To Aaron, the device was weightless, which made him feel all the more guilty. Even if he was still mad at her, he thought, he couldn’t watch her struggle so he could make a piece of toast in the morning. “Seriously, just go home,” Aaron said. “You’ve done more than enough for the day. Go home.”
Reluctantly, Lily did. It was clear to Lily that she’d overstepped a boundary, that Aaron didn’t want her in his life.
She’d screwed up.
CHAPTER TEN
Danny Fitzpatrick was the biggest name ever to come out of Burns Bog. A somewhat meaningless achievement, seeing as he was one of very few people to ever leave Burns Bog.
He was a running back in the NFL for eight years, drafted to the Seattle Seahawks in 2008, traded to the Steelers in 2010, back to the Seahawks in 2011, to the Patriots in 2012, back to the Seahawks near the end of 2012, to the Eagles in 2013, another year in Seattle in 2014 (traded three months before they won the Super Bowl), and finally, he was traded to the Denver Broncos in 2015. In 2016, with the Denver Broncos, Danny won the Super Bowl.
He wasn’t the greatest player in the NFL. He wasn’t even a top 25 running back. In the entirety of his season with the Denver Broncos, he scored three touchdowns. In the entirety of his NFL career, Danny made 9.8 million dollars, which was nine million more than any Burns Bog native had ever made in any career. It was less than any other member of the Denver Broncos.
It was Wednesday, February 10th, when Danny returned home to Burns Bog for the first time in a decade. The moment his bus came within a mile of Burns Bog, Danny was overwhelmed by childhood memories. Nothing had changed since he’d left in 2006. The same shops were still open, the same garbage was nestled along the highway, and the same ‘for sale’ signs were up on the same lawns. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all—save for the name of the street that intersected Main Street, which used to be Bog Avenue, and was now Fitzpatrick Avenue.
The people of Burns Bog were anxiously awaiting Danny’s arrival on the corner of Main and Fitzpatrick, next to the wooden statue that one of the local artisans carved with a chainsaw. Aside from the number 16 on the statue’s jersey and helmet, there was very little resemblance.
He looked out the tinted bus window at the people of his hometown. Even after ten years of no contact, he could remember all of their names. A chill crept down Danny’s spine as he scanned their faces. The people hadn’t changed one bit, wearing the same clothes, seemingly the same age, as if the town froze when he left, and finally thawed as his bus pulled into the town. Freaky shit, Danny thought.
The gathering erupted into a roar as he stepped off of the bus. They crowded him, shouting over one another in a frenzy of excitement and fanaticism. One man held up a sign, which read, “We did it!”
Danny had to bite his tongue. We didn’t do anything. Danny did it. None of these people gave a shit when Danny was training every morning, alone, in the snow, while the town slept comfortably in their beds. No one cared when he worked two full-time jobs to save for a college tuition, just so he could qualify for the University of Chicago football team’s tryouts.
His grades weren’t good enough for an academic scholarship, and there was no Burns Bog high school football team for him to get scouted. The first real game he ever played was the scrimmage game on the first day of his U of C tryout. No one from Burns Bog congratulated him when he made the university team, or even when his team won the National Championship Trophy. It wasn’t until he was signed to the Seahawks, and he made his first million dollars, that anyone gave a gosh darn.
But his coach warned him, in the dressing room after winning the Super Bowl, “Everyone’s going to try to take credit for this. Save yourself the energy and let them. Deep down inside, they all know they didn’t do jack shit.” As Danny scanned the crowd of Burns Bogians, he wasn’t so sure. Coach might be right, Danny thought, but I think these sonsofbitches really do think they won the gosh darned Super Bowl.
He stopped at each person as he made his way through the crowd, taking a moment to shake their hands and thank them for their support. “Thanks,” Danny said to one man.
“You’re welcome, Danny Boy. I always knew you’d do it,” the man replied. Danny managed to suppress his urge to cringe. The sonofabitch probably hadn’t heard of Danny until 2008. “Way to go, Danny! Way to put Burns Bog on the map!” another man called out. Just smile and nod, Danny told himself, just smile and nod.
Danny’s mother was there to give Danny a big hug. “Your room’s all ready for you. I made sure your sheets were clean and there’s lots of clean towels and toilet paper in your bathroom,” were her first face-to-face words to her son in at least a couple of years.
“Thanks, Ma,” Danny said before continuing to make his way through the crowd.
He was nearly at his mother’s car when he stopped to shake the final townsperson’s hand. As he looked up into her eyes, he froze. She was beautiful, her eyes were piercing, her skin was glowing bright, her hair flowed like waves of silk. Danny was holding the hand of Lily Parker.
But Danny didn’t recognize Lily. She introduced herself, but the name didn’t ring any bells in Danny’s repeatedly-concussed brain.
“Congratulations on winning the Super Ball,” Lily said.
Danny’s mind was too glazed over to realize Lily’s naïve flub. He still hadn’t released Lily’s small, gentle, warm hand. He still hadn’t looked away from her hypnotizing eyes. He was lost in a trance, suddenly at a loss for words. He had never been a shy man—he’d slept with more women in his NFL career than he’d played games—but now he was shy. He was terribly conscious of every part of his body, particularly his mouth which now hung open stupidly. He shut it but now it felt awkwardly tense. As he tried to split the difference, he realized he’d been standing silent for far too long.
Lily said, “I think your mom’s calling you, Mr Fitzpatrick.” She was. She was waving from the driver’s seat of the car, yelling, “Danny, c’mon now, let’s go! I’ve got a stew on the stove that’s going to burn if we don’t hurry up.”
Danny looked back to Lily and froze yet again as his eyes met hers. Who knew there was such a beautiful woman in a dump like Burns Bog? “Thanks for everything,” he said to Lily, smiling, heart fluttering.
Lily laughed. “Well, I’m afraid I didn’t do nothing, but congratulations nonetheless.”
That was enough for Danny. He decided right then and there that this girl was his soul mate, that this girl was everything he’d ever wanted and more, and that he was going to do whatever he had to do to make this girl his.
But first, his mother was calling and his dinner was burning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The movers were all back to good health by Tuesday. They all showed up at Aaron’s to unload boxes. They finished unloading everything by Wednesday afternoon. Lily didn’t show up either day. When Aaron asked where she was, Gary, the apparent stand-in boss of the group, said she had a lot of work she had to get done back at the lot. “She’ll be back tomorrow with papers for you to sign.”
On Thursday morning, there was a knock at the door. Aaron answered promptly. But it wasn’t Lily. It was Gary. “Sign these,” he said.
“No Lily?” Aaron said, taking the pen and clipboard from the grey-faced mover.
“She’s at another site today. All the guys are. It’s a big job.”
Aaron signed the paper and handed the clipboard back. Gary nodded and turned to leave. “Thanks for the business,” he said as he made his way back to his truck.
Aaron tried to think back to his last conversation with Lily. Did he say something that offended her? Was she angry with him? He couldn’t pinpoint anything specific, but he knew it was a possibility. He was not only hungover when he last saw Lily, but also still a bit drunk. His memory of the conversation was hazy and unreliable. Though he could distinctly remember Lily’s body pressed tightly against his. That was nice. That felt good. She left shortly after. What could he have said that scared her away?
He spent the day wandering around his beautiful cottage-style home. The rooms now filled with his belongings, but the place may as well have been empty. Toaster and coffee maker aside, he didn’t use the kitchen. The dining room was useless, seeing as he ate everything sitting on the couch. The second, third, and fourth bedrooms served no purpose as he had no close friends or family who planned on visiting any time soon. The office was a waste of space because the internet hardly worked, and because Aaron was technically retired. Even the basement studio was a massive waste of space, seeing as he had no intentions of using any of the recording equipment. All he needed was his little amplifier and his guitar, which looked so lonely sitting in the center of the giant, silent room.
He wandered around his many acres for the first time. Lots of trees and trails and birds and snow and stuff that looked very pretty from his window, but served no actual purpose to him. He discovered that his property backed onto a long, untouched field of snow, easily two miles long. Aaron stared at the field and wondered whether or not it belonged to him. The realtor that sold him the house offered to walk Aaron around the property, but Aaron wasn’t interested. “I’m interested in the house. I don’t care about how many trees I’m getting,” he said. Though now, staring at the giant plot of land, the forest, and the field, the feeling that he was the owner of it all—the ruler of a vast little chunk of the world—was a cool feeling.
Bored still, Aaron wandered around the insulated and heated six-car garage for the first time. There was some junk left behind by the previous owner. Old tools, a broken ATV, and some old metal bins, filled with nails and screws. Hanging on one of the walls were six pairs of snowshoes. Each pair was a different size—for users of every possible age group. “A whole family of Eskimos…” he muttered.
With nothing else to do, Aaron put on a pair of snowshoes and started back out towards his field. “When in Rome,” he thought aloud.
Snowshoeing wasn’t half bad. It was actually kind of fun once he’d pegged the technique down, and he’d stopped sinking into the deep snow. Maybe this whole snowshoeing thing wasn’t so stupid, though he still felt like a complete idiot walking in the ridiculous things.
After he woke up the next morning, had a coffee, and realized there was still nothing to do in the little town of Burns Bog, Illinois, he strapped on the snowshoes again and went out a bit further than the previous day. He made it all the way up the large hill that backed his property and looked down. His giant house looked like a spec compared to the thriving wilderness that engulfed it. But he liked it. It was quiet, peaceful, and strangely humbling, seeing everything he owned crammed into one tiny, insignificant little spot.
The wind whistled a near-perfect crescendo in a key so perfect, you’d think it was the voice of a siren, calling out to a lost sailor, out in the middle of nowhere.
And for the first time in over a decade, Aaron felt inspired to write a song. For the first time in his entire life, he felt no pressure to impress or satisfy anyone. It was an uplifting sensation. It was the entire reason he came out to Burns Bog, to forget about societal pressures and to be alone with his art.
He made his way back down the hill, towards his cedar mansion. He had work to do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lily had a lot on her figurative plate. She had to decide whether to go to LA with her father or stay in Burns Bog and find some other job and some place to live. Her father wasn’t giving her many options. He said he’d already rented a small house in Los Angeles with two bedrooms and, according to Kilgore, provided adequate privacy and was suited to all of Lily’s needs. All Lily could think was, When did he find the time?
In case that wasn’t enough to process, Parker Family Movers was hired to move all of Danny Fitzpatrick’s things into the biggest house within fifty miles of Burns Bog, a house which he bought the very day of his triumphant return to town. Lily thought Aaron Brown’s move was an undertaking—but Danny’s house was twice as big, and he had quadruple the belongings. Expensive art, multiple massive televisions sets, rows of custom theatre seating for a theatre room, two hot tubs, and so on. The move was further complicated by the various contractors Lily and the movers had to work around—men and women pulling walls down, putting walls up, tearing out bathrooms, installing new bathrooms, and so on. Lumberjacks spent days cutting down trees to better Danny’s views.
Interior designers fluttered throughout the house, demanding each item be re-situated three, four, five times over. Danny had half the town employed and working simultaneously, and he wasn’t even there—out of town for some interview or another.
“It’s a fucking madhouse in there,” Gary said to Lily as he chain-smoked cigarettes out at the end of the driveway. He was right.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and Lily was unloading dress shoes into a closet that was specifically designated for dress shoes. Out the window, she noticed Aaron standing at the end of Danny’s driveway, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was checking out the house, watching the whirlwind of activity that was constantly moving in and out and in and out of the house.
By the time Lily made it down the stairs and out of the house, Aaron was gone and the driveway was clear.
Aaron wasn’t the only person who stopped by to see the house that week. Everyone came by to see the monstrosity of a home. Everyone wanted to see where their new hero, the great Danny Fitzpatrick, was living. Parents brought their kids and stood out on the driveway as if Danny’s house was some tourist attraction, the Grand Canyon of Burns Bog, Illinois.
Before Lily went back into the house, Danny pulled up in the most expensive car Burns Bog had ever seen, a car he’d purchased that morning from a luxury car dealership in Chicago, where he’d been for an interview with WGN Morning News. Pulling up to his new mansion on that Saturday afternoon was the second time he’d been to the mansion since his walkthrough with the realtor earlier in the week.
His eyes lit up when he noticed Lily standing on his roundabout driveway. He wasn’t aware that she worked for the moving company he’d hired, and thought for a moment that he’d maybe pulled up to the wrong house. He looked around for signs that it was indeed his home—he’d only ever been there once, after all. The license plate on another luxury car, parked nearby, which read ‘SPR-BWL’ was the sign he was looking for. So what was Lily doing there? “Well hello there,” he said, removing his sunglasses and revealing his whitened teeth with a big smile.
Lily smiled and nodded.
“Can I help you?” Danny asked.
Lily laughed. She explained that she was the person in charge of his move.
“Are you a Parker then?” Danny asked.
“Yessir. Lily Parker. Daughter of Kilgore H. Parker.”
“I remember you from the greeting party, down at the town center the other day.”
Lily smiled. She thought Danny was a nice guy, but she knew nothing about football or the NFL, and she never knew Danny growing up. She couldn’t relate to Danny’s lavish lifestyle.
And Danny couldn’t relate much to Lily. He hadn’t known her growing up—and if he had, his memory was god-awful thanks to many smashes to the head. He knew she was a proud Burns Bog native, which didn’t help in relating to her. Growing up, he’d always hated Burns Bog, and he did everything he could to leave. Until very recently, he had no intention of moving back, only to visit while he decided where he wanted to spend his retired years. But after he pulled into town, and he was given the superstar treatment—and after he set his eyes on Lily—he thought, maybe Burns Bog wasn’t so bad after all. On an impulse, he decided to buy a mansion, with cash of course. That impulse was partly inspired by Lily, whom he’d already imagined spending his life with.
And staring at her now, he couldn’t think of anything to say. Like the pimply-faced high-school kid he never was, he stood awkward and silent before her, unaware that his face was a shade of crimson.
“I should get back to work,” Lily said with a smile.
&nbs
p; “Yeah, oh course. Hey—are you coming to the party tonight?” The town was throwing Danny a proper welcome-home party at the bar where they had watched him win the Super Bowl. The party was advertised on the front page of the Burns Bog Tribune, the local newspaper—not saying much, seeing as the Tribune was only a single page, double sided. It was also the town’s open-mic night, which mostly consisted of Willy Upnik playing old country tunes on his banjo and the occasional drunken vocals-only rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen.
“I was planning on it. Maybe I’ll see you there,” Lily said, turning to return to work.
“Yeah, maybe,” Danny said. “Feel free to bring your husband with you.” Danny thought this was a very clever way to slyly find out whether Lily was single or not. So clever that he smiled, proud of himself for thinking of such a tactic.
Lily laughed. “I don’t have a husband.”
Danny bit his lip to contain his smirk. “Or your boyfriend, or whoever.”
Lily smiled and went back to work. Later, after clocking-out for the day, she decided to stop by Aaron’s house. She still felt bad for upsetting him earlier in the week, and the thought of Aaron sitting at home alone on a Saturday night tugged at her heartstrings. He’d moved halfway across the country, he didn’t know anyone in town, and he was afraid to go out, worried he would be recognized. That’s no way to live your life, Lily thought. He should be enjoying Burns Bog, getting to know the townspeople. He should become part of the community, instead of just moping around his house all day.
Just before Lily rang Aaron’s doorbell, she heard something: the twang of a guitar and a faint, muffled voice. She stood still and listened carefully, then sidled along the side of Aaron’s house. The music became louder and clearer. It was clearest next to a small window, which looked down into Aaron’s basement.
And there Aaron was, standing in front of a microphone with a guitar slung over his shoulder, topless. His eyes were closed as he sang into the microphone and strummed his instrument. The tune was unfamiliar to Lily. It wasn’t from any of the albums Lily owned, and as far as she knew, she owned all of Aaron’s albums. It was different, emotional, beautiful, but still flawed. Occasionally, he would stop and scribble some notes into a notebook, then he would pick up from where he left off. He stopped a number of times, crossing out notes and adding in new notes, testing out different harmonies. Then, a large smile would come across his face when he found something he liked. He was in the zone, happy, relaxed, unlike Lily had ever seen of him, even when she saw him performing in Chicago, back in 2001.
LIMELIGHT LOVE: A Small Town Rock Star Romance Page 6