“I’ve always heard good things come to those who wait, but I was gifted with good looks, not patience.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
Austinites had gotten wind of Johnny Outlaw’s surprise performances and somehow the dedicated fans had managed to figure out his next location before he stepped up on stage. So as Dalton stood up on stage at the Lonestar Bar in front of a packed crowd, I couldn’t help but be proud. The entire audience swayed to the slow songs, danced to the faster songs, and sang along by the second chorus. He shined. His stardom is evident as he sings his songs from the heart. There’s just something so mesmerizing about that man.
Tommy nudged me several times. Even without words I could tell how proud he was as well. During a break, we stood in the Manager’s office listening to Dalton’s excitement. He was in the zone and knew he had connected with the audience. But what he was most excited about was that he did it on his own—just him and a guitar.
“This could be big.” Tommy asks, “Are we gonna make this album?”
Dalton looks at me as if I can give him the answer he needs. I say, “What does your heart tell you?”
He finishes a drink and sets the glass down before sitting in a ripped up swivel chair. “I’ve been thinking about everything. My head’s clear and I know what I want to do now.”
Tommy and I wait. Pins and needles have become knives and swords in anticipation of his answer. A big part of our future seems to lie in his answer.
He says, “My heart’s with the band. I hate those guys, but I fucking love them more.”
I smile. He’s so strong and yet so vulnerable. His heart is as big as his fame.
An enthusiasm is heard when Tommy says, “Dex has three new songs he’s written. You have fourteen. We have the other twelve that you guys were about to go into the studio with. We’ve got more than we need for an album. We can release a double CD or we have the next two albums in the bag and you can take a break from the studio. How are you feeling about Kaz and Derrick?”
“I think they’re better than they think they are and they think really fucking highly of themselves. It takes time, but they’re gelling.”
“What about a tour?”
“I can’t commit to anything before the baby’s born,” Dalton says, “but we wouldn’t tour before then anyway. What do you think Holliday?”
Leaning against a bulletin board, I say, “I’m hiring three new employees at Limelight with room for five more if the new lines take off. I don’t want to work fifty, sixty hours a week when the baby comes. I don’t want you gone all the time either, but we’re both doing what we love so how can I ever ask you to not pursue your dreams?” Walking over to him, I settle on his lap. “I’ll support you. With a family, we’ll just have to work things out, but you do what you need to do. You’ll be happier for it and that makes me happy.”
He kisses me and then stands up, setting me down on my feet again. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Tommy stands and looks at his watch. I almost see the cogs turning as his focus expands to the possibilities Dalton’s just offered up. “I’ll call Dex tonight, but you need to get back out there and wrap this up.”
We walk out and the crowd screams as Dalton takes the stage again. Tommy and I work our way toward the back of the bar. He stands next to me, a barrier to protect me I think. I lean my head on Tommy and say, “You’re a big softie, you know that?”
When I lift back up, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a side hug. “Only for you.” His arm falls away and he points up at the stage and says, “Know any single hot women who don’t mind dating guys on the road all the time?”
Laughing, I think about all my friends. “I know a few single hot women, but I’m not sure this life is for everyone. But I’ll definitely think about it and keep you posted.”
Dalton hits a hard note, his voice holding steady. We both smile and Tommy says, “I’ve watched that man grow from an angry, punk-ass kid to a superstar. But he hasn’t peaked. If he went solo he could own the music industry, but that he’s chosen to support the band says what kind of man he is.”
Dalton has his eyes closed. He’s leaning into the microphone singing while his hands strum a melody that comes second nature to him. The first five feet of the audience is all women vying for his attention, hoping to get a look, a touch, an offer from him. When he opens his eyes again, he searches for me. I can tell by the way he’s focused. It’s a look in his eyes that’s centered, all confidence and pride.
Tommy looks down at his phone, checking emails. He laughs, drawing my attention. “Holy shit! They got four Grammy nominations.”
“What?”
He angles the phone so I can see. I read on the screen the official email that shows four nominations and in which categories. “This is huge.” They’ve won three, but I know this album was rough since it was the first they made after Cory’s death. Giddy, I say, “He’s gonna flip. This is just what he needs right now.”
“You know what’s funny, Holli?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if he even cares about awards or gold records. He gets to do what he loves. He lives his dream every day, but what I do know is at the end of the day, this baby boy will be his greatest achievement.”
Feeling the love, I smile at him. “Thanks, Tommy. That means a lot to me.”
A guy turns around and asks, “Johnny Outlaw’s having a boy?” Then he snaps my picture.
Tommy shoves him away from me, and then grabs my arm, tucking me behind him. “Go Holli.”
Coming back and madder than ever, the guy keeps snapping photos as I duck to get out of there. He shouts loudly, above the crowd, above Dalton singing, “Or is it Sebastian Lassiter’s ki—”
Tommy punches him. I gasp, but hurry toward the door for safety. When I look back, he’s gone down from the hit. The crowd encircles him as the bouncers rush past me. Tommy’s right behind me, his hands on my back guiding me. Holding my arms around my stomach, I say, “I think that was one of the paps from the other day.”
The music comes to an abrupt halt. Before I walk out the front door, I look back over my shoulder and see Dalton hopping off the stage. Shit. As soon as we’re free from the crowd, I tell Tommy, “Stop him. He’ll kill them.”
When we get outside, he directs me behind two bouncers. “Stay here. Right here, Holli. Don’t leave this guy’s side.” He taps the doorman, shoves a fifty in his hands, and says, “Don’t take your eyes off her and don’t let anyone near her.”
“Sure, pal.”
I push Tommy toward the door. “I’ll be fine. Go!”
Holding my belly, I peek up at the very large doorman. “Hi.”
He nods slowly, and replies, “Hi. So you’re with Johnny Outlaw?”
Nodding, I answer silently.
“Cool.”
And it is. It’s pretty damn cool, though times like these I worry about Dalton’s temper and the trouble it can get him into. Peeking inside the open door, I see Tommy pushing Dalton backwards by the chest. Dalton is shouting at the paparazzo, “I will beat the fuck out of you if you ever come near my wife again.”
Tommy is yelling at him, the crowd is moving out of the way as he passes. Their phones are in the air. I’m sure capturing it all. The doorman says, “Guess the show is over.”
“Looks that way.” Standing there a few more minutes, I start to feel awkward, so I shift around to his other side. That’s when I see him. Dalton is standing on the corner looking around. When he sees me, he jogs over. No words. Just kisses. With his arms enveloping me, he asks, “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I touch his cheek, relieved to see he isn’t hurt. “How are you?”
He laughs humorlessly. “I don’t even know. I just know I’m glad you’re okay. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I tap the doorman. “Thanks.”
“No problem. You guys have a safe night.”
I can tell he’s a little awestruck seeing Dalton. I understand the feeling. I still get awestruck by him too, but for different reasons entirely.
Stopping Dalton before we leave, I say, “This guy was nice to me. Maybe you want to take a photo or something.”
He nods, turning to the guy. “Hey, thanks for helping her out.”
He gets his wallet out, but the guy stops him and says, “The other guy already took care of me.”
Dalton seems impressed. “You want an autograph or photo or anything?”
“A photo would be cool.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it out in front of them. After he takes the pic, he shakes Dalton’s hand, and says, “Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
The bar manager comes out with Tommy and they both escort us to the car. Tommy’s in the driver’s seat, the equipment already loaded in the trunk. When he pulls away, he says, “Always an adventure.”
“That’s for sure,” I add.
Dalton laughs, nothing seeming to bother him. With his arm over my shoulder as we sit in the backseat together, he looks out the window. “It’s good to be back.”
Tommy thought it best to cut the impromptu tour short for several safety reasons. Dalton agreed, saying it was getting out of hand. That means we’re heading back to LA and going home. I’m ready to be home. I miss our house. I miss my friends. I miss working in my office and seeing Tracy almost every day. I want to finish the baby’s room and have a mountain of things to do before the baby arrives including my next doctor’s appointment.
Once we’re back in LA, everything looks good and the baby sounds healthy. We are blessed in so many ways that I hate thinking about the bad, but we’ve had a major obstacle trying to block our happiness and I have every intention of ridding the negative from our lives once and for all.
Four days later, we walk hand in hand into the lawyer’s office. “Keep your eyes down,” Dalton says, gripping my hand tighter. “Don’t give them anything.”
I exhale, remembering this is part of our lives and probably always will be, especially since we fired back at Ashley, using the media the same way she has. The lawsuit has blown up, all the outlets carrying every crumb of information they can get their hands on. They’re salivating from the salacious story.
Ashley and her lawyer are due in the office today to hear the results of the paternity test we got court ordered. I’m still shocked she went through with it considering they didn’t have sex. That she took the test, knowing it would be false, troubles me. I’m not sure what kind of crazy I’m dealing with anymore.
We’re seated in the conference room, her lawyer is already there. Our lawyers sit across from him and we sit further down. We’re there to listen, not participate. Surprisingly, Ashley does not show. Our lawyer, Ron Jacoby, says, “We received the envelope. We have, per our agreement, not read the results.”
“There’s no need,” her lawyer says. “Ms. Dellacord has withdrawn her suit.”
I huff in annoyance and roll my eyes. Everyone looks my way. “Oops,” I whisper, “Sorry.”
Dalton whispers, “It’s good she’s withdrawn.”
Ron asks, “Did she give a reason?”
“She feels,” he says, stacking the papers in front of him, “that the heavy involvement of public opinion has tainted her pregnancy and caused concerns. She does not want to further jeopardize the health of her baby.”
“Bullshit,” Dalton spews. “She sold the story for thirty grand and now she’s about to be busted in her lie.”
Ron puts his hand out, telling us to hold on. My fingers entwine with Dalton’s, hoping to calm us both. We’ve been on edge all morning. Ron adds, “We’ll be opening the results whether she’s withdrawn the suit or not.” He pulls the envelope from a file and starts to rip it open. The other lawyer looks uncomfortable as he watches, shifting in his chair. I think my heart stops altogether waiting for these results.
Ron announces, “No test was taken, so there are no results.”
Dalton and I collectively release a breath. “She lied for money and the fifteen minutes of fame she thinks she’s owed,” Dalton says. He looks at Ron and says, “We’re moving forward with our suit.”
Ron turns to Ashley’s lawyer and says, “On behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, we will be suing Ms. Dellacord for full legal fees of her withdrawn suit as well as $3.2 million for damages and distress. In addition, they are requesting a public admittance that she lied to not only extort money from my clients, but to deliberately damage the reputation of Mr. Dalton and the band, The Resistance. ”
The other lawyer tries to hide his shock, but the dismay is read loud and clear across his crinkled forehead. “As a representative of Ms. Dellacord, she has granted me the right to settle for a reasonable fee for this not to play out any longer. She’s requested 1.2 million to end this today.”
“Us pay her?” Dalton scoffs. “She can fuck herself.”
Ron asks us to remain quiet as he handles the rest. “We will not be paying her anything and as I just mentioned, we will be moving forward with our suit against her. She brought the media into this, but we will use them to end it. Just in case I wasn’t clear about what my clients feel is fair to settle, if she does not comply with the terms I’ve spoken of, we’ll turn this case over to the FBI to further investigate the possibility of Ms. Dellacord using tactics of extortion.” He stands. “Good day.”
We follow Ron out of the room, leaving the other lawyer gobsmacked. Back in Ron’s office, he calls in his assistant and asks, “Stacy, is there a way to verify Ms. Dellacord is actually pregnant?”
“We can pull records though not her medical file without a court order.”
“Can we get one?” he asks.
“I’ll start working on that now.”
When Stacy leaves the room, I say, “We don’t even know if she’s pregnant?”
Ron shakes his head. “Unfortunately not. We’ve had a PI on her tail, but she’s not been seen in public at all since the lawsuit broke.”
“That’s what it is,” I say, everything so crystal clear. “She’s not pregnant. That’s why she didn’t take the test.”
Dalton stands at the window looking out. His arms are crossed and his shoulders tense. “She’s disturbed, but she started this war. I almost lost everything because of her. I have to see this through or this could happen again with the next psychopath.”
Ron says, “It’s setting a precedence not to fuck with you in the future. I think it’s wise to follow through with the suit even if she’s not pregnant.”
Five days later, we get a call from Ron. We’re sitting at our kitchen table with a stack of baby clothes to fold in front of us, when he confirms my suspicion. “She’s not pregnant. She’s claiming she lost the baby, but she has not sought any medical attention in the last year related to a pregnancy. It was a con.”
Relief washes over me, though when I decided to trust Dalton, I had decided then it wasn’t his baby she was carrying. Now to find out she wasn’t carrying a baby at all mystifies me to how she thought she would get away with this. I rub over my stomach, finding it easier to breathe knowing there won’t be a question in the public’s eye now. Dalton remains silent, ingesting the news. I suggest, “What if we lower the money to one million and demand the apology within ten days?”
Ron replies, “That sounds reasonable. Generous actually, but you know you can win more.”
“I don’t want to destroy anyone, but she does need to pay where it hurts and since she’s a gold digger, her wallet is where it hurts. Her pride second. I want the public apology.”
With one raised eyebrow, and a shit-eating grin on his face, he says, “No one messes with my family.”
On the advice of her lawyer, three days later, a formal apology is published and shared all over the gossip shows, the tabloids, and radio. Payments started to the children’s hospital where we decided any money from this would be donated.
We’re finally vindicated, but more so, we’re happy that no one will question Dalton’s fidelity anymore. As for my pregnancy, Sebastian constantly denies having relations with me in interviews, but the media likes the juicy tales, so we have to just move on from it. We know the truth and once this baby is born, everyone else will too.