“It’s not,” he comments with a bit of a bite to his voice. “Brady wrote me a letter a few years ago about not being able to come to one of my shows because of his cancer diagnosis. I came to surprise him, and now, I come whenever I can. If singing a few songs, allows these kids and their families to not focus on the hardships in their life, it’s the least I can do.”
He waves to a few of the nurses, as we pass down the hall. One of the littlest kids at his concert, sits in their doorway, beaming at him. He stops to talk to her and obliges her mother’s request for a photo with him. Seeing Alex giving back like this, puts tiny little cracks into that big shot persona. Maybe, the guy I knew isn’t as buried inside of him, as I initially thought. Alex gives her a quick hug, before returning to me. It doesn’t take, but a few steps, before a question comes spilling out of my lips without a passing thought.
“How long has Brady been sick?”
“Couple years now,” He tells me, as we walk to the same elevator, where we came in. “His mom updates me, when she can. That’s one of the reasons that I wanted to make sure I came today. Brady has a big appointment tomorrow with his doctors.”
“I’ll be sure to pray for goods news.” God and I had a complicated relationship, if I’m honest, but at least, I could go to him and ask for healing for this little boy, and for all the kids like him.
“Thanks, Iz. For coming, I mean. I know you could have said no.”
“I really wanted to say no,” I chuckle.
“I’ll have you know that I could tell, but I wanted you to see this. To see Brady, and what I can do to help these kids. I want to start a foundation for them to get regular music therapy into hospitals.”
I pause mid-step, “Oh, wow. Really?”
“Yes. I’ve been working on a deal with a couple of other artists to try and fund it. I haven’t just been visiting Brady. I try to stop at hospitals along the way, even when I’m on tour.”
My heart swells at his kindness. So many people see kids like this on St. Jude’s commercials, but being here and experiencing it as an outsider, I can see why he’s so passionate about this. If his stardom has one bright side, it’s his ability to give back. The elevator dings, and we step inside away from prying eyes. Alex scans the garage, before pulling me behind him in a brisk jog. Once safely inside of his truck, he slides in and exits the garage, as quietly as we came in.
“How has no one found out about it? The media, I mean.”
“I try to keep it under wraps, as much as I can. The press are like sharks, looking for blood in the water. I won’t put the kids through that. They have enough to deal with.” Which would explain his odd behavior in the garage earlier. “They aren’t happy, unless they are making headlines. That’s why I was extra cautious coming here today. Plus, I don’t want them to blast your picture all over the papers and web.”
“Oh,” I mutter under my breath. My heart falls in my chest. It’s yet another blow to it dealt by Alex McCloud. Why would he want to be photographed with a plain girl like me? He has a reputation to uphold.
“Not because I don’t want to be seen with you,” he interjects. “It’s because I don’t want them to hound you for being associated with me.”
“Am I associated with you?” I cautiously question. The answer I desperately want to hear and yet dread all at the same time. Alex is one of those rare individuals. When you’re with him, you are riding the adrenal high of a lifetime, but with a single word, you can hit rock bottom in seconds. There is no middle ground with him. It’s an all or nothing kind of ending.
“I’d like you to be, but we can talk about that over dinner tomorrow night.” The capacity of that association lingering in the air, as we ride in his truck, because if the tabloids are to be believed, the girlfriend position in his life is already filled.
“Why tomorrow night?” I ask suspiciously. If this is a conversation that he has been biting at the bit to have, why delay it? Alex points to the side-view mirror, and I notice a black car hot on our heels, and a man leaning out of the passenger side window with a camera.
“Is that paparazzi?”
I try to lean farther to get a better look, but Alex pulls me back into my seat. “Don’t give them what they want.” He shuffles around under the floorboard, and pulls out a baseball cap, tossing it to me. “Put that on.” So, I do, as he asks.
“Why are they following you?”
He jerks the steering wheel, making a hard left and takes a side street just before the interstate exit. “It’s a long story, but my trip home wasn’t exactly approved by my label.”
“So, you went rogue?”
“That’s one way of putting it. I think of it more as liberating myself from the oppressive wish list of my label.” The car catches up to us again, making Alex grumble in frustration. “Hang on,” he orders, before gunning it.
He whips and backtracks all over the city, trying to lose them in a rush hour traffic jam. We narrowly miss the police barricade for an accident by lying to the officer at the scene, saying that his grandma, who has long since passed, is in the hospital. He lays it on thick enough that the officer buys it, letting us pass. Alex lets out a big sigh, when they finally disappear behind us.
“What?” He laughs.
“Nothing.” I smile with a wave, as I scoot closer to the door.
“Why are you moving away?”
“I don’t want to be singed, when your Nana strikes you down for lying on her behalf.”
We laugh, until his phone begins to ring in his pocket, and the Bluetooth in his truck flashes the name on the dash monitor. Alex grimaces, when he sees Agent, flickering on the dashboard.
“Rain check on dinner?”
8
The call from Alex’s agent sent him rushing back to Nashville within a few hours of him getting home. I couldn’t hear all of the conversation, because Alex had taken the call off of his speaker, but the man on the other line was clearly not happy with him. After ending the call, he drove quietly, leaving me with a promise to text, when he got there. To add insult to injury, thanks to the great paparazzi chase of twenty nineteen, we’d also forgotten to get the parts for my dad, which didn’t seem to bother him a single bit. Odd seeing as how that was one of his requests, when Alex commandeered my participation.
After getting the later than usual evening milking done, I come into the house to find Dad hunched over the kitchen table with stacks of letters in front of him with Mom behind him, rubbing his back. She leaves the room, when she notices me standing there, but one of the letters catches my eye. In bright red block letters, the words final notice on full display. Dad stares at them with his head in his hands and solemn eyes.
“Dad, you okay?” He startles and quickly tries to scoop up the letters and hide them from me, but he’s too late. “Don’t Dad, I’ve already seen them.” He stops, peering up at me with worry evident on his face. “How bad is it?”
“I got word today that the local creamery is shutting down.” Not great news, seeing as they are one of our biggest buyers, but when one of the largest dairy product companies bought them out last summer, the possibility was always there. Things are already tough as it is. Without them, the fragile hold we still have on our farm is slipping even farther from our grip. This could spell the end for us.
I pull up a chair next to him, snatching away a few of the stray letters he didn’t manage to scoop up. It’s just bill after bill, and many of them are final notices from our lenders. We are more in trouble than my dad let on. Catastrophic crisis, if we don’t get a hold on this now. How have things gotten this bad, and I didn’t know about it? Dad isn’t the best liar, but this? Seeing letter after letter with the same red final notice scribbled across the front, I had to be blind not to see it.
“What are we doing to do, Dad?”
His serious face turns to me, and the sorrow in his eyes, sending an arrow of pain deep into my own chest. For the first time in my life, my dad looks defeated. Even when things were b
ad before, he still held out hope, but the hope is gone from his face now.
“I’ve already given the boys their notice,” he sighs. “We’re going to have to auction off part of the herd on Friday. At least half, but that won’t even make a dent in the loans, but it might get us through the next month, if we’re careful.” A rogue tear shimmers down his cheek. A man who I have never seen cry is doing it openly in front of me. Hearing the waver in my father’s voice, breaks my heart. Our family has never been rich in terms of monetary wealth, but we were rich in our history with this land and his farm. There has to be another way. A solution to our problems that don’t involve us losing everything, including our home. This can’t be the end for the Moulton Dairy Farm. I refuse to believe that.
“What about Ryan? Could he loan us enough to tide us over?”
“I’m not asking your brother for money, Elizabeth. He has a new house, and a family to look after.” He’s right. I know he is, but I had to ask.
“We’ll find another way. We always do.” I try to reassure him, reaching out and stroking his arm. Dad reaches out, gripping it tightly and stares back at me.
“I wish I had your confidence, Izzy. I really do, but this may be the nail in our coffin. I don’t know if we can survive this.”
“We’ll figure this out, I promise. There has got to be something else we can do. Another even another creamery or buyer. This can’t be it for our family’s legacy. I refuse to believe that.” My words ring bright and determined, but my spirit is the only thing keeping me going. My hope may have very well just left with Dad’s.
“When did you get so brave, my Lizzy girl?”
“I’m not brave, Daddy. I’m just not willing to accept this is the end for us. I’ll find a way.” It’s my turn now to be the strong one for our family. The one who finds the answer in the endless pit of darkness and despair. I just can’t let on that I’m just as scared, as he is. Losing this farm, would be the end of us all, taking our legacy with it.
Dad slides from his chair and presses a kiss to the top of my head, before disappearing into his office. We’ve been close to this point before, but never this close to the edge. Teetering on the side, sure, but not halfway off of it with only a fraying rope, keeping us from toppling over it. I have to figure this out one way or another. We will not lose this farm.
With determination fueling me, I briskly walk to my room and plop into my computer chair, flicking open the screen. My fingers type furiously into the search bar, looking for all the local creameries within a hundred miles of our farm. I copy and paste them into a Word document, and then start to search for other small dairy producers to see if they have any information on their websites to find out who they source their milk, too. Page after page pops up. Why don’t we have a website or a Facebook page? Marketing has been our biggest downfall, but I’m about to make it our first priority. For nearly two and a half hours, I search, compiling my lists of places to call in the morning. I will get this done. I have to.
While making a Facebook page for the farm, a notification pops up in the lower corner. That’s odd. I haven’t been on Facebook in years. Why would anyone be messaging me? I click the box, and a name I haven’t seen in years pops up, flashing at me.
Dan: Hey famous girl. How is ya doing?
I stare at his message, unsure of the meaning behind it. Famous? Me? Those are two words that don’t belong in the same sentence together. He has to be playing a joke on me. Only one way to find out, I click on the box and type a reply.
Hey Dan. I’m fine. What do you mean by famous?
He responds immediately with a link following it.
Dan: Like you didn’t know. Saw this pop up online early. You can’t tell me that’s not you. I’d know that silhouette anywhere, sexy girl. You and I should hang out again soon.
I click to open the link and gasp, when I see a photo of Alex’s concert at the hospital with me in the background, clear as day with the headline of Alex McCloud’s New Hospital Mystery Girl in bold on the top of the article. Oh, shit. This can’t be happening. How did they get a picture of us? I pull my phone from my pocket in a panic. My fingers tremble, as I try to find Alex’s name in my contact list. Thankfully, he picks up on the second ring.
“Hey Iz. What’s up?” He casually inquires. “Miss me already? It’s only been a few hours.”
“They have a picture of us at the hospital, Alex. Dan just sent it to me on Facebook.” He lets out a string of swears. “How is this possible?”
“Hang on,” he demands. “I’m trying to pull it up.” A few minutes pass by with Alex swearing more and more, as time passes. “Someone must have leaked it to the press that we were there. It would explain how they found us, after we left.” His voice is even. Too even for my liking. How is he not freaking out more about this? My picture in the press is precisely what he told me he wanted to avoid yesterday, yet he’s not flipping his lid, as I expected. I’m the one losing my mind.
“Why would someone do that, Alex?” My voice is cracking, when a second notification from an old classmate pops up on Facebook next to Dan’s. “Someone else just messaged me.”
“Who?”
“Janice Robertson.” My computer dings again with three more messages coming in. “Make that four more messages.”
“Damnit. Dan must have sent it out to everyone in our class,” he growls.
“What are we going to do?”
“I’ve already texted my agent. He’ll get the label’s attorneys on it from the article standpoint. Hopefully, they can threaten their way into getting them to take it down, but Iz, the damage has already been done. Screenshots are forever. Once it’s out there, it’s out. They’re going to be looking for you now.”
My heart drops. How could this happen? Spending time with Alex, has taken me from non-existent to front page tabloid news within just a few hours. How is this my life? Between the farm in near ruin, and now this, throwing in the towel and hiding forever in the mountains somewhere is vastly becoming the new plan A for my future. If Dan had indeed sent the article to our classmates, it’s only a matter of time, before the entire town knew. From there, it won’t take long, before someone leaks my name to the press. I’ve seen enough movies and watched enough news coverage to know the potential camera shitstorm that could be heading my way. I just hoped that Alex could take care of it, before it reached the mainstream media.
“Iz, you still there?”
“I’m here,” I reluctantly answer.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want this for you. I thought the hospital was the safest place for me to show you about my life. I guess, I was wrong.”
“Tell me about it. You come barreling into my life again, and now, I’m in the papers. This isn’t what I wanted.”
“I know, Iz, but I’ll do my best to fix this. I’ll be finishing up here in the morning, and I should be back by the time you’re done on the farm. Come over to the house tomorrow night, and we’ll figure this out, I promise. I owe you that much.”
“Will there be photographers?”
“No,” he slightly bites back. “Just us. I’ll even cook, and by cook I mean, picking up something on the way. We don’t need to make the news again, when I burn down my parent’s house, trying to impress you with my lack of culinary skills.”
An unexpected laugh slips out, remembering the one-time Alex tried to cook for me years ago. A bowl of soup ended up having the entire town’s volunteer fire department, banging down their front door, when I panicked and called them. They even gave him the funniest run award that year. I wonder, if he still has that.
“See you tomorrow?” He inquires.
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, how much worse can it get? I’m already your mystery girl,” I offer, trying to make light of our current predicament.
“I like the sound of that,” he answers back.
“Sound of what?”
“My girl. See you tomorrow night.” He hangs up, before I can respond.
9
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Unfortunately, his promise didn’t pan out exactly as he thought. His ‘see you tomorrow’ turned into a see you in three days thanks to his label refusing to let him have time off, until things were ironed out for his next tour. I guess, his little sneaking away stunt put him in hotter water than he expected, which how could it not? All it takes is looking at the supermarket tabloids, to see he’s mentioned on every cover. Their golden boy couldn’t just spirit away without telling them.
One thing he didn’t have to take back was his promise to get the leaked photo of us taken down. Within hours, the article had disappeared from the web, but he was right. Once it’s out there, someone somewhere will have that image saved. Alex’s legal team was even able to track down the original source of the photo, a nursing intern who stumbled onto the floor. He wouldn’t tell me, but I have a feeling she’s looking to get her work experience elsewhere now. For now, it’s contained to just those who knew me from school, and I’d like to keep it that way for my family’s sake, especially with our troubles. It’s not like Alex and I are dating.
It’s a little odd to be thinking about that, to be honest. Not that his little revelation of the whole ‘my girl’ thing in our last phone conversation doesn’t trump anything else in regards to him. Alex was never one for subtly growing up, and his unexpected obsession with me and where I would fall in his new life, has me completely off kilter. Why me, and why now? He’s had all these different chances to see me for anything, but his best friend. How did four years apart and his sudden appearance back home unannounced change all that? It’s like one of those variables from high school algebra. It’s a garbled mess of numbers and letters that just didn’t add up no matter how you tried to solve it. These questions and so many more I hope I can get some clarity tonight over dinner.
Thankfully, I’ve spent most of my time, working on leads for our financial situation to keep me from going off the walls bonkers with trying to decipher just exactly what Alex wants from me. Our farm lender, Mr. Clayton, has been out of town on business, but I was able to secure a meeting with him on Monday. The downside is that the auction, where Dad intends to sell off half of our herd, is tomorrow. I’ve tried and tried to convince him all day to give me a few more days and a chance to talk to the lender, before we sent our girls off to be breeding stock or to the slaughterhouse, but he won’t budge. Tomorrow, I have to take them, and then watch part of our legacy be sold to the highest bidder. My stomach churns in distress at the thought. Dad wanted to be the one to go, but it took a little convincing with Mom’s help, to let me do it on my own. His emotional state is too volatile. I can’t put him through that. On the flip side, I’m holding out hope that I will be able to talk to a few of the vendors I had researched, who according to photos from the last several auctions on their website, are regularly in attendance. Maybe, we can make a little money and a new deal to keep us afloat. A girl can hope anyway.
Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology Page 265