Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Her answer was to make sure I had a peaceful place to rest, that and tea. Barbara treats everything with tea. If you have a cold, she gives you tea. If you stab yourself accidentally with a rusty nail, instead of taking you to the hospital for a Tetanus shot, she asks if you want tea. I love her dearly, but tea can’t fix everything.
Ever since, I’ve been trying to play by their rules and sticking close to home. Drinking alone though isn’t as fun as when you have a crowd surrounding you, encouraging you to drink more until you’re stumbling into the bar and finding random rides back to your home by complete strangers. Who would’ve thought that they’d sell the story to the newspapers?
One mistake and I’m being labeled an alcoholic. One incident and it’s being suggested that I spend some time relaxing which is industry speak for rehabilitation. I thought about getting away, going to spend some time where no one knows who I am just to escape the scrutiny.
But doing so would mean not speaking to my daughters every day. Stormy and Willow are my life, my reason for living, and I hate that I can’t see them every day.
The phone rings again. I count each ring until they stop, only for them to start up again. I sit up and bring my pillow to my face while I tap the base of my bedside table. Slowly, I let my eyes adjust to the light before making my way toward the living room.
My house is quiet. It’s always quiet, except for the faint sounds of the wildlife that can be heard. It’s often that I can sit in the oversized chair and watch a herd of deer traipse through my yard or hear a pack of coyotes howling in the middle of the night. It was one of the selling points, that and being away from the busy city.
Sitting on twenty-plus acres of land, my view over Nashville is one of the most sought after locations around. Investors want me to sell off my land for development, and each time I tell them no, they come back with a higher offer.
This is my little slice of heaven. It’s where I can come and be me without having to be the Levi Austin that fans expect every time they see me out and about. This is where my private life begins, and my public one is put on hold. Behind closed doors, I can write my music, play my guitar as loud as I want, and stare at the assortment of trophies I’ve won over the years. My favorite came last year when I won Country Music’s Album of the Year. Man, to beat out the stellar artists in that category was an amazing feat and one I am so proud of.
On my ranch, I can walk around my house in my underwear while drinking beer and not have to worry about the paparazzi with their high-powered lenses trying to capture my picture, although it’s rare that the paparazzi bother me much in Nashville. It’s when I have to go to Los Angeles that they’re all over me.
But here, on my ranch, I can ride my horses, shoot my guns, and go muddin’ if that is what I want to do. I can have my band over for Bar-B-Que and not worry about my neighbors calling the police on us for being rowdy. This is where I can relax, be free, and live my life. Besides, I’m saving my land for my girls. That is something those big city developers don’t understand.
The ringing starts again, but this time I’m there to answer it quickly. “Hello?” I say, my voice is somewhat hoarse from sleeping.
“Mr. Austin?” the voice on the other end says.
“Who’s calling?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Knowing my luck, it’s some salesperson or a fan turned creepy stalker.
“Sir, my name is Detective Pete O’Brien. I’m with the LAPD.”
Hearing those words is enough to send chills down your spine. They cause you to tense up, shake, and maybe sweat a little, but mostly, they scare the shit out of you.
“Okay,” I say after he pauses.
“Do you know Iris Austin?”
The sound of my ex-wife’s name has me relaxing a bit. I’m not surprised that she’s been arrested or picked up for something stupid. When we got divorced, she was adamant that she be allowed some freedom since I had that every time I went on tour, and she was home raising the girls. I agreed. I was happy that the girls were going to live with me while their mother “found” herself in Los Angeles.
That was until Iris started talking to Stormy about all the amazing dance companies in L.A. and how she should move out there to pursue her dream of becoming a dancer. Stormy’s dream, of course, is to perform for hip-hop artists when they tour. As much as it pained me to let her go, I did but also didn’t like the fact that Willow would be left without a sister so both my girls went to live with their mama. It’s not what I wanted, but I didn’t want to short-change Stormy on her dream and didn’t want Willow growing up without her sister.