“I love that idea. Speaking of home, are you guys glad to be back home?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Jett enthused.
“Hell yes,” Wilder and Maddox both exclaimed.
“You know it, Elle,” Brooks said.
“And what about you, Dawson? How’s it feel to be back home?” she asked when I remained silent.
“It feels good to not be cramped in a room where I can touch the walls from my bed,” I offered.
“Will you be home for a while?”
“LA’s not home.” I couldn’t use the word for my house. Not yet. Not without her.
“That’s right. You’re from Ohio,” she reminded the audience.
“That’s not really home either,” I found myself saying.
“Oh?”
“Don’t they say home is where the heart is?” I gave her a sad smile.
She nodded. “They do.”
“My heart’s in South Carolina right now. Maybe one day, it’ll be in LA.”
“Since you mentioned South Carolina, one of our fans told us that you were spotted in South Carolina a few days ago,” Elle announced.
“I went to help some family friends celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary.”
She clapped her hands together. “Congratulations to your friends. That’s quite a feat these days.”
“Yes, it is.”
“As we head to commercial break, let’s take a look at this video clip someone sent us,” Elle said, pointing behind us.
We all turned to watch the large screen behind the couches. After a few seconds, a video obviously shot with a cell phone filled the screen. The clarity wasn’t that great, but since it only happened a few days ago, I was easily able to recognize myself seated at the edge of the frame behind a piano. Then my distinct voice carried over the chatter around the person recording. The camera panned to show Brooks accompanying me as we performed “Mountain of Love” for Nana. Thankfully, the person videoing the performance turned to capture the spry couple enjoying the song. I was so stunned that someone had sent the clip into the show, I didn’t notice that the cameraman had signaled we were no longer live.
Leaning forward, I asked in a hushed tone, “Was that the only video they sent you?”
Elle’s face filled with concern. “No. But this was the one I thought was the cutest. Why?”
Turning to Brooks, I couldn’t keep the panic from my face. “I’m on it, D.” He whipped out his cell phone, no doubt scouring the world-wide web looking for any uploads from the anniversary party. Without explaining my fears, he knew I was worried there might be a video of my duet with Izzy floating around out there.
“Dawson, what’s wrong? I wasn’t trying to create a problem. I just thought you taking a request from an elderly couple would be a great way to show your fans a different side of you,” Elle explained, worry furrowing her brow.
“I understand. It’s just one, I never expected my privacy to be violated at a family function. And two, the girl I’m trying to win back was at the party. We actually sang together. I’m worried that she’ll be thrust into the limelight against her will, putting her in danger,” I whispered.
“Danger how? The paparazzi tracking her down?” Elle asked, no doubt sensing a story.
“Not just that. Some of my fans are… overzealous and wouldn’t take too kindly to anyone having my heart. I’m afraid someone might target her,” I explained.
“OK. Let me help. I’ll make sure the clip is removed from the upload of the episode to the internet. I’ll see if we can track down who sent the clips plus make sure no one else here leaks them. Is there anything else?” She seemed anxious to help.
“I’m going to get my people, few that I have, to make sure any clips that were uploaded to the internet are pulled down. We have a good relationship with those who manage YouTube.”
“I really am sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. Normally I wouldn’t care. It’s just I don’t want her exposed.” I dragged my fingers through my hair.
“Totally understand. If I can help, let me know.”
The producer interrupted, “We’re back in five, four, three…” He silently counted the rest with his fingers.
“We’re back. And it’s almost time to say goodbye to our favorite rockers. But before they go, they’re going to play the full version of ‘Dear Universe’ for the first time ever publicly,” Elle said to the audience.
The crowd went wild as we all moved to take our positions behind our instruments. This was the first song I’d ever written that started with three E-minor chords. As I strummed my love to Izzy, I closed my eyes and lost myself in the plea of my heart.
Dear Universe
I need your help
to fix my curse.
I held the answer
But in lies I did immerse
Please somebody
don't let me make it worse.
Dear Universe
Hearts are broken
Pieces dispersed.
Do I gather them?
Is this the path I traverse?
I beg you please
Don’t let us become a blank verse.
Dear Universe
She needs to see
Time is terse
My heart is hers
I don’t mean to coerce
Somebody please
Don’t let our love lay in a hearse.
Dear Universe
This is my last plea
Time needs to reverse
But it moves forward
My broken heart needs a nurse
Baby, pretty please
Let’s write a happy, new verse.
Chapter 7
Izzy
I wasn’t sure how long I stared at my paused TV screen with tears tracking down my face as Dawson’s image peered into my soul. However how long it took for the TV to go black, that’s how long I was frozen in place.
Hearing his anguish, seeing his pain, ripped my heart to shreds.
Oh no.
Was Beckett able to read between the lines? Did he know Dawson was talking about me?
With trembling fingers, I grabbed my phone off the coffee table. No messages from him. Crap.
Should I message him?
Pacing the floor, I argued with myself. If I didn’t reach out, that might confirm that I was the girl Dawson was referring to and wanted back. But if I did reach out, he might ask me for insight into who Dawson was talking about. Or what if he ignored me all together?
I needed something mindless to do with my hands while I sorted through my jumbled thoughts. I was too worked up to paint or sketch, so I moved to my desk. Leaning down, I slid the bottom drawer open and withdrew a handful of colorful paper strips. With quick fingers, I started folding the strips. Crisp edges. Sharp points. Folded over and over into a tiny little hexagon. Gently, I pressed the sides in causing the paper to puff up into a star shape. I dropped it into an empty jar on my desk. I grabbed another scrap and folded it until another wishing star had formed. I hadn’t made these since Amsterdam with Dawson.
By the time I decided to call Beckett, the jar was half filled with wishes. The problem was I didn’t know what to wish for anymore. Half the stars contained wishes for what used to be, and half wished for what was now. I was afraid to keep folding. Terrified to tip the balance one way or the other. That was the only reason I picked up the phone and dialed. While I waited for him to answer or ignore my call, I started wearing a hole in the carpet.
“Isabelle, hi,” his voice was flat, but not angry or suspicious.
“Hi yourself.” I inhaled deeply.
“Sorry I didn’t call as soon as the show ended. Dr. Reeves called before I could dial you.” He sounded distracted.
“No problem. Is everything OK?” Dr. Reeves was the doctor in charge of the medical trials I participated in.
“Not really. But I don’t want to worry you.”
“When you don’t want to worry someone, you should never say that, Doctor,” I teased.
“I know. My bedside manner kind of goes out the window when things concern you and your health. Sorry,” he confessed in a sad voice.
“Just tell me what’s going on. If you need to speak as my doctor instead of my boyfriend, that’s fine. I’ll be the patient, not the girlfriend,” I offered.
“OK. We lost another person from the trial.”
“Oh no.” I sank to the couch. “Who?”
“Annie.”
“The little girl?” my voice cracked as I recalled the cute little girl I’d drawn pictures for.
“Yes. And that’s not all. There are two more with unexplained illnesses, and one who’s in transplant rejection,” he continued.
The breath stalled in my lungs. My mouth gaped open like a fish, but no sound came out.
“Isabelle? Isabelle? Answer me,” his voice was concerned.
“Sorry. I’m here,” I whispered.
“Don’t worry until you have reason to. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Great. No symptoms of anything.” Except emotional turmoil and mental anguish. But I was pretty sure they were unrelated to my illness or treatments.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. If anything, anything at all feels off, you have to let me know immediately. OK?”
“Yes, of course. And don’t let these setbacks in the trial discourage you. Even though there have been five affected negatively so far, the number isn’t statistically significant,” I said, trying to comfort him. And myself.
“Tell that to their families. They are significant. There’s a little girl who’s never going to grow up. There’s a baby boy who’s never going to meet his dad,” he growled, pain rippling through his voice.
“That’s not what I meant. Yes, they’re significant as people. But they don’t negate the positive results of the trial because the number of positive outcomes far outweighs the negative,” I argued.
“I know. I’m just really worried about you,” he croaked.
“It’s OK. I know you are. Please keep me updated on how the sick patients are doing.” I had to know what to expect.
“Absolutely. Now, on to happier subjects. What did you think of LO’s new song?”
Silence filled the line as I tried to figure out how to answer without revealing my inner chaos. “I thought it was beautiful. It’s definitely different from the music they’ve previously released.”
“It seems so much deeper. More emotionally impactful,” he said.
“Their sound is maturing,” I offered neutrally.
“I definitely agree. And I can’t believe someone from your parents’ party recorded Dawson singing for your grandparents,” his voice was filled with disapproval.
“I know, right? It feels like our privacy at a family gathering was betrayed,” I answered.
“Any idea who would do that?”
“None.” I hadn’t really given it any thought yet.
“Either way, I think the Loyals will eat it up. Rock star taking an oldie request for a pair of grandparents. It’s pretty sweet,” he said, the smile obvious in his tone.
“Yeah it is. Speaking of the band, are you ready for the concert?” Hopefully the reminder would distract him from Dawson’s confessions.
“Yes and no. I can’t believe I’m actually going to watch them from the front row and then we get to hang out with all of them after the show. I can’t figure out what to wear,” he gushed.
I busted out with laughter.
“Are you laughing at me, Isabelle?”
“I’m sorry, Beckett. I just have never in all the time I’ve known you, seen you nervous about anything. I always thought you were this analytical person who never got worked up over anything. You never lose your cool,” I answered through my giggles.
“I did lose my cool once around you. But you were too sick and out of it to notice. Back in Texas when you got really sick, and I thought I was going to lose you before we’d even really given us a try. I was a basket case.”
“I’m OK now. That was months ago,” I soothed.
“I know. I just worry. And I’m not used to worrying. I’m used to analyzing. Calculating odds. But not being personally invested. I know that makes me sound horrible. But—”
“No, I get it. If you allowed your heart to get invested in every patient you ever encountered, eventually your heart would be too broken to continue the work you were obviously destined to do,” I explained.
“And that’s why I adore you. You get it.”
♪ Change by John Waite
My heart plummeted and soared simultaneously. It warmed my heart to be adored, but I felt like such a traitor to him. Beckett had saved my life. Then he started to help heal my heart. Helped me find stability in chaos. And yet my heart still wanted to sing Dawson’s song.
“I do my best,” I offered lamely.
“I hate to rush off, babe, but I really need to go follow up on my samples in the lab,” he said in my ear.
“No problem. Try to get some rest and not worry so much.” I got up and paced the room.
“I will. Can’t wait to see you for the concert. You’ll have to keep me from making a fool of myself in front of them though.”
“You already met two of the guys. You’ll be fine,” I reminded him.
“Maybe… Anyway, I’ll see you Friday evening. Love ya.”
“Me too. See you Friday,” I said quietly.
After hanging up, I got dressed so I could go meet with Charles. I needed to deliver a few more pieces to my space at the gallery.
* * *
“Isabelle,” he greeted me warmly and held the door open for me. Once I was inside, Charles took the stack of frames from me.
“How have you been?” I asked as I rushed to match his long strides.
“Great. Sydney made me bring her with me when I told her I was meeting you today,” he called over his shoulder.
“How’s she doing?” My heart was in my throat as I waited for reassurance that she was still doing well after the experimental trial.
“She’s great. More energy than ever before. We’ll see her after we put these in the room where your other pieces are.”
I entered the large room we were using to mock stage my show. My nerves and heart settled as I became surrounded by pieces of myself.
“Show me what you’ve got.” He set the stack on the table.
I spread out the pieces, showing him the ones he’d requested that I finish first. Then I unearthed the “Total Eclipse of the Heart” piece.
“Stunning.” He picked it up gingerly and examined it. “This is new?”
“Yes. I started it a few days ago.” Butterflies fluttered in my belly while I waited for a full critique.
“There’s a shift with this piece. I can’t put my finger on it exactly. There’s more color than your most recent works. It’s more vibrant. And it’s raw and emotional. It’s perfect,” he declared.
“Thank you.”
He smirked. “I’m guessing your soul searching has helped you get some of your mojo back?”
“I’m working on it, sir.”
“Glad to hear it. We still don’t have a focal piece for the show.”
“I know. And I wanted to talk to you about that. I was wondering if I could borrow some studio space. I have an idea for a series of thirteen interconnected pieces, but I don’t have space in my apartment to work on that many pieces at once.” What I didn’t say was that I wasn’t a hundred percent sold on the idea, but I didn’t have anything else so far.
“I’ll clear some things out of one of the unused rooms. It’ll be ready for you to start tomorrow,” he answered.
“I can’t thank you enough. I think you’re going to like what I have planned.” Fingers crossed.
“If it carries the depth of your newest work, then I know I will.”
I beamed at his compliment.
“Now that’s all set
tled. Let’s go see Sydney. Maybe we can convince you to have a late lunch with us.” His shoes tapped along the polished floor.
“I’d love that,” I answered with a laugh.
As we entered Charles’s office, a blur of purple and braids barreled into me. Squatting down, I drew the little girl into my arms. “You’ve gotten so big since I saw you last,” I exclaimed.
“I’m almost ten now,” Sydney proclaimed.
“Where did the time go?” I asked Charles over her head.
“I have no idea. But I’m glad we’ve still got plenty.” His eyes sparkled with moisture. “So, Sydney, Isabelle is going to go to lunch with us. I just need to go take care of a few things first.”
“OK, Daddy. I’m gonna stay with Izzy.”
This little girl’s enthusiasm for life was infectious. Still on my knees, I ran my hand over the neat rows of braids in her hair. “I love your hair.”
“It hurt real bad getting it done. The lady Mama takes me to pulls so hard. And I have to sit still for so long,” she said with a pout.
“It does look like it would take a long time to create all these braids,” I observed.
“Yeah. And, it makes me look like all my friends. I don’t want to look just like all my friends. I want to be special.” Her nose scrunched up.
I pressed my hand to my chin and looked her hair over until an idea took shape in my mind.
Standing, I pulled her over to the table where she’d been drawing earlier. I unzipped my purse and pulled out the zippered bag inside. It was filled with cross stitching supplies. During my illness, I’d turned a few of my paintings into cross-stitched designs for Nana and Granny. The collection of shimmery threads and needles was still in my bag in case the notion ever struck me to do another.
“I don’t know a lot about hair like yours, but I’m going to try something, and we’ll see how it looks. Sound good?”
She nodded excitedly. Once I got the threads spread out, I threaded my needle with orchid. “Stand in front of me.” I held up the needle. “I’m going to run thread through your braids to add some color.”
Songs of the Heart: Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 3 Page 9
