Resentful Rockstar (The Burnt Clovers Trilogy Book 2) by Gina Azzi

Author:Gina Azzi [Azzi, Gina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781954470422
Publisher: Three Cities Publishing LLC
Published: 2023-07-05T16:00:00+00:00

My fingers itch as I jot down the lyrics. Then, my scrawl keeps going. My mind whirs, trying to keep up with the movement of my hand.

You faded like a photograph,

Broken memories and echoes of lost dreams.

You stalk me like my conscience,

Vile and futile.

You stalk me like pieces of her.

Stars die and places merge.

You turned my rebellion into a

Resentment that burns.

All consuming and exhausting,

You hate me like her.

No, you hate me like me.

I drop my pen and reach for a guitar. Straddling a banged-up barstool, I strum out a few chords before my fingers find the rhythm. My voice is all gravel, half wounds and half regret, as the song pours out of me.

It’s tortured me for the better part of this year, but I finally understand the desperation behind it.

It was Allegra all along.

Allegra and me and what was never meant to be.

I sing until my voice is hoarse and my fingertips are numb.

When I finally remove the strap of the guitar and look up, I note Hendrix in the sound booth.

He gives me a long, searching look before he slow claps a few times.

I shake my head. “It’s not done.”

“It is.” His voice comes through the speaker.

“It’s not polished,” I push back.

Hendrix shakes his head. “It’s not supposed to be. A song like that… It’s honest and that honesty is in the rawness. It’s achingly beautiful, Reign, because it’s so fucking sad.”

I grip the neck of the guitar for a long moment before I set it down.

“Who is she?” Hendrix asks knowingly.

I narrow my eyes at him, and he smirks, but it’s not condescending. It’s poignant.

“That’s why it’s done,” he advises. “Because she still fucking haunts you. And worse? She’s got you checking your own bullshit. Honest, man. Can’t mess with that.”

I blow out a sigh and scrub at my eyes.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“You’ve been here nearly four hours.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “I gotta go…”

“Crash?”

“Yeah. And eat.” My stomach grumbles.

Hendrix laughs. “But the music feeds your soul.”

I move into the booth and nod. “Yeah. It does that.” I hold out a hand and he shakes it. “Message you later?”

“Absolutely. You’ve got your next single right here.” He taps the top of the counter. “Whether you release it solo or with the Clovers, it’s a song that deserves to be heard.”

“We’ll see,” I say, uncomfortable with the thought of being so vulnerable.

I mean, I put myself in that position every time I write lyrics, or record, or perform on stage. But something about this song—something about Allegra Rousell—pulls me up short.

“Get some sleep, Reign.”

“Yeah. Thanks again, Henny.” I give him a wave before I cut out of his studio.

The sunlight assaults my eyes as I walk toward my car.

A few paps are hanging around and they scramble to snap my photo when they see me.

“Reign! Are you recording a new song?” one of them calls.

“Where are the guys? Does this mean you’re finally going solo?” another shouts.

“Is The Burnt Clovers breaking up?” a third chimes in.

Fucking hell. I dip my head and beeline for my car.

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