My Wildest Dream: Whisper Lake #2

by Barbara Freethy

  He frowned at his father's words. "What does that mean?"

  "Nothing." His dad gave an impatient shake of his head. "Let's talk about the offer."

  "First, let's talk about what you just said. Your beef with cops has to do with Grandpa not paying you enough attention?"

  "He didn't pay my mother enough attention, either. Not even when she first got sick. Oh, everyone thinks so highly of him for being there at the end of her life; what about before that, when she was diagnosed with cancer and had to start chemo? Then he was still working long shifts, still serving the community, instead of taking care of her, of me. So, forgive me, if I'm not a fan of your new profession."

  "I don't think you ever told me that."

  "Well, it was a long time ago. You know your grandpa and I don't get along."

  "I don't think I ever knew why you disliked him so much."

  "Now you do. But that's not important. I don't want to see you miss an opportunity that could change your life. This is your chance to come back, Brodie."

  "How am I coming back exactly? I'm not skiing. I'm not racing. I won't win any more medals or get any more endorsements."

  "But you can still have an impact on the sport you love. You can help other athletes. You said that's what you like about being a cop. You help people. That's great. But in this opportunity, you can help people who once looked up to you. You can give them a voice. You can raise your sport to a new level. You can make it more accessible to the general public. You can bring the World Cup alive. Everything you do will benefit all the skiers who have come behind you."

  He had to admit his dad could sell like no one else. Every word made him feel he was stepping up to race once more, that victory would soon be his, but they were talking about a news magazine show, not the Olympics. "That's a good pitch, Dad. Why don't we get back to the basics?"

  "Happy to do that. Just pour me a cup of coffee. I have a feeling this won't be a short conversation."

  He had the same feeling, as he filled two mugs. He handed one to his father. "Before we start, try to remember I'm your son."

  His dad met his gaze. "I've never forgotten that. I know you think I rode your fame to the top of my own career, and that's probably true. But I've always had your best interests at heart. I'd like to think that we each contributed to the other's success. And that can continue if you have an open mind." His father paused. "I just need to know one thing. Is Chelsea going to be a factor in your decision?"

  "Maybe."

  "What does she do? Would there be work for her in LA?"

  "She's a teacher," he said, happy that his dad had a complete lack of interest in any music that hadn't been played before 1990.

  "There are lots of teaching jobs in LA."

  "Let's just focus on my offer. Chelsea doesn't need to be part of the conversation. She and I—we're just…getting started."

  "Got it."

  He nodded, knowing in his heart there was no way Chelsea would leave Whisper Lake, especially not to go to a media-heavy city like Los Angeles.

  Should he take that into consideration? She wasn't even sure she wanted to date him.

  On the other hand, they'd gotten very close the last couple of days, and he really wanted to see where things would go. Leaving town now seemed like a bad idea.

  "Brodie, are you going to pay attention?" his father demanded.

  "Right. Speak. I'm listening."

  After feeding Lady Jane, Chelsea searched the neighborhood for paparazzi and then made a mad dash across the street. It felt good to be home again. She took a long shower, got dressed, downed a bowl of cereal and two cups of coffee and felt immensely better and more like herself. She really wished she'd had the chance to meet Brodie's father under better circumstances. No doubt he thought they'd slept together. She shouldn't care. It wasn't like they were teenagers. If she and Brodie wanted to spend the night together, it was no one else's business.

  Setting her empty bowl in the sink, she moved into the living room, so she could see if the photographers had returned. Her heart sank as she saw the same two men sitting in a car out front. They were back. She should count herself lucky that she'd gotten inside before they arrived. On the other hand, she was now trapped. Still, it was better to be in her home than somewhere else. She'd already taken up enough of Brodie's time.

  Her gaze moved across the street. Justin McGuire's rental car was still parked in front of Brodie's house. They were having a long visit. She wondered how that was going.

  Would Brodie be persuaded to take the job? She hated the thought of him leaving Whisper Lake. Seeing him every day was getting to be a very happy habit.

  On the other hand, maybe it would be better if he left. Brodie was taking over her life, making her want to come out of hibernation and feel all the wonderful feelings. But opening herself up to him made her vulnerable. There could be intense pain waiting on the other side of potential happiness, and she didn't want to be sad anymore. She didn't want to feel like crying every other minute. Good times didn't last. And falling for Brodie seemed like the first step to ending up in a lonely place.

  Or…

  She couldn't stop the alternative scenario from running through her head. Maybe with Brodie there wouldn't be pain or loneliness. Maybe it would all be great, and the great would last forever.

  Was that a possibility? Or was that vision driven by foolish hope?

  There were always so many questions when it came to love. She shivered at the thought of loving Brodie, of him loving her back.

  Could their separate paths intersect and become one track? Or would they cross over and then veer apart once more? That seemed most likely. Wouldn't it be easier to just stay in her safe place than risk all the questions?

  As her thoughts rolled around in her head, she thought about writing them down. It was how she'd always worked through her emotions. Feelings became songs. She resisted for a moment and then found herself walking over to the coffee table, where she'd dropped a pile of mail.

  Sitting down on the couch, she picked up a pen and jotted words that were running through her head on the back of a piece of junk mail. They were random phrases, but they felt like the start to something. She abruptly set down the pen, scaring herself once more by a return to the past she'd locked away.

  The slamming of a car door brought her to her feet. She checked the window, anger running through her when she saw Austin and Darla on the sidewalk.

  What the hell was wrong with Austin?

  The men who had been sitting in the other car got out as well. And then Mrs. Petrie came into view, walking her tiny French poodle. The busybody on the block, Mrs. Petrie, of course, stopped to chat. And then Mr. Ralston slowed his car down as he passed her house. He lived three houses away, but he was clearly curious as to what was going on. A moment later, he turned into his driveway, then got out of the car and walked toward her house.

  The crowd was growing by the minute.

  Finally, she saw a car come down the street that made her happy. It was her sister, Lizzie. As Lizzie turned into the driveway, she quickly ran into the kitchen and through the door leading into the garage. She hit the remote, so her sister could pull in. Hopefully, the press would not try to get in after her. Just to be careful, she went back into the house and locked the door, not unlocking it until Lizzie knocked and told her she was alone.

  She quickly pulled Lizzie inside, closing the door behind her.

  "Are you all right?" Lizzie asked, concern in her gaze.

  "I'm fine. I'm just being stalked, as you can see."

  "I can't believe how many people are outside. Did you call Adam?"

  "No. It's not a crime to stand on the sidewalk in front of my house."

  "It should be, when the sole goal is to harass you. I brought your purse and your phone."

  "Thank you," she said, taking her bag out of her sister's hand.

  "Have you talked to Austin again?" Lizzie asked.

  "No, but he came to Brodie's hous
e last night while I was there, and Brodie spoke to Austin and Darla. The woman outside is Darla Hunt."

  "The reporter who did that piece on you several years ago?"

  "Yes. Austin has apparently convinced her that he and I are going to reunite and make beautiful music together both on and off the stage."

  "I read that."

  She frowned at Lizzie's somber statement. "You read it? Where?"

  "It's all over the internet, Chelsea. Pictures from the beach. You and Austin arguing. You and Brodie running away. There are a ridiculous number of stories. I can't believe the crazy headlines."

  "Are they talking about why I quit?"

  "There's the same speculation from before, plus some new theories."

  "Like what?"

  "Are you worried someone is going to find out why you really quit? Because I know it wasn't just stage fright and exhaustion. I understand that you don't want to tell me—"

  "It's never been about wanting to tell you; I just want to protect you from having to lie."

  Her sister met her gaze. "You don't think I'd lie for you? Because I would, especially if the lie would stop this craziness."

  She stared at her sister for a long moment, realizing how deeply she'd hurt Lizzie by her silence. "You need to sit down."

  "You're actually going to tell me?" Lizzie asked in shock, following her over to the kitchen table.

  "Yes." As her sister settled into her seat, she said, "Someone—a young man—killed himself because his girlfriend was inspired by my song, 'No More', to break up with him."

  Lizzie's eyes widened with each word. "Oh, my God. I had no idea what you were going to say, but this explanation was nowhere in my brain. How do you know he blamed you?"

  "The suicide note was addressed to me. His parents wanted it kept out of the press, and so did I. Fortunately, no one else besides the police knew about it. I wasn't just protecting myself, Liz; I wanted to protect his family, too."

  "What about the girlfriend?"

  "The parents told me they didn't show her the note. They were unhappy with her, and they weren’t talking."

  "But you talked to the parents?"

  "Once. I asked the police to set it up."

  "And you didn't tell anyone? What about Austin? You were with him at the time."

  "He was out of the country. I called him, but he didn't call me back. We were having other problems, too."

  "Did this happen before you froze the last time you tried to perform?"

  "Three days before. When I stepped on stage, and I saw all those teen girls looking up at me like I was their hero, their role model. Their adoration took on a crazed note, and all I could think about was that someone was dead because of me, because of what I inspired. I couldn't breathe. I panicked. I had to get out of there. It was the most terrifying moment of my life."

  "You should have told me, Chelsea."

  "I wanted to, but I was terrified the news would get out. The press was stalking everyone who knew me. I couldn't put the burden on any of you to lie for me."

  "But that was eighteen months ago. In all that time, you never felt like you could say something?"

  "After it died down, I didn't want to think about it anymore. It was easier to stay silent. I know I hurt you, Lizzie; I'm sorry. It just felt like a weight I had to carry on my own."

  "But you told Brodie. Why him and not me?"

  "Because…" She shrugged. "I don't actually know why. It was the night Austin showed up at the inn. Brodie drove me to the beach, and he was being kind and understanding. He knew the celebrity life in a way that you didn't. He'd been the subject of tabloid stories that were completely false. He understood what I was going through. He also knew what it felt like to be someone's hero only to fail them."

  Although Lizzie still seemed put out that Brodie had been told first, she seemed to understand how it had happened.

  "I guess that makes sense," Lizzie said. "I'm glad he was there for you. You like him, don't you?"

  "Honestly? Probably too much."

  "How can it be too much?"

  "Because I like being safe—no highs, no lows, just quiet. Brodie isn't any of those things. He also might be leaving."

  "What?" Lizzie asked in surprise.

  "I shouldn't say anything, and you can't tell Adam, but Brodie has a job offer in LA that would put him back in the sports world. He hasn't decided if he'll take it, but he might. His dad is at his house now trying to convince him. Even if I was willing to take a risk with him, he might leave."

  "Or you might give him a reason to stay."

  "I would never ask him to do that. He lost everything when he crashed on that mountain. I want him to be happy. He deserves it."

  "Spoken like someone who cares about him."

  "I do care about him. He's been great. But I also know that I can't keep relying on him to fix my situation or to hide me away from Austin and the press. I need to take care of this myself."

  "I agree. What are you going to do?"

  She thought about the question for a long moment, wondering if she really had the courage to confront Austin in front of the paparazzi. But if she didn't deal with him, this would never end. He was also controlling the story to his benefit and her detriment. She couldn’t allow that. She couldn't continue to hide. It was time to come out in the open.

  "Chelsea?" Lizzie prodded.

  "I'm going to walk out my front door and talk to the press," she said. "I have a voice. I need to use it."

  "And say what?"

  "That I'm not reuniting with Austin, that I love being a teacher and that's my job now."

  "Okay."

  "What?" she asked, seeing doubt in her sister's eyes. "You don't think I should?"

  "Actually, I do, but I have to ask you a question first. Do you love teaching, Chelsea? Do you really love it? Or is it just what you're settling for? I know what you look like, how you act, when you're passionate about something, and I have never ever seen that same excitement on your face since you quit singing and took up teaching." Lizzie paused, giving her a hard look. "You just said you have a voice and you need to use it. Maybe you need to use it for more than just talking to the press. Maybe you need to sing again. Your music didn't make that boy kill himself. I don't think it even made his girlfriend break up with him. She was already thinking that he was wrong for her; your song just emphasized what she was feeling."

  "If you'd read his letter, you'd know that my music played a part. And you should have seen his parents' eyes: they were so sad. They were trying not to blame me, but they couldn't help but feel that way. I can't risk hurting anyone else ever again."

  "What about helping someone else?"

  "I'm helping kids when I teach."

  "You help when you sing, too. I was going to tell you not to go online, not to read anything, but I was wrong. You need to read what your fans are saying. You need to realize that your influence can also be good. You've had people who listened to your songs while their loved ones were in surgery. One girl said your song about taking back your power inspired her to deal with a sexual assault from her teens. Your reach is so much longer than you think."

  "I'm very aware now of my long reach; that's the problem. For every good story, there's a bad one."

  "I don't think it evens out like that. But I can see you're not ready to accept that. And you have to do that on your terms."

  "I do. But I can take my power back by telling the truth, instead of letting Austin run this show. However, I know that even my side will get spun into something else. That's the reality."

  "They can't spin what you say in front of a camera."

  "That's true."

  "You're stronger than you know, Chelsea. You can do this."

  She wanted to believe her sister was right, but maybe she needed to prove it to both of them. Standing up, she threw back her shoulders, lifted her jaw and said, "I'm going to do it. I will talk to the press and stop Austin's runaway storyline. I just hope I don't get any qu
estions on the suicide. Austin hinted last night to Brodie that he knew something. If I hit him hard, he might hit back."

  "It's a risk," Lizzie admitted, getting to her feet. "But he could do that even if you say nothing. It could be his next shot at you. Or he'll try to leverage you with blackmail."

  "I just wonder why he hasn't already done that. If he knows my secret, why wouldn't he have just used it already to get me to go along with him?"

  "It sounds like he tried to do that through Brodie. But it's possible he was just guessing, figuring you had a reason for leaving music that you haven't yet shared with anyone. He wanted to make you nervous."

  "He succeeded."

  "You can wait until you know for sure what information he has, so you're not blindsided."

  She could wait, but she didn't want to. "I can't be trapped in my house or Brodie's house anymore. I don't want to run away from parties or my friends. This has to stop." She paused, considering her strategy. "I think Austin's career is suffering. He's desperate. He's been doing nothing but duets the past year, with whatever artist is on the rise. He's lost his voice. Maybe I can turn this around on him, but in a positive way."

  "How are you going to do that?" Lizzie asked curiously.

  "I'm not sure. We'll see what words come out of my mouth."

  "Okay. I'm coming with you. I've got your back, Chelsea."

  "Thanks." She gave her sister a warm, grateful look.

  "And, hey, if you want to take a swing at Austin's pretty face, I wouldn't blame you."

  "I'm sure the photographers would love that."

  "It might be worth it."

  "It might be, but hopefully it won't come to that."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "What on earth is going on across the street?" his father asked Brodie, as they stepped out onto the porch.

  After too long of a discussion and many cups of coffee, he and his dad had finally hashed out all the details of the job offer. He had a lot to think about. But at the moment, his only thought was for Chelsea, whose house was surrounded by press and neighbors. "Austin is taking this too far," he muttered.