The Plan: A Sweet and Sexy Rock Star Romantic Comedy (The Creek Water Series Book 3)

by Whitney Dineen

  “You’ll be just fine,” she says. “You went to Disney World before. That’s farther away than Chicago is.”

  “But I haven’t been there in twenty years and, if you’ll recall, that didn’t go so well.”

  “Honey,” she says, “you got this. You’re going by car with people you like. What can possibly go wrong?”

  A litany of grim scenarios starts to form in my head—everything from freak earthquakes down the New Madrid Fault Line to alien invasion. My fears are nothing if not equal opportunity nuts. “I can’t talk right now, Em. I’ve got loads of stuff to do.”

  “Have a great time, takes heaps of pictures, and OMG, you’re going to Chicago with Huck Wiley! I’m so proud of you I could bust.”

  I say goodbye and hang up before she can say anything else.

  I’m going to Chicago with Huck Wiley. Crap.

  Huck calls to tell me that they’ll pick me up at eight in the morning.

  “I thought I was driving,” I tell him.

  “That’s a lot of miles to put on your car. Plus, I’m used to driving in big cities and unknown territory. I promise to keep you safe.”

  I hadn’t thought about trying to navigate new freeways and city traffic. Just goes to show you what a bad idea this trip is. “Fine,” I tell him, “you drive.”

  “Amelia, I really am sorry. Yes, I was trying to force your hand, but I honestly had no idea Maggie would get so emotional. I had no intention of backing you into a corner.”

  “I know it.” I let him off the hook before asking, “How’s Maggie doing?”

  “She’s not quite herself. I think Cootie’s reaction was more emotional than she expected it would be.” Cootie’s reaction was the most unemotional thing I’ve seen, and I say as much.

  “I don’t think Maggie expected to feel so emotional,” Huck amends.

  “Do you think that maybe you should have approached Cootie on your own first?” I know my tone is full of judgment, but I can’t help it. I don’t think a ten-year-old had any business meeting her grandmother that way.

  “Maggie’s grown up pretty quickly in a lot of ways,” Huck says. “She had a mother who didn’t want her and a father who’s on the road a lot. I can’t protect her from life, Amelia. You’ve got to play the hand you’ve been dealt, while you’re try to figure out how to navigate the game.”

  “What’s the story with Maggie’s mom?” I ask.

  “She was a fan; I was young and stupid. I’m not proud of my early years but I swear, I haven’t fooled around with a groupie since I found out about Maggie.” I know he’s telling me this because of the conversation we had when he was on his way to the airport to go see Shelby. I cringe all over again at how badly I behaved when I accused him of getting another fan pregnant.

  “That’s not what I’m asking,” I tell him. Yet, I’m glad to know that he’s changed his ways, and while he claims to not have been living like a monk, at least he’s not bedding strange women in every town he stops in. I hope not, anyway.

  “Her name was Jeanette,” he says. “She was only nineteen when we met.”

  “And?” I prompt.

  “She worked the fryer at a fast food joint somewhere in Illinois. She didn’t call me to tell me that she was going to give Maggie up for adoption. She called to get money for an abortion. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  “So, you offered to pay her.”

  “I offered to pay her a lot. But in order to get the money, she had to agree to my terms.”

  “Which were?”

  “She had to agree to stay drug and alcohol free—I made sure she had regular screenings—and she had to move to LA. Claire offered to let her stay at her house so she could keep an eye on her.”

  “Anything else?” I ask.

  “She had to sign full custody over to me when Maggie was born.” He adds, “I didn’t want to keep them apart, but I had to make sure my daughter stayed safe and that was the only way I could do it.”

  “Was she ever part of Maggie’s life?” I ask.

  “No. After Maggie was born, Jeanette took off. I gave her a lump sum and she beat it out of there pretty fast. But being that she was young and stupid, she ran through the money quickly. She got in touch with my manager when Maggie was a year old and demanded more.”

  “You gave it to her?” I ask.

  “Of course I gave it to her. I’d do anything to protect my daughter. I would have given her ten times as much. What I didn’t do was give her another big amount. I gave her a monthly allowance to try to keep her spending in line.”

  “And?”

  “She got hooked up with a bad crowd and got into drugs. I offered to send her to rehab but she just laughed and told me to keep sending the checks. When Maggie was four, Jeanette died from an overdose.”

  “Oh Huck, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s my fault.”

  “How in the world are you responsible? Did you give her the drugs?” I ask knowing that he didn’t. I might not know all of Huck’s secrets, but I know there’s no way he’d do something like that.

  “I gave her a lot of money and people who aren’t used to overnight wealth don’t know how to handle it, especially kids.” He exhales like he’s been punched in the gut. “But it was the only way to protect Maggie, and I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

  “Kids make something of themselves all the time,” I tell him. “If Jeanette didn’t have the fortitude to stay away from trouble, it’s not your fault.”

  “I know, but I gave her the money which made her life too easy. She made some bad decisions, and as a result, Maggie never got to have a mom.”

  “Maggie has a life,” I tell him. “And the only reason she has that is because you made sure she did.”

  “As much as I wondered why my birth mother gave me up,” Huck says, “I was always grateful to her for having me. Any child of mine deserves at least that much.”

  “Huck Wiley, I really want to be mad at you about this whole Chicago thing.”

  “I know.”

  “But you’re a great dad. Maggie worships you and you’re doing right by her. You aren’t responsible for her mother’s weakness. You’re a good guy.” Before he can say anything else, I add, “I’m glad you came to Creek Water.” I know for a fact that my life has been changed for the better by knowing him, although I’m not about to share that information with him, yet.

  Chapter 48

  I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear to a rock concert, so I pretty much pack like I’m leaving on a world tour instead of three days in Illinois.

  I buzz Huck and Maggie in when they arrive. There’s no way I’m getting my luggage down the stairs in one trip without some help. “Where in the world do you think you’re going?” Huck demands.

  “I didn’t know what was appropriate, so I brought a little bit of everything.”

  “I think that’s smart,” Maggie says. Then she picks up my vintage crocodile train case full of toiletries and accessories.

  Huck takes the biggest suitcase and I grab my overnight bag and purse. I stand in the doorway and stare at my apartment like I’m never going to see it again.

  The strange thing is that I’m not nearly as anxious as I thought I’d be. I’m practically calm. I don’t expect the feeling to last, but I do briefly wonder if I’ve created more upset in my life by trying to protect myself from change than by just allowing it. I plan on keeping that thought under wraps. No sense giving anyone any ammunition against me.

  We blow past St. Louis at eleven. I wait for a wave of unease to grip me, but nothing happens. The other side of the city gets rural pretty quickly and it’s mostly wide-open stretches from there.

  We stop for lunch in a tiny farm town in Southern Illinois at a mom and pop diner called Pie n’ Stuff. The whole place is full of folks who appear to be fifty and older, so there’s virtually no chance anyone will recognize Huck. And they don’t.

  The waitre
sses are wearing pink dresses reminiscent of an old eighties sitcom I used to watch on Nick at Nite. We sit at a table in the back corner. “I don’t know about you guys, but I want pie,” Maggie says.

  “After you eat a protein and vegetable,” Huck tells her.

  “French fries are vegetables, right?”

  “A green vegetable,” he tells her.

  “You’re hard-core,” I say. “What if she wants carrots?”

  He amends his dictate to include, “Green or orange.”

  Over burgers, salads, and coconut cream pie, we map out our plan for Chicago. Huck says, “I figure we won’t check in until late tonight and then I need to be at the venue by two o’clock tomorrow afternoon for sound check. You all can come with me or I can have one of Gizzy’s people pick you up later.”

  “Will you have your own dressing room?” Maggie asks.

  “Of course.”

  “Then we’ll come with you,” his daughter answers. She looks at me and declares, “We can watch movies and play games and stuff to pass the time. The backstage dressing rooms are practically like hotel rooms. Plus, Uncle Gizzy always makes sure they have the best food at his shows. Unlike Dad. He doesn’t care what they serve as long as someone makes him a chicken breast and asparagus.”

  “You’re a health nut on tour, huh?”

  “Only on nights I perform, I don’t want to be all bloated and uncomfortable when I’m getting my groove on.”

  I imagine what it’ll be like to see Huck on stage and a stew of panic and excitement bubbles up inside me. As I don’t like crowds, I can’t say how that’s going to affect me, but I’m hoping being backstage will help.

  “Which songs are you going to sing?” Maggie asks.

  “I’ll sing backup for old Gizzard, but his band knows enough of my stuff that we can do some of my numbers, if they want.”

  “Why would you do backup?” I ask. That would be like Mick Jagger singing backup.

  “Gizzy is my oldest friend in this world. We go back to our early days playing the Whiskey together in LA. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.”

  Maggie adds, “Uncle Gizzy was at the hospital when I was born. He drove Dad and me home.” He sounds like a pretty special guy and I’m looking forward to meeting him.

  After we get back into the car, Maggie announces, “I’m going to take a nap, if that’s okay.”

  “Have a good rest, honey,” Huck tells her. We drive in easy silence for ages. Huck eventually reaches over to take my hand. “Thank you again for coming.”

  “You’re welcome. But I meant it when I said I’m going to get even. I’m also going to need you to promise to never do anything like that again.”

  “I can’t promise not to push you outside your comfort zone. I already told you that was my MO.”

  “You have to promise not to bring Maggie into it. I can’t seem to say no to her.”

  “But you can say no to me?” he asks.

  I consider his question. “I’m more likely to say no to you than her.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Maggie and I are a lot alike. I don’t want to disappoint her because I remember being a kid with similar anxiety issues. Although, she’s doing a world better than I ever did. When did you get her into counseling?” I ask.

  “She was seven at the time.”

  “What made you decide to try therapy?”

  “She used to throw these wild tantrums when she had to leave the house. She refused to go to school unless I threatened to bodily drag her. She even hated shopping or going out to eat. Claire suggested we meet with a friend of hers who was a children’s therapist.”

  “How long did it take before she was comfortable going anywhere?”

  “About a month before she stopped actively complaining. Her therapist said that I needed to give her small rewards at first, but to make sure the rewards involved leaving the house. Like if she went to school three days in a row, I could take her out for an ice cream. That kind of thing.”

  “And it worked?”

  “People will do crazy things for good ice cream.”

  “How did you get her to fly?” I ask.

  “I used to give her this homeopathic calming tincture made from flower petals or fairy wings or something. It helped so she could get on the plane, then I spent the whole flight entertaining her any way possible to keep her distracted. Why? Are you wondering how you’re going to make that flight to France with us?”

  “No, sir,” I say adamantly. “Just wondering.”

  We have supper at another non-chain restaurant in a tiny town called Gibson City, then we’re back on the road for the final two-and-a-half hours of our trip. I don’t begin to feel anything remotely resembling panic until we hit Chicago.

  After Maggie wakes up, she excitedly announces, “We’re staying at the Langham downtown. Wait until you see it, Amelia. It’s so cool!”

  I never once thought to ask about hotel arrangements, so I say, “I hope we have rooms next to each other.” I’m sure Huck didn’t expect me to share a room with him while Maggie was with us, but I want to make it clear that nothing like that will be happening on this trip.

  Huck says, “We have a suite. I thought you and Mags could share the bedroom and I’ll take the pull-out sofa.”

  “It’ll be just like a pajama party!” Maggie squeals.

  Her excitement is contagious, and I can’t help but smile. “It sounds perfect.” And I almost mean it. Almost, because I’m starting to feel like I’m part of this little family and that scares the living daylights out of me.

  Chapter 49

  The hotel is every bit as wonderful as Maggie says it is. Being that I’ve hardly ever left Creek Water, it’s safe to assume I rarely stay in hotels. In fact, this is my first experience with five-star lodgings, and I’m genuinely impressed. The Mouse Motel outside of Orlando doesn’t even come close.

  A bellhop meets us at the curb to unload the car before the valet takes it to the garage. I stand in front of the building and marvel, “This is a beautiful city.”

  “I’ve only been here a couple of times,” Maggie says, “but I’m pretty sure the pizza is the best in the world. Do you like cheese?” she asks.

  “Of course I like cheese,” I tell her. “It’s my second favorite food group next to chocolate.”

  “Then you’re going to love pizza pies,” she tells me. “They’re at least an inch thick and they’re just dripping in melted cheese. Can we get one for breakfast, Dad?”

  “I don’t think anyone makes them that early, but we can definitely get one for lunch.” He leads the way inside the hotel.

  It’s modern and sleek and not very busy considering it’s ten o’clock at night. Huck checks in and then we follow the bellhop to the twelfth floor. I’m at a loss for words. This is no hotel room, it’s a luxury apartment. “Why in the world do we need something so big?” I ask as I walk toward a wall of windows that overlooks the Chicago skyline.

  “Gizzy upgraded us. I think he’s trying to impress his goddaughter.”

  “It’s working,” Maggie says. “Look, there’s a yellow grand piano in the corner!”

  The bellhop asks which bags we’d like put into which rooms, but Huck tells him, “Don’t worry, man. I got it.” Then he slips him a twenty for his trouble.

  Once Maggie and I settle into our bedroom, I check my phone and see that I have seven new messages. Every last one of them is from my mama.

  Message One: Amelia, call me back. I want to know what date you picked for the shower.

  Message Two: I just got off the phone with Emmie. You’re on your way to Chicago? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Message Three: If you don’t call me in one hour, I’m going to assume you’re up to no good. Call me!

  Message Four: Amelia Frothingham, this is your mother and you better call me right away. I mean business, young lady!

  Messages Five and Six are very similar to Four. Message Seven escalates to a whole new level
of ridiculous: I’m calling the FBI. I’m going to tell them that Huck Wiley has stolen you. I’m not kidding, either. You think I’m kidding? (She yells in the background) Siri get me the number to the Federal Bureau of Investigation!

  The last message was left only a half-hour ago, so I might actually have time to save Huck from arrest. I punch in Mama’s number and when she answers, I explain, “I accidentally turned my phone off.” Then I assure her, “I’m fine. I haven’t been taken against my will.”

  She demands, “How could you leave town without telling me? That’s something your brothers would do, not you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I was going to tell you, but I just got so busy. Emmie said she’d fill you in.”

  “No, ma’am,” she lectures. “There is no such thing as too busy for your mama. That there is one of them oxymoron things. You are on my list, young lady. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mama, I understand. Now, would you like to know what I’m doing here?”

  “I already know,” she tells me. “You’re keeping Maggie company while her daddy performs in a rock n’ roll concert. Emmie told me.”

  “Do you want to know where I’m staying?” I ask.

  “No,” she says with real attitude before hurrying to change her mind. “Where are you staying?”

  “We’re in some place called the Langham in downtown Chicago. We’re in a suite almost as big as your house. There’s a grand piano in the living room and everything.”

  “Oh, my god, what’s it called?”

  “The Langham Hotel,” I tell her again.

  “Not the hotel, the suite. What’s the name of the suite?” I hear her clicking away on her computer.

  “The sign on the door said it was the Infinity Suite,” I tell her.

  “Oh. My. GOD!!!” she screams in my ear like she’s being attacked.

  “Mama, are you okay?”

  “I am not,” she says sounding perfectly unharmed. “That room costs nine thousand dollars a night! Nine THOUSAND dollars!”

  “Holy cow.” I whistle under my breath.