Simple Read online

  SIMPLE

  Copyright © 2019 Brandy Toler

  www.bntoler.com

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Cover Design: One Josie Photography and Design

  Formatting: Integrity Formatting

  Editing: Raelene Green with word play by 77peaches

  The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

  Dedication

  Present Day

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Ten Years Ago

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Present Day

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To those fighting to hold on or let go of something. Stay strong.

  I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous headline before closing out the web browser on my phone. If they only knew just how much of a performance Alyssa Myers really was. I’d jumped at the chance to reinvent myself with a stage name when my career first started, even though my parents had only suggested it as a way to protect my privacy. These days, keeping up the Alyssa Myers image was as much of a job as my singing career, and practically every day I questioned my decision. Honestly, though, I wasn’t sure I would recognize the real me—Emalee Jennings—and I was her.

  The headline did get it right about my performance, though. I hadn’t felt that good on stage in a really long time, and I rode that high for almost two days, only to have it be obliterated by the man I was about to meet.

  “Alyssa,” Miles said with a smarmy smile as he stood and hustled around the table to pull the chair out for me. Had it been anyone else, the gesture would’ve been chivalrous, but Miles Lagara was a snake, and meeting him was the last thing I wanted to do. Miles was a reporter for Spill, a vile media outlet that made a fortune harassing celebrities and exposing private details about their lives—things they wouldn’t want anyone to know—and when he initially contacted me to meet, I’d declined. He’d already made me look like a fool when he’d exposed my fiancée’s cheating over a year ago. I had no intention of giving him the time of day. However, when I refused to meet Miles, he’d couriered over the photos and statements, along with a letter explaining what dirt he’d found on my father, effectively capturing my full attention.

  “Hello, Mr. Lagara,” I replied coolly as I sat.

  “So good to see you again. Please, call me Miles,” he insisted with a dismissive wave as he returned to his seat. He loudly slurped his coffee before stopping abruptly, “Oh, would you like a beverage?” he asked, seeming to remember his manners as he raised his hand to signal for a server.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I don’t plan to be here long.”

  Leaning back in his seat, he scanned my face impetuously. I’d kept my sunglasses on to prevent him from reading my thoughts. I’d never had a good poker face; I couldn’t fake anything.

  He smirked before conceding. “Okay then. Straight to business it is. You’ve seen the photos and the documentation.”

  “I’m here aren’t I?”

  As I sat in a L.A. café, watching the man I knew was about to blackmail me scarf down a donut, I did my best to look inconspicuous. I’d donned the classic celebrity disguise – a plain t-shirt and jeans with my hair tucked under a hat – and while I knew I was blending in pretty well, Miles was a C-class celebrity and did nothing to deter being recognized. He’d even chosen a table smack-dab in the middle of the café instead of one in a corner, or even by a wall, where we might not be noticed. I needed the meeting to end five minutes ago. I glanced at my phone. Not one missed call or text. Still no word from my father. As soon as I’d seen the photos Miles had sent, I’d used every method available to contact my father, but he hadn’t responded. He was avoiding me. I tried not to get angry about it. Not yet, anyway. There was probably an excellent reason why he hadn’t returned my mountain of emails, calls, and texts. There had to be.

  Miles propped his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together before he rested his chin on his hands. “I’m going to run the story.”

  My insides turned to cement and I struggled to keep my voice even, “Then why bother contacting me? If you believe what you found is true, what are you waiting for?”

  “I want to freelance it. I’m sure you can understand any respectable journalist would not want to work for Spill.”

  “Respectable journalist? Is that how you see yourself?” I snorted a quiet laugh. “Actually, a trashy news outlet seems quite perfect for you.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as something flickered in his eyes just before he deliberately dropped his gaze. He was getting a rise out of me and loving it.

  I pressed my lips together, silently scolding myself. Easy, Emalee. I couldn’t let Miles see that he’d shaken me. My heart thudded in my ears as my anger built, and I was struggling to hold on to my composure. Damnit! I needed to speak to my father. I had no idea what to do, or say to Miles about any of this.

  He ignored my slight and continued, “I’m offering you an opportunity to get in front of this. Give me the exclusive, and I can help you spin the story so it doesn’t end up a complete shit show for you.”

  I smiled tightly, amused he’d think I was so stupid as to believe he was trying to aide me in anything. “Oh, were you trying to help” I made air quotes to emphasize my sarcasm “me when you exposed my cheating fiancée to the world before I even knew about it?”

  Miles offered me a sympathetic smile. “It wasn’t personal. At least you found out before you married him.”

  I rolled my eyes and forced the resentment down. My ex-fiancé Seth Portman had completely swept me off my feet in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I thought he’d be the one to make me forget everything I’d left behind, but I’d been wrong, and thanks to Miles freaking Lagara, the whole world learned what an absolute fool I’d been at the same time I had. A well-known singer li
ke myself, the jerk had been photographed leaving a club with a stripper and taking her back to his hotel. The media had been merciless. They’d even done skits on SNL, the world laughing at my pain. Adding to the humiliation, I’d had to get tested for all manner of diseases; all of which played out in the public eye. Betrayed and hurt, I’d had to suck it up for my career, but my confidence had been shaken.

  The reminder of the worst moment of my life left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. I glanced nervously around the café and noticed a group of young girls huddled in a corner whispering to each other as they aimed their phones toward our table. I focused on Miles again, desperate for this farce to be over. “What do you really want? We both know you’re going to run the story with or without my consent, so why am I here?”

  He jerked back like he’d been slapped, “Alyssa, please. I really am trying to help you here. The story is going to come out, it always does. But, if you work with me, we can control how it’s told.”

  The room began to spin as my anxiety spiked. Legally, I could sue to stop him from running the story – have a judge issue an injunction – but the punishment would only be a fine, which Miles would just pay with the money he made from the story. “Bullshit. You don’t give two cents about how it affects me or my family.”

  Miles’s mouth tightened. He was losing his patience. He’d expected me to just fall over and give him whatever he wanted. “How does your father feel about it? I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.”

  I would’ve loved to have known how my father felt, but he was avoiding me, too. Though I’d never let Miles know that. “I’ll see what my schedule looks like in a couple of weeks.” I pushed my chair back to leave.

  “Tomorrow,” Miles hissed. “I want the interview tomorrow, or I run it without you.”

  “You could,” I shrugged, hoping he couldn’t tell my nonchalance was an act. “But any respectable journalist would be willing to wait for the real story instead of the sloppy one you’ve pieced together.” His eyes flashed with anger, but when he didn’t take the bait, I knew I’d hit the mark. I only hoped I’d bought enough time to learn the truth for myself.

  He reluctantly nodded his agreement. “Alright, I’ll give you two weeks, but if I don’t hear from you, I will run the story.”

  I stood, and Miles followed me up, extending his hand to shake, which I considered briefly before turning and quickly making my way out of the café. I caught his reflection in the mirrored glass as I reached the door, wishing I could smack the condescension off his face as I pushed out into the L.A. sun, ignoring the shouts of Alyssa! from the group of girls.

  We’d just boarded the plane when my phone chimed indicating I had a text. I opened it and found a link to a news spot about my performance the night before. My tour had started out fantastic, and I’d killed my first concert, but last night’s performance was not one of my best. I’d already been dealing with Miles and the humiliating story he held over my head when I’d been hit with another gut-punch.

  Just as I had stepped out of my dressing room to make my way backstage, Pepper approached with a familiar woman at her side.

  “Connie?” I said with a shocked smile as I pulled her into a hug. I hadn’t seen my mother’s best friend in years, but she looked the same, right down to the same short bob she’d always worn, though it was full gray now. “It’s good to see you,” I said as I released my grip on her shoulders. “You should’ve told us you were coming, and I would’ve hooked you up with the VIP treatment.”

  “I was actually taking her there now,” Pepper intervened as she put her hand on Connie’s back to move her along. “You should get on stage. We can all catch up after your concert.”

  I studied my best friend’s face, noticing the unshed tears in her eyes and gray pallor. She was visibly upset despite trying her hardest to hide it. “What’s wrong?” I asked as my gaze darted between the two women.

  Connie glanced at Pepper with an apologetic smile. “Your mother has been trying to get a hold of you,” she said.

  “So she sent you to see me?” I asked, confused. My mother had called four or five times, but I purposely hadn’t taken any of her calls because of the nonsense with Miles. I’d assumed she just wanted to chat since she hadn’t left a single message, knowing she would’ve left a voicemail or contacted Pepper had it been an emergency.

  “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “So why are you here?”

  Connie forced a weak smile and shook her head. “We can talk after the show.”

  “Yeah,” Pepper agreed a little too eagerly. “You’re on in like three minutes, Em.”

  Tension threaded through my neck and shoulders. There was no way either of them could believe I would go on before knowing why they looked so worried.

  “My mother’s okay, right?”

  Connie and Pepper exchanged glances. “You’re scaring me, Connie,” I said, agitated. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s dying,” Connie said bluntly with a sigh. “She doesn’t have much time left, Emalee, and she wants to go back to Kansas and spend her last days in her childhood home.”

  It felt is if all of the blood had drained from me, leaving me limp and numb. “How long does she…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought of my mother’s remaining life having a time stamp was too overwhelming.

  Pepper rushed to me, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me gently as she tilted her head to force my gaze to meet hers. “Listen to me, Emalee. I know this is a lot, but right now you have to keep your shit together. Just for this show. I’ve already put in calls to get the remainder of the tour canceled, and I’m looking into flights. But you have to do this concert. There is no choice.”

  “I’m sorry,” Connie said quietly. “I didn’t want to tell you before the concert.”

  “I know you have questions,” Pepper continued, ignoring Connie’s apology. “We will get all of the answers and get to Betty as soon as we can. But you can’t let your fans down.”

  She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “You can do this, Em. I know you can.”

  I bobbed my head in agreement, though I was still reeling from the news. “Get it together, Emalee,” I whispered to myself then took in a deep breath and forced Alyssa Myers to the surface.

  Pepper plopped down in the seat beside me and buckled her seatbelt, shaking me from my thoughts. In less than twelve hours, she’d booked our flights, packed our bags, and coordinated with my manager to cancel my tour and issue a press release, all the while being my emotional support and keeping me from losing my shit.

  “You holding up okay?” she asked once she was settled.

  “I’m still… in shock I think,” I replied numbly. I was, but it wasn’t only from the news about my mother. The moment it had fully registered that I’d be returning to Kansas, a flood of memories had surged through me, swirling around the promise I’d made. The promise I was breaking just by being on a plane bound for Kansas.

  Arms loaded with several boxes of toothpaste, deodorant, and body wash, I made my way down the aisles of our town drugstore, silently cursing myself for not grabbing one of the handheld baskets once I’d realized there was a sale on several of the items my brothers and I normally used. I’d almost made it to the front of the store when I slammed into someone, sending everything I was carrying plummeting to the floor.

  “Damn, Kepner, watch where you’re going,” groaned Darren, a former classmate of mine who I wasn’t particularly fond of.

  I knelt down to retrieve my items when I realized he was wearing a red vest. Glancing up at him, I twisted my mouth. “You work here now, Darren?”

  He raised his head, which did little to hide his double chin. “I’m a manager,” he replied gruffly.

  “Assistant manager,” an older woman I didn’t know corrected him as she approached with a large box. “Darren, sorry to do this to you, but Brandy called out. Kid is sick or something. I need you to build an end cap for
these tampons at the end of the feminine care aisle.” She offloaded the large box to him then added, “There are three more boxes in the back.”

  She walked away just as I finished collecting my items off the floor and stood. Darren wouldn’t look at me. Maybe it was petty, but deep down, a part of me enjoyed the irony of that moment.

  Before either of us could say anything, a woman paying for her items pointed to a small television behind the counter and asked the cashier to turn up the volume. The cashier obliged, then stood back so the woman could see it better.

  Alyssa Myers finally returns after the heartbreaking scandal involving her fiancée, singer Seth Portman, who was caught cheating on her with a stripper in Miami. Myers blazed through her first performance kicking off her tour, but last night, fans say the fire she brought to the first show has already petered out.

  A poorly-shot cellphone video from a concert-goer appeared on the screen showing Alyssa moving slowly and not keeping up with the pacing of her songs.

  Early this morning, Alyssa Myers’s manager issued a statement announcing the cancellation of the remainder of her tour for personal reasons, and that Alyssa would be taking time off in an undisclosed location.

  The customer shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Probably drugs. Famous people are always doing drugs.”

  Darren tsked, pulling my attention away from the TV. I’d been so glued to the news spot about Alyssa, I had forgotten I was still standing in the drug store holding an insane amount of toothpaste and deodorant.

  “Maybe she lost it,” Darren surmised. “She sure don’t look like she used to.”

  I didn’t respond, though I agreed she no longer resembled the girl I’d known years ago; the one with a bright personality and a sparkle in her eyes. Over the years, I had witnessed that spark slowly fade.

  “Do you think her tits are real?” Darren leaned in and asked quietly. “Because they look bigger than I remember.”

  I cut him a lethal glare. Emalee might’ve changed, but Darren was, and always would be, a douche bag.

  Instead of responding, I went to the counter and paid for my items. On the drive home, I let my mind wander back to a time when Emalee Jennings rode shotgun with her bare feet on my dashboard, locks of her dark hair floating in the breeze. And, as I had almost every day for over a decade, I reminded myself what a moron I was to ever let her go.