Walking Back to Georgia

By Sasha Marshall

I died. I fu*&ing died, and when I woke up in a Los Angeles hospital my best friend walked away from me. It wasn't quite the welcoming back to the world of the living I thought I'd receive, and it rattled me.

After an overdose, Henley Hendrix retreats to Georgia to chase sobriety and get her life together. To do that, she's got to keep her distance from Jagger and company. But when an old friend pops back into her life, a private moment is leaked to the world, and someone she never thought would walk away from her does exactly that.

She's got to deal with rejection, a stalker, her return to the rock world for a promotional tour, jungle peepers, a riot of fans, a 1% motorcycle club, a one-eyed teddy bear, and two men fighting over her.

Just when she's figured out how to finally be the best version of "Henley" she can be and how to stay healthy, her world is turned upside down again when her eyes are opened to something she never expected.

NOTE: This book is not a stand-alone novel. Books 1 and 2 in the GUITAR FACE SERIES should be read first. If you are looking for a story of redemption with comic relief and a heavy sexual tone, you've found it. If you are offended by hot, tattooed rock stars, who are vulgar then this is not the book for you. Please be warned, this book is not for anyone below the age of 18. The book has sex, death, violence, and harsh language.

About the Author: Award-winning author Sasha Marshall, a concert photographer, toured with legendary bands such as The Allman Brothers Band. A self-proclaimed free spirit, she's most often found outdoors, or painting a canvas, capturing a photograph, people watching, reading a book, or writing a new book. Sasha makes her home in the beautiful state of Georgia and loves to hear from readers. Visit her website to connect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: Feb 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781611949032

Sasha Marshall

Sasha Marshall is a romance author who loves bad boy with tattoos. In a prior life, she wrangled at-risk youth for a living. And, in the life prior to that, she traveled right along with the legendary rock act, The Allman Brothers Band, popping from the tour bus to the plane, hotel, and venue as a concert photographer. When she’s not writing, she’s loving on her two dogs, spending time with loved ones, crafting, or organizing book signings with Hot & Steamy Events. You can connect with her at Linktr.ee/SashaMarshallWrites

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Sasha Marshall’s titles

from Bell Bridge Books

The Guitar Face Series

Broken

There’s No Crying in Rock and Roll

Walking Back to Georgia

River of Deceit

Make it Rain

There’s a Woman

Walking Back to Georgia

The Guitar Face Series

Book 3

by

Sasha Marshall

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Bell Bridge Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

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Bell Bridge Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61194-903-2

Print ISBN: 978-1-61194-940-7

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2015 by Sasha Marshall

Published in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

A trade paperback edition of this book was published as Walking Back to Georgia by Sasha Marshall Arts, 2015

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Cover design: : K. B. Barrett Designs

Interior design: Hank Smith

:Ectr:01:

For my love, Michael.

I travelled down a colorless, tasteless, silent, lonely road in a world not built for me, until you.

A Note from the Author

This book details fictional characters’ personal experiences with and opinions about substance abuse, suicide, and death. The actions and or advice by fictional characters within this book are not intended to diagnose, treat, cure, or prevent any mental health diagnosis or condition. The actions and behaviors taken by the fictional characters are not designed as what one should or should not do in a mental health crisis situation. The author is not a mental healthcare provider and only received consultation from a mental health counselor while writing certain fictional scenes. In addition, the author and publisher do not represent that the advice or actions taken or spoken by said fictional characters in this book are accurate, complete or current. Please consult with your own physician or mental healthcare specialist regarding any concerns you may have if you are feeling or experiencing similar situations.

If you are in crisis or you think you may have an emergency, call your doctor or 911 immediately. If you’re having suicidal thoughts, call 1-800-273- TALK (8255) to talk to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area at any time (National Suicide Prevention Lifeline). You can also Text 741741 from anywhere in the USA to text with a trained Crisis Counselor.

If you are located outside the United States, call your local emergency line immediately.

Prologue

Kip

9-1-1, WHAT’S YOUR emergency?

My friend’s having a seizure. There’s stuff coming out of her mouth. I don’t know how to help her!

What’s your address?

I tell the operator the address, then Jag shouts my name from the hall.

In here! Hurry! I scream. Hen, please don’t do this. I push her hair to the side to keep it clean.

The 911 operator continues to help. Sir, is your friend on her side?

No.

Turn her on her side.

Jagger walks in the large bathroom and freezes when he takes in the scene.

Help her, I beg.

Oh no. No, no, no. Baby, no, he pleads and drops to his knees beside me.

The operator interrupts us, Sir, you need to turn her on her side so she doesn’t choke on vomit.

Jagger and I turn her on the side, but she continues to seize.

I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay, baby. I’ve got you, Jag tells her.

She finally stops seizing.

She stopped shaking, I tell the operator.

Make sure she’s still breathing, she says.

Jagger puts his head to her chest and his eyebrows furrow. He lifts her shirt up and looks at her belly for a beat. Then he places his hand on her neck, and then her wrist. Then he puts his ear to her chest and moves around every so often.

Sir, is she breathing? the operator asks.

No, and there’s no fucking heartbeat! Jag screams.

Sir . . . and she drowns out.

I freeze as tears fall freely down my face, and I watch Jagger perform CPR.

Come on, baby. You can’t leave me. I didn’t mean it, okay? Please, he begs as he pushes up and down.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I repeat.

Stay with me. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll do anything, just stay with me, he pleads but continues CPR.

After what seems like an eternity, the paramedics rush in, place her lifeless body on a stretcher and rush her out. Her arm falls from the gurney when they load her body. It just lays there, no life left.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, I stare on in horror and disbelief.

She’s dead.

Kip!

Her arm is dangling. No heartbeat or breath sounds. Rocking. I need to rock.

Kip!

I can’t do this again. I can’t do it. I don’t have it in me. People think I’m so damn tough because I joke around a lot, but I’m not. I’m not tough at all. I depend on a group of people more than they will ever realize. I depend on them for love and companionship. I depended on Caleb for that, and he died. He left her and me. Can’t do this.

Kip!

I search for the screams. My eyes land on a red-eyed Jagger. He can’t do this again either. We were both there with Hen when Caleb died. We saw him die. I can’t do this again.

Jagger grabs my face. Kip, listen. Are you listening?

I nod my head.

I need words, Kip.

She’s my Caleb. I can’t do this, Jag. I can’t do it, I plead with him to leave me be.

You can and you will do it. They’re continuing CPR. We found her just in time, but we have to get to the hospital. We also have a shit ton of people to call and notify before the media gets a hold of this, he says.

I nod, and rock again. I want to go back to my own little alternate reality. It’s nicer there because no one dies.

Kip, listen to me. I need you to pull through this and help me help her. She’s your best friend, yeah?

I love her so much, Jag. I don’t want her to be dead. She’s my favorite person in the whole world, I sob like a little bitch. I don’t care though. Big fucking toddler sobs. She’s the only one who has ever loved me unconditionally. My parents didn’t even give me that. Hen’s all I have in this world some days.

Jag turns and sits beside me on the wall in the bathroom where Henley just seized and then died. He grabs my head and pulls it to his shoulder.

His voice chokes on his own emotion, She’s my favorite person too, man. We love that girl in different ways, but neither one of us can live in a world where she doesn’t exist. I get that. So here’s what we’re gonna do . . . we will get up from this wall, wipe our tears, get in the car, and go to the hospital. On the way, we have a lot of people to call who love her as much as we do. When we get there, she will be okay. They’ll make sure she is okay, because she’s Henley fucking Hendrix and she’s too stubborn to die, but more than that she’s too amazing to die. We will think happy thoughts, regardless of what we just saw.

Okay, I push down my emotions and try to focus on the here and now.

Henley is going to be okay. Say that over and over again, Kip, Jagger orders.

Henley is going to be okay. Henley has to be okay, I repeat.

He stands from the wall, offers me his hand, and pulls me up. We march to the garage, get in the Audi R8, because it’s fast as hell, and head to UCLA.

Chapter 1

Kip

WHEN CALEB DIED, I lost a brother whom I hero worshipped. Life was instantly bleak when the final pronouncement washed over the three of us on the side of an interstate all those years ago. I feel like I’m right back where we were all those years ago.

Can you call Memphis? I’ll call Koi, Jagger says.

I nod in agreement. I pick up my phone and call her brother, Memphis, while Jag calls her other brother, Koi.

Yeah? Memphis answers.

She. . . she uh . . .

I can’t say it.

Kip? What’s wrong with Hen?

She was uh . . . seizing, and the ambulance came, but it’s bad, I answer.

"Kip? What’s bad?’

I can’t.

Kip? Please tell me.

I can’t.

Give me the phone, Jag says, and I hand it over.

Memph, she overdosed . . . yeah, man . . . I’m sorry . . . UCLA, Jag says throughout the short conversation.

FUCK! I hear Memphis scream through the phone.

Jag hangs up the phone shortly after. I can’t get Koi on the phone. Dial Jess and put it on speaker, I can’t shift gears and hold it.

I do as I’m told.

Henley’s assistant Jessica answers, and Jag speaks, Jess, is Koi with you?

No, I haven’t seen him, she answers.

We have to find him because he’s not answering his phone. We need everyone at UCLA hospital like yesterday, he says.

What happened? she asks nervously.

Jessica, I need you to listen carefully. Find Koi and her father and get them to UCLA first, then call the rest of our friends and get them there too. Okay?

Jag, you’re scaring me. Where’s Henley?

She’s on the way to UCLA.

Why?

She overdosed, he answers.

Oh, God, Jessica sobs, and her voice catches.

Jess, I need you to stay focused. Find Derek and Koi first. I’ve already spoken to Memphis.

Okay, okay. So I’ll call everyone?

Everyone except Kip and Memphis, and make sure Sam gets in front of this.

Kip?

Yeah? I answer.

Kip, is it bad?

I don’t know what to say. I saw her seize and maybe die? Those words comfort no one.

Yeah, it’s bad, I finally manage, and another sob escapes her throat. Henley’s going to be okay, she has to be okay.

We disconnect from Jessica, and Jag throws the valet the keys over the car as we speed walk into the emergency room. We approach a counter, and a cute blonde smiles into her cell phone.

Excuse me, ma’am, Jagger says.

She turns and looks at him, then me, then recognition flashes across her face.

Fuck!

O.M.G.! Valley Girl exclaims.

Jagger shuts her up immediately. I get you recognize us, but right now I’m here because someone I love is hurt. Can you please give me information?

Uh . . . yeah . . . I can . . . that’s like my job, she grins.

This girl has about five brain cells in her little head, and she’s using all of them to open and close her jaw.

Name? she asks Jag.

He leans down to the counter, stares a hole into her head, and whispers, Henley Hendrix, and do not repeat it out loud. Do not call the paparazzi or any member of the press. So help me God, if they find out she’s here, it won’t end well for you.

She visually gulps, so I’m sure he’s made his point.

Computer. Can you type her name in and tell me something? Jagger prods the girl who continues to stare at him.

She finally types the name in her little computer, and I swear it takes an eternity.

She came in by ambulance, but there isn’t any other information here. Have a seat in the waiting room and wait for a physician to come from the back, she says softly.

Thank you, Jagger says. No media, he reminds her as sternly as possible, and the girl nods.

We find a waiting room to the right, and I sit down. I try to focus on the television in the right-hand corner of the room, but I can’t.

Hen’s going to be okay. She has to be okay.

Jagger paces the room, running his fingers through his hair. Ten minutes pass before Memphis walks in. He nods at both of us and sits beside me. His head in his hands, he whispers something over and over again, maybe it’s a prayer. Fifteen minutes pass, and we hear nothing. I keep my eyes on the door that leads to Henley and keep telling myself that if they haven’t come out by now, it’s a good sign.

Koi, Henley’s father Derek, and Samantha finally arrive.

What happened? Derek asks with red-rimmed eyes.

He looks at me first, but all I can say is, I can’t.

He looks to Jagger who stops pacing and leans against a wall. He looks up like he’s asking for answers or strength, I’m not sure which.

Kip called me when she arrived home and said she was talking to Caleb. When I got to the house, Kip was on the phone with 9-1-1 and she was seizing. I turned her on her side, and she stopped, but she wasn’t breathing, and her heart wasn’t beating. I performed CPR until the paramedics arrived shortly after. They told us to wait here, and a doctor will come out when they have more information.

Her heart stopped? Derek asks in a daze as his knees give way.

Koi and Memphis keep him from crashing to the floor by helping him into a chair.

If they haven’t come out yet, that’s a good sign, Samantha, her publicist, says.

Jagger paces again, as Henley’s bandmates Rhys and Griffin, and friends Kathrine, Meghan, and Jessica and Cam who plays in Koi’s band arrive. Koi whispers the details to them, not wanting to upset Derek any further.

Jagger

WHEN EVERYONE is present and informed, I duck into a restroom. I’ve been pacing the waiting room and remembering what she looked like lying on her bathroom floor.

I feel the bile rising and try to fight the urge, but it’s no use. I drop to my knees and vomit. When nothing is left in my stomach, I stand and rinse my mouth out with water. I hold on to the edge of the sink to keep from falling to the floor again. Quiet sobs rack through my body, and I’m helpless to stop them. I couldn’t stop if I tried. Why did I push her away last night? I did this . . . again. I hurt her again. I’m such an asshole. I can’t believe I hurt her again.

I’m so sorry, Hen. I love you so much, please don’t leave me. Please stay. I’ll make it all better, I promise. I can’t do this without you. I can’t live without you, please don’t make me. I’ll be the best man you could’ve ever dreamed of if you just stay. I’ll give you everything, the entire fucking world, just please don’t leave me. I need you.

I silently beg her to stay as the tears pour from my eyes. I need her to breathe. I need her with me. When I can get some composure back, I wipe my eyes, take some deep breaths, and return to the waiting room. I sit down beside Kip, who is barely holding it together. Another hour passes before the door opens, and a man with salt and pepper hair steps toward us.

I’m Dr. Patterson, and I’ve been taking care of Ms. Hendrix. Is there any family here? he asks.

I’m her father, but we’re all family, Derek answers.

The doctor eyes all of us, clearly not missing the fact that most of us are not related to her, but he doesn’t comment.

We’ve stabilized her, he says and a collective sigh of relief resonates through the small room.

How is she? Kip asks.

She’s drowsy and a bit confused, which is to be expected. Are any of you aware of what substance or substances she was using? Dr. Patterson asks.

Derek looks to Memphis for help because he doesn’t know what to say. Memphis converses quietly with the doctor.

When the exchange ends, Derek asks, When can we see her?

I’d like her to rest for a few more hours. We’ll get her to a room on a floor, and then she can have visitors. I need you to understand I can’t force her to stay here. I’ve seen situations like this too many times, and if the patient is not ready to get help, they won’t. If the patient is forced to get help, they won’t stay clean, because they must want it for themselves. It usually takes something life altering for that to occur. Did she leave a note of any kind? Dr. Patterson asks.

Note? I ask.

Forgive me, I was merely attempting to determine whether this was accidental or intentional, he states.

It was both, I say before I think.

The heads in the room swing to me suddenly.

What? Koi asks.

She didn’t attempt to kill herself tonight, but she doesn’t want to live. When she came home from rehab, she told me she wanted to die. She said she wasn’t suicidal, she just doesn’t want to live anymore, I confess.

Quiet sobs fill the room.

Why . . . why didn’t you tell us? Derek asks, still in a daze.

I tried to pull her out of it. I overheard Memphis telling her the depression was part of the process of getting clean and that it would pass. I kept an eye on her, and she seemed to be doing good while she was working in the studio.

She wants to die? Kip asks with confusion. He stands and looks at me like he’s a bit disoriented. She wants to die?

I realize the look on his face is not disorientation, but rather, heartbreak. His best friend is the only person he feels understands him in this big wide world. His father is ex-military and couldn’t give two shits about his son. He was always in another country, and when he was around, he lashed out at Kip because he couldn’t function in the civilian world.

His mother coped with his father’s absence by drinking too much each night. She’s a happy drunk, but Kip spent nights cooking them dinner, paying bills, and cleaning up after her. He held her hair while she puked and put her to bed. Henley is the one who intervened at thirteen years old and told his parents what they were doing to him. His father retired, and his mother got her shit together, but they merely cohabitate. There’s no love in that home, and Kip stayed with Hen and Koi more nights that not. He had his own room in her parents’ house by the time he was fourteen.

Henley has always been his rock. He admires her strength, talent, and kind heart. It’s hard to understand why one person isn’t enough to keep a person here.

Chapter 2

Henley

APPARENTLY, MY heart gave out from an overdose. I’m stupid. I should’ve been more careful. Ugh, I feel like I’ve been hit by an eighteen-wheeler. The nurse wheels me into a hospital room and smiles when she leaves. A man with patches of grey hair enters the room with a tight smile; a look I know all too well.

Poor Henley.

Ms. Hendrix, I’m Dr. Patterson. I’d like to take your vitals and give you another exam to see how you’re recovering. You gave us quite a scare, he says.

I nod, not sure what he wants me to say.

Did you mean to do it? he asks.

I sigh, No, subconsciously, yes. I don’t know.

Well, at least you’re honest. Here’s the thing, your heart will be less likely to make it through another one of these. It’s one of the least forgiving organs in your body, and drugs take a toll on all of them. Do you want help?

I didn’t really mean to. I just have all this shit going on inside my head, in my life, and sometimes I just need an escape. It’s no excuse, but life’s been tough lately, I answer.

I understand. I was an alcoholic for ten years. For a time, I lost my wife and my daughter. I lost my medical license, which caused me to sober up, but once I got the license back, I was right back where I started. My daughter was graduating from high school and asked that I not attend. She didn’t want me falling down drunk and embarrassing her in front of her peers, friends, and family. I couldn’t miss one of the biggest days of her life, so I begged and pleaded, and she gave me the choice. I could come sober, or not come at all. The choice was mine. She didn’t give me an ultimatum, just a choice. We all have choices in life, and I had to make the right one. I entered into a rehab program for thirty days and attended her graduation one week after completion. I lived with a sober living companion while working through the twelve steps. I salvaged my relationship with my daughter, and eventually I walked her down the aisle years later; a privilege only a father can understand. I now have two beautiful grandchildren.

Do you miss it? I ask.

The alcohol or the escape?

Both?

I don’t miss the alcohol, or the mornings I spent puking with a splitting headache. Sometimes I miss the escape, but the key is to find something healthy to replace the addiction. I work out when I need an escape. I also work in a clinic for underprivileged children. If I ever think my life is bad, I look at children who have no health care, live in awful situations, and sometimes have no one to love them at all. I smile and try to do something good for them. I try to make them laugh each time I see them, because doing something good for someone makes me feel good. And that’s a high I could never get from alcohol.

I offer a small smile. That makes sense.

The point is you have to be ready to get clean. From what I understand, you haven’t been using long. It’ll be easier to get clean now than years down the road. You have a great deal of people in the waiting room who love you. I don’t know your story, except from the press, and I think you suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Death and tragic accidents can do that. It would be good for you to find someone to talk to.

Thank you, I say.

Don’t give up the fight, Henley, he says. Your family would like to see you when you’re ready.

First, I would like to see whoever found me, if that’s okay? I ask.

I’ll talk with your family and relay your request.

Twenty minutes later, Jagger enters the room looking overwhelmed and exhausted. Pulling up a chair to the bed, he grabs my hand, kisses the top of it and holds it against his lips for a moment.

You scared me, he softly whispers.

Were you there? I ask.

Yes. Kip called when you came home because I’d been looking for you all day. You ran off this morning, and I wanted to apologize. When I got to your house, Kip had just found you having a seizure. Henley, your heart stopped. You stopped breathing on me. Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so helpless.

I’m sorry you had to see that.

You don’t get it, do you?

Get what? I asked.

If something ever happened to you, I couldn’t live. It would wreck me, totally and irrevocably wreck me. I love you, Henley. I love you so much it hurts. I’ve fucked up and been an ass, but no more. From here on out, I’ll spend my life making it up to you. I’ll spend my life loving you, and being the man, you deserve, he breaks down on his last word and lowers his head to our joined hands and weeps.

I weep with him. I’m sorry he saw me in that shape. We sit in silence a bit longer while his words play on repeat in my head, and I wonder why I feel numb.

I should let Kip come back, he finally says.

Okay.

He touches my cheek as his eyes sweep over my face. I love you more than life itself. Please don’t ever doubt that. He kisses my forehead and leaves.

A few moments later Kip enters the room, and once his eyes meet mine, he stops in his tracks. He looks at me like I’m a ghost.

His deep voice is full of horror. You died.

I’m sorry, Kip.

You wanted to die.

Yes and no.

When I was a kid and my home life was shit, you took me in. Not your parents. Not your brother. You. You took me in. You have this way of seeing the hurt in people, and you’ve always fixed it. I’ve spent my adult life trying to make you smile because that’s the only way I can ever repay you. I know you hurt, and shit keeps piling up, but you don’t get to choose death. You left me behind. Caleb was difficult enough for all of us, he says.

Kip . . . I begin and he interrupts.

No. You don’t get to Kip me. You fucking died, Henley! You fucking died! he yells.

I shed tears at the pain I’ve caused him. He has every right to be angry, but in all our years as friends, he’s never been upset with me.

You don’t get to choose death! That’s not our choice to make. I’m not sure who or what oversees it but isn’t you! he continues.

I sob. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.

For what, Henley? For wanting to die, or actually fucking doing it?

Both.

I won’t stand by and watch you kill yourself. I can’t do it. I won’t be there when you get home. I won’t be your friend until you pull your head out of your ass. I can’t be around you until you’re the girl who saved my life. I won’t watch you die, he says with finality as tears run down his cheeks.

I nod my head as a steady rush of tears leaks onto my face. It’s best that way. You won’t miss me as much when I’m gone.

You are so fucking selfish. Not once have you thought about what it would do to us if you died. Not fucking once! Get your shit together, Hen! he yells.

Then he turns on his heel and walks out of my life.

I concentrate on balancing out my breathing to try to keep from having a panic attack. Kip just walked out on me. What the fuck did I do? Why did I do this to myself? Kip left me. I pushed him to that point. This is on me. How is my world supposed to be less miserable without him in it? I press the nurse button as I drift off and request that no further visitors be allowed in my room.

I hear the sound of a guitar as someone nearby quietly strums it. I recognize the song, and as I walk down a long corridor the volume gets louder. The man sings Walkin’ Back to Georgia. I reach the end and find a door slightly ajar. A glowing light filters into the hall. I place my hand on the old, wooden door and listen to it softly creak as I