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

by Whitney Dineen

  Her daddy looks like he’s struggling to keep tears out of his eyes. He turns to me in such a vulnerable way that I want to reach out and hold him. I want to do something to ease the pain he’s feeling for his daughter.

  Instead of doing that, I stand over Maggie and cover her smaller fingers with my own. I say, “Open your eyes, honey.”

  When she does, she stares down at our hands, mystified by the wonder we’re holding together. She looks up in awe and says, “It’s so beautiful.” Purple crystals in varying heights and shapes grow out of our hands like a mystical fairy garden.

  I smile down at her. “Yes, it is.” Then I tell her, “Some of the most amazing things in this world don’t look like much on the outside. Inside they can be razor-sharp, even painful to touch, but they can be so very beautiful. Maggie, this rock is you, and it now belongs to you.”

  “Thank you,” she says almost breathlessly. “I’m feeling better now.”

  Huck stares at me like I’m a witch, like I have the answer to questions he didn’t even know how to ask. Unfortunately, I’m not magical. I’m human. The only reason I know what I know is because I’ve had to find my own map out of hell, and it wasn’t an easy process. It still isn’t.

  Chapter 22

  I set Maggie up to make a therapeutic bracelet. It’s essentially like the exercise I had her perform with the large stones. Each bead is a slightly different size and shape with a very unique feel. I tell her, “When you start to get anxious, I want you to close your eyes and focus on each bead. Tell yourself why it’s different, why it’s special. Keep going until your heart settles down a bit.”

  Huck’s daughter is mesmerized by her task. It’s obvious she’s feeling each stone as she goes, cataloguing how it’s different from the rest. Huck tells her, “Sweetheart, I’m just going to be around the corner with Amelia, setting up your beading classes, okay?”

  Maggie nods but doesn’t say anything. She just keeps running her fingers over the various beads, seemingly entranced by their differences.

  Huck takes my hand and nearly drags me to the back room. When we’re out of sight of his daughter, he grabs onto my arms and stares down at me like I’m a sorceress or something.

  My body betrays every instinct I have to not let him touch me. Not only do I let him, but I have the overwhelming urge to jump into his arms and climb him like a tree. “How did you do that?” he demands. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve shared enough of myself with you for you to know I have some issues,” I tell him. “I used to have panic attacks by the boatload when I was young. They got worse as I neared puberty.”

  A lightbulb seems to go off in his head. “Do you think that’s why Maggie’s attacks are increasing?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say that’s probably why.”

  “Why do you think your attacks started?” he asks. I’m quiet for too long to say there wasn’t a reason. Huck demands, “What happened, Amelia?”

  “Just something when I was a kid. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He stares at me in the same way you’d look at a freshly broken dish, like you’re trying to figure out if the pieces could be glued together without showing the damage or if too many shards have broken off to ever be normal again.

  Huck slowly unclenches his grasp from my arms, but he doesn’t move away from me. On the contrary. He steps closer until our bodies are fully touching; then he leans into me and wraps his neck around mine like we’re giraffes. With our heads resting against each other he says my name, “Amelia.” It’s an achingly tender gesture, but I quickly feel the energy shift to something altogether different.

  I know he’s waiting for me to give him a signal, but my body is at war with my head. I could let this man take everything he wants from me, and I know I would love every second of it, but then what? He’d walk out of my life leaving me behind with nothing but memories.

  I’m too much like Maggie to let that happen. I’ve climbed my own mountains for the minimal control I currently possess. If I throw that all away, I could relapse in way that I might never recover. I can’t risk that. No one is worth that.

  Huck seems to read my thoughts like they’re written in Braille all over me. “There are no guarantees in life, Amelia,” he tells me. “No one can plan everything. Sometimes you have to give into the power of something bigger than yourself and take risks. Let yourself have some fun.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me to take risks, Huckleberry Wiley. My life has been one giant risk. Every day I risk everything by getting out of bed and walking downstairs.” I push him back, but he only moves far enough to lean his forehead against mine.

  “What are you risking?” I demand. “You have everything a person could possibly want. You have fame and wealth. You have a child that adores you. I can’t allow someone into my life who doesn’t have as much to lose as I do. That wouldn’t be right; it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” he says angrily. “You don’t know what I have or what I don’t have. How could you?”

  “I know every word to every song you’ve ever written. I know your pain and your longings. I know you, Huck.”

  He drops his chin to his chest before lifting it with determination. “You know what I’ve allowed you to know. You can’t think that I’d let myself be so vulnerable as to sing about everything that matters to me.”

  His lyrics are so raw I’d never considered there was more, that he held something back. “You’re right, I only know what you’ve allowed, but you have to admit it’s loads more than what you know about me.”

  “Only because you won’t let me,” he replies with deadly aim.

  “Sleeping with a person isn’t the same as knowing them,” I tell him.

  “I don’t want to do anything remotely like sleeping, Amelia.” His tone causes tremors that physically shake me.

  I put my hands against his chest and push hard. I need some space. When I feel the slight chill of the air between us, I confess, “You’re right. I am protecting myself. But you’ve already told me that you don’t date, that you don’t have time for it. Being that I’m not going to jump into bed with you, it doesn’t seem possible that we can both get what we need from each other.”

  “What if we went ahead and dated?” he asks.

  “What does that even mean to you? Does that mean taking me out to dinner first?” I’m so mad right now I could spit.

  “It means that we would continue to see each other and get to know each other,” he says like I’m a simpleton.

  “You’re just saying that, so I say yes to the other thing.”

  He shrugs. “You claim to know me so well through my music. Is that how little you think of me?”

  I don’t know what to think. “You told me that you don’t want to take time away from Maggie with someone else and now you’re asking me to spend time with you.”

  “Maggie and I are here for two months. She’s met you and she likes you. You seem to understand her and what she’s going through. It seems like circumstances are different than they’ve ever been before.”

  This man is going to be the end of me. “Well, I’m glad that the obstacles on your end aren’t worrying you. But, are you going to move to Creek Water, Huck? Because if you aren’t then there’s no point in us taking this any further.”

  “Why? Because you can only live here? Because you’re afraid to be anywhere else?”

  “What if I can’t live anywhere else?” I ask, desperate for him to understand that I’m doing the best I can.

  He points to Maggie and asks, “Do you think you’ve learned more about your anxiety than Maggie knows about hers?”

  I nod my head easily. “Sure, but only because I’ve had years more practice.”

  “She’s light-years ahead of you,” he tells me hurtfully. “You think because you can help calm her panic attacks that you know more, but you don’t. That little girl out there does things she hates to do all the time. She lives
half the year without me, but she meets me on the road whenever she can. She can’t stand to fly, but she does it. She’s changed schools with the hopes of making her life easier. Her whole world is change and she’s riding the wave all the time, never knowing when it’s going to crash onto the shore.”

  “Anxiety is different for everyone, Huck,” I whisper so quietly I can barely hear the words for myself.

  “I don’t doubt that, Amelia. But you have to quit thinking that your life is the only one that’s hard. You don’t take any chances because you’re afraid. You congratulate yourself on your ability to be queen of your kingdom, but you live in a box.”

  If Huck had stabbed me in the heart with a cleaver it would have hurt less. He continues, “I’m not asking you to marry me and run off to the moon. I’m asking you to go out with me. As you’ve so accurately stated, I barely know you. But I’m telling you I want to know you. I want to know as much about you as you think you already know about me. The only way that’s going to happen is if you participate.”

  I can barely catch my breath. I feel pressure building in my chest and I don’t know which way to turn. “I’m not going to move into your box with you,” he tells me. “My world is bigger than that. All I’m asking is that you open your eyes and realize there’s a lot of life out there that’s daring you to live it. Are you brave enough for the challenge?”

  A lone tear runs down my cheek. I feel like I’ve been beaten up and dragged across a hundred miles of rough pavement. Huck leans down and tenderly kisses the tear from my face. Then he nearly shatters me with his next words. “It’s not what you have to lose that matters, Amelia. It’s what you have to gain.”

  Chapter 23

  Huck leaves his daughter in my care, promising to pick her up in two hours’ time. Once he walks out the door, I can finally breathe again. He’s right, I am proud of the control I have in my life, but he’s wrong to think I feel like the queen of my own little world. I’m barely the scullery maid.

  My limits are stretched, every day I push myself to do things outside my comfort zone. Sometimes it’s something as small as going to the grocery store after it’s dark. There are days when I barely get any sleep because I can’t shut off the “what if?” questions that attack during the night. There are weeks I’m so exhausted it’s all I can do to drag myself out of bed.

  Anxiety isn’t just a small twinge of discomfort. It’s an all-out assault that effects every part of your life. You get anxious when you’re feeling good because you worry about how long you have before it comes back. Your panic gets worse when you’re in the throes because you wonder if it will ever subside or if it’s finally settled in permanently.

  These are things I don’t even try to articulate to other people because I can’t imagine they’d ever understand unless they’d experience it firsthand. I don’t want them to know these things about me because I don’t want them to treat me differently or think less of me for my emotional weakness.

  When Maggie is done with her bracelet, I ask, “Do you want to make something else?”

  “I’m good for now,” she says. Those are the first words she’s strung together since her panic attack.

  “You want to go upstairs to my place for a cup of tea?”

  “You live here, too?”

  “I do. I bought this building about ten years ago. It makes sense to have my home where I work, that way I can sleep in later.” I say the last bit teasingly. I know how hard it is for kids to get out of bed in the mornings and I figure she’ll appreciate my logic.

  “How old are you, Amelia?”

  “I’m thirty-three, honey. Why do you want to know?”

  “How old were you when you felt like you got better?” Oh, brother. I’m guessing Huck has shared that I have anxiety as well. I have no idea how to answer her question without discouraging her. I know she’s hoping I’ll say ten and-a-half, or even eleven or twelve—some number that isn’t too far off from where she is now so that she has a date to strive for. Unfortunately, there is no magic number. I’m still fighting for sanity.

  After several long moments of pondering, I say, “There’s no set age when life gets easier. It’s a progression. All I can tell you is that every day that I face my challenges teaches me how to grow beyond my struggles. They’re still there, but they’re not as hard. Does that make sense?”

  “My dad says it’s like a baby learning how to walk. You fall down a lot at first, but after a lot of practice you just get up and go.”

  “Your daddy is a smart man,” I tell her. “That’s exactly what it’s like. But like a baby, walking isn’t the only thing you have to learn. It’s a good place to start, but you have to let it lead to the next thing.” When I say these things to Maggie, I feel like I’m saying them to myself and I’m not sure I really want to hear them.

  She sighs heavily. “I can’t think about what comes after this.”

  I know exactly what she means. Huck’s words come back to me, It’s not what you have to lose, it’s what you have to gain.

  It scares me to think there’s more.

  I’ve been trying so hard not to lose any part of myself that I haven’t considered what I’m missing out on by not opening up. I wonder what might have been had Aiden asked me to marry him and I’d said yes. Going forward, I need to decide if life’s gifts are worth losing the precious control I’ve managed to attain. I anticipate it’s a conundrum that’s going to keep me up at night.

  We both need a diversion, so I ask, “Do you want me to paint your fingernails for you? I’ve got a bunch of glitter polish.”

  She looks at my short bare nails. “Why don’t you wear it?”

  “I use my hands a lot and I don’t like the distraction when I’m beading. I like to focus on the stones.”

  “Then why do you have nail polish?” she wants to know.

  “My mama gave it to me. She knows I like girly things,” I point down to my current outfit. “She figured that I’d like the sparkles.”

  After we climb the stairs to my apartment and walk inside, Maggie wants to know, “What’s it like having a mom?”

  Her question catches me off guard. I don’t know when Maggie’s mom left the picture and I don’t want to ask anything that will hurt her more than she obviously already is. Yet there’s something between me and Huck’s daughter that makes me want to be totally honest with her. “It’s great and annoying at the same time. Great because nobody loves you like a mama does. Annoying because she gets all up in your business and tries to micromanage every little aspect of your life.”

  “I wish I had a mom. All the kids I know at school have them. They drop them off in the morning, give them a kiss, and tell them to have a good day, then they pick them up in the afternoon looking so happy to see them. It looks nice.”

  “Isn’t your aunt kind of like a mom to you?” I ask.

  “Aunt Claire is great, but she’s got her own kids and her own life. When Dad’s home I only see her every few days or so. It’s not the same.”

  “I’ll introduce you to my mama while you’re here, if you want to meet her, that is.”

  “I’d like that a whole lot, Amelia.”

  I settle Maggie on my couch and hand her an afghan to snuggle under. “What kind of tea do you want? I have peppermint, chamomile, and wild berry.”

  “Is it okay if I just close my eyes for a couple of minutes?” she asks. “I’m a little tired.”

  “Sure, honey. I can shut the blinds if you want to keep the sunlight out.”

  She shakes her head. “I live in California. I’m used to sunshine.” Her eyelids start to flutter before she closes them and drifts off. I wish I could fall asleep that easily. Instead, I lay in bed for ages cataloguing all the events in my day like I’m living them all over again.

  I’ve always wanted to have a family, but I’ve never considered before now what I’d do if my child suffered like I did, like I still do at times. Would I be able to help them? Would their fears become my ow
n and cause me to revert?”

  It’s not what you have to lose, Amelia, it’s what you have to gain … I have an awful lot to consider before I think about having kids, like what in the world am I going to do about Huck Wiley?

  Chapter 24

  Huck’s serious mood has evaporated by the time he picks up Maggie. I buzz him in when he calls from the intercom downstairs. “We’re on the second floor in the apartment on the left,” I tell him.

  I hear the floorboards on the stairs creak, so I open the door before he has a chance to knock. “Maggie’s taking a little nap on the sofa,” I say, by way of greeting.

  A tender smile appears on his lips. “I was wondering how long she’d last.”

  My questioning look has him explaining, “She sleeps a lot when she’s getting used to a new place. Her therapist says it’s her brain’s way of slowing down change so she can adapt to a new situation.”

  “Maybe she shouldn’t have to adjust to so much change,” I suggest somewhat judgmentally. “It might be too much for her.”

  “Nice try,” he replies. “Anxiety is kind of like post-traumatic stress disorder. You need to identify triggers and then take steps to overcome them. You don’t avoid situations; you keep pushing yourself forward until you get through them. Didn’t your therapist tell you that?”

  “I never saw a therapist, just my regular doctor. All he said was to make sure I had enough exercise and got a good night’s sleep.” I wonder if what Huck says is true, that by doing stuff that scares me like the plague, I’ll get stronger and be able to do more. My fear has always been that if I push myself, I might break once and for all.

  “Sleep and exercise are certainly part of it, but there’s a lot more.” He asks, “Why didn’t your parents take you to a specialist?”

  “I did my best not to let them know how bad things were. I didn’t want to worry them.”

  “How did you keep it from them?” he wants to know.