Chapter 28

Dec

Chaos.

That was what my days and nights turned into after the story broke in the newspaper the morning after the maiden voyage of the Boozer Cruiser. Then social media got ahold of it and suddenly my name was trending again after ten years of blessed silence. I had a moment of panic when reporters showed up just outside my driveway, shouting questions when I appeared at the front window of my house to see what was happening.

Thankfully, I'd had Pops stay with me so I could monitor him for a concussion after his accident. There was using him as a crutch and there was basic caring, a distinction I was glad he agreed with without a fight. At least with him here I knew he wasn't similarly being hounded by the press. My house became a fortress, a barrier I kept in place and didn't cross. Pops, however, didn't feel the same way. I watched him sneak out of my house every night after I went to bed, crossing the property lines along the beachside to get to Mona. Considering there didn't need to be two heartbroken Boggan men in this house, I didn't try to stop him.

Harley had been in constant communication with me, but on day three, the sound of the loud horn on his truck had me sneaking back to the front window to spy him with his head out the window of his truck, yelling at the reporters.

"Step aside or you'll get real acquainted with my tires!" he shouted, face split in a good-ol'-boy grin that had the reporters smiling back, even though they were being threatened.

They did step back and Harley bounced his truck over the curb and into my driveway, hauling groceries out of the back and whistling a tune. He walked right through my front door like he owned the place. He dumped the groceries in the kitchen and started chatting about the weather like my life hadn't completely changed the last three days.

"Harley," I snapped, not giving a shit that there was a cold front pushing south soon that just might have him using his fireplace tomorrow night.

He lifted his head, a jug of milk in his hand. He opened the fridge and put the carton away and then leaned against the countertop, arms folded across his chest.

"What? I'm just shootin' the shit 'til you say those three little words."

I was running on only a few hours of sleep and a heart full of conflicting emotions. He was going to have to explain himself like I was a first grader. "What three little words?"

"You. Were. Right." He shrugged. "Or if you want to use three different words, you could say ‘I was wrong.'"

"Fuck off," I grumbled, opening the fridge to see if he'd brought me beer. It was five o'clock somewhere, right?

Harley let out a noise that sounded like an annoying buzzer. "That's only two words, asshole."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed a bottle of green juice that hadn't been there this morning. "What the hell is this?"

Harley snatched it out of my hands and held it aloft like he was on some sort of game show and this juice was the prize. "This is sustenance. This is what you need to think clearly. This is a start to getting your life back on track."

I lifted an eyebrow. "Damn. That's some miracle juice, huh?"

Harley tossed me the bottle and I caught it, reluctantly unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. It tasted terrible, which probably meant it was insanely good for me. I actually couldn't remember the last time I ate a vegetable. Had to have been last week, before the debacle with Kenna.

"Is she home yet?"

Harley stilled, ignoring the rest of the groceries. "Not yet. Char talked to her yesterday and she sounded good."

Through the grapevine of my friends, I'd found out that Kenna had flown back to San Francisco right after we talked. Pops assured me that all her things were still at Maeve's house, but part of me wondered if she'd come back at all. She had to be thinking about living right next to me, the guy who'd broken her heart and lied to her. Exactly like her ex-husband.

I took another swig of juice and let the bitterness seep into every part of my body. "She never answered my text."

"Well, no shit. She's got some things to sort out, and quite frankly, I'm proud of her for taking the time to do it. Like I tried to tell you, she's not the same woman who moved here."

Funny how everything was so crystal-fucking-clear in the rearview mirror. "Is this the moment where I say you were right?"

Harley shrugged. "It would be a good first step."

"And my next step?"

Harley twirled his keys around his finger. "Next step is figuring out how much you want Kenna in your life."

"I already know how much." It was the truth. It was all I thought about day and night since she left. Ten-plus more years of hiding out in Sunshine Key and fishing off my boat stretched before me. I used to call that paradise. Now the vision made me feel hollow inside.

Harley marched to the front door, and like the sad shell of a person I'd become, I followed him. "Then you better figure out a damn good way of getting her back."

"A grand gesture meant to make me grovel?" I'd written enough love songs in my short music career to know what women wanted.

Harley swung open the door and I ducked out of the reporters' line of sight. "Nah. Kenna is a grown-ass woman. She doesn't need a big show. She wants to know you're a grown-ass man. Fully healed and mature and ready to walk by her side instead of weigh her down. Figure your shit out, Dec."

He slammed the door behind him, emphasizing his words. I could hear him working the crowd outside, but my brain was spinning. I'd felt shame over lying to Kenna, but it was so much deeper than that. I'd known it, but it had taken my best friend beating me over the head with it to make me look it right in the face.

Kenna and I had both come to Sunshine Key during the lowest points of our lives. The only difference was that Kenna had taken time to heal herself while I'd hidden, hoping the world would pass me by. I'd stayed small while she'd gained confidence. I'd shrunk while she shined. I'd let myself lick my wounds in secret while she'd exposed her wounds to the salty air, letting them scab over and ultimately heal.

"Fuck," I muttered, slamming back the rest of the green juice and pacing the house, coming up with a plan. I had a lot to do and no time to lose.

I found my cell phone on the couch and eyed the voicemail from my old agent, the one who'd made a good living off me when I was still a country music star. He'd called that first morning when the story broke, advising me that all this chaos would eventually fade away if I just did a tell-all story with one major network station. I'd immediately tossed his idea aside in favor of more hiding.

My finger hovered over his name, heart thundering with what I was about to do. And then I thought about Kenna's freckles, each one appearing as her confidence grew, and I hit dial.

The stench and sound of New York City was overwhelming. It was also as cold as Irene's iced coffees. My blood had become accustomed to Sunshine Key's warm temperatures, making this bustling city feel like another planet.

The glass-and-steel high-rise seemed to touch the gray sky above. People moved all around me, in a rush to get somewhere important and completely unaffected by a guy in jeans and cowboy boots gawking up at a building like a total tourist. If I didn't hurry up and walk inside to get through security, I'd be late to my interview. I'd come too far to fuck this up now.

All through security, the elevator ride up to the seventh floor, and the makeup people that came to apply all kinds of products to my suntanned face, I thought about the nine long days since I'd seen Kenna. She'd come home the day before I left for New York, but I hadn't seen her in my rush to set things up. Pops informed me she looked great and had moved more of her things into the house, which made me immensely relieved.

She came back.

There was still hope.

It was that bubble of optimism that carried me through a nearly two-hour interview with the largest magazine in the world that chronicled people's lives. There wasn't one question I deemed off-limits for being too invasive. I told my story, how it had all ended, and why I made the decisions I did. I wrapped things up by sharing what was on my heart.

"I've met someone special, yes," I answered the female interviewer with a wink. It was amazing how easily I slid back into the persona that had made me a superstar. "She's back home in Sunshine Key. She's actually the one who motivated me to start the Ride the Music Foundation."

The woman leaned closer. "Do I hear wedding bells?"

Of course she'd latch on to the sensationalism of a relationship, not the good work I was doing with my brand-new foundation. "Now, that I'd like to still keep private."

"How about you tell me about your foundation instead?"

"Gladly. It's a program set up to provide sober rides after music concerts. I've reached out to some heavy-hitter donors, and once those are secured, we'll immediately start buying cars and training drivers. Rides will be subsidized by the foundation. Never again will there be an excuse to drive drunk leaving a concert."

It had been an idea rolling around in my head for years, but I'd been too scared to out myself, even for a worthy cause. Now that I'd gotten it up and running, several of my old friends in the music industry had been all too happy to help out. Come to find out, quite a few drunk driving accidents had been linked to alcohol consumption at the very concerts we artists were making money off of. With this program, we hoped to eliminate all drunk drivers coming from our concerts.

And I hadn't lied. Kenna really did inspire the foundation. Without her coming to Sunshine Key and pushing her booze cruise idea, we never would have been in the paper and that reporter would never have recognized me. That had led to the chaos after and now I'd used it for something worthwhile.

It felt damn good.

Better than I ever could have imagined to have my identity leaked and prying eyes everywhere I went. I had a feeling there would be more days of chaos ahead, but with each passing day, it would die down a bit. But I'd still be doing something good with my old fame, keeping accidents like my father's from happening again.

"You've turned into a philanthropist, Debogglan?"

I smiled. "Nah. Just a guy wanting to do some good so he can look into the eyes of the woman he loves and be proud of himself."

"She sounds like a lucky lady."

I looked right at the cameraman with the black leather cord around my neck and the good luck charm now hanging from it again. I shook my head. "No. I'm the lucky one."

After another hour of photos to go along with the print interview and the video clips they wanted to use on all their social platforms, I walked out of the high-rise building without the usual weight on my shoulders. I shoved my hat back on my head and turned north. My steps felt light and even the honks and shouts from drivers stuck in traffic couldn't dampen my spirits as I walked back to my hotel.

Harley had been right and I'd told him so several times now. I'd been living small. Kenna, with her wild hair and newly formed calluses from home renovation, had shown me what it looked like to be courageous.

Now I needed to get back home so I could implement the second part of my plan. Because as much as Harley was right about a lot of things, he was dead wrong about Kenna not needing a big show as an apology. I'd put on shows in sold-out amphitheaters across the world for total strangers.

Kenna, the woman I loved, would get the best show of all.