Write You a Love Song

by Francisco, Fabiola

  “I need some time,” she shakes her head, tears drowning out her words.

  “I’m yours, no one else’s. They can try to tear us apart, but I’m comin’ back to you,” I promise.

  “I’m sorry,” she hiccups.

  “Don’t apologize, you have no reason to. I know how hard this is, and I’ve had years to get accustomed to it, yet it still irks me. I’m going to fix this though.” I need a real plan, starting by running these people out of town and getting them to stop printing lies.

  I lean forward and kiss her softly. When I stand, I reach for her hand. “Lock up behind me.”

  She nods and stands. At the door, I turn to look at her and hold her for a few seconds, inhaling her flowery scent, memorizing it. “I’ll call you,” I guarantee.

  “Bye, Knox.” She says it as if it’s a final goodbye, but I won’t lose her that easily.

  Once I’m in my car, I call Harris.

  “Schedule an exclusive interview with Music & Life Magazine,” I tell him as soon as I hear the call pick up, not letting him speak.

  “Okay.” He doesn’t question my motives.

  “And book a private plane to and from Nashville. I’ll be in and out as soon as I finish my song.” I don’t wait for him to speak. I hang up, slam my steering wheel, and speed home.

  …

  Ainsley: good luck tomorrow

  Knox: thanks… I’ll miss you

  Ainsley: you’ll do great. i’ll see you when you get back

  Knox: yeah…

  Knox: did u see the latest?

  Ainsley: ugh yes.

  Knox: i’m fixin it

  Ainsley: thanks

  Knox: are you okay?

  Ainsley: yup

  I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the back of my neck. She’s not okay. I put my phone back down and finish packing the few things I need for Nashville tomorrow. Ainsley and I have barely spoken since I left her house three days ago. Our text conversations are about as intimate as the one we just had, and our phone calls are few and far between—all of them short and superficial. We may not have broken up, officially, but it feels like I’ve lost her. My guilt over her losing her job at Clarke’s is slowly swallowing me, and I even thought about talking to management though I know she’d hate that.

  Axel came around yesterday asking what the hell was going on, and I’ve played it off, but he knew something was up when he learned Ainsley wasn’t working at Clarke’s anymore. He’s read the different stories that have been published and seen the photos.

  Ainsley and I went from perfect relationship to locked up and hiding while we let the pressure of it all come between us, even when we agreed to fight this together. We can only take so much, and I can’t ask her for more than she’s already done. Her private life has been put on display, strangers questioning her and taking photos when she’s just trying to live her life.

  Fortunately, I have my phone interview with Music & Life’s editor today. She was quick to agree to the interview when Harris called her, knowing she was going to have an exclusive of the most desired information in our current society. All I can hope is that it will help guide people to learn the truth instead of assumptions.

  I don’t even want to show up to Nashville. I’m doing it for my fans. If it weren’t for them, I would’ve dropped out of it. It wouldn’t be the first time an artist had to take a step back and cancel an appearance. They would’ve found a replacement, but I owe my fans this last show. However, once I finish that performance tomorrow, I’ll really be free from it all. No more expectations or appearances. I can go on my merry way, whatever path that leads. Hopefully, it includes Ainsley.

  Bag packed with the basics and an outfit for the performance, I serve myself a scotch and watch the flames flicker in the fireplace. The guitar next to it catches my eye, and I stand to pick it up. A smirk appears on my face when I see the strap Ainsley got me. I run my finger over the wording, thinking back to the first time she told me about Frito pie. That woman wrapped me around her finger and kept me there.

  I miss her.

  I begin to play the song I’ve been working on, the same one she helped with. Eyes closed, my head bops as I fine-tune the music for the lyrics. Ainsley’s smile appears behind my lids, the memory of her coming up with verses for the song playing in my mind. Her encouragement and support were evident as she expressed the confidence she had in me.

  I continue to play the music on a loop until my phone rings. Placing the guitar next to me on the couch, I expel a deep breath and finish off my scotch. Here goes nothing. I answer the call, ready for my interview.

  Ainsley

  My phone lands on the sofa cushion with a thud after sending Knox my last text message. I scoop up a hefty amount of homemade cookie dough and take a bite. I meant to bake the cookies, but I had to have a taste of the dough. Next thing I knew, Knox was writing to me, and I was swallowing my woes one cookie dough serving at a time. These last couple of weeks have been hell, especially this last one.

  When my manager at Clarke’s said he had to speak to me, I was not expecting to get fired. I figured he’d have something to say about all the damn people coming into the bar, but I assumed he’d understand it wasn’t my fault.

  He did, but he also couldn’t let it continue happening, and I can only guess the locals were starting to complain. I don’t blame them, I also wish they didn’t exist.

  I especially hate the strain it’s put on Knox and my relationship. I put more cookie dough into my mouth, fighting the tears. I’m in love with the man, and it’s becoming painful to be with him. How does that even make sense? It doesn’t.

  I stroke the snowflake hanging from my neck, sighing. The tears I’ve trapped escape like a skilled ninja. I shake my head, chest vibrating as I catch my breath, and place the bowl with the dough on my coffee table.

  I didn’t feel this sad when I found out Bennett was cheating on me or when I moved out of the house we shared for a year, and Knox and I are still together. Albeit not in a great place, but he’s still a part of my life. I did need some time, take a step back to clear my mind and get away from piercing looks and people forcing themselves into my life, thinking they have a right to know every detail. I also need to figure out what I’m going to do for an income. I can’t just stay home, I need to work.

  I lie on the couch in the fetal position and stare at the television without paying attention to what’s showing. Silent tears stream down the side of my face. I have to trust Knox is working on a way to fix this, but I can’t even begin to think how he could make them stop. The damage has been done.

  His fans think I’m a home wrecker, the world sees me as someone out for his money. The only people who know the truth and haven’t changed their opinion of me are his family and him. According to the world of entertainment, Ainsley Harding lured Knox in, gave him an ultimatum with his divorce, and demanded he stay in Wyoming instead of chase his dream to continue playing music. I’ve done none of that, only supporting him in any decision he feels is best for him.

  I fell for the man none of these people know him as, who is far better than the idol they worship.

  Ugh, then why did I tell him I needed space to be alone? God, these psychos are driving me crazy.

  I look at the television screen, some random action movie playing, and I reach for the remote on the table, managing not to fall despite my refusal to sit up and grab it like a regular person. I stop when I see a Christmas movie and lean back on the couch, grabbing the bowl full of my current vice.

  I moved to a small town like the woman in this movie. I fell for a local. Why can’t my life be a Hallmark movie? Is that too much to ask for?

  Okay, I’ve gone from sad and moody to crazy and ridiculous. I roll my eyes at myself and stuff my face until I have a sugar overload, and my heart is breaking even more thanks to my overactive mind. I can’t see how Knox can actually fix this. Like, what do you tell heartless paparazzi that will suddenly make them surrender from all the juicy sh
it they think they’re capturing?

  You don’t. They don’t care. If they harass artists’ children, then they don’t care about a grown woman’s feelings.

  I huff and puff, but I have no solution. The worst part is that as much as I wanted to see him perform live, I knew it would be chaotic. I didn’t want anything to interfere with his show or cause him stress in an already stressful moment. This is the last thing he has to do before truly cutting ties with his old label, and I want it to go smoothly. If I went with him to Nashville, the focus would be on us and not his amazing talent.

  I glare at my phone when it rings, as if it interrupted the most important moment of my life. I look down at the half-empty bowl and sigh. It rings again, demanding my attention, and I reach for it.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetheart. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I wanted to make sure you were coming to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Hi Deb, I’m going to stay home actually. I appreciate it, so much, but I’m not really up to leaving the house.” Knox’s mom is a saint. She’d make the best mother-in-law. A cough strangles me, and I gasp for air as I try to gain my composure.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” it comes out muffled. I clear my throat. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened,” I lie because I know damn well I just choked on the idea of marrying Knox and having Deb as a mother-in-law.

  “Drink some water,” she suggests.

  “Getting some right now.” I stand, my unmatched socks warming my feet as I walk into the kitchen.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come? You’ll always have a setting on our table,” she sounds worried.

  “Yes, thank you.” Between the snowy roads and my heartache, I rather stay home tomorrow night, dreaming of a New Year’s kiss I won’t get.

  “If you change your mind—”

  “Thanks, I’ll let you know,” I interrupt her.

  “Good. I know things are difficult at the moment. Axel told me what happened at work, and I’ve seen all the nonsense they’re saying about you, but I hope you know how much my son cares about you. I’ll even risk and say he loves you,” she confides.

  “Loves?” My brows jump into my forehead.

  Deb laughs softly. “I’m positive about it. Knox is trying to redo his life, and he’s having a hard time with it even when he makes it seem like he has everything under control. I’m his mother, I know how challenging this is for him. He may not have always told me the truth,” her voice becomes sad. “But I’ve never seen him care for someone the way he does for you. His marriage may have been a farce, but I want to believe it’s helped him value people in his life more. The last thing he wants is to lose you.”

  I sniff, hearing her talk. “Thank you,” my words tremble.

  “I’m only sharing the truth. If you need us for anything, give us a call. I know Knox will be worried about your wellbeing while he’s traveling.”

  “I appreciate that.” I smile, grateful for her kindness and sincerity.

  “Goodnight,” she says, her voice so peaceful.

  Unable to sleep, I sit back on the sofa and watch the rest of this stupid, romantic, funny movie I wish were my life.

  …

  Oh, God, what am I going to do with my life? I pace the small space in my living room, baggy pajamas dragging. My tips will only last so long, and I need to pay rent in a couple of days. I take a deep stabilizing breath, my heart still beating erratically. It’s not like there are many options here for jobs. Besides, no one is going to want to hire me when I come with a stalking posse.

  I start back on burning a trail into the carpet, my arms crossed. Yesterday, I was sad. Today, I’m freaking the fuck out. Good times.

  Okay, Ainsley, you have a college degree. What can I do as a marketing specialist? I race to my room and grab my laptop. Looks like my New Year’s Eve plans have turned into job searching and coming up with a life plan.

  I wait for my screen to boot up, tapping my fingers on the section next to the touchpad.

  I begin typing on Google, scanning the different jobs that appear in my search—none of them in Everton. I’d have to commute about an hour if I applied to any of these. Desperate times call for desperate measures, huh?

  My head falls back, and I close my eyes. If it scared me to drive the short distance from my apartment to Clarke’s in the snow, there’s no way I’ll feel comfortable driving an hour in this weather. Winter’s just beginning.

  I open another tab and do a different search. As long as I have a laptop and a phone, I can freelance. I can start up a website and create a social media account that’s for a small business. We live in times where marketing is essential for anyone running a business, from a one-person company to a multi-million one—granted, those have a marketing team, but a girl can dream.

  I extend my search on this, feeling like I may have a real plan. The notebook I grabbed in the middle of my career planning is filled out with notes, to-do lists, and possible contacts. Aim high and all that.

  Taking a break, I check the time on my phone. Hmm… I haven’t heard from Knox, and he should already be in Nashville. I can imagine he’s been running around since he got there. They don’t televise the Nashville event, so I won’t even be able to watch him on TV.

  Great, now I’m regretting not going. Hidden in my apartment, everything looks simple, though. As soon as I walk out of here, the buzz will start up again.

  I warm up the canned chili, making dinner. Frito pie always makes bad days seem better, and it will now forever remind me of Knox. I sigh, stirring the chili to avoid it sticking to the pot. The bottle of The Macallan Knox bought so we could always have scotch when we stay in catches my eye. Hell to it, I grab a glass and serve myself a hefty serving. The amber liquid goes down smoothly while I wait for my dinner to finish warming up.

  A bowl full of Fritos, chili, and topped with shredded cheese and sour cream sits on my small table and a refill of scotch next to it. I grab my phone and snap a photo, sending it to Knox.

  Ainsley: good luck & enjoy it. thinking of you

  I smile, hoping that chips away the tension. I savor my meal, responding to Axel when he asks if I’m really staying home on the last day of the year. I assure him I’m okay, and then check to see if Knox wrote back, although I know he didn’t since I didn’t get any notifications while I wrote to Axel. My chest falls with a sigh. I finish my dinner, my drink still full.

  Might as well watch the Time Square celebration, even if they are two hours ahead of us. None of these are the musician I wish I were watching, but at least the music and chatter will distract me for a bit.

  After a while, I check my phone again. There’s still no response from Knox, and disappointment begins to swirl around me to the beat of the Jennifer Lopez song she’s singing on the stage. I start to droop.

  Opening Instagram, I do what any stalking girlfriend with FOMO would do—check his tags to see if anyone shared a short video clip of his performance. He should be done by now.

  I see a video and watch the blurriness for fifteen seconds. Things may not be perfect at the moment, but I love that man. I haven’t even told him yet with all the drama going on. I scroll to see more photos and pause.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I see a photo of him and Amelia hugging. I click on the image to read the caption. Old flames reunited to kiss the year goodbye.

  I tilt my head, eyebrows furrowed. This can’t be right. I scroll faster now and see another photo, this time they look like they’re talking. I groan when I see the next photo is of Reese and Dex. Talk about the girlfriends of New Year’s past. My heart sprints, my eyes are unsure if to burn with anger or shed tears.

  I look for Amelia’s Instagram account and check her tags. The same things appear on her side. Photos of her and Knox with assumptions of rekindling what was lost. One caption even says how he escaped my manipulations and went back to the woman he truly loves.

  Dry laughter leaves my mouth. If th
ey only knew.

  However, he still hasn’t responded to my message or called me all day. My hand goes to the snowflake around my neck, and I’m tempted to yank it. Instead, I rub it gently as I see a still image of Knox on stage, the guitar strap I gave him around his shoulders. A sad smile takes over, and I release a slow breath.

  Is this how it all ends?

  I could torture myself and search his name for all of the internet to share their gossip with me, or I could wait until he gets back and talk to him like a mature adult.

  I’ve always considered myself mature, which is why I don’t understand when my fingers begin typing his name on my phone browser of their own accord. This is one rabbit hole I’m going to regret getting lost in.

  Ainsley

  Pounding.

  Mmm… Are those fireworks?

  “Ainsley.”

  What the hell? I turn on the couch and grip the back cushion as I hit the floor with a thud. “Ouch.” I rub my lower back and stretch my arms over my head, an unattractive yawn filling my face.

  “Are you in there?” The same pounding and muffled voice that woke me up sounds again, and I might kill someone. I rub my eyes and walk to the door.

  Knox’s body visibly relaxes when I swing open the door.

  “What are you doing here?” My half-slumber state is still trying to remember what day it is.

  “I wanted to give you a New Year’s kiss.” He smirks a stupid sexy smirk, before leaning in.

  My hand automatically goes to his chest to stop him. New Year’s Eve. Nashville. Amelia. I take a step back and cross my arms.

  “What’s wrong?” the words rush out of his mouth, and his hands go into his hair.

  “You tell me,” I demand. “I saw photos of you and Amelia in Nashville. Was it nice to cozy up with her?” I arch a brow.

  “Fuck.” He blows out a puff of air. “It’s not like that. You of all people should know not to believe what they say. Yes, I saw her. The photos are real. She called Harris to let him know she was in Nashville to talk to me. I told her to fuck off until she said she wanted to talk to me about making things right for you and me.”