After his meteoric rise to superstardom, Jim O'Brien is no longer a small-town boy who plays in bars and dreams of success. His handsome face is plastered on the covers of celebrity gossip magazines, and his voice alone is enough to make girls swoon...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
My fingers wrapped around the steering wheel as I took the right turn, seeing the contours of a stately building in the distance. I released a long breath when I realized I hadn’t gotten lost.
I had tons of things to take care of and a million problems to solve. We had to start rehearsing for the show, and I needed to write the lyrics for the song my bandmates composed. Yet, here I was, driving to see an old man I knew nothing about with Cute Little Thing and birth control on my mind.
I kept her trapped in bed until it got too late for both her and me. Ava fidgeted and blushed, and I kissed the hell out of her, making her promise she would call me and tell me whatever she decided to do.
It was very hard not to get hopeful, and it was even harder to come up with the words I needed to say to her to explain who I was.
Ava, I’m a superstar.
Ava, I’m a freaking celebrity. A small-town guy who became mega-famous overnight.
Ava, I’m Jim O’Brien. Don’t freak out if a random weirdo starts snapping pictures of you on one of the streets downtown. It’s because you’re my girlfriend, but don’t you worry. It’s amazing. The attention, the hype, the hoopla, the lack of privacy is fantastic. Awesome. Twenty out of ten would recommend.
You’ll get used to looking over your shoulder and seeing your name in tabloids just because you’re with me.
My heart rate spiked. “Fuck,” I cursed under my breath and drove into the almost vacant parking lot outside the nursing home.
I locked my car and strolled to the entrance of the building, lost in thought.
As I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, I saw a woman sitting at the desk in what must have been the reception area. She was perusing some papers with her brow furrowed and her lips pursed.
"Good morning," I said.
Her surprised eyes landed on me. The woman's expression changed, and a genuine smile lit up her features. "Good morning. How can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Alfie. Alfred." As soon as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I realized I had no idea about the old man's last name.
"Alfie," the woman repeated. "Of course. He barely gets visitors, you know? Are you his family?"
"Just someone looking after his house." I settled on an innocent lie.
"Sign in here and then come with me. He must be in the garden."
I put my name on the visitors' list. The woman rose from the chair and rubbed her neck as we took the first couple of steps toward a wide hallway.
"What's your name?" I asked her.
"Cora."
"Jim."
Cora smiled, pointing a hand ahead of us. "Nice to meet you, Jim. The door that leads to the garden is over there. I'll show you around in case you're going to visit more times."
