Write You a Love Song

by Francisco, Fabiola

“Um… It’s okay,” I scratch the back of my neck.

  “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have asked. Just thought… Never mind.” She looks around to check if anyone is watching us. Of course, they are. They always are.

  “Sure.” I grab my cup and take a seat, feeling like an ass after she mentioned it’s been hard for her to make friends.

  “You don’t have to, really. I’m sure you have things to do and...”

  “Ainsley,” I stop her from rambling.

  “Yeah?” she looks up at me with wide eyes.

  “It’s okay. I was going to go home because I hate that people are making assumptions about my life,” I explain.

  “Oh, that makes sense.” She nods and leans back in her seat, sipping her coffee.

  “Are you working?” I nod to the pile of papers.

  “I’m going through mail my grandmother forwarded to me.”

  “You’ve been living here for a few months, right?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I know, I know, I should have all my mail forwarded to this address, but I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay at first. Actually, that’s a lie, I’m just a procrastinator.”

  I laugh at her honesty. “What made you want to move to Everton?”

  “Honestly, looking for adventure. After I found out my ex-boyfriend cheated on me, I had nothing holding me back in Denver, so I wanted a change of scenery. It was either go to Texas, where my grandmother lives, or throw a dart at a map and see where destiny led me,” she says this as if it were the most normal approach.

  “You let a dart choose where you were going to live?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Why the hell not? If I didn’t like the place when I arrived, I could just throw another dart. Anyway, Everton was where the dart landed, and here I am, working as a bartender when I’ve never served drinks before, but it’s cool to try something new.” She lifts a shoulder, her pink, chipped nails flicking at the corner of one of the envelopes.

  Impressed, I say, “Hat’s off to you for not letting a cheating bastard bring you down.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I grabbed his favorite possessions and lit them on fire in the front yard. When he got home that night, his favorite jersey, expensive sneakers, and huntin’ rifle were sitting in a burnt pile.”

  I chuckle. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” I take a drink of my coffee.

  “You’re safe,” she smiles. “Anyway, so I grabbed the mail on the way out to get coffee and figured I’d take a look at it.”

  “Are you originally from Texas?”

  “Yeah, from Dallas. My parents retired recently, and they’re traveling the US in a camper, so my grandmother was willing to forward anything that seemed important,” she relaxes into the chair as she talks about her family. Her southern drawl makes an appearance as she speaks.

  “Well, it seems like the adventurous spirit runs in your family,” I mirror her posture, relaxing as well.

  “They actually inspired me to make the move. I figured if they could do it in their sixties, I could move somewhere new at thirty-two.”

  Talking to Ainsley is refreshing. She doesn’t act like some star-struck fan, fumbling over her words, or flirting to get in my pants. She’s being herself as she tells me about her family and I laugh at her initial reaction of Everton—a picture-perfect town that seemed to belong in a snow globe.

  She’s quirky and approachable. I don’t understand why she hasn’t made many friends here. Before I head out, I look at her. “If you want a friend, just let me know. I could use one myself,” I offer.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” she nods, smiling wide.

  “No problem. I’m gonna go, but I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I tap the wooden table and stand, walking out of the coffee shop and heading back home, feeling lighter.

  …

  I’ve spent the whole morning thinking about Ainsley’s approach to a new beginning. When she shared that with me yesterday, I was impressed. I’ve never met anyone who took a chance like that. Hell, the last time I closed my eyes and jumped was when I moved to Nashville, everything after that was premeditated and planned to the second.

  I’ve been conditioned to that type of planning and maybe that’s the first thing I need to break before I can decide where to go with my life. I need to get rid of the feeling that everything needs to be perfectly arranged.

  Feeling useless, I refill my mug and sit at the kitchen counter, reading over my paperwork, focusing on the fine print. Unsure of what to look for, I grab my iPad and start researching for things that will disqualify a non-disclosure agreement.

  Every time I find a reason that could invalidate it, I look through the contract in search of that. Eventually, my eyes blur from staring at printed words, and I stand to stretch my body, taking a break. This is why I pay my lawyer well, so I won’t have to do his job, but I feel like each day that I sit here doing nothing is a day I could be free from this bullshit.

  I rinse my mug and place it in the dishwasher before going down to the gym in my basement and getting lost in a workout.

  I ignore the text message notifications that intrude my exercise and keep pushing until my phone rings. Running a towel down my face, I let out a deep sigh and check the screen. I ignore the missed call and a couple of text messages from Harris. My eyes continue to scan the list of messages until one stops me.

  Smiling, I open the message from my friend, actor and producer Matthew Barber. We met years ago when I worked on the soundtrack for a movie he was in and became fast friends. It was nice to have someone honest in Los Angeles.

  I read over his message and respond. He’ll be in Montana for a few days, and he wants to get together. It’ll be nice to catch up with him this week and talk to someone who understands how this business works. It seems glamorous from the outside, but only those of us who work in it know the brutal honesty behind being a celebrity.

  Happy to have something to look forward to this week, I shower and head to my parents’ house, hoping I can get in a ride on my horse. I have yet to ride Ty since I arrived, and a little alone time with my horse is always medicine for the soul.

  I say a quick hello to my mom, giving her a peck on her cheek before promising I’ll be back in after my ride. I head to Ty’s stall and take in his healthy form. His dark brown hair is only interrupted on three of his legs, where he has white sock markings. A smile tugs on my lips when he approaches me, bobbing his head. I reach out and pet him when he becomes familiar with my scent.

  “Ready to go on a ride, buddy?” I run my hand down the length of his face before grabbing the saddle.

  Climbing on, I steer him out of the barn and begin riding through the property, grateful there are 300 acres for me to roam around. I adjust my black cowboy hat before taking off in a trot. The cold air brushes past me as I let Ty lead the way. He’s free to move and take me where he wants. I’m not controlling this, not today.

  I stare at the mountains on our property. As a kid, having this much land never made me feel like I lived in a tiny town. I always felt like I had enough space to move around and get away when I needed some time to myself. When it was time to buy my own house, I made sure to choose one that offered the same feeling. I may not have a ranch and acreage, but I have my own sacred space where I can disconnect and have privacy. Amelia hated coming here, which was fine by me since it gave me the opportunity to visit on my own and get away from the mess of our marriage. I just wished I could stay longer than a day or two when I’d stop by here. It was a given that this is where I’d come once I took a step back from the spotlight, but when you’re as famous as I am in the music industry, the spotlight never really turns off.

  Ty’s neigh brings me back to the present, and I look up to see my dad riding toward me.

  “Hey,” I say when he’s close enough to hear me.

  “Sneaking out as well?” He smirks.

  “Yeah. It’s been too long.”

  “Come on.” He tilts his hat-covered head and pulls up
beside me, both of our horses taking us in the same direction at a slow pace. “What’s on your mind?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Where do I begin? Failure, for one,” I confess.

  My dad looks at me, his eyebrows pinched together. “No, son, you’re not a failure. You went out and fought for your dream. You made a name for yourself, on your own.”

  I scoff at that. “It wasn’t on my own, Dad.”

  “You can argue with me, but you moved to Nashville and got noticed on your own. You got people interested in you and your music. Not many people can say they’ve succeeded in that. You’re known worldwide, and you’ve toured in Europe, the US, Canada. Your fans love you. Don’t let one bump stop you from doing what you love. It ain’t worth it.” He shakes his head.

  “That’s just it, I don’t know if I love this anymore. The industry is so twisted and fake. What the fans see is all an illusion. They don’t know the real me because I was told how to dress, act, perform.”

  “Well, then maybe it’s time you show them the real you,” my dad suggests with a conspiring smirk.

  “I need to figure out how to get out of my contract with the label with minimum repercussions.” I blow air out between my chapped lips.

  “You’ll get it done. It’s your freedom, and sometimes there’s a high price to pay for it. But it’s worth it.”

  “Thanks, Dad. How are things here?” I look out onto the land.

  “Great. Can’t complain. We’re glad you’re here for some time, even if under these circumstances. You’ve been missed.”

  “I’ve missed this place, too,” I smile, turning to look at him.

  “I don’t know anything about being famous, but I know a hell of a lot about hard work. Some years are better than others, but giving up is never an option. Had I given up the first year this ranch was unsuccessful, who knows where we’d be right now? You pull through, testing different options until you find the one that works.” His words ring through me, meant to encourage me.

  If music is in my future, I need to find a way to fit it into my life without me changing everything about myself to fit in it. It was never supposed to be that way.

  Harris’s suggestion about creating my own label comes to the forefront of my mind. Shaking my head, I get rid of the thought. It isn’t that it’s impossible, it’s that I need to make sure I want a life in the public eye again before taking that route.

  My dad and I finish our ride and go into the house. I grab the beer he offers and take a seat in the living room, where Axel joins us. Every so often, my mind wanders to Reese, but I shut it down before I go down a path that I’m no longer allowed to walk.

  Knox

  “Fucking hell, it’s freezing here,” Matt says, trembling as he makes his way to my truck from the airport.

  “Welcome to Wyoming. Montana’s the same way,” I state.

  “I know, but it shocked me. It’s good to see you, man.” He pats my back in a half-hug.

  “You, too.” When he called and told me he was flying into Wyoming before driving to Montana, I offered to pick him up and have lunch. “How’s Tinley?”

  “She’s great. She’s meeting me in Montana in a couple days.”

  “Good stuff. It’s nice to get away every now and then,” I reply.

  “Tell me about it. How are you holding up? I read the latest. I’m sorry, buddy.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

  “If anyone knows how shitty this is, it’s you. My only wish is that Amelia would let it be and sign the divorce papers.” She would make it much easier if she agreed and granted me the divorce. I know she doesn’t love me either, so I don’t know why she’s letting this drag.

  Matt nods, pensive. “Are you really going to leave country music?” He raises his eyebrows as he looks at me. Everyone is curious about the answer to that question.

  I chance a glance as I drive toward town and shrug. “I need time. There’s other stuff I need to clear before I can decide. I definitely won’t be working with RWB Records anymore.”

  “I get it. I felt the same way a couple years ago.”

  I nod, knowing what he went through and how hard it was on him. “Anyway, I’m glad you stopped by here. Not much to see in Everton, but we got food and drinks.”

  “That’s all I need,” he says, rubbing his hands.

  We arrive at Clarke’s and take a seat at a table, people staring at us. I shake my head but ignore their curious glances.

  “Looks like Everton is surprised to see us,” Matt chuckles.

  “No shit. Hopefully, they just stare from their seats.” I hope no one approaches us. The last thing I want is Matt to be bombarded by fans.

  “Hey,” I look up to see Ainsley standing by our table, smiling widely. “I’m Ainsley, and I’ll be serving you today.”

  “Lunch shift?” I ask, tilting my head.

  “Yeah, we’re short-staffed, so I get to work a double shift. Yay me,” she shakes her head but doesn’t look the least bit annoyed as she holds her smile in place.

  “I’m Matt, it’s nice to meet you,” he reaches his hand out to shake hers.

  “Nice to meet you, too. I’m a huge fan. I didn’t know you guys were friends,” she glances at me.

  I shrug. “LA is a small world.”

  “I can imagine. Anyway, what can I get you to drink?” She holds a small notepad in her hand and a pen in the other, shaking it between her fingers while she waits for our order.

  “A Sam Adams for me,” I respond.

  “I’ll have the same,” Matt tells her.

  He looks at me after she walks away, eyebrows raised. “What’s the deal with her?”

  My eyebrows furrow. “Nothing, why?”

  “You sure?” he grins.

  “She’s the bartender here, new to town. Only person that hasn’t accused me of the rumors they hear in the news,” I explain.

  “Uh, huh,” he nods, a mischievous smile on his face.

  “It’s not like that,” I defend. I’m not ready to be with anyone, let alone in this small town where everyone is watching what I do and with whom. I’ve done enough damage to people in the past to continue down that road.

  “Well, she’s pretty and seems nice.” He leaves it at that.

  Changing the subject, I ask him what he’s working on. It’s nice to talk to someone about something else besides my current situation. Matt knows how deceiving this career can be and how frustrating it is to talk about it constantly. I’m grateful we can talk about other things, including sports and his recent film, The First Lights.

  After lunch, I drive him to the car rental. “Thanks for stopping by. It was good to hang out.”

  “For sure. If you need anything, call me. It may not seem like it right now, but things will get better, I promise. Don’t hide, though. That will only give them more reason to believe the rumors.” He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. Grateful for his advice, I thank him.

  “We’ll talk,” he says as he gets out of my truck.

  “Yeah. Tell Tinley I say hi,” I call out.

  “Will do. She’s been asking how you’re holding up.”

  “Appreciate it, and drive safely.” He nods and walks into the building.

  I drive away, tossing around the advice he shared about hiding. I hit call on my phone and let the ringing sound from my car speakers.

  “Hello?” My lawyer, David, answers.

  “Hey, David, it’s Knox. Any news on the NDA? I was reading over it and researching for things that would invalidate it. All they can do is sue me for damages, but besides that, I won’t get any real consequence in a courtroom.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. What are you thinking?”

  “If we don’t find something by tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to risk it. I want a statement drawn up that discloses the details of my marriage to Amelia. I’m tired of hiding behind this,” I explain, no longer willing to wait.

  “It may bring about a wave of backlash,” he warns.

 
“I know,” I exhale. “I’m ready. I’ll get shit for agreeing to this, but it’s worse to have people thinking I’d cheat or actually mistreat a woman.” My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

  “Okay. I’ll keep working on this just in case. There must be something. NDAs aren’t always tight, and there’s usually something that discredits them. Did they tell you about the plan before you signed?” he asks.

  “Yeah, my publicist explained everything before I was given the NDA,” I answer, hoping we can hold on to that.

  “Great. Give me a day, this may be something we can use.”

  “Thanks, David.” I toss my head back against the headrest while I wait for the green light.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll work on this first and then the contract with the label. Once this information comes to light, they’ll come after you, and I want to be prepared to handle them.”

  “I owe you,” I tell him and disconnect the call. For the first time in months, I’m starting to see a shimmer of hope in all of this chaos.

  …

  After hearing from David this morning, I call Harris.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” he answers.

  “I need you to act as my manager instead of their pawn and negotiate my contract with the label,” I demand.

  “I am your manager,” his words ring with annoyance.

  “I want out of my contract. I’ll perform in the New Year’s Eve show in Nashville, but that’s it. The current records I created with RWB will remain royalty share, but I’m free from them.” I’m firm in my choice.

  “Knox, I don’t know if they’ll accept that,” he’s hesitant.

  “It’s either that, or I share on my social media accounts that my marriage to Amelia was a sham, a stunt the label and our publicists organized to manipulate fans.”

  “Fuck,” his breath sounds through the speaker. “You signed an NDA.”

  “Harris, you and I both know I was forced to agree to that if I wanted a deal with them. I’m sure the last thing the label wants is for the truth to come out. They won’t be happy if people know the extreme manipulation they use on their artists.” I change my direction in approaching this situation. If I can get out of my contract sooner than planned, I’ll keep the stunt to myself. Right now, I just want to be free to move forward in my life.