She didn’t respond to that one, because she didn’t know what the answer was, and she felt more than a little guilt that he trusted that of course she’d show up.
But would she? She didn’t have a flight booked, and the way her heart started racing at the mere thought of it…she wasn’t sure she’d make it to Washington.
You have to go. This is your career. Be a professional.She knew all the things to tell herself, but none of them were ringing true.
She had the entire house to herself. And she just wanted to go back upstairs to the guest room, climb under the covers, and cry for reasons she couldn’t even name.
Big, dark, ugly feelings loomed over her. So big they were like storm clouds or monsters, terrifying in their enormity.
She’d never felt like this before. Like her heart might rip out of her chest and flee just to get away from her.
In a desperate attempt to ground herself, she scanned the room, settling her attention on the bookshelves around the fireplace. She ran her fingers over the spines, most of them broken. Books that people actually read.
A weird mix, as she made her way down the shelves. Proof of the happy, odd family that had blended together under this roof. Some she recognized as series that Hope had raved about, with demons and vampires and female protagonists that kicked ass. Others she was pretty sure her best friend would never read—dry historicals about military generals and man-against-the-elements type of adventure books. Ryan’s, probably. And then the bottom four shelves were all children’s books. Chapter books and Lego reference volumes. Skinny picture books about bright pink ponies and chunky board books that had been chewed on.
She’d fallen to her knees as she made her way down the shelf. Now she rose roughly, her legs shaking, and she grabbed a thick novel with a woman on the front, surrounded by swirling mist. She had a giant dagger in her hand.
Maybe if she imagined herself a fantasy heroine she wouldn’t be scared of the boogyman her ex-fiancé represented.
Washington wasn’t just another stop on her tour. She’d been invited to perform on the nationally televised A Capitol Fourth concert, with many other performers—including Track Gantley.
Why had she said yes to the concert?
And now that she’d admitted to herself that she was freaked out, how was she going to get back onstage after what happened in Savannah?
Chapter Two
three nights earlier
Savannah, Georgia
SHE tuggedher signature black t-shirt over her head and settled the snug, soft cotton over her curves. The v-neck showed just enough cleavage to be sexy, but the cut stayed on the conservative side, guaranteeing there would be no wardrobe malfunction while she was on stage.
“Ten minutes, Ms. Hansen!” the tour manager called out after knocking on her dressing room door.
She reached for her water bottle and took a small sip, careful not to mess up her makeup.
When he knocked again, she frowned at the door. He knew she wouldn’t holler back. Top of her short list of concert day requests was not talking too much before the show. Limes instead of lemons with her water and cucumbers on the veggie tray—she really wasn’t that demanding.
So seriously, W.T.F.?
She pulled the door open, about to snap at Brad that she’d heard him the first time, and the smart remark died on her lips.
It had been a few years since Track had stopped coming by her dressing room to play his little mindfuck games before a show. A chill rippled through her body and she struggled not to show her long-ago ex-fiancé any glimpse of fear.
It was entirely ridiculous, because he wasn’t going to say anything that bad. She knew that without a doubt.
Track was smart enough to stay on the subtle side of manipulation. To stay in the grey zone of “wow, that felt super weird and gross, even though the individual words weren’t far from appropriate.”
She stepped aside, letting him into her dressing room. He left the door open, and she could just imagine how that would be spun in the gossip blogs.
Track is well known for mentoring other performers on his label. That’s a little awkward because one of them is Liana Hansen, the hussy who broke his heart and selfishly put her career ahead of the family he wanted. Of course, Track still selflessly reaches out to her, but he’s careful not to let her get her claws into him. Even when she invites him into her dressing room, he leaves the door open…
Or maybe that was just her own fear of how it would look.
“Track,” she said smoothly. “I didn’t realize you were here tonight.”
“Thought we could get together for drinks after the show and talk about the album,” he said, sitting on the edge of the counter that ran along one wall. He stretched his long, denim-clad legs out in front of him, and crossed his ankles. He was wearing his brown cowboy boots tonight, the ones with the extra half-inch heel.
