Write You a Love Song

by Francisco, Fabiola

  “I’ll try it. You know I want what’s best for you, not just as your manager but as your friend.”

  I sigh. “I know that. Thanks. If you need anything, call David. He’s up to date with everything.”

  “I will. I’ll do my best, but Knox …” he pauses.

  “Yeah?”

  “Think about staying in the industry under different circumstances. We can create a label and make the music you were meant to.” His voice amps up with hope.

  “I won’t make any promises. Right now, I want to put all of this behind me.” I don’t want to give him false hope by saying I’ll think about it. If I go back to country music, that will probably be the route I take, but right now I need to work on clearing my name and my affiliation to RWB Records.

  After hanging up with him, I call David and tell him this plan may just work. I was hesitant at first when he mentioned staying loyal to the NDA and only breaching it if the label didn’t grant me what I want. Blackmail at its finest, but it’s worth a shot. After all, I’m feeding them their same medicine.

  As much as I want to tell everyone the truth about all this, David put things into perspective. I gain nothing by speaking the truth if it pisses the label off and I need to cut ties with them first.

  Exhaling, I grab my coat and head to the grocery store. Lord knows I need to stock up my kitchen.

  As I’m strolling through the aisles with a cart, I see a familiar face.

  “Hey.” I walk up to Ainsley.

  “Hi.” She looks at me with a smile. “Fancy meeting you here.” She does a half-curtsey thing that causes me to laugh.

  Does this woman ever frown?

  “In desperate need of stocking up my kitchen, or I’ll be eating at Clarke’s every day,” I explain.

  “Our food’s not bad.” She shakes her head. “Sure, it’s not the healthiest,” she shrugs.

  “Yup, and sometimes I just want a home-cooked meal.”

  “You cook?” She raises her eyebrows, her eyes widening almost comically.

  I chuckle, “Yeah, don’t seem so surprised.” I nudge her with my elbow.

  “Sorry, just didn’t think famous people actually cooked.”

  “I was a small-town boy before I became famous. If I didn’t help out ‘round the house, I wouldn’t be allowed to play my guitar, so I helped my mom in the kitchen,” I share, nostalgia sweeping through me.

  “That’s cool. I agree nothing beats a home-cooked meal.” She lifts her basket.

  I look at the contents and furrow my brows. “Fritos and canned chili aren’t exactly home-cooked.”

  “No, but I don’t have time to make chili from scratch before work, and I’m craving Frito pie.”

  “Frito what?” My face screws in confusion.

  “Frito pie, you know?” She lifts her basket higher.

  “No, I don’t.” I shake my head.

  “You make chili then serve it over Fritos and add cheese and sour cream. God, it’s so good.” She practically moans.

  “Never heard of it,” I state, shrugging.

  “That’s insane!” She slaps my forearm. “Oh, sorry.” She takes a step back, pursing her lips.

  “It’s okay. I guess I’m going to have to try this Frito pie thing sometime. It was good to see you.” I make my way down the aisle but stop when she calls out to me.

  “Want to try it today? I’ll have enough for two people. Actually, it’d probably be good that I share if not I’ll risk eating it all and I can’t afford to do that,” she rambles like the day I saw her at the coffee shop.

  “Um,” I look around the aisle.

  “No pressure. I probably shouldn’t have asked. Sorry.” She turns around to walk away.

  “Wait,” I call to her. “Why the hell not? Easier than cooking for one. Let me grab a few things before we go?” I ask, just in case she’s in a hurry since she works tonight.

  “Sounds good, I still need to pick up some stuff, too.”

  “I’ll buy whatever else you need for the Frito pie,” I offer.

  “No way, I was buying the ingredients anyway.”

  “Yeah, but instead of having leftovers, or stuffing yourself,” I smirk, “you’ll have to share with me.”

  “Ha ha, make fun of me now, but we’ll see who asks for seconds later,” she mocks, pointing at me as the basket hangs from her arm.

  “In that case,” I grab a second can of chili. “We’ll probably need two of these.” I hold it up and shake it.

  Her smile lights up her face, her blue eyes shining as her head bobs up and down rapidly. I shake my head and grab what I need before meeting her by the register.

  “You can follow me, we’re not far from my apartment,” she says as she loads her bags into her backseat.

  “Sounds good.” I walk to my truck and follow her out of the parking lot, questioning what the fuck I’m doing by agreeing to have lunch with her, but her happiness is contagious.

  I follow her into her apartment, looking around at the small space. Photographs are sprinkled throughout the room, hanging on the walls and placed on a shelf with some books.

  “Is this your grandmother?” I hold up a frame of Ainsley with an older woman.

  “That’s my Geema,” she smiles proudly.

  “Cute nickname,” I tease, placing the frame back in its place.

  “I thought I was cool growing up, making it sound like a rapper’s name or something, you know, G-Money, but instead Geema stuck,” she giggles. “I’m such a dork.” She covers her face with her hand and looks away, unpacking her groceries.

  I smile at her and ask, “What can I help you with?” I walk into her narrow kitchen and look around.

  “I’ve got this, you can take a seat and relax.”

  “No way, you bought the food, so I’ll help. Besides, how else will I learn to make Frito pie if I don’t help?” I cross my arms.

  “True. Okay, it’s super easy since we’re using canned chili. All we have to do is warm up the chili in a pot. Then, we’ll put Fritos in a bowl, pour the chili over it, and top it with cheese and sour cream. It’s really a no-brainer.” She grabs a pot and puts it over the stove while I open the two cans of chili and pour them inside.

  While Ainsley stirs the chili, I divide the Fritos into two bowls. “Is that enough?” I show her one of the bowls.

  “A little more. Don’t be shy with the Fritos. Carbs are our friend, I promise,” her eyes twinkle with a smile.

  I laugh and nod. “Okay, so a lot more Fritos.” I fill the bowls to her liking and wait for the chili to heat through.

  “Do you want something to drink? I should’ve offered when we first arrived. Not using my best bartending manners at home.” She reaches for two glasses. “I’ve got water, coke, and beer.”

  “Water is perfect.”

  She fills the glasses with water from the dispenser on the fridge and hands one to me. “Thanks.” I take a chug. “Are you adjusting better to meeting people here?” I ask her.

  “Kinda. Working the bar at Clarke’s helps some, but I still haven’t broken into the cliques of women my age.”

  “Don’t stress it. If they’re not willing to get to know you, then it’s their loss.”

  “I guess, but… I don’t know. I want to do more than work, and it’s kinda awkward to go out by yourself,” she frowns.

  “Only if you make it awkward. Besides, with time, you’ll become more familiar with the locals,” I reassure her.

  She nods and claps her hands. “Okay, this is done! Moment of truth.” She shakes her shoulders in a shimmy, and I stare at her in equal parts amusement and admiration for her constant positive attitude.

  She ladles two healthy servings of chili over the Fritos and hands me the shredded cheese. I add some on top of mine and wait for her to finish hers before taking a seat at the small, round table she has in the living room next to the kitchen.

  I take a bite and find Ainsley staring with lifted eyebrows, waiting for my assessment. “So?” sh
e taps her fingers together in front of her chest.

  “Good thing I grabbed that second can. This is like Fritos nachos.”

  “Yes,” she squeals and dances in her seat before digging in.

  I get to know Ainsley a little better as we eat. She asks me about growing up in Everton and is careful to steer clear from any mention of my music career, for which I’m grateful.

  “Ugh,” Ainsley pushes her empty bowl away from her and pats her stomach. “Two full bowls was way too much.”

  “And yet you ate it all,” I stare at her bowl. She ate as much as I did.

  “Hell yeah. I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. Thank God I’ll be running around the bar all night.”

  “What time do you have to go in?” Spending the afternoon with her has been nice. It feels good to hang out with someone who isn’t fishing for information or treating me like I might explode at any moment.

  She cranes her neck to the side and looks at the clock on the oven. “Oh crap,” she leaps from her seat and grabs our plates. “I gotta leave in ten.”

  “I can clean up while you get ready,” I offer.

  “Will you? Oh my God, thanks,” she hugs me and runs to her bedroom. I stand in her apartment, stiff and unsure, before shaking off the feeling and washing the plates and the pot.

  “You didn’t have to wash them. You could’ve let them sit in water, and I’d get to it later tonight,” she walks out of her room dressed for work in her black slacks and white Clarke’s polo.

  “You cooked, so it’s the least I could do for feeding me,” I shrug. “Besides, I doubt you’ll want to clean when you get home from work.”

  “Thanks.” She grabs her purse. “Ready?”

  I nod and follow her out. “Thanks for lunch. It was better than going home and getting stuck in my thoughts.”

  “Anytime. It was nice to have company as well. I’ll see you around.” She hops into her car, her permanent smile causing me to smile in return. I wave before climbing into my truck.

  This woman is something else. The more I get to know her, the more Matt’s words about opening up pop into my head. I think about Reese, what I put her through, and how painful it was to lose her.

  I don’t deserve to be happy again.

  Knox

  “Hello?” I pause my workout as I answer my phone.

  “Hey, Knox,” David’s voice moves through the speaker.

  “What’s going on?” I sling the towel I was using to wipe my face over my shoulder.

  “I’ve got some updates from Amelia’s lawyer. She’s refusing to agree to the amount you’ve offered, despite your marriage being so short that the alimony would only last two years. In other words, she’s being difficult on purpose,” he states, sounding as annoyed as I feel.

  “God, I’m going to have to talk to her. I don’t understand why she’s acting this way when she doesn’t care about me.” I run a hand down my face.

  “You know I don’t advise that. What we can do is set up a meeting, both lawyers present, and see if we can settle on something. If not, we’ll have to go to court.”

  I take a seat on the bench against the wall of my gym and grip the phone. I wanted to avoid going to court and making more of a scandal than necessary, but this is getting out of hand. More of the lies Amelia’s spreading continue to get twisted in magazines and online sites.

  “Do you think a meeting will help?” I ask, blowing a heavy breath.

  “It could. At this point, what do you have to lose?” I can imagine him shrugging as he sits back in his big California office with the Hollywood sign visible from his floor to ceiling windows.

  “You’re right. Listen, about the rumors she’s spreading, can we use that to our advantage?” I stand and begin pacing.

  “It would be her word against yours.”

  “Fine. Set up a meeting and I’ll fly out for it,” I say with finality. I want this done and over with.

  “I’ll get back to you. Have you heard from Harris?”

  “Not yet, I’m hoping to hear from him today. Two days is enough time for the label to make a decision. If not, they can sue me. I’m done being their puppet.” I grind my teeth.

  “Let me know. I’ll call Amelia’s lawyer and get back to you with a date.”

  I thank him and hang up, cutting my workout short and jumping in the shower. This seems like a never-ending nightmare, but there has to be an end to this madness soon. If I can knock some sense into Amelia, it will help. She’s always been insecure despite her success, and I’m assuming her hesitation is due to her belief that without our marriage, she won’t be good enough for the public eye. Seeing her in person might soften her attitude.

  I head into town and spend some time walking around with no real direction. I don’t allow the stares to create a wedge between me and my love for this place. They’re just curious, wondering what’s true and what isn’t. They’re probably questioning how much I’ve changed to live the life they’re reading about in the media, and if the boy they knew is the same man standing before them today.

  My approach has always been to ignore the rumors and not feed into them. The more I speak up, the more fuel I’ll feed the gossip mags. However, with Amelia’s recent actions, I may need to release a statement.

  If I could turn back time…

  I shake that thought away. There’s no turning back, there never is, only living the present with the consequences of our actions and learning from them.

  “Hey.” I turn my head to the right to see Eli standing on the sidewalk.

  “What’s up?” I shake his hand.

  “Grabbing some feed.” He juts his head toward Cowboy’s Feed Store. “How about you?”

  “Taking a walk. I’ve missed this place, and it isn’t exactly easy to get out and walk around without getting some kind of questions thrown my way, but today I said fuck it.” I shrug, hooking my thumbs into my jean pockets.

  “I can’t imagine,” he shakes his head. “You sure you’re okay?” He narrows his eyes, analyzing me.

  “As okay as I can be.” I offer a tight smile.

  “Let’s grab a drink tonight. Clarke’s at seven?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I have to submerge myself back into society at some point.

  “Cool. See ya later.” He waves over his shoulder and heads into the store.

  I keep on walking around the town center, saying hello to the few people who greet me. I’m starting to lose my patience with all of this free time, and I know it’s on me to change my routine. Maybe if I try to write something, I’ll find my groove again. I’ve sold millions of records in my career, putting me on top of the industry. There’s no reason why I can’t keep doing that on my own terms.

  I toss the idea around as I head into a diner for lunch before calling Harris for an update.

  …

  “You better have good fuckin’ news after ignoring my calls all afternoon,” I growl, as I answer the call through my car’s Bluetooth speaker.

  “I was in meetings all day, but I do have good news.”

  I pause and wait for him to continue. “The label doesn’t want the stunt to be made public. It was hard to convince them, which is why I couldn’t answer before.”

  “Stop talking in circles and tell me what they said,” I bark out, slamming on my brakes to avoid taking a red light.

  “They’ll end the contract early, but every term on projects you worked on with them remains the same. That means you’ll still have shared royalties for the songs you recorded through them, but you’ll be free to do whatever you want in the future as long as you stick to your NDA.”

  “I can do that,” I breathe out. Finally.

  “One more thing,” he pauses. I should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy. “You must perform on New Year’s Eve in Nashville, and you can’t damage their reputation by talking about anything that happened.”

  “Got it, I’ll keep quiet. I just want to break away from them.” These are the terms I ment
ioned to Harris when I told him to negotiate for me, so I’m taking this as the first sign of good things coming my way.

  “Oh, also,” I hear papers rustling on the line. “If you were to decide to start your own label, you can’t steal any of their artists,” Harris finishes off.

  “Did you tell them you suggested that to me?” I ask, pulling into the parking lot in front of Clarke’s.

  “Hell, no. The label knows I’m your manager, and I work for you, but they didn’t ask about any of that. Artists tend to break away and go on their own, so they add that clause,” he explains.

  “All right. Thanks. Can you call David?”

  “I plan to call him now, but I wanted to talk to you first and make sure you agreed with this.” Harris’s tired voice comes through my speakers. Lately, I’ve forgotten he was my friend before my manager, and I know I’ve shut him out.

  “I appreciate it. And, Harris,” I hesitate. “Whatever I decide, you’ll be the first to know.” I owe him that. He’s been my manager since I started this crazy ride and my friend for longer. He’s fought alongside me; I won’t leave him in the dark. Even if I am frustrated with my career, he deserves to know what I decide.

  “Thanks. If you need anything, call,” Harris offers.

  “Will do. Gotta go.” I hang up and take a few deep breaths, watching the icy rain land on my windshield.

  Things took a different path than I planned, but this will guarantee that I can leave RWB Records and start new, whatever I choose to do with my life. Soon, I’ll be a free man.

  Feeling lighter, I run into Clarke’s and sit at the bar while I wait for Eli.

  “Look what the rain dragged in,” a cheery voice says.

  I look up to see Ainsley leaning against the bar, opposite where I’m sitting, her arms crossed against her chest.

  “Hey.”

  “What can I get you? Beer or whiskey?” She tilts her head and uncrosses her arms, letting them fall to her sides.

  “Whiskey,” I confirm.

  She nods and turns to grab a glass and the bottle before she serves the drink in front of me.