“I have to say, I wish you both the very best. It’s nice to see the two of you so happy.” She shook their hands. “I have a feeling you guys have a bona fide hit on your hands.”
A few seconds later, the cameras cut, and they stood to have their mics removed.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Molly said. “I was sure it was all a stunt until I saw you two together. It’s refreshing, honestly. I hope it all works out.”
Krystal let Jace do the talking, doing her best to nod or smile or act like she was listening. When her father joined them—after offering Molly tickets to the evening’s show and escorting her and her crew from the coliseum—Krystal wanted to go, but her feet were too leaden to move.
“What’s up?” Jace smoothed her hair from her shoulders.
She stared up at him.
“What’s wrong?” His hands caught hers. “Your hands are like ice, Krystal.”
“Nothing.” Everything. She was pretending to be a normal woman in a normal relationship—neither of which was true. Her personal nightmare had appeared again, but this time, he was targeting someone else. “We did good, right?” she asked, trying to hold it together, but her mind wouldn’t stop. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he’d changed? There was no guarantee he’d try that again. He’d never touched Emmy Lou. It was possible he’d learned his lesson, right?
Jace was rubbing her hands. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Good.” She nodded.
“You ready?” It was her father, his warm arm around her shoulders. “Jace, let’s give her a hand.”
Something about his touch hit a nerve. Because he knew—she could see it on his face. He was thinking what she was thinking. “Daddy.” She stared up at him, nausea and regret choking her.
“I know.” His jaw set. “Come on, now. Let’s get you some water.”
Maybe it was the sympathy on her father’s face. Maybe it was Jace’s confusion. Maybe it was the self-loathing that she’d never thought about her choices beyond her family. Whatever the cause, a surge of anger had her shaking them off. “I’m fine.” She sighed, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.” It was a lie; chances were they both knew it. But she didn’t care. She had to get to her bus. Somewhere alone, where she could find the strength to do what needed to be done—confront her fears.
* * *
Jace sat in the window seat of the bus, the fluorescent streetlights casting flashing patches of light as they passed. Tomorrow, they’d reach Austin and a few days of rest. Heather would be flying in for the weekend; he’d already got a weekend pass to ACMF for her. She was more excited to see
the Kings again than the festival—but he figured that would change when she saw the lineup.
She was thrilled about his relationship with Krystal.
Krystal.
Since this morning, he’d been trying to figure out the common denominator between the back-and-forth about ACMF and Krystal’s fast escape after the interview. CiCi had never come right out with it, but he’d filled in the blanks. Tig Whitman. Once Travis had crashed in the recliner and Hank had taken one of the bunks in the back of the bus, he’d been scrolling through articles that mentioned Tiger Whitman. Or Uncle Tig, to his friends.
The man was a legend.
He was a big guy. Barrel-chested with a great smile. Balding on top. Fond of cigars and vintage cars. There were plenty of pictures of the man. The pictures of him with celebrities were even more impressive. He seemed to know just about everyone. He had been especially close to the Kings—until ten years ago. He was the one who’d discovered Hank in a little honky-tonk on the Texas/Oklahoma border.
There were pictures of him at concerts. Pictures of him with the King kids. Pictures of him shaking hands with the heads of Wheelhouse Records on the day the King children became the Three Kings. And pictures of him with Hank when he won one of his many awards.
He’d been a fixture in their home—downright chummy with CiCi. And then he wasn’t.
The bus slowed and Jace peered out at the brightly illuminated gas station.
“We stopping?” Travis tipped his hat back.
“Looks like it.” Jace powered off the tablet and set it aside.
Travis stood and stretched. “Where are we?”
“Middle of nowhere.” Jace ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. “Guess we’re getting gas.”
“I could stretch my legs.” Travis rolled his head. “Get some snacks. You in?”