“Let’s just keep all of that under wraps, shall we?”
He laughed and then said, “You better send your man some I-love-you looks or something. I think he’s having a heart attack because you’re laughing with me.”
I turned to look at Nash, and sure enough, he was shooting daggers into Brady. I thought about texting him, but I knew he’d never take the phone out of his pocket while he was on duty. So I just tried to give him my best smile and, like Brady said, send him anI love youwith my eyes.
???
Brady was up early to perform so it wouldn’t mess with any of his nominations. When he left, one of Malone’s FBI agents sat with me. The man was so nervous sitting amongst the celebrities that I thought he wouldn’t have seen a snail if it crawled up to him, let alone any danger. I tried to get him to relax, but he wouldn’t look my way.
When Brady finished his song, the crowd gave him a standing ovation, and I joined them, lost in the happiness I felt for him. He returned to his seat only to have to get right back up for winning both Favorite Country Album and then Favorite Male Country Artist. I clapped until I thought my hands would bleed, shooting Georgie texts with pictures whenever I could. My brain was still trying to grasp how unreal it was that Georgie herself had been partly responsible for Brady getting his record deal. She’d been the one to sponsor the open mic nights at her hair salon in New York where he’d been discovered. It wasn’t a thing you’d ever think to hear about—an open mic night at a hair salon—but she’d gone in with the coffee shop owner next door to her, and now one of the acts she’d had on her little stage was up on one of the largest stages, winning multiple awards. It was a full-circle kind of moment for her and me as her sister-in-law.
After his second thank-you speech, Brady was escorted backstage to talk to more media. I decided it was time for me to use the bathroom so I’d be back when he returned. The water Nash had handed me had gone right through me. There was no way I was waiting another hour until his next nomination. I signaled the attendant who went to find a seat filler, and then I made my way down the aisle to where Nash was standing. As I reached him, his entire body went still, and he whipped out a hand to grab me and pull me behind him.
“What’s going on?” I asked, heart thudding.
“Tanner needs me on the upper deck. He thinks she’s there,” Nash said.
“Go!” I said.
“Not until I hand you off to Marco.”
“Marco’s backstage with Brady, isn’t he?”
Nash didn’t respond, but we both knew he was. At the door, we were met with one of the FBI agents.
“I’m just going to the ladies' room. Certainly, this highly trained agent can take me. Go get her for us,” I said.
Nash looked doubtful. I pushed on his chest. “Go.”
Nash looked to the agent with eyes ready to kill. “Take her straight to the restroom and then meet me back here. Do not go back into the theater until I’ve given the okay.”
Then, he turned to stalk toward the stairs.
“Nash,” I called out.
He turned back to me. “Please be safe,” I said.
He came back, kissed his fingers, and then placed them on my lips. “Keep this with you until you can give it back to me.”
My entire body convulsed as he walked away. Love. Without the words said, but there. I had to shake myself out of my trance in order to turn to the agent who’d just witnessed one of the sweetest, most romantic things that had ever happened to me.
The agent and I journeyed to the nearest restroom with my heart pounding at a rate that I thought might have me keeling over in my spiked heels. If it were Fiona, it would all be done, because I doubted she could do anything to the military men and highly trained FBI agents tracking her down. She’d started a shitstorm she was going to be lucky to get out of alive.
The agent cleared the bathroom and then stood aside for me to enter.
I glanced at myself in the mirror and, for the first time in a long time, didn’t see a pale reflection of myself. I saw the “me” I’d been before the attack but also stronger. On top of that, I was relieved that the entire situation with Fiona was coming to a close. I allowed myself a small smile of victory. The Dani I was now had come a long way in a year.
I entered the bathroom stall, grateful to not have a long ballgown on for once.
The door to the restroom swung open and then closed, surprising me. I didn’t think the agent would let anyone else in with me. I finished, flushed, opened the stall, and located the other woman at the sink before I moved, listening for signs of any other person in the room like Nash had taught me. I gave her space, skipping a sink to wash my hands, eyeing her from my peripheral vision. The woman was a tall blonde, hair piled high, gorgeous cat-eye glasses on her face.
I tried not to stare just as I’d tried not to stare all afternoon at the sea of beautiful people who had filled the theater. I went to grab paper towels, and suddenly, the woman moved, wrapping a hand into the thick layers of chains I was wearing, bringing them up and twisting them tight at my throat just as I tried to spin away as I’d been taught.
“If I can’t have him, you can’t either,” the woman hissed in my ear.
My brain barely registered that it was Fiona.
As I turned, trying to face her, the jewelry slammed tight against my windpipe, making it impossible to breathe, Fenway’s threat of a belt around my neck bursting into a warped reality.
