Ballad of Love (Utah Lovin’ Book 1)

4. Braydon

”Iris let”s go sweetheart. Grandpa is waiting for us.” I call up the stairs to my daughter.

”Coming daddy!”

I hear her little feet pad down the stairs.

I grab one of her jackets hanging by the front door, because even though it is May in Utah it can still get a little chilly at night. I buckle her into her car seat and situate her with all the toys she will need for the eight-minute drive to my dad’s house.

“Daddy, can we listen to Taylor Swift?” Iris’s little voice asks from the back seat, before I even get a chance to click my seatbelt into place.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

I hit play on the playlist that Iris and my sister, Adalynn, created for Iris’s third birthday party. I smile, hearing her sing along to “Lover.” A memory of Iris’s mom singing along to this song hits me like a train. I try to suppress the memory for now because I don”t have time to unpack, and to fully feel it.

I pull into my dad”s driveway just as the bridge to “Cruel Summer” starts to blare through my speakers. Now, am I a bad dad because my almost four-year-old daughter sings this bridge at the top of her lungs? I mean, maybe. But instead of turning it off, I park my truck, turn the volume up almost as far as it will go. Turning in my seat to face Iris, we both start to scream the bridge as loud as we can. The song ends, and Iris is out of breath both from laughing and singing. We walk hand in hand to my dad”s front door, but she breaks away when she sees him standing in the doorway.

“Grandpa!”

“Well, hello little love.”

Iris leaps into my dad”s arms, as he spins her around.

“Hey dad.” I say giving him a brief hug before handing him the backpack Iris packed to bring over.

“Are you moving in?” he jokingly asks. tickling her side to make her giggle.

“No grandpa.” Iris says, squirming and giggling in his arms.

“I will try to pick her up by ten, but you know how these things can get sometimes.”

I am a country music singer/songwriter, when I”m not working my day job as a ranch hand. Normally I would bring Iris with me to my shows, but the bar I

am playing in tonight is in a sketchy town, so I didn”t want to risk it.

“Thanks again for watching her dad.”

“It isn”t a problem, Braydon. I love getting to spend time with my granddaughter.”

I kneel down, so I am on Iris’s level.

“You be good for grandpa, ok?”

She nods and wraps her tiny little arms around my neck. I give her a little squeeze.

“I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, daddy.”

I get back in my truck and shiver from the chill that the breeze brings in. I head to the venue, if I can actually call it that. This is the fourth show in a row I have played in some sketchy bar. The only time I don”t feel comfortable bringing Iris, is when I am playing in places like this. I have never really had an incident at one of my shows, maybe because I am still a fairly small artist, but I don”t like to take chances when it comes to my daughter”s safety.

My “manager” is already pissed that I am running behind schedule tonight, but I won”t apologize for prioritizing Iris. I use the term manager loosely. Sarah is an old family friend who offered to help me out with scheduling shows and controlling my social media. She doesn”t get paid, and I think the only reason she wanted to do it is because she wanted to be close to me.

“Braydon, you are almost forty-five minutes late. You were supposed to already be halfway through your soundcheck.” she yells in my general direction as I walk through the door of MIKE’S, the bar I am playing at.

for small shows like this I don”t really need to do a soundcheck, but Sarah thinks it looks more professional if I do one.

“Sorry Sarah, Iris took a little longer to get her stuff ready for grandpas.”

I try to give her my best apologetic smile, but I”m not feeling it, and neither is she.

“I don”t need an excuse Braydon. I just need you to do your soundcheck.”

I tip my cowboy hat in her direction as a response. Sarah isn”t my favorite person in the world, and honestly, I think the “management position” is more than she bargained for. But she is good at her job, and that is one thing that I can appreciate.

My guitar is already waiting for me on the tiny stage, so I grab it and throw the strap over my shoulder. Adjusting the mic, and tuning my guitar, I start my soundcheck. I play through “calloused hands” once without vocals, making sure that the acoustics are at least decent. The second time I play through it I add some halfhearted vocals. I may be biased, but I really like performing this song. Most of the songs I play in my shows are originals, and out of all my originals, this one holds a special place in my heart. After the last notes are played, I hear faint clapping from the back of the bar. I look to find Adalynn leaning against the back wall.

“Hey,” I say, hopping off the stage and wrapping her in a hug.

“Didn”t think you were going to make it.”

“Well, I finished up work early, and dad said he didn”t need any help with Iris tonight. So, I figured I would stop by.”

“Well, I”m glad you were able to make it. I was just finishing up my soundcheck. You can go ahead and grab us some drinks. I”ll be right over.”

Adalynn affectionately squeezes my arm, before heading off towards the bar. Picking back up my guitar, I decide to round off my soundcheck with a quick play through “wicked, twisted love.”

After I finish, I find Adalynn sitting at the bar talking with the bartender. He is an older gentleman, who I am guessing is Mike.

“It sounded really good.” she says, as I settle onto the barstool next to her.

“It could”ve been worse I guess.”

“You”re too hard on yourself sometimes, Braydon.”

I meet her eyes, noting that she is talking about more than just my soundcheck. I have always been pretty hard on myself about everything that I do. It has progressively gotten worse since Iris was born. And it seemed to get even worse after her mother left. I blamed myself for Iris’s mother not being around, so I pushed myself to be a more than perfect father. It hasn”t always worked out in my favor, but I try my best. Adalynn knows I am my own worst critic, and she tries to ease the pressure. She has been there since the day Iris was born. And she has stuck around for all the little moments, the milestones, and even the day Iris’s mother left; she has been there for all of it, good and bad. And I couldn”t be more thankful for her.

“well , you should probably go get ready. Your fans are waiting.”

I glance around the almost empty bar, and I swear I hear crickets somewhere. I really need to talk to Sarah about scoping these places out before she books the gig.

“Ads, you are my one and only fan.”

“And don”t forget your biggest!” she calls to my back as I make my way back to the stage.

I catch Sarah staring at me, and if looks could kill hers would have already left me in a smoking heap on the floor. She isn”t happy that I only played through two of my songs, but I don”t let her bother me, so I give her my biggest and most charming smile. She lets out a sigh and turns to walk away. That is a win in my book.

My shows normally don”t have a set list or a strict schedule. Especially not one this small. It is really just whatever I am feeling up to that night. Tonight, will probably be a fairly short show.

I say a quick thanks to the five people who are actually listening, and I start my set. I try not to focus on the people staring at me, it always throws me off. Instead I focus on the colorful bracelet on my wrist that says the name I am proudest to be called, daddy. Iris made it for me when she went over to aunt Addies for a Taylor Swift themed craft night. I never play a show without it anymore. Seeing it really helps me to focus on what”s really important in this crazy life. It also helps me to not focus on the love, and the person that I lost that inspired these songs. Just as I am winding down my set, earlier than Sarah probably wants. I see movement out of the corner of my eye. It”s not uncommon since it is a small bar, with people squeezed into the tiny space. This movement though throws me off. Familiar long, wavy, brown hair makes its way over to where Adalynn is still sitting at the bar. It can”t be her though, right? I hurry through the rest of my song, and say another quick thank you, before I hop off the stage. I make my way to where Adalynn is sitting in three long strides. As if on que both girls turn on their stools to look at me. Two bluish gray eyes that I know all too well stare back at me, and I am instantly transported back in time. Back to senior year of high school when those same stormy eyes looked directly at me, and the woman they belonged to shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces. My feet freeze, unable to bring me any closer, for fear of getting hurt again. She smiles weakly, but it isn”t the smile she used to give me. I clear my throat, hoping it will help me find my voice and say something, anything. I probably look like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Mads?” is the only word that i am able to squeack out.