That night—while my mind took note of the elbow jab in the boob as he scrambled into place, the taste of blood when I accidentally bit his lip in my anxiousness to fuse our lips together at that perfect moment, the spot on my hip that bruised later where he held on too tightly, the scratch on his shoulder where I held on too tightly, and that sharp pain that hurt more than I imagined and lasted longer than I expected when two bodies melded together—my heart catalogued the smile on his face that was meant for only me, the awe in his eyes when I shattered around him on our second try, the rightness of waking up in his arms twice in the span of a few hours, and the three most magical words in the history of all languages whispered against my lips after we’d merged bodies, hearts and souls. We’d shared those words many times in the years after that night—sometimes as friends, sometimes as lovers, sometimes as more. But every single time we said them, the moment was seared on my heart.
♪ Love of a Lifetime by Firehouse
CHAPTER 18
DAWSON
“Y o, Bas. How ya’ been?” I asked as I gave him a half-hug.
“Great, man. I hear you guys are taking the road we’ve been traveling,” he said as he led me to his office.
“Yeah. And I was hoping I could pick your brain. Now that we’ve taken the plunge, I kind of feel like we might sink instead of swim. I had no idea just how much crap there was to keep organized,” I admitted.
“I figured that was why you wanted to meet up. I actually put together some stuff for you, suggestions, checklists and more that I think will help.” He settled into one of the chairs in his office and grabbed the blue folder from on top of his desk.
He handed it over and launched into spending the next hour explaining the contents of the folder.
My meeting with Sebastian was very productive. He advised me on the things we needed to get in place first and what things could wait. When we were done, he gave me a tour of their space. As he was showing me around the recording booths, I stopped to listen to a guy in the end booth. He was someone I didn’t know. But his voice was unique.
“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing inside.
He smiled like a proud parent. “That’s Tyler Rich. He’s been coming around for a little while now. He’s going to hit the country scene big really soon.”
“I can see that. His sound is upbeat and fun. Perfect for today’s country fans.” I listened to the lyrics of the song he was singing. And every one of them hit me in the heart. “Do you think I could meet him?” I needed to meet the man bringing to life the words that were now resonating in my heart.
“Sure. When he finishes this round, I’ll get him to take a break.”
If Izzy heard this song, would the words touch her like they did me? Country music definitely wasn’t Izzy’s genre of choice, so she’d never encounter this song on her own. But she’d always examined lyrics growing up. Hell, she was the reason I learned to appreciate songs in the first place. How could I get her to hear those words?
While I mulled it over, Tyler finished recording. The door opened, and he strolled into the sound room. “Hey, Sebastian,” he said, shaking Bas’s hand.
“Hey, man. My friend here wanted me to introduce you.” Sebastian gestured towards me. “Tyler Rich, this is Dawson—”
“Anderson from Lyrical Odyssey,” Tyler finished, grinning at me and holding out his hand.
I shook it. “Hey, Tyler. You sounded amazing in there.”
“Thanks, man. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m a big fan.” He rocked back and forth on his boots.
“That song you were just recording, did you write it?” I asked.
“Yeah.” His lips spread into a wide grin.
“Those lyrics were spot on. Maybe I could cover it sometime. Or maybe we could perform it together,” I asked nervously.
“That’d be cool.”
“Here’s my number,” I said as I pulled a paper out of my pocket with my cell phone number.
“Let me give you mine.” He ripped a slip of paper off the notebook on the soundboard and jotted his down.
“Bas, I gotta get outta here. I’ll catch up with you later. And Tyler, it was great meeting you. I’ll be in touch.” I saluted them both.
“I look forward to it,” Tyler said before settling the headphones over his ears to listen to his playback.
WHEN I ARRIVED HOME an hour later, there was a package on my doorstep. Frowning, I picked it up and carried it inside. The return address was our old record label’s. Once I got it opened, I found a typed letter on top of a stack of colored envelopes.
Dear Lyrical Odyssey,
Enclosed you will find the fan mail that has been received at our office since we parted ways. We sorted the letters written to each of you individually. Then we divided up those that were addressed to the band as a whole. Please provide us with a new address to forward the next batch to until you can arrange for someone to handle your fans specifically.
Sincerely,
Pam Stone
I shuffled through the stack and discovered most of the colored squares were addressed to me. There were a few addressed to the entire band. It had been several years since I’d seen any of the fan mail that got sent to us. Being on the road for such a long tour made it hard for mail to catch up with us. I made a mental note to talk with the guys about getting someone in place to handle the letters from our fans.
Sinking into the corner of the couch, I started opening the letters. The first letter contained a photo of a cute teenaged girl and a note saying how our music inspired her. Reading it made me feel good and made all the exhausting hours worth it.
After an hour, I’d gone through about half the stack. There had been a few long, heartfelt letters that really tugged my heart. There were lots of envelopes containing naked or nearly naked girls posing with our CDs. There was a handful of marriage proposals. A purple envelope was next in the stack. Running my finger beneath the flap, I broke the seal. Inside was a sheet of white paper straight out of a horror movie. The body of the letter was formed from cut out letters of various colors and sizes. A cold sweat covered my skin. As my eyes scanned the note, my heart skipped a beat.
DEAR DAWSON
Heard the clip of your new song. It's so sweet you're writing it for me. I knew I mattered to you. I was beginning to wonder since you never answer my letters.
Love,
Me.
THERE WAS a handful of cut up pieces of paper loose in the envelope. I tried to piece them together, but they seemed to not go with each other.
I turned over the envelope and examined the postmark. The date was the day I posted the song clip. I shuffled through the rest of the stack and found one other envelope with the same handwriting. It was postmarked two weeks before the one I'd already opened. With a knot in my stomach, I opened it. I couldn't explain the sense of foreboding I felt. The note wasn't threatening. It was a bit creepy that the writer used magazine clippings to write it. But the message wasn't alarming. Neither was the one I just opened.
Exactly.
Dear Dawson, A couple of months after your tour ends, I'm moving to LA. So, we can be together. Soon.
Love,
Me.
♪ Every Breath You Take by the Police
A shiver ran down my spine. Inside the envelope were another few scraps of paper. There still weren’t enough of them for me to decipher what was printed on the photo. Probably a picture of herself Photoshopped with me or something.
I went to the security panel and made sure everything was set to the highest settings.
Rifling through the remaining envelopes, I didn’t find any more with that handwriting. But the sender indicated there had been several letters. I wasted no time calling Lila. She’d know who I needed to talk to about old letters.
“Hey, Dawson. What’s up?” she said as soon as she picked up.
“Hey. I received a box from the record label containing some unopened fan mail they’d received since we left. Would you ha
ppen to know what happened to fan mail that was received before we left the label?” I paced my living room, checking the windows to make sure they were locked. I just had a strange feeling.
“Yes. Pam Stone oversees all the label’s clients, but she assigns each client someone directly. Barb and her team handled LO’s fan correspondence. Why are you asking?”
“I got some letters today that seem to indicate there were previous letters. I’d like to see them,” I said vaguely. I didn’t want to let on how creeped out I was by the two notes so far. I didn’t want to seem like a wimp.
“I doubt that’s possible,” she said.
“What? Why not?” My brows furrowed.
“Well, you guys receive a lot of mail. The team saves a few of the sweetest, most original letters. Sometimes they’re good for promo. But most of the rest get trashed after a few months,” she explained.
“Do the fans get a response to their letters?” I wondered out loud.
“If I’m not mistaken, a certain percentage get mailed a formal letter and some band swag to thank them for their support.”
That was something that needed to change. They all deserved an acknowledgement for having our backs.
“If they saved them for a few months, who should I call to get what they saved?” I asked, my mind racing at what the previous notes might reveal.
“I’ll text you Barb’s number. She’ll be able to help you. The letters you’re looking for… were you wanting to meet the person? Because I have to say, that wouldn’t be a good idea,” she cautioned.
“No. I can’t explain it. The letters were just… different. So, I wanted to investigate more.”
“OK. I’ll get you that number. Hope you find what you need. Let me know if I can help,” she offered.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hung up and went in the kitchen to get something to drink. Within a few seconds, my phone vibrated with the text from Lila. Without much thought, I dialed the number.
“Hello,” a professional, feminine voice answered.
“Hi, Barb. This is Dawson Anderson. It’s my understanding you were in charge of Lyrical Odyssey’s fan mail until we left the label.”
“Yes, sir. I was. Is there something I can help you with?” she asked pleasantly.
“Today, I received a batch of unopened letters that were forwarded to me from the label,” I began.
“Yes, I got them together for you guys.”
“Thanks for that. I don’t want our fans to get lost in the transition. Anyway, Lila said you keep a few months’ worth of old letters.” I spun my water bottle in a circle on the countertop.
“We do. There are about ten boxes full in the closet in my office,” she confirmed.
“Wow. I had no idea.” It was humbling that so many people took the time to write us.
“You guys don’t really have time to deal with the mundane task of reading the mail. It’s a lot.”
“We are busy. I just wish I’d known so many people bothered to send something to us. Especially in this day and age, when written communication is becoming obsolete. Can I come by and get the boxes from you?” I gave my bottle a massive twist, sending it spiraling across the granite while I waited for her response.
“I don’t see why not. It’s your mail.” She laughed.
“I’ll be by there in about an hour.”
“See you then.” She disconnected.
Scooping up my keys, I made my way to my car. With traffic, it took me almost the full hour to drive to our old label’s office.
As I strode up to the receptionist’s desk, the cute girl’s face flushed, and she jumped to her feet. “Hi… uh… you’re Daw… Dawson from LO.”
“Yeah, I am. Can you point me in the direction of Barb?”
“Oh, sure. Fourth floor, second door on the right,” she stammered.
“Thanks.” As I headed to the elevator, I suppressed the urge to chuckle. People seemed to forget I was still just a human being. Just because I performed and made music, didn’t make me more.
♪ Just a Man by Somo
Moments after my ascent started, a ding signaled I’d reached my destination. The stammering fan downstairs must have called ahead, because a woman in a pant suit waited when the doors slid open.
“Mr. Anderson, I’m Barb. Chloe rang to let me know you’d arrived.” She held out her hand in greeting.
“Thanks for seeing me so quickly. And please call me Dawson,” I said as I gave her hand a shake.
“Follow me, Dawson.”
Her heels clicked on the shiny floor as we made our way to what I assumed was her office. In the center was a large Rubbermaid tote. “There are nine more like this in the closet over there.” She pointed to the open door in the corner.
I sat in front of the box on the floor and removed the lid. There were hundreds of envelopes in there. “Wow. It’s going to take me forever to go through them all,” I mused.
“You have a lot of loyal fans.”
“I can see that. It’s pretty humbling. I mean, I know they come to our shows and buy our albums. But writing us letters, that’s something they don’t expect anything in return for.” I took out a handful and started sorting through them. The sharp, angular handwriting wasn’t on any of the envelopes I grabbed.
After looking through another stack, Barb cleared her throat. “Maybe if you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help. When we open the mail, we sort them. Letters from young kids. Letters that seem to be from repeat senders. Letters that might need to be used as evidence later.”
“Evidence?” I glanced up at her.
“Yeah. Management told us from the beginning to flag anything that might look suspicious or threatening… Just in case something ever happened,” she explained. “Sometimes fans can get a little crazy. Feel a tad entitled because they support you or you smiled at them or God forbid, you slept with one. So, we hang on to any that might be needed by the police later.”
My lips turned down in a frown. Were the letters I just received considered suspicious or threatening?
Not really. They just made me feel weird.
“Well, there were two letters in the box I got today from the same person. They didn’t actually contain threats or anything. But they gave me a creepy vibe. If that makes sense.” I shrugged as I struggled to put into words what feelings the scraps of paper had invoked.
“Creepy how?”
Reaching into my coat’s interior pocket, I pulled out the two letters. “They’re made using magazine cut-outs, rather than being typed or handwritten. You know, like a ransom note or stalker note on TV.”
Her face paled a bit. “Let me see.” The silence thickened between us after she read the notes.
“I have a stack of letters from this sender.” She rose and went to the closet.
I got up from the floor and sank into one of the chairs. Barb sat in the chair next to me and placed a box on the table between us.
“These letters don’t really threaten anything. But like you, they gave me an eerie feeling. So, I set them all aside. They’re in the box in order by postmark. I can’t say every letter she wrote is in this box, because it’s possible there were handwritten letters before this type started coming.” Her brow was creased with worry lines.
“You think the sender is a female?” I figured so myself but thought it would be assuming too much to say it out loud.
“Statistically speaking, ninety percent of your fan mail is sent by females. But other than that, a few of the letters had lipstick kisses and perfume sprayed on them, so I’d say it’s a safe bet to assume the sender is female.”
For some reason, that disturbed me even more. I grabbed the first letter and opened it. The postmark showed it was sent in 2015. Three years ago. A hint of perfume wafted from the envelope as I pulled out the sheet of paper.
DEAR DAWSON,
I love you. Your words speak to my soul. We're meant t
o be.
Love,
Me.
“THERE AREN’T any pieces of cut up photo in this one,” I mused.
“No, the first few didn’t have them.”
The next several letters were much the same. They referenced various lyrics and spoke of coming to a concert soon. But they had no photo pieces either.
DEAR DAWSON,
I know you had to feel the spark when our eyes met again after all this time. I'm waiting for you. I've been waiting for you for years.
Love,
Me.
PAPER HEARTS FELL out of the envelope, along with a few scraps of photo paper. Paper hearts like I always enclosed in my letters to Izzy. No one knew about that. Did they?
My heart raced as I calculated how many envelopes remained in the box. Assuming they all had photo bits in them, there may be enough to figure out who the sender was. Or at least what the puzzle was she wanted me to solve.
“I think I’ll read the rest of these at home, where I can start sorting out all these clues,” I said.
“No problem. Let me know if I can help in any other way.”
“Actually, do you have someone you can recommend to handle our fan mail now that we aren’t part of the label anymore?” I asked her.
“Yes, I do. I have an unpaid intern who has been wonderful. She’s already familiar with my sorting system. And she’s even helped me order the swag we send to some of your fans in response to their notes. Would you like to meet her?” Barb asked.
“Please.”
Barb stood and left the room. While she was gone, I couldn’t resist opening one more letter.
DEAR DAWSON,
It’s been years since we talked. But I know that when we finally reunite, the lost time will melt away.
Love,
Me.
SO, I’d talked to this girl before. Probably backstage at some meet-and-greet. Or at a bar after a gig. I really hoped she wasn’t someone I’d hooked up with before Izzy. The thought filled my gut with ice. Having exchanged two sentences with her wouldn’t give me a clue as to who she was.
Notes of the Heart: Book 2 of the Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Page 22