When the moment came for me to tell Molly the news about the adoption I had wanted it to be as memorable as I could for her. It had been a long time coming to a kid as young as she was, and to be honest it had felt like a lifetime for me as well.

When she ran toward me bursting with excitement for no other reason than we’d arrived home it had melted my heart to see her so happy. For a second I wasn’t sure I could say the words to her without choking up, but I knew I wouldn’t keep her waiting a moment longer.

Taking a deep breath, I knelt down to embrace her and held her face in my hands. “Hello, cutie,” I whispered and kissed the end of her nose. I could hear the raw emotion in those two words. Molly looked back bashfully at me. “Yep, we’re home, and you know what? I have a little surprise for you, young lady.”

Shaking her head slowly she stared wide-eyed, her excitement growing with my question. “What?” she asked.

“Not what, who?” I replied.

Molly looked confused, narrowed her eyes, and scrunched her nose. “I don’t know what you mean why are you trying to muddle me?”

“The surprise is who not what,” I repeated.

“You mean someone is the surprise not the something?” she asked with her hands on her hips.

Her sassy attitude made me smile. She was chalk to Rudi’s cheese. Where she was bossy and organized, he was messy and passive. The would compliment each other perfectly, and I figured once Rudi found his feet with her they’d be great friends.

“You know how you keep asking me when I am going to get to adopt you?”

“Yeeeeeeeeah?” she said accentuating the word, tilting her head, and narrowing her eyes again.

“Well… I guess it’s time you did what I asked you to… now that I’m your daddy,” I answered with a cheesy grin.

Clasping her hands together she held them to her chest like she did when she was overwhelmed, and her eyes turned glassy. Turning to look at Maggie, she bubbled up and wailed. Through her tears she sobbed, "Is this true, Mommy?”

Maggie had teared up as well and nodded frantically 'yes', too choked to speak. I leaned forward and scooped my sobbing little girl into my arms. The name she called me didn’t matter to me, but the sense of belonging I had from seeing her reaction almost did me in.

Crying through hiccups she took a deep breath and asked, “Daddy? Can I call you my daddy forever now?” Her pleading eyes searched my face waiting for confirmation, and I thought my heart would burst out of my chest with the love I felt for her. “I’d be honored if you called me Daddy,” I replied, my voice husky with emotion.

“Daddy,” she said again and cried harder as she wrapped her arms around my neck and wailed into the crook of it. I tried to soothe her by rubbing her back and she mumbled, “I asked Santa for a daddy when Mommy helped me write a note, but he gave me a bike instead. Maybe his elves were still making you then,” she reasoned.

Maggie’s watery eyes softened, and she stepped forward and joined me next to her, “I guess they were because you know Santa, Molly, he wouldn’t give a child a dad unless he knew he was perfect.”

I grinned at Maggie as Molly lifted her head and smiled sweetly then she looked adoringly into my eyes. “Yep, Mommy that’s right, and you’re a lot smarter than you look.” Both Maggie and I chuckled at Molly’s reply and Molly cupped my chin in her hands and kissed my nose.

“Don’t worry, I know you’ve never been a daddy before, just like I am new to being a Daddy’s girl. I think we’ll be fine because if we get stuck we can always Google it.”

* * *

Quitting the band wasn’t quite how I imagined it, and I was naïve to think they’d simply let me walk away. Instead there were contractual obligations to consider, and we were halfway through an album. I was leaving because I didn’t want to be a part of the attention Fr8Load attracted, not to leave my friends in the lurch.

Therefore, I finished the album and a couple of other small but important events, then the band decided to fold. George supported my decision and although the others were more than a little pissed, I knew had it been the other way around they’d have done what was right for them too.

Once I had left performing behind, my life became more than I ever imagined it could be. Being a father to three kids came to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. My home life with Maggie and the kids was sheltered and sedate in comparison to my time with Fr8Load and I relished in it.

Initially, Maggie was worried I’d get bored after the lifestyle I’d previously led, but with each day that passed, with us spending it together with the kids, she became convinced I’d made the right choice.

From the age of seventeen I’d been on the road with the band for most of my career and I had almost forgotten what it felt like to wake every day knowing exactly where I was. Between that and the shit Andrea put me through, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when my mental health suffered.

Being able to reflect on those times and how much happier I felt since I stayed home with my family helped me to heal. There hadn’t been one single time since I left the band that I had craved alcohol.

During the months following my departure from the band, my confidence grew about living in peace and away from the public eye. That’s not to say there wasn’t the occasional mob of fans whenever I went anywhere. However, the fans and the followers of Fr8Load weren’t the issue for me; it was the press.

It was nice to have the time to stop and chat about music with fans… something I rarely had when I was one of the band being shipped from one place to the next gig on the schedule. I felt relieved to have left all that behind, but I knew if I did nothing before long I’d procrastinate. Fortunately, my brother, Phil, didn’t allow the grass to grow under my feet.

A few times in the past, Phil and I had spoken at length about building and designing a recording studio, and once he was sure I was never looking back, he pushed again about us going into business together. He was relentless in his pursuit to make it happen and I knew eventually I’d have to do something else with my life so once he’d twisted I agreed.

A couple of weeks later life got busier as my brother began ordering mixing boards and acoustic glass panels and there were surveyors roaming around the west wing of the house. Next I knew, I’d filled in official papers that Phil had filed then Haxby NP Recording Studios was born.

Several weeks of upheaval to our household resulted in a working studio and I had to admit Phil certainly knew his shit. The sound was pure, the equipment was sick, and as soon as George clapped eyes on the place he begged us to produce his first solo album.

Obviously, I was honored he thought we up to producing someone of his caliber but I was a little apprehensive because at that point the most we’d done was mess around and produced a few tracks of mine. It was Phil’s confidence in his own ability that sold me on it and led us to produce George’s first solo album with George’s own money.

Not that money was an issue for us. It was just that George had plenty, and we figured if he could pay it would leave more in the pot if we ever found a young start-up via the internet that we wanted to back.

Besides the recording work to keep me busy, I continued to pen some of my own songs. I found the words flowed once the pressure was off. Some I kept for my own collection but others I wrote with artists in my mind. I surprised myself with some of the subject matter; however, I supposed that was what happened when my mind was clear of anything else to think about.

* * *

“We’re number one, we’re number one,” Molly and Rudi screamed when they came bursting into the studio, closely followed by a smiling Maggie with George hanging on her hip. They had been to watch Rudi play in a little league tournament.

Staring bright-eyed they were overflowing with excitement.

Reaching forward, I grabbed Rudi around the waist and pulled him in for a hug. Molly, never one to be left out, immediately swooped forward, and made it a group one.

“That’s fantastic, son. Go, Rudi. You’re a champion,” I shouted loudly, my voice full of enthusiasm and praise.

“No, Daddy, not Rudi—the song,” Molly’s high-pitched voice yelled.

I bunched my brow, puzzled at what they were talking about.

“Free to Breathe, the song we wrote,” she replied impatiently. Molly changed a word and then felt that gave her royalty rights. Maggie named the song after a term we had both used when we’d weathered some heavy shit and came out the other side and it was perfectly fitting. Glancing up at Maggie I kind of knew what they meant, but waited for the full story from Maggie.

“Almost a quarter of a million downloads since midnight,” she said accentuating the number like she found it incredible… so did I. Everyone held their breath while I digested the news. Once Maggie’s words sunk in, I stared nervously at my kids smiling faces and prayed to God I hadn’t started another rollercoaster ride with the press.

I’d forgotten the release date of Junior Sweetman’s country tune. Since I had left the band the one thing that hadn’t changed was losing track of events. I had been working between the studio and home and hardly ever knew what day it was, never mind the date.

“Seriously?” I asked unblinking.

“Yes! We heard about it in the car. Straight in at number one in the charts. The man on the radio said you were a genie. You’re such a clever cookie, well done,” Molly said, mimicking the same words Maggie said to her when she was good. I stared at the proud look she gave me, and Maggie drew breath.

“A genius, Molly,” Maggie said correcting her and chuckled.

My heart clenched with affection at my kids reveling in my success. George wriggled in Maggie’s arms, stretched his arms out toward me, and began to whine in a way no parent can ignore. Setting him down on the floor she turned him toward me and he ran over, hugged my knee, and grinned before I lifted him onto my lap.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?” Maggie asked incredulously when my focus turned to George.

“It’s a good song,” I mused, still concerned that it would bring attention to us as a family again.

Maggie scoffed, “I’d say a quarter of a million downloads makes it more than a good song, honey. We need to celebrate. What do you say? Should I call the family together for a barbeque?”

Before I could reply, Molly and Rudi were bouncing on their toes. “Barbeque!” they squealed in unison. “Can Lori Ann come, pleeease?” Molly whined with her hands clasped in prayer. If ever a child could spot an opportunity to use for her own benefit, she was the one. “Can James and Bruno?” Rudi asked, following her lead.

Maggie smiled at the kids then glanced back to me, “Guess that’s settled then. I’ll ask Kathleen to manage the kids and I’ll call your mom,” she said not waiting for me to reply. “Don’t worry there’s plenty of food in the pantry and fridges,” she added, like I’d even thought about that.

I knew it was pointless trying to get anything else done that day and if I was honest I’d say I was more than a little apprehensive that the song had gone to the heights that it had. It was the fifty-first song I’d written but a first in country music for me.

Fr8Load were used to topping the charts with songs I had penned but “Free to Breathe” was one I had not intended to write—had never thought myself capable of writing. However, the words had flowed with no effort at all and once I’d begun, the raw emotion of the story just came to me.

It was very different from anything else I’d ever written, like a story unfolding in my head. I relived every scene as I wrote it. It was the story of my sad lonely life as a singer in a band and the only music that appeared to fit and give it the right vibe was a mournful catchy tune that was so full of misery it tugged at your heartstrings.

Normally when I wrote a song, the lyrics spoke for themselves, but with “Free to Breathe” it was different because instead of clever rhymes the words were the story of my personal, sometimes agonizing, journey.

I’d never written anything like it—where a song played like a movie inside my head. It was a painful exercise because it made me relive some of my darker experiences in life.

Writing it really affected me as I tapped into my emotions and I became somewhat withdrawn and difficult to live with.

Several times Maggie almost tore me a new one for my mood swings. Then there were times when she wondered if I missed the band. I put her straight on that account, it was the one decision I was one hundred percent certain I had gotten right.

During that time, she became suspicious and thought perhaps I had been getting emails or other communication that had sunk my mood. I’m not sure she believed me at first when I had nothing to say, until I realized the words of the song had dragged me down.

Recounting the unjust treatment I’d experienced had still been able to affect me. It was only after I set it to the emotional catchy country tune that I realized the full effect of the song because I struggled to finish it when my emotions suddenly engulfed me.

For a while I saw it as a therapeutic outpouring and almost shelved it, but then I sang it to Maggie because I felt it explained why I’d been so down; she was also overwhelmed and pleaded with me to share it with the world. Her reaction was the most animated I’d ever encountered for my music and it changed my mind about sharing it with others.

Junior Sweetman was a massive country music star and the only person I could trust to sing it the way it was intended, and to Maggie’s mind he was the only country artist that could sing the song that way and do it justice were I to release it. His reputation was solid as a family man and a much-respected artist and I appreciated that fact.

It was a bold move for someone like me—a hard rocker—to write a country tune; even if it wasn’t intended, and an even bolder one to approach the management of, in my view, the greatest country artist of the century to sing it.

Being at the top of the food chain as the front man in a band did not mean the same thing as being in the food chain at all when it came to songwriting. Sure, I had a reputation as a good singer/songwriter but that was in the rock music genre. Country music was a whole other ball game. Added to that was the pressure I felt from the media’s reaction if I’d called it wrong.

* * *

For weeks I mulled over Phil’s request to send a demo tape. It was the one thing I loved about my brother, he was pushy, but he never took it upon himself to do anything without consultation. In the past, with anyone else my opinion hadn’t mattered, bucks did. However, neither Maggie nor Phil put pressure on me because they both accepted I had to be master of my own destiny.

It was an unexpected visit from George that changed my mind about “Free to Breathe”. I’d been writing for George for his second album when he made a social call and naturally the topic came up about the country song I’d written. Phil began to spout off at the mouth about how awesome it was and after some persuasion I had reluctantly agreed to play it for him.

We’d done some insane shit together, yet I had felt shy about sharing the song—especially as the subject matter was very personal to me—and I wondered if George would think I’d flipped or been whipped, or both. It truly was that deep. I didn’t even stay in the room while he listened to the track.

* * *

“Where is he?” George called out. His voice had an urgency to it as he bounded down the hallway to the kitchen. “Fuck me!”

“George… the kids,” scolded Maggie as she followed him into the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” he cringed, “You gotta get that out there, dude, it’s fucking brilliant. Nothing like anything you’ve done before and even better,” he gushed, his hands up to accentuate what he said.

I watched his expression to look for the truth and the gleam in his eyes told me he thought it was a winner. George was a ‘no bullshit’ kinda guy, and I knew he’d never let me take a punt unless he believed in me.

“You’re with them? My fan club of two on this?”

“It would be a travesty if no one heard it, buddy. It’s a once in a lifetime song.”

My eyes flicked between his and Maggie’s and a smile crept onto her face, “I may not know anything about music, Noah, but trust me I’d want that on my playlist if I was feeling a sense of melancholy about life.”

I stood in silent contemplation and my nerves almost ate me alive because if it went wrong the press would hound me down and the last thing on this Earth I wanted was to be subjected to their attention again.

Life had been sedately beautiful since I’d left the band. But I had to decide whether they controlled me, or it was the other way around.

“All right, but be prepared for a knockback. The only person who can sing this song is Junior Sweetman.”

George ran past me down the hall to where Phil was sitting in my little home studio. “He’s going for it; quick get the demo tape over to Sweetman’s management before he changes his mind.”

I smiled knowingly at Maggie, because like she said, even though she knew nothing about music, she believed in me… and that was worth any teardown the press may deliver.

Phil sent the track off by email and we waited. George said he wouldn’t leave until he heard their reply… I told him that could be weeks and he shrugged it off. “No fucking way. You send a tape they’ll listen as soon as they see your name. They’re gonna piss their pants with excitement when they’ve heard it,” he replied with a level of confidence I never felt.

Maggie made lunch and was clearing away when Phil’s cell rang. Taking his weight on one butt cheek he reached into his front pocket and pulled it out.

“It’s them,” he said, smirked secretly to himself, then took a deep breath and calmly answered.

“Haxby NP Recording Studios, Phil Haxby speaking,” he said sounding much more official than we really were.

Everyone watched him as he listened intently to the call then he gave us the thumbs up and a huge toothy grin. George punched the air looking ecstatic, then mouthed, “Told you.”

“Ah, I’m happy you like it. We love the song and know it’ll be a massive hit, but I think It’s only fair to warn you we offered to two other parties we thought may be interested as well. The response has been overwhelming, so I guess it’s down to the figures for the best deal and royalty rights.”

A further period of silence ensued as Phil listened carefully then he did a silent jig, “All right. Thank you for your interest. Noah is in the studio now. I’ll speak with him and get back to you as soon as I have an answer for you.”

After concluding the call, he threw his head back and chuckled. “Junior Sweetman wants to donate his right nut for the song… and is willing to negotiate your package.”

“Doing a song contract is one thing, Phil, but I think Maggie would have something to say if you started to offer Noah’s package as part of the deal,” George added when his head went straight to the gutter at the first opportunity.

Maggie shook her head, “Ha! Next you’ll be dragging out toilet humor jokes,” she said in a patronizing way.

Phil and I talked numbers then he followed through with his game plan, pushing hard for the best deal for the upfront fee and my royalties from the sales. Junior asked to meet with me, and Phil quickly and politely shut him down by offering a conference call because since leaving the band it had been my wish to lead a purely private life.

That part was true, talking to someone on the phone or over the internet was fine by me but I drew the line at meeting another celebrity in public. I’d made it my mission not to court that kind of attention.

Phil then put Junior on speaker-phone so we could hear everything he said and the man damn near had an orgasm when Phil said the song was his to record. And since it sounds like the tune has found great success, I guess it put my rock career to bed and eased my path to that of songwriter and producer for other artists.