“Come on, Heather,” Emmy Lou called out. “Girls against the boys.”
Heather sat Clementine on the cushion at her side, watching as the dog yawned, stretched, and curled into a ball before dropping back into a deep sleep. She cast a nervous glance at Krystal. “Should I have told you? He really likes you, is all. I mean, really. But, I mean, you’re Krystal King. Famous and beautiful, and well, he’s just my brother. A normal guy who’s had his heart broken.” She paused. “Jace always said your songs said the things he couldn’t, that your words made him hurt a little less. Like, maybe you could understand what he’s been through?”
Krystal couldn’t answer. Not yet. Jace had lost his wife and son. She’d only lost…herself.
“Writing a song about something doesn’t make you an expert on it.” Her father had said it time and again. “Living life—that’s the best way to make your music real.” That was why she didn’t write happy love songs. She didn’t know what that meant, and contrary to what her mother said, lying didn’t come easily to her. All she knew about love was pain and hurt and betrayal and loss.
Jace Black deserved a better song, and a better love, than that.
Heather’s gaze fell from hers. “I definitely should have stopped talking like fifteen minutes ago.”
Anxiety laced the girl’s words, so somehow, Krystal was saying, “I’m glad you told me.” She was. Sort of. Now she needed time to process it. Alone, preferably. “You go play…er, bowl. I’ll be back.” She did her best to smile as she hurried to the restroom.
Washing her hands in ice-cold water helped. But coming eye to eye with her reflection had her gripping the sink.
“It’s not always about you.” It was something her momma had said over and over. “Other people have feelings, too. You need to think about what you say and do, about how your words and actions will affect everyone involved—not just you.”
“You’re right, Momma,” Krystal whispered.
Whatever this was between her and Jace didn’t matter. It wouldn’t last, so why waste time starting something that would wind up causing them both pain? This was about him, about the break he deserved and the life he could have. She wasn’t going to get in his way. The best way to do that was to stay out of his way—better yet, stay away. She and Jace had to spend time together onstage but, from now on, that was the only time they’d spend together.
* * *
“Try this one.” Calvin Laramie had a close-trimmed beard, a brightly colored plaid button-up shirt, and spray-painted-on jeans with shredding on one thigh—something the man hadn’t earned from a day’s hard labor. His jeans were tucked into ostrich boots that cost as much as Jace had spent on his last truck. This was the stylist CiCi King had hired to “give Jace a look that would set him apart.” Luke had about fallen over when he’d heard the news. CiCi, Luke said, was a genius when it came to this industry. She knew the right people and stayed ahead of the trends—hell, she’d started a few. If she thought Calvin was the man to help Jace make his mark, Luke was on board.
But even Luke was eyeing the jacket with suspicion.
Jace stared at the metal-studded black leather jacket the man held out for him to try on. In what world would he wear that? “Pass.”
“I do know what I’m doing.” Calvin shook the jacket. “It’s my business to create a star.”
Jace didn’t answer. He wasn’t one to complain, but the afternoon was wearing on his patience. Leather pants? Damn no. Boots with a silver-tapped four-inch heel? What the hell was that? Jeans with fancy designs and shiny crap? Was CiCi King out to make a fool out of him? Or did she honestly believe this was what was needed to “take him to the next level.”
He was pretty sure spending ten hours a day with his band was the best way to take him to the next level, but he wasn’t going to argue with the woman. The sooner this ordeal was over, the better. He’d probably change back into his own clothes, anyway.
“This?” With a sigh, Calvin pulled a black snap-front button-up from the rack.
It was a traditional black cowboy-cut shirt with pearl snaps. No embroidery. No leather. No shiny beads to make his eyes cross. Still, the glossy sheen on the pearl snaps were not his style.
“Come on, Jace,” Luke encouraged. Poor guy was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wanted to take care of Jace, but he also wanted to stay in CiCi King’s good graces. Jace was pretty sure a choice was going to have to be made and, possibly, Jace would wind up looking for a new agent.
“Fine.” He tugged his worn grey T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the dressing room table.
A quick knock and the dressing room door opened.
“Travis?” Krystal leaned in.
His eyes met hers in the mirror and the air arced electric, giving his heart a jolt.
In the four days since Heather’s visit, Krystal had all but run at the very sight of him. Onstage, she sang her heart out. The connection she was fighting was there, stronger than ever, binding them together, and driving him crazy because he knew she felt it too. He saw it every time she stared into his eyes and leaned in close to share the microphone. And every time, he wished the song was a little longer. Once the lights dimmed, she was gone. He’d reached for her, called her name, even followed her from the stage, but she’d managed to elude him. It wasn’t like he could stand onstage and demand answers in the middle of a concert. Hell, he had no right to demand a damn thing from her anyway.
It didn’t stop him from wondering what had happened to turn something that felt like the start of something good into the end of something that never was.
Not that he was ready to give up. That wasn’t who he was. He was stubborn.
Emmy Lou waved. “Hey, Calvin. Getting Jace ready for tonight?”
There might be a conversation going on around him, but all Jace saw was Krystal. Standing, staring, on the verge of flight.