others joined in until he had a little flock staring back at him.
Suddenly, finding out just how soft the goat’s fur was, was Roman’s life goal. Every time he got close, the animals would skitter aside. He waited expectantly, searching for the perfect opportunity. When he finally thought he might have the chance, he thrust his hand out and darted forward. His boots slid in slippery mud. He lost his balance, slipping onto the wet ground.
“Damn it!” Roman pushed himself to his feet and slung mud off his arms. It was a damn good thing there weren’t any paparazzi around at the moment. He could imagine how these pictures would look spread all over social media.
He faced the goat which now looked like it was smiling, mocking him. “What the hell are you looking at?” He smiled, realizing he was chastising a farm animal.
“Serves you right.” A thick Irish drawl crooned behind Roman.
Roman spun around. “Excuse me?”
A man with a red fiery beard and fishing garb stood there with a frown.
“I own these goats,” the man glared. “And I don’t appreciate you wandering onto my property and taunting them.”
“I didn’t mean any offense. I’m a bit lost, wandered here by accident.”
The man snickered. “American are yeh? Entitled and arrogant, just like the rest of ‘em.”
“That’s a bit stereotypical,” Roman scoffed.
The man grinned, amused. Then spit to the side and crossed his arms, scrutinizing Roman through narrowed green eyes.
“I know you were trying to get a rise out of my goats,” he nudged his chin in the direction of the animals. “Looks like ya failed, considering yer covered in dung.” He began to cackle through a twisted grin.
“Dung, because of course, it is.” Roman shook his arms again as if he could magically make the shit disappear. “Well, add another unforgettable memory to the list.” At least trying to pet goats weren’t going to land him in an Irish prison.
The man chuckled in a boisterous bellow as if he were jovially imitating Santa Claus. Then he wagged a finger. “You look like the drummer from that band my daughter goes crazy over.”
“Infinity Prism?”
“Aye. That’s it. She’s always going on about the drummer’s cute, curly blonde hair.”
“Well, I do have good hair.” He held out a hand. “Roman Davenport, sir. Tell your daughter I said hello.”
The man didn’t shake his hand. Maybe the daughter comment was too much, or perhaps the Irish were just naturally suspicious. Roman dug in his pocket and pulled out a store receipt, patted around until he found a pen.
“What’s her name?”
“She’s thirteen.”
“Her name is Thirteen?”
They locked eyes, Roman feeling the steely unease of a dad whose shackles were up. He bent his leg and placed the empty paper side down on his thigh. “Do you want Thirteen to have the autograph of a lifetime, or not?”
Okay, that was a little pompous, but he didn’t care. Red Beard pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, pondering.
“Eve-een. You’re American, so wait until I spell it out for ye or you’ll murder her beautiful name.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A-o-i-b-h-e-a-n-n. Eeeeev-eennn.”
“Jesus, spell it again.”
How the hell those letters spelled that pronunciation was beyond him. He listened closer this time, autographed his name and the name of the band, personalizing it for the thirteen-year-old with a confusing as fuck name. Handing the paper over, he gave a nod. The man didn’t take it.
“Either you’re getting too big for your britches, or you’ve got a heavy heart, son.”
Roman paused, unsure how to respond. “I’m... not sure what you mean.”
“No other reason for you to be wondering out here this far from town. City men come here to think, that’s all. Or, run away. Maybe both.”
“No, I’m not running away.”
“Thinking then?”
He shrugged. “I suppose so, yeah.”
The man took Roman by the shoulder and gave him a quarter turn. “See that large stone over there, just pointing up from the ground? Touch it. Both hands on the smooth surface, tell it to take your worries away and see what happens. It might even give you a bit of luck.”
He looked at the stone. Even from here, it was impressive, as if the gently rounded tip were reaching for the sun. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I am. The surface is rubbed smooth from the hands of many a man who touched it, asking for freedom from their demons.”
Roman’s shoulders sagged. How in the hell could a rock take away the pain in his heart, the hurt Alexis caused, the anxiety, the secret longing for Chloe? What if it didn’t work? Then he’d just be a fool, hugging a rock with a goatherder laughing behind him.
“No thanks, I’ll pass.”
The man took the autographed paper and tucked it into his coat pocket. “Well then, good luck to you, fool. The town is back that way.”
“Thanks.”
He started walking in the correct direction, his boots making little suction sounds over the wet gravel. As the countryside melted into a rural stretch, he recognized the sea wall and the white foam spraying the rocks below. He sighed in relief to be back in a familiar area. A woman began to approach him at a fast clip. He narrowed his eyes, the ease in his mind tensing up. Surely, Alexis wouldn’t be out of prison yet? He instinctively glanced behind him as if he feared walking into a trap.
The woman was mysterious, cloaked in a hood from her jacket that shielded her face so that he couldn’t determine who she was. Alarm bells rang in his mind as he tensed his muscles, like a guardsman on a watch at night.
Hell, maybe he should have touched that stone after all.