Authors: Alison Packard
“Kenny broke his
arm.” He shoved his phone into his back pocket. “And Jessie needs
a guitar player.”
Her brows knitted
together. “How’d he do that?”
Drew shrugged. “Beats
me. But they need a replacement pronto.”
“It makes sense that
they’d call you. You know all her songs.” Hannah reached out to
touch his arm. “I got the A-Okay to leave early tonight. Cherry’s
offered to finish my shift for me, and Leo’s gonna drive me home
after we have dinner, so I won’t need a ride back to my place.”
“Thanks for letting
me know,” he said, then gave her hand an affectionate pat.
One night, four months
ago, when he’d been about as low and drunk as he’d ever been, he
and Hannah had slept together. She’d also been drinking and hurting
over a recent break-up, and it had just…happened. The next morning
they realized their mistake, and admitted that their past high school
romance had made it easy for them to turn to each other for drunken
comfort. But that teenage love was long gone, it had turned into
friendship, and there was no romantic spark left to be had. For
either of them. And now, Hannah had Leo, and he had…no one.
“You all right?”
Her forehead furrowed as she studied him with concern.
Of course she’d be
able to tell that something was off with him. Hell, they’d known
each other since they were in diapers.
“Never better,” he
said with a smile as fake as the tits Cherry had been showing off
since her return from a three-week vacation.
He was alone by choice,
and for a good reason. Though some days, like today, those reasons
didn’t give him much comfort, and they didn’t help him to forget
about the devastated look in Jessie’s eyes when she’d found
Hannah half-naked in his apartment.
He’d replayed that
night in his head a million fucking times. And each time, the wounded
expression on Jessie’s face said more than the words she hadn’t
been able to utter.
Drew lifted a hand and
rubbed his temple. If only he could be the guy she had admired and
put on a pedestal. But he wasn’t, and because of that, he’d let
her down in the worst way possible.
“You know, I think
helping Jessie will be good for you.” Hannah’s voice pulled him
from his thoughts. “You’ve been moping around here for months
now.”
Drew frowned. Was it
that noticeable?
Shit
.
He thought he’d been doing a fine job of hiding his true feelings.
Evidently not.
“I’ve got a lot on
my mind.”
“Like Jessie?” she
asked softly.
“No,” Drew snapped,
annoyed by the knowing gleam in her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
Hannah shrugged. “No
reason. Forget I said anything.” She paused. “So you leave
tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He glanced
at the clock on the wall. “I’m off in an hour, and I’ve got
some vacation time on the books. I’ll clear it with the boss before
I leave, then I’ll pack tonight, and catch the first plane to Vegas
in the morning.”
The corners of her
mouth twitched with amusement. “Don’t go doin’ something crazy,
like get hitched. I hear they’ve got a wedding chapel on every
corner in that town.”
He burst out laughing.
“Trust me, marriage is the last thing on my mind. And the last time
I checked, I didn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Well, you never
know.”
Hannah looped her arm
through his as they headed towards the front, where the guy who had
taken center stage was singing “When You Say Nothing at All”
nowhere near as good as Keith Whitley sang it.
“You just might find
the girl of your dreams in Sin City.”
Drew didn’t bother to
reply. Hannah didn’t need to know she was closer to the truth than
not. The girl of his dreams
would
be in Sin City tomorrow.
And so would he.
A few minutes before
midnight, Jessie rummaged through her purse, looking for her cell
phone. Nikki had already packed up the stage clothes and make-up, and
had just left with a couple of the roadies who, at this moment, were
probably loading her stage gear into the large cargo van her road
manager had rented to transport their equipment and instruments to
Las Vegas in. The driver would head out tonight and make it to Vegas
in time for rehearsal on Tuesday.
Jessie Grant might be
billed as a solo act, but there was nothing solo about putting on a
show like hers night after night. Other than Wally, the band was the
closest thing she had to family. They’d been together for years,
and as close as she was to them, she’d always held a part of
herself back. Trusting people was difficult for her. She’d learned
a long time ago not to count on anyone staying around for the long
haul.
Finally, she found her
phone and read the two texts from Wally. The first one was to remind
her of a conference call first thing tomorrow morning with the
homeless shelter in Nashville, and the second was to tell her he’d
be there shortly to escort her to the limo waiting outside the
Ravinia Pavilion to take her back to the hotel. The venue in
Illinois, was one she’d played many times. She felt bad that the
concert had been interrupted three-quarters of the way through when
Kenny pulled his stupid stage-diving stunt. After the paramedics had
carted him off to the hospital, she’d done her best to finish the
concert with her remaining band members, but both she and the band
had been rattled, unsure how badly Kenny had been injured. The crowd
however, either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. They’d filled
the pavilion with their raucous chants and cheers until she gave them
what they wanted—a second encore.
“Do you have a
minute?”
Jessie almost jumped
out of her skin at the sound of Trista Cantrell’s slightly
exaggerated Southern drawl. Her own experience at reinventing herself
notwithstanding, it struck Jessie as odd that Trista, who’d lived
in upstate New York until her recent discovery on a reality
television show, had acquired an accent thicker than the majority of
Nashville’s natives.
As she slipped her
phone back into her purse, she looked at Trista, who stood near the
door that had been closed just seconds ago. Irritation bubbled up
inside of her. Much like a cat, Trista had the uncanny ability to
appear out of nowhere without making a sound. It was damn unsettling.
“I didn’t hear you
knock,” she said, trying to keep the bitchiness out of her voice.
“I did. Twice.”
Trista’s voice held a hint of defensiveness.
Jessie was pretty sure
she hadn’t, but she was too tired to argue. She sighed as she took
in Trista’s long blonde corkscrew ringlets, which were reminiscent
of the hairstyle Taylor Swift favored early in her career. The style
had worked on tall, willowy Taylor, but on Trista, who couldn’t
have been more than five feet tall, the mass of hair overwhelmed her
petite frame and made her appear even shorter.
“I guess I didn’t
hear you.” She glanced at her watch. “I have a few minutes. What
did you want to talk about?”
“I’d like to extend
my set by fifteen minutes. I thought I should ask you before talking
to Wally.”
Jessie tilted her head
and frowned. “With what songs? You already have an hour and you
barely have enough to fill that time slot.”
“I have some new
material I’d like to try out,” Trista said, with a hopeful smile.
Jessie hesitated before
answering. Despite her recent television success, Trista was still a
green seventeen-year old kid with one hit song and an album that
hadn’t even dropped yet. The only reason she and Wally agreed to
let Trista open the show was because Trista was recently signed to
the same label as Jessie, and the top brass wanted to get their new
young protégé out on the road quickly in order to capitalize on her
current popularity with the American public—specifically the
tweens—an audience that at the ripe old age of twenty-five, Jessie
was outgrowing. And if there was one thing she and Wally had learned
over the years, it was to never piss off the head honchos at the
label.
“I’d like to
accommodate you,” Jessie said, choosing her words carefully.
She didn’t want to
hurt Trista, but there was something about the girl that didn’t sit
right with her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and as
much as Trista claimed to idolize her, Jessie sometimes felt the
girl’s fawning was a tad too dramatic.
“But unfortunately,
if I give you more time I’d have to shave some time off of my set,
and if I do that, I’d have to take out at least two songs. I don’t
think my fans would appreciate that.” She offered Trista a
regretful smile. “I hope you understand. It’s not personal, and
if you open for me on my next tour, I’d be happy to discuss a
longer set. By that time your album will have dropped, and you’ll
have a wider selection of songs to choose from. Songs the public will
be familiar with because they’ve already downloaded them.”
An emotion Jessie
couldn’t make heads or tails of flickered in Trista’s eyes before
she nodded. “I understand,” Trista said as she brushed back her
mass of hair. “After all, the fans paid to see you, not me.”
Jessie waved her hand
and smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be selling out concerts on
your own real soon. You have a great voice,” she said, with a
sincerity that surprised her.
Although their paths to
Nashville were as different as night and day, it didn’t mean that
Trista couldn’t sing, and it didn’t mean that Jessie had to hold
a grudge against her just because she’d basically had no choice in
choosing her opening act. It wasn’t Trista’s fault the suits were
drooling over her and her innocent, angelic persona.
“Trista?” The voice
belonged to Trista’s manager, who appeared in the doorway wearing a
look of impatience. “We’re leaving.” Barry Downs turned his
attention to Jessie and gave her a smile as fake as his tan. “Sorry
about Kenny,” he said, then snapped his fingers and glowered at
Trista. “Let’s go. The car is waiting.”
Irritation flared in
Trista’s eyes. “All right, already. I’m coming,” she said to
Barry’s retreating back, then she turned and smiled at Jessie.
“Thanks for the compliment. It means a lot coming from you. Well,
I’d better go before Barry has a meltdown,” she said, then paused
mid-turn and looked back at Jessie once more. “I can’t wait to
get to Las Vegas. I’ve never been there before.” Her eyes
sparkled with excitement. “I have a feeling it’s going to be my
favorite stop on the tour.”
“Why do you think
that?”
Trista shrugged, then
smiled. “Just a hunch.”
As Wally tipped the
bellman, Jessie set her purse down on the glass topped coffee table
in her city-view suite and moved to the big picture window that
overlooked the Las Vegas strip. Under the cover of night, the neon
view would be spectacular, but in the middle of a run-of-the-mill
Monday afternoon, it looked like what it was; a wide boulevard lined
with large gaudy hotels and filled with bumper-to-bumper traffic.
“What time is
rehearsal?” she asked, turning from the view after the bellman
thanked Wally and left them alone.
“The events
coordinator called me an hour ago and said that the arena is
available for our exclusive use starting tomorrow morning. They have
an event tonight, and then nothing until our show on Friday.” He
glanced at his watch. “That gives you the rest of the day and all
of tonight to take it easy.”
“Thank you.” Jessie
smiled, grateful for Wally’s solid, caring presence.
Although she’d always
found it hard to express her feelings to him, she’d grown to
appreciate all the small things he did to make her life on the road
easier.
“When is Drew due to
arrive?” she asked, averting her eyes so he wouldn’t see how
anxious she was about seeing the guy she was trying in vain to
forget.
“His plane should be
landing right about now. I sent a car for him, and he’s booked into
a room on the floor beneath this one.” Wally combed his fingers
through his thick white hair. “It’s not a suite, but it’s
better than sharing a room with one of the roadies. Hell, if he had
demanded a suite, I would have given him one. We need him that much.”
“He didn’t have any
conditions at all?”
“Nope. Not a single
one.”
Jessie managed a wan
smile. “Great. Then I’ll see him at rehearsal tomorrow.”
After Wally left the
suite, she dug into her purse and fished out one of the three apples
she’d lifted from continental breakfast room at the hotel they’d
checked out of this morning. As usual, Wally had rolled his eyes when
he caught her slipping them into her oversized purse. She shrugged
and gave him a sheepish smile. If he’d ever had to dig through foul
smelling garbage to find something to eat, or hovered around an open
air café to snatch unfinished scraps of food after the patrons left
their table, he might understand why her past habits were hard to
break. But at least she’d stopped carrying plastic sandwich bags in
her luggage to save left over room service food.
As Jessie bit into the
fruit, she wandered into the bedroom, and stared at the king-sized
bed with its pristine chocolate colored coverlet tucked precisely
between the mattress and the brocade covered box spring. She turned
and took in the rest of the room. It was lovely, with natural woods
and an earth tone décor. But as nice as it was, it was devoid of
personality. Not that she cared one way or the other. A hotel room
was just a place to hang her hat when she was on the road. While the
accommodations were way nicer, life on tour was much like moving from
one homeless shelter to another, or from one foster family to
another. Maybe that’s why touring came so easy to her—she’d had
a number of years to prepare for it.
Her house in Nashville was the
closest she’d come to putting down roots. It wasn’t the warm,
welcoming home filled with family that she’d always dreamed of
having, but still, at the tail end of a long tour, she couldn’t
wait to get back there and do some writing. Unfortunately, ever since
she discovered that Drew and Hannah were back together, staying on
the road seemed like a good thing. Or at least it had until Kenny had
broken his arm, and Wally had called on Drew to come to their rescue.
She thought she’d never have to face Drew again, but she’d been
wrong. And now that it was happening, she didn’t have the slightest
clue as to how she was going to handle it.