Face the Music (19 page)

I muted the TV when the show broke for commercials.  I was shocked.  I had no idea Chris was sick.  What would happen if he didn’t get better by the next performance?  What if he got w
orse?

I watched the rest of the show without really hearing much.  At the end, I was sa
ddened to see Riley voted off.

***

Emily
frowned at me
when I came in Tuesday afternoon, my arms filled with shopping bags. 
“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I’m fine.  I just had to get out for awhile.
  Get some fresh air.
”

She
pulled
a bottle of cold medicine
from one of the sacks
.  “Are you sick?” 

“No, not me.  Chris is.”  I looked at her innocently and pulled down our box of recipe cards.  “I’m going to make him some of Mom’s chicken noodle soup.”

“Well that’s
awfully
nice of you,” she said with a sly smile, “but I can think of something else that would make him feel better.”  She closed her eyes and puckered her lips. 

“Emily!  You are so bad!” I laughed, reaching up to the top shelf to grab a hold of the heavy stockpot.  “Besides, I wouldn’t want to catch his cold, you know.”

She started to say something, but instead grinned and shook her head.  “Of course not.”

I caught a cab to the studio hotel.  It was a Marriott a few streets over from the studio, and I carefully climbed out of the backseat with the heavy sack in my arms.  The hotel was enormous; this was where all the out-of-town crew members stayed- even Jake.  I hoped I didn’t run into him.  

Instead of calling up, I went to the front desk and asked for Chris’s room number.  The clerk gave me a funny look and asked for
identification.
 
I showed
her
my
Superstar
dom
ID badge,
and
she
gave me the number
and pointed in the direction of
the elevator. 

The ride up to the fifth floor was excruciating, and the slow paced elevator music did nothing to help my nerves.  Did I really want to do this?  Chris had stopped by my place before, and it hadn’t been a big deal.  Why should this be any different? 

I paused just outside his door.  The jitters in my stomach traveled to my hands, and I gripped the bag tightly and waited for my heartbeat to slow down before knocking.

I about dropped everything when he answered the door.  He wore a pair of red and bl
ack flannel pants and no shirt.  Th
e pants hung low on his hips, l
ow enough to expose a trail of hair under his bellybutton that disappeared beneath his waistband. 
I couldn’t keep my eyes from lingering
.

“Allie!”
  His voice was low and rough. 
“Come in,” he said, holding the door open for me.

I peeled my eyes away from his
bare flesh
long enough to look up into his amused expression.  Heat rose in my face, and I had to convince my thick tongue to let me speak.  “I heard you weren’t feeling well,” I finally said
,
stepping past him and into the room.  I set the sack on the table,
unwrapped
my fuzzy gree
n scarf from around my neck
,
and
hung my coat on t
he back of a wooden chair. 

The
suite
was nice,
a spacious
kitchenette
and living
area
and a separate bedroom
.  Chris disappeared behind a door and came back wearing a black T-shirt.

“I watched you perform last night.  Stella said you’d been sick, and your voice was hoarse and you looked so tired that…”  I stopped rambling and rummaged through the bag.  “Anyway, I brought chicken noodle soup.”

He stood near the table and leaned against the wall with his
thick
arms folded across his chest.
I couldn’t read anything from his exp
ression.  “That sounds great,” he said.

I looked down at the table, embarrassed.  This seemed like a good idea before, but now it was awkward.  “Well,
I brought some other stuff too. 
Cough drops and cold medicine.”  I set the items on the table and then pulled out a heavy purple glass bottle.  “My grandpa always said that blackberry brandy was the best remedy for a sore throat.  So I
brought a bottle, just in case.
”

He smiled, his stare planted on my face.

I dropped my eyes and fidgeted with the lid on the soup, but I was far from comfortable.
  His stare was intense.  “What?
” I demanded when I couldn’t take it anymore.

He moved from against the wall,
came to the table,
and picked
up the package of cough medicine. 
“You are amazing.  You were just in the hospital; I should be
the one
bringing you soup.”

“
You sent flowers,” I said.
 
“
Whi
ch were beautiful, by the way. 
Thank you.”

“
Well, thank you for thinking of me, but y
ou didn’t have to do this.  I’m not really
that
sick.
  It’s just a cold.
”

“A cold may not be life threatening, but it could compromise your ability to sing, which would be disastrous in a competition like this.”

He turned his head, but not before I saw a smile.  “So you’re okay?” he asked.  “I was really worried about you.  We all were.”

“I’m fine.  I’ve been released to go back to work tomorrow.”

“That’s good.  Have you eaten yet?”

I shook my head.

He went to the cabinet and pulled down two bowls.  “The
n stay and have soup with me.”

With the look he was giving me I couldn’t have said no
even if I wanted to. 

I dished out the soup, and we sat across from each other at the small table.  “You made this?” he asked, scooping up a carrot and a noodle.

“Yeah, it was my mom’s recipe.  She always made it for us when we were sick.”

He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed hard.  “Wow,” he said, reaching for his glass.

That wasn’t quite the reaction I was expecting.  I took a quick bite and immediately spit it back out into the bowl.  “Oh my gosh, it’s horrible!  Don’t eat it!” I said when he lifted his spoon for another taste.

“It’s not that bad,” he chuckled.  “It sure doesn’t need salt,
though,
does it?”

“I halved the recipe, but
I must have used the wrong measuring spoon.”  I snatched his bowl and
staggered
for the sink.  I
couldn’t
move too quickly, walking boot and all.
  “I’m so sorry, this is awful!”

“Hey, I was going to eat that!” he protested as I
dumped the contents of
the bowl.

“
Well, now you’re not!
”

His eyes settled on the container I’d brought.  It was sitting on the counter next to me and still half filled with soup.  He jumped up for it, but somehow I got it first.

“Don’t waste it!
” he said, reaching around me.

I picked up the sink sprayer and aimed it at his chest.  “Back off, buddy.” 

He backed away, his hands raised in surrender.  “You wouldn’t dare.  You don’t have it in you.”  A challenging grin played on his lips.

“Don’t underestimate what I’m capable of,” I said, reaching with one hand to turn on the water.

He lunged for me.  I shrieked and drenched him. 

He looked at me for a second, as if he couldn’t believe that I had th
e audacity to commit such a crime
.  He then looked down at his shirt, and back up at me again.  “You’re really gonna get it now!”

I dropped the sprayer, threw a towel at him, and shuffled for the
other side of the table, but I wasn’t
nearly
quick enough
.  “No fair, I’m a cripple,” I complained when he pulled me into a bear hug and pressed his chest into me, soaking the back of my shirt.

“And I’m sick,” he retorted, pinning my arms behind my back and wrestling me to the ground.

His body was heavy on top of mine
, his breath ragged in my ear
. 
The stubble on
his chin
felt prickly
against my cheek as he held me captive on the floor. 
H
eat radiated
off him
in waves
.

“You’re really hot,” I
whispered
, wondering if he was feverish
.  It felt like I was
trapped
in
side
a sauna.
  Not that I minded.

“
Thank you.”
  He
flipped me over onto
my back,
straddled me
with his legs,
and pinned
my arms down above my head
.  His nose was inches from mine.  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

If his body heat wasn’t enough, the heat that rose in my face made me break out into a
full-blown
sweat.

I faked an injury.  “Ow, my leg, get off!”

He immediately let go and jumped to his feet
, offering me a hand
.
  “
I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean…”

I laughed and stood up, going to the sink to dump the rest of the soup.

His incredulous expression m
ade me laugh.  “You fight dirty,
”
he said.

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”  I flipped on the garbage disposal.  Its loud roar vibrated through the room.  “Besides, you’re bigger t
han me.  I had to do something. 
I couldn’t just let you win.”

“
Let
me?”

I laughed and sat back down at the table.  “Well
,
now what?”

“I’ll call for room service.  They u
sually have a good selection.”

Chicken Noodle just happened to be the soup of the day, and it was only minutes before it was delivered to the room.  “This is so much better,” I said after the first bite.