A Million Miles Away: Angel Interceptors, #1

By Elizabeth Corva

Book #1 in the Angel Interceptors series - A MILLION MILES AWAY

She thought she could run with Rock stars...

Jasmine Ashcroft isn't even eighteen yet, but she believes she's got the whole adulthood thing dialed in. Between a devastating loss at 13 and getting bounced around a couple of continents, she's had to figure a lot out for herself. So…college? Bring it on. Career planning? No problem. Dating? Heck, yeah! Well…maybe. After she gets those first two things sorted out.

Then she lucks into meeting Strange Angels, the band who created the soundtrack to her life. Impressed by her cool, self-possessed facade, frontman Jonathan Fox offers her a job in his inner circle. He has no idea she's crushed on him for years...or that she's not quite as grown-up as she seems. Can she find a safe--and sane--place in his high-stakes, jet-setting world without nuking her future, her family ties, or her heart?

Author's Note:
A Million Miles Away is a 78K-word Coming-of-Age novel with NO bedroom encounters but plenty of cursing, drug references, Rock star antics, and teenage heartbreak. This book works as a standalone if you're really into the unrequited love trope. Seriously, you've been warned.

Jasmine and Jonathan's story becomes a steamy Rockstar Romance in Give in to the Night (Angel Interceptors #2). You could start the series there, but I recommend reading A Million Miles Away first, since it sets the stage for the other books and certain scenes would be a lot more impactful when you know the backstory. The couple's story arc will conclude with The Lightning Field (Angel Interceptors #3), coming in July 2022.

"Welcome to the Rock and Roll world, sugar. Now would be a good time to get in touch with your inner bitch, if you have one."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Corva
• Release date: Jun 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201024574

Book preview

Chapter 1

Every life has a measure of sorrow, and sometimes this is what awakens us.

—Steven Tyler

~∞~

Luton, England

February 1995

A tide of grief had flooded the Ashcroft’s suburban semi-detached home, washing in a spindrift of mourners. The wake should have ended along with the chilly gray day but a handful of guests remained, speaking in voices as somber as their clothing.

Hunched on the front room sofa, Jasmine Ashcroft took a silent inventory of their concerned faces. Her sixth-form classmates were gone, but Andy, the school counselor, was still there talking to two of her teachers. Her grandmother Esther was ensconced in a wingback chair nearby, thanking the head of the local hospice for all they had done this past week to care for her daughter.

Please call us if there’s anything more you need. Day or night, Barry replied. The sincerity in his voice made Jasmine want to cry.

See? I’m not alone, she told herself, but to no avail. After three days of fighting the tide’s cold, relentless drag, she was about to go under. For what seemed like the fiftieth time since her mom died, panic rose up in her throat, threatening to cut off her air.

Instinct drove her to her feet. Somehow, she forced herself to walk out of the room instead of running blindly in search of solace. I’m fine, nothing to see here.

The hallway was empty; nobody saw her slip out the front door. She regretted not pausing to grab her coat when the starless sky greeted her with a blast of icy wind, setting off an uncontrollable cough.

Her lungs stopped hitching after a few cautious breaths. But the burning lump lodged in her throat like a fist-sized lava rock refused to budge. Her heart was shattered, terrifyingly exposed to a world gone cold. Who knew what would find its way into the cracks before she could heal?

If she could heal.

Maybe she’d feel this desolate, aching sense of loss forever-

No. Stop. Just stop.

She navigated the flagged walkway around to the back garden. At the bottom of the fenced-in area, the branches of a looming poplar undulated in the breeze, their skeletal fingers beckoning her into the darkness. She shivered—not just from the cold—and turned to face the well-lit house.

Her stepfather Nate was in the French Country-style kitchen talking with Lou, his tech company’s cofounder. She had named the business Elan after their combined initials: Elliot, Louise; Ashcroft, Nathan.

Sumira Bose, Elan’s head of Accounting, appeared to be throwing in her two pence as she tidied up leftovers. After sticking covered dishes into the refrigerator, she added fresh water to a bouquet on the tile-topped island. Jasmine focused on the frozen firework burst of orange-and-white lilies in their green glazed pottery vase.

Take a deep breath, she told herself, following the advice Andy gave her the day her mom had lost the fight for her life.

Hold it for seven seconds.

Now exhale for seven seconds.

Repeat.

She cycled through the process until the panic wave receded. Her toes were turning into ice cubes inside her flimsy ballet flats. I’m ready to go inside. I think.

When she let herself in the back door, Nate threw her a concerned look. Hey, kiddo. We gotta be up early tomorrow. Time you headed to bed, he announced. After eight years in Bedfordshire, his Brooklyn accent was still a mile thick.

There’s people here still, she protested at the floor, which seemed to tilt like a funfair ride.

Louise gave her the once-over, an ‘11’ furrowed into the space between her hazel eyes. You’re frightfully pale, Jas. When’s the last time you ate?

Um. I had a Weetabix this morning.

The Welshwoman’s frown deepened. "Only one biscuit? Oh, dear."

Don’t worry about the guests. Have some food and then turn in, Nate ordered on his way out of the room.

Knowing he didn’t brook arguments, especially not from a thirteen-year-old, Jasmine relented. I’m really not hungry, she muttered as Louise gestured for her to sit at the breakfast table.

Just a few bites and then this mean old battleax will leave you be.

Aw, you’re none of those.

Hush, love. If they find out at the office, nobody will ever scuttle to obey me again, Louise joked.

"I don’t scuttle, Sumira retorted, quirking a dark eyebrow. A brisk walk is all you’ll get. Anyway, there’s some of my rice pilau with chickpeas left."

Jasmine’s appetite sparked at the mention of home-cooked Indian food. Sounds good.

I’ll sort some for you, then. After Jasmine thanked her, Sumira went to an ivory-and-gold-trimmed wall cabinet for a plate.

Louise sat down on the other side of the table. Nate was just saying we’re going ahead with the plan to launch our American office in June. How d’you feel about that?

Jasmine was too tired to dissemble. I wish we could leave tomorrow. I don’t want to live here without-

Mom. We were supposed to hold hands and fly across the ocean together.

Yeah. Louise gave her a sad smile. I’ll be there a lot to help get the office staffed and running.

"I hope you can stay with us in Greens...ville? No, wait, Greensboro. Gran’s coming over for a few months as well."

You’ll only be across the pond, Louise said with a flick of her fingers, as though the gesture could condense 3,000 miles into one. Perhaps you’ll return to England for university.

Um. Let me get through high school first.

Nate seems to think you can skip a year and start as a- a freshman, right? Sumira asked as she set the food down in front of Jasmine. Whatever the first year of high school is over there.

Jasmine dug into the saffron-fragranced rice. Yeah, freshman. The first of four years, I think.

Then you’d be done at seventeen, Louise concluded.

Sumira braced her hands on the back of an empty chair. I hope can visit Luton when you can.

Jasmine swallowed her food before answering. Maybe over the summers between now and Uni.

Louise snorted. You’d spend the time interning at Elan if Nate gets his way.

"Even better, she’ll work for us while she goes to college. Nate announced, striding back into the kitchen. The experience will go great with a Computer Science degree. Or an MBA."

Louse arched a reddish-brown eyebrow. Oh, you’ve got her future all planned out, then?

Nate’s smile hardened into smugness. Yep. We’re riding the technology wave, and I want to make sure she can surf it like a pro when it’s her turn to get in the water.

Rather a Californian analogy for a New Yorker. Louise trained her green-eyed gaze on Jasmine, who had been watching the adults’ verbal sparring like it was a tennis match. Don’t let him railroad you into anything, dear. This is your life and your choice.

I quite agree, Louise, a woman’s voice rang out from the doorway. Everyone, even Nate, fell into a respectful silence as Esther entered the room with the bearing of a dowager empress. Judith always said the same.

I just want her to be a success, Nate rejoined.

Mom was right, but so’s Nate, Nan, Jasmine said as her grandmother put her black-clad arms around her skinny shoulders. Anyway, talking about the future makes me feel better.

Well, you’ve years to plan yet, Sumira chimed in. How’s the rice? Want more?

It’s wonderful. Jasmine took two more bites and put the fork down. I’ve eaten all I can.

Louise dipped her square jaw in approval. Then our work here is done. Perhaps Esther could see you to bed?

After trading goodbye hugs with her and Sumira, Jasmine and Esther climbed two flights of steps to the spacious garret bedroom. I don’t think I can sleep, Nan, she confessed at the sight of her twin bed with its orange-and-pink poppy print duvet. Tomorrow’s going to be rough.

Yes. I don’t want to say goodbye.

A dart of shame lanced Jasmine’s gut. I’ve only been thinking about myself these past few days. Nate and Nan must be torn apart as well. I’m so glad you’re here, she choked out, hugging Esther.

Her grandmother returned the embrace. "Never did I think I would lose my beloved Judith while I lived. But I have you still, and we will comfort each other. Yes?"

Jasmine nodded, just managing not to cry. Are you sure you don’t want to move to America with us?

I came here from Ukraine when I was sixteen. One change of country was enough. Esther let her go with a misty-eyed smile. But I will stay with you there until you start school.

Yeah, high school, Jasmine thought, swallowing hard. Hope I’ll be ready.

Esther smoothed her fingers along the frayed French braid running over Jasmine’s left temple. Your Mum put these in, didn’t she?

Yeah. Tuesday night, before Nate and I left her. If I’d had any idea she wouldn’t...be there in the morning, I would have stayed. I’ll never forgive myself for letting Mom die alone. Never.

I’ll make them over before we leave for the funeral tomorrow, Esther offered.

Braiding had been Jasmine’s favorite mother-daughter ritual:  the comforting tug of Judith’s sure fingers as they wove her long, thick chestnut hair into elaborate herringbone patterns. The 70s Rock songs she hummed under her breath while she worked. How she’d laughed whenever Jasmine sang the guitar solo melodies.

Anyone else putting them in—even the woman who taught her mom how to braid in the first place—seemed wrong, somehow. No, it’s okay. I’m ready to try something different now.

I hope you don’t dye your hair purple or blue like some of those girls I see in town, Esther mock lectured with a quick wink that said but I understand if you do.

Oh, no. I’m thinking of a long bob like Karen Taitano’s. She’s a runway model from London. And married to my crush, she decided not to add. Nan didn’t care about famous musicians and the women they loved.

Okay, dear. Esther gave her hand a squeeze and stood up. Do you need anything else before I go?

Thanks, I’m all right. See you in the morning.

Esther kissed her on the cheek and left. Alone for the first time all day, Jasmine plunked down on the bench before her powder blue vanity table and risked a glance in the mirror. Ugh! No wonder Nate and Louise were worried about me.

After four restless, tear-drenched nights, she was a pathetic sight; the once-shining and neat plaits gone dull and drooping down around her pale, hollow-eyed face. Yeah, they had to go. She steeled herself to undo her mom’s handiwork for the last time.

Wait, I want my guys.

While her schoolmates were obsessed with Boyzone and Britpop, Jasmine was all about Rock. Classic, NWOBHM, Glam; anything with distorted guitars and massive riffs.

The latest band she’d gotten into became her instant favorite: Strange Angels. They’d stormed to the top of the charts in 1990 and never left. Not even Grunge could knock the English-American quartet out of the Top 10; no mean feat considering they were Nirvana’s antithesis in every way.

Their third album The Lightning Field had been living in her CD player for a week. She grabbed the remote and hit Play. The piano intro to the first song spilled out of the speakers, followed by Jonathan Fox’s raspy, halfway between baritone and tenor voice:

Down slow, you and I will go down slow

Breathe into me; give up your shame and your pain

I’ll take it all in and breathe out your name

And hold you close as we go down slow...

After a short pause, the guitars and drums kicked in and the melody soared upward, carried by the thundering keyboard line.

She picked up the CD booklet and stared at the cover image of lightning bolts ricocheting between tall metal rods in an open, grassy plain. Then she flipped it over to gaze at Jonathan Fox’s picture on the back.

In stark contrast to his unreadable expression, the voice streaming from the speakers laid bare his emotional landscape. Every time she heard him sing, Jasmine felt like she was living dual lives: hers and his.

If only I had a way to talk to him. He could sit here, holding her hand and whispering words of courage and strength as she let go of childhood.

All she had was his music. It would have to be enough.

She took a deep breath and opened a barrette with fumbling fingers. As the braid slipped loose, so did the first tear, splashing the page a millimeter from Jonathan’s serene, gorgeous face.

Chapter 2

Q: What’s your middle name? Do you have a nickname?

Jonathan: It’s Kieran. I have several nicknames. Jonny the Fox, Kitsune, Kit, and Bunker. Don’t ask about the last one.

Silver: My middle name is Sterling, which is why people call me Silver.

Nick: James. I was a hell raising lad so everyone calls me Nick, as in Old Nick the Devil.

Tony: I haven’t got either. If I had a nickname, it would be That Ginger Bastard, I suppose.

—Early interview with Strange Angels, Rock Daze magazine

~∞~

Greensboro, North Carolina

June 1999

As she finished emptying the dishwasher, Jasmine glanced at the clock on the microwave. 4:58. Ooh, almost time! She shoved the last of the plates into the oak cabinet and darted to the den. The TV was already on the Rock Yeah! channel, currently showing an Alice in Chains video. Hurry up and end, she muttered, even though she liked the song.

At the top of the hour, the RY! logo splashed across the screen as the channel’s theme song started. Seconds later, the music stopped with a needle-scratching-across vinyl sound, and then the new Strange Angels single began to blare out of the speakers. This is a hostile takeover, an emotionless female voice intoned over the chugging guitars. Do not adjust your television sets.

Oh, I’m not adjusting a damn thing, Jasmine chirped as she dropped onto the couch, wiggling her hips in anticipation.

The logo cut away to the grinning face of the VJ as the music faded down. "Welcome to Hostile Takeover! I’m your host, Eric Aim, he announced in a laconic Southern California accent. Strange Angels kicks off the last leg of their North American summer tour this Thursday night in Hartford, Connecticut. For the next two hours, they’re taking over our studios with big hits, deep tracks, and rare footage from their home movie vaults. Let’s start with Left Standing, the first video from their 1990 self-titled debut album."

The phone next to the couch rang, jerking Jasmine’s attention from the screen. She punched the TV volume down with the remote before answering. Ashcroft residence.

Heyyy, Jazzy-Jazz, her best friend Caroline O’Donnell sing-songed. If you’re not watching the takeover right now, you need to turn in your fan card.

In response, Jasmine held the phone out toward the TV for a moment before bringing it back to her ear. I busted my butt cleaning house all day and now I’m treating myself to some eye candy.

Onscreen, the band, still teenagers at the time, was playing poolside at a Beverly Hills mansion while a bevy of actresses reclined on loungers, sipping cocktails and pretending to ignore them. Every time Jonathan Fox came on camera, Jasmine’s heart clenched with wordless longing. Soo ready for August, she said, not caring if Caroline busted on the dreamy tone in her voice.

For once, the other girl held back on the snark. I still can’t believe Nate’s letting you go to the show. He hates Strange Angels with the-

-burning rage of a thousand suns, I know, Jasmine finished for her. But your mom’s chaperoning us, so he can’t complain.

Umm, actually, Caroline said after a short pause. "We can’t go with you anymore because we’re going to be in Ireland!" On the last word, her voice rose to an excited screech, making Jasmine wince.

No way. Let me guess, surprise graduation present?

Yep. Found the tickets under my pillow when I woke up this morning.

A pang shot through Jasmine’s chest, and not just because she was being ditched for the Emerald Isle. You’d better be back before I move to Arizona.

I will. I promise, Jazzy-Jazz.

Call me ‘Jazzy-Jazz’ one more time, and I’ll program your phone to play Sweet Caroline when it rings. Again, Jasmine threatened in a pretend-pissed voice.

Oh, God. Please, no. I almost died when it went off in front of Sean McAuley and he sang along.

Didn’t stop him from asking you out, though.

Yeah, true. Maybe I owe you one, Jazzy-

"Caroline..."

Sor-ry. Caroline made a faint, wistful sound. I still think Nate’s being a jerk, dragging you to Arizona instead of letting you go to college here.

Until I’m 18, he calls the shots.

Fine. Play nice for the next four months. At midnight on September 15th, tell him to get bent and then fly your butt back to N.C.

Nice thought, but then the fall semester would be a wash, Jasmine replied distractedly, still watching the video. Anyway, don’t worry about the show. I’ll find someone to go with me.

Go by yourself, jeez.

Riiight, go by myself like a total loser. Even if I wanted to, I doubt Nate would let me.

Caroline snorted in disgust. Why do you let him treat you like you’re six?

He wouldn’t care if any other band was playing. Except for Slayer, maybe. Just then, she heard keys jingling at the townhouse’s front door Speak of the devil. He’s home. Call you back later.

She hung up as her stepfather walked into the den. What’re you watching? Nate demanded, his saturnine features turning even darker as he glared at the screen. "Oh, joy. My favorite band."

Jasmine gave him a narrow stare and thumbed the volume down another notch. Yeah, yeah. I know how you feel about them. So spare me the lecture.

Unfortunately, there were two things he never missed: televised Yankees games and the opportunity to bash Strange Angels. Buncha strung-out Limeys with more looks than talent-

Their guitar player is American, but don’t let that stop you, Jasmine interrupted in a weary monotone.

He didn’t let it stop him. And their so-called singer is the worst of the bunch. You shouldn’t idolize a junkie-

Whoa! The thin silver bangles on Jasmine’s wrist chimed as she held up a hand, palm out. Jonathan’s been clean for several years.

Or so he says. Anyway, wrench yourself away from the TV for a minute. I need to talk to you, Nate demanded as he walked past her into the kitchen.

Suppressing a growl, she left the couch and slunk after him, praying he’d talk fast. What’s up? she asked, slumping against the counter next to the sink.

Nate pulled a multivitamin bottle from a cabinet. I’m flying out to Arizona in the morning. Looks like we found a site for the new office, but I want to see for myself before I sign a five-year lease.

Jasmine forgot her irritation and perked up. Cool. If you do sign the lease, what then?

I’ll find a rental house while I’m out there, too. Something like here where we can coexist without stepping on each other’s toes. Nate paused to gulp down a pill down. Unless you’d prefer to live on the ASU campus?

No dorms for me, thanks. I’d rather share a place with Mr. Judgmental here than a tiny cinderblock room with a stranger. How long will you be in Phoenix?

Three days at most. Don’t let this place turn into a pigsty while I’m gone. No parties, either, he cautioned, wagging an index finger.

Jasmine was tempted to flash him the middle one. Um, as if I’d put up with either of those.

For once, her stepfather relented. Yeah, I can’t complain about your housekeeping habits. Your taste in music, though...  

Okay, okay! Shut up already. Speaking of Strange Angels, Caroline can’t make the show after all.

Oh yeah? Did she wake up and realize those mooks stink on ice?

No-ooo, Jasmine said, rolling her eyes. Her family’s taking a heritage trip to Ireland.

Is there anyone else who can go with you? When his stepdaughter shook her head, Nate ran a hand over his mustache, thinking. I’ll ask around at work. At least one of the summer interns has to be a fan.

She knew what ‘ask around’ meant. Nate was a master at bending people to his will while making them feel like they had a choice. He even had a name for the concept: voluntold. I feel bad for the poor employee who’s going to get forced into chaperone duties.

He left to pack and Jasmine hauled ass back to the den in time to catch a home video clip of Jonathan and Silver behind the controls of Angel Force One, the band’s chartered Boeing 757. She held her breath as Jonathan guided the