“And maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. Would I have wanted my best friend and love of my life by my side as I fought for my life? Yes. But there’s no guarantee that’s what I would’ve gotten. I probably would’ve gotten more heartbreak as he chose his wild and carefree lifestyle filled with women and fun over what we used to have.”
I balled up the grey scrap of paper and tossed it towards the trash can and gripped Mom’s hand. “You’re right, Mom. Maybe love can fill you up slowly. It’s got to be safer than the windswept chaos of a tornado. I just need to be patient.”
“Give it time, sweetie. Most things in the world work themselves out when given enough time.” She sounded so sure. At least one of us was.
♪ Love Song by Tesla
I wrapped my arms around her again as she squeezed me tightly. I remembered when I was a little girl, a hug from my mama fixed everything. Too bad her arms didn’t hold the same remedies these days.
We stayed like that for a long while, her rocking me as my heartbreak leaked from my eyes. When I had no more tears left, I leaned back. Her fingers rubbed the tracks of my tears from my cheeks.
“Ready to go shopping now?” She smiled hopefully.
“Yes, let’s.”
Chapter 4
Dawson
♪ Hard to Say I’m Sorry by Chicago
After a sleepless night, where I split my time between writing bursts of lyrics and trying to draft a letter, I was beyond exhausted. Even after hours of writing, I still couldn’t find the right words to say everything that was in my heart. To say I screwed up. To say I’m sorry. To say I miss you. To say that even after all this time, I still love you. I need you. I want you.
Fu… I threw my pen across the room as I balled up yet another failed attempt at expressing myself. No words seemed sufficient to say any of it. The words I needed hadn’t been invented yet.
♪ Broken by Seether
A glance at the time on my phone told me it was finally late enough that I could call my dad. I pressed his number in my contacts list and listened as the phone rang. And rang. And rang.
I hung up without leaving a message. My distress would be too apparent in a message and would unnecessarily worry him. I’d caused my parents enough grief over the past few years. I could wait for him to see the missed call and call me back.
I laid my phone down and picked up another pen to try again. Before I could scratch one word onto the paper, my phone danced across the counter, alerting me to a text.
Dad: Playing golf. Will call you back when I’m done. Is that OK?
Me: Yeah. Talk to you soon.
So, I had a few hours to kill. Staying here wasn’t a good option. I needed something to get me out of my head. A healthy outlet.
Running up the stairs, I bounded into my closet and rummaged through my clothes. Finally finding what I was looking for, I changed and bounded out of the house. With my board tucked under my arm, I strode purposefully down to the beach. The waves crashing on the shore would help to drown out the thoughts churning in my mind. Surfing here on the west coast was so much better than what I did as a kid. I’d always loved it. It was one of the reasons I bought a house with beach access. But life had been too chaotic to allow much time for catching waves the past few years. As I paddled out, I surrendered to the song of the ocean and let all my other worries go.
On the waves, I found peace. I didn’t know how long I stayed out there. But when I finally rode my last wave into the shore, I felt a bit calmer and ready to figure out how to fix everything that had gone wrong over the past couple of years.
By the time I'd washed the sand and sea off me, my phone was ringing.
"Hey, Dad. Thanks for calling me back."
"Hey, Son. Tour ended yesterday, right?" Dad's familiar voice greeted me.
"Yeah. It felt so good to sleep in my own bed last night." Not that I actually slept, but the white lie would make Dad feel good about my mental health.
"I'm sure it did. How are you?" his voice held equal parts optimism and worry.
Sighing deeply, I said, "I need your help."
"OK. Do I need to call the facility and arrange for you to go back?"
"Not that kind of help. I'm OK on that front. I haven't used anything. That's not saying I haven't thought about it. But I haven't even had a beer since I got out of rehab. So that has to count for something." I hoped my words brought him a measure of reassurance about the state of my sobriety.
"It counts for a lot. I know you aren't a recovering addict in the most traditional sense of the phrase. But you had a problem. I hope you know how proud I am of you for getting help and for keeping yourself clean while being immersed in a world of temptations. I know it isn't easy, and every day is a conscious choice on your part to stay sober."
"Thanks, Dad. I was actually calling because I have other problems… girl problems."
Laughter filled my ear. "Dawson, I'm quite certain if the magazines are even a quarter accurate, you have way more experience with the ladies than I ever did. And that means I probably am not a good person to seek advice from."
"You should know better than to believe the garbage printed about celebrities. I'd guess at least eighty percent of non-musical headlines about me are completely false. My problem is Izzy."
Silence filled the line for a long moment. "Funny you should mention her. I golfed with her dad this morning."
"Oh, yeah? How are her parents doing?" I’d take any piece of connection to her I could get.
"They’re doing well as of late. They had a tough time the past couple of years, but they're good now."
I was torn. While I wanted to know what had been going on with her parents the past couple years, I had more pressing things to talk about with Dad. But I cared about Andrew and Sue, so I asked, "What happened the past couple of years?"
Another long pause as silence hummed in my ear. “Just some health issues. It's not really my story to share. You should talk to Izzy about it. When was the last time you talked to her?"
"Well, that's what I'm actually calling about. Do you remember back a couple of years ago, I called you and asked you to pass along my new phone number to the Clarks?" My fingers moved along the edge of the countertop, playing imaginary notes as I waited for him to answer.
"Yeah, I remember. It was a crazy time. If I remember correctly, after Izzy visited you in Europe, some groupie stole your phone and you couldn't access your voicemail or email or anything."
"Yeah, and just before that, the photos and video of me and Izzy were leaked to the press. Then the tabloids found out Izzy's name and started hounding her," I finished filling in the timeline of chaos that was my life two years ago.
"That's right. Andrew was really worried about her. Then... um, well..." Dad's voice drifted off as if he was going to say something, then changed his mind. "Then life got hectic. And it seemed the press left her alone after a few weeks."
"I had shows and interviews nonstop, so I couldn't keep up with what was going on back home. But when she never returned my last calls, I figured she couldn't handle the limelight and the harassment that went with being in a relationship with me." My chest hurt just recalling how I felt back then. The betrayal. The rejection. The agony. The loneliness.
"I don't think that was how she felt, Son," Dad said in a soft but reprimanding tone.
"That's how it felt to me. Everything was great. Perfect even. Izzy and I always had a special relationship. She's been my best friend for as long as I can remember. And I'm not sure at what point I fell in love with her. But when we finally decided to risk our friendship by becoming more, it was the happiest day of my life. I could see myself with her forever. And I know it sucked the label made us keep our relationship a secret. But I told Izzy when our contract was up, no one would dictate my career or personal life anymore. We just had to be patient. And then the damn paps got her name and everything fell apart. She stopped talking to me. What was I supposed to think?" I huffed and got up from t
he stool at the counter.
Opening the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of water. With a twist, I removed the top and downed half the bottle. I wanted something stronger. Something with a bite and hard edge. With numbing aftereffects.
"Son, I understand why you may have felt that way. But remember, you only have your side of things. Other stuff was going on. Stuff you don’t know about," Dad reasoned.
"I know, Dad. That's why I called you. I found my missing cell phone when I cleaned out the tour bus."
"Okkkkk. What does that have to do with anything?" confusion colored his tone.
"I was able to check my old voicemail and my text messages and my email. And then there was a letter at my house when I got home," I explained.
"So, there were messages from Izzy?"
"Yes." I finished the bottle of water.
"What did they say?" Dad’s voice was oddly hopeful.
"I was so wrong. She didn't turn her back on me. On us. She changed her number, so she could dodge the press. And she gave me her new number. Of course, I never got those messages when they mattered. But I still don't understand why she never called after you gave her my new number." The empty plastic water bottle crackled as my fist squeezed it.
"What did her messages say exactly?" Dad prodded me.
"That she loved me. That she was proud of me. That we'd get through the issues with the press. And then there were messages where she sounded really scared, like something was wrong. But then messages later said everything was fine. Then there were irate ones about an article showing me kissing another girl. I swear I didn’t cheat on Izzy. After that, she stopped messaging. What was wrong? Was that the health stuff that was going on with Sue and Andrew? Were they sick? Did Andrew have a heart attack or something?" My mind tried to connect the dots to form a picture I could make sense of.
Dad sighed deeply and sat in silence for several long moments. So long that I took my phone from my ear to make sure we hadn’t been disconnected. "There were some health issues. But they weren't Sue or Andrew's. They were Izzy's," he finally confessed softly.
"What? Izzy is young and has always been the picture of health." It didn’t make sense. The dots I was trying to connect just rearranged.
"I know. But she got sick. Really sick. I can't give you all the details. But just know that it was a lengthy battle to get her back to full health," his voice hitched with emotion.
"What do you mean, a lengthy battle?" I croaked.
"I'm only telling you this because I know you love her, or at least you did. And you didn't break her heart on purpose. She came down with a rare disease. She had to undergo experimental treatments and even had a kidney transplant. But the disease has been in remission for a bit now. So, I think she’s going to be OK."
A strangled sob escaped my throat. "She had to have a transplant? Why didn't anyone tell me? I would've cancelled my tour and come home to be with her."
"Izzy knew you'd do that, and that's exactly why she wouldn't let me call you. She didn't want to cost you your dreams. She loved you too much to let you give up all you'd worked so hard for, just to come home and maybe watch her die."
"She could've died?" I choked out as tears ran down my cheeks. Even when she thought I’d cheated on her, she’d been worried about my dreams.
"Son, I've already told you more than I was supposed to. You really need to call Izzy and ask her about the years you were apart."
"After everything settled down, why didn't she call me then?"
"She never got your new number. The message got forgotten in all the craziness that consumed their lives as Izzy was fighting to live," my dad explained sadly.
"OK. So how is she now?" Anxiety made my blood race and kept me pacing the floor. Across the kitchen. Around the table. To the living room.
"I'm going to see her tonight when I go over to their house for dinner. So, I'll let you know."
"She's in town?" Could I catch a flight and get there before she left?
I traced my finger across the mousepad on my laptop to wake it up. I’d assumed she was still in Italy. That’s where she was the last time I’d heard anything about her.
"Yeah… she and Beckett arrived yesterday." His words halted my search for a last-minute flight.
"Who's Beckett?" I didn't even recognize the voice that spoke the question.
"He's... um... well, he's the doctor whose research ultimately saved Izzy's life," Dad stuttered.
My heart moved out of my throat in relief once I realized he was just her doctor. "That's really nice of him to make a house call to make sure she's still doing good. I didn't know doctors still did that kind of thing these days."
"He was her doctor. Now he's… more. They grew close during her treatments. He's her boyfriend now. I’m sorry, Dawson."
My heart dropped to the floor. I was too late. She'd moved on. To a doctor. Someone who could give her a stable life, without all the hassles my life came with.
Because I was a glutton for punishment, I asked, "How long have they been dating?"
I stood and walked back to the kitchen. Opening the drawer next to the fridge, I searched for the metal flask I’d tossed in there during one of my brief stints home last year. When my fingers brushed the cool, polished surface, my mouth went dry. Holding it up by my ear, I shook it. There was no comforting slosh of liquid inside. It was empty. An odd sense of relief filled me as I realized that had there been anything left in it, I’d probably be tossing my sobriety out the window with one hand and emptying the flask down my throat with the other. I sank down onto the barstool and cradled my head in my hand.
Dad cleared his throat. "I don't really know. But I'd guess a while. He told her dad while we were golfing today, he plans to ask Izzy to move to Atlanta, so they can get a place together," worry punctuated his words.
"Dammit." My fist pounded the countertop, sending all my stuff jumping.
"I'm sorry, Son. I always thought you and Izzy would get married one day. Even when you weren't a couple, I just knew the two of you would stand the test of time," he offered sympathetically.
"Why?” I whispered.
"Why what?"
"Why would you think that? I didn't think you even believed in marriage and fidelity," I scoffed.
"Just because I couldn't make my marriage to your mom last, doesn't mean I don't believe in marriage. I screwed up back then. Our split was my fault. And I'm sorry for that."
We’d never talked about it. When they first told me about their pending divorce, I was too angry to listen. After Mom and I moved, my visits back to my dad’s were really about spending time with Izzy. So, Dad’s sins were never discussed.
"Well, I didn't have the best example of everlasting love to learn from."
I shook my head as I thought about the arguments and accusations that had always filled our home when I was a kid. They thought I couldn’t hear them when I was supposed to be in my room asleep. They were wrong. I heard it all. Izzy and music had saved me back then.
"You and Izzy were always different. Even when you were kids, we could see your unwavering devotion to each other," his voice was awestruck.
"I guess that devotion wavered though, didn't it?" I asked, shaking my head. I knew I had no right to the anger in my tone. But I couldn’t seem to help it.
"You don't know that," he offered.
"Dad, her boyfriend is going to ask her to move to another state and live with him. He came to get her parents' blessing. I'm. Too. Late," I bit out, running my fingers through my hair.
"Call her," Dad urged.
"I can't." My fingers tugged the damp strands on the top of my head. The bite of pain was a welcome but brief distraction.
"Do you love her?" he asked like there were multiple answers to his question.
"I never stopped." And I never would. Loving her was as instinctive as breathing. It’d be easier to stop my heart from beating than it would be to stop loving her.
"Then call her." He acted like it was an
easy feat.
"I just can't, Dad."
"Dawson, you can."
"What would I say?" There was so much that needed to be said, yet I had no idea how to get the words out.
"That I can't tell you. But you've always been better with words than anyone I know. You'll figure it out,” his voice was filled with a confidence in me I couldn’t find in myself.
"I'll think about it," I said with a heavy sigh.
"Don't think about it too long. I don't want your chance at happiness with the one person who was meant for you to pass you by," Dad’s voice was urgent.
"When you see her tonight, tell her... tell her I hope she's doing well, and I miss her." I wished I could tell her myself, but I couldn’t. Not now, at least. But I hoped to change that soon.
"I will. And if I find out anything else you should know, I'll call you."
"Thanks, Dad."
"I love you, Son."
"I love you too." Then I hung up the phone with a heavy heart.
Chapter 5
Izzy
After shopping ‘til we dropped, we drove home. Reaching in the backseat, I emerged with my arms full of bags. Mom walked around the car with the garment bags draped over her arm.
“You looked so beautiful in your dress. It’s perfect. Both dresses were perfect, actually.” She beamed. In addition to the dress I needed for the event I’d be attending with Beckett, I also found one that was perfect for my parents’ anniversary party coming up.
“Thanks, Mom. I like them both too. Especially the one for the hospital benefit.”
“Beckett will swallow his teeth when he sees you in it.” The dress was incredibly sexy, yet still elegant. Probably the most beautiful garment I’d ever owned. It was slinky and silver. It clung to my curves like a second skin. Barely there wisps of fabric held up the deeply cut bodice, and the back was nonexistent. The material fell to the floor like a waterfall. The material captured light and threw it back in a rainbow of sparkles. The dress toed the line between seductive and sophisticated.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 19