by Erika Kelly
I’m talented, I don’t do drugs, and I take my work seriously.
Sounds like a damn good fit.
Anticipation churned in her stomach.
Okay, what’s the worst that can happen? He calls you out for being a vapid pop singer? A puppet for Clean Beatz?
Energy rolled in. And if he did, she’d tell him to listen to her songs. Because she was so much more than Dale had ever let her be.
And not signing her was Dale’s loss.
She set off across the room, eyes on her target. He was such an intimidating man—so closed off and guarded. He’d reached a level in this industry where he could do anything. No one questioned or challenged him. They just let him do his thing—because every band he worked with went platinum many times over.
When she reached him, she felt a pulsing wall of energy around him.
Do Not Enter.
But she pushed through it. “Excuse me.” She smiled and held her hand out. “I’m Gigi Cavanaugh.”
Emmie grabbed it. “Oh, hey. I’m so glad to meet you. Your song was amazing. I’m Emmie Valencia Vaughn, and this is Irwin Ledger.”
“Hello,” she said to both of them. Then, she smiled at Emmie. “Your kids are adorable.”
“Oh, sure. You have a flashy dance troupe on stage. We have toddlers.”
“Yours are way cuter.” Gigi felt the USB stick in the palm of her hand. “Irwin.” She looked him right in the eyes. “I can’t tell you how nervous I am to meet you. You’ve always been my brass ring.”
His gaze slid over to Emmie’s with a subtle look that said, Save me.
Emmie jumped right in. “Irwin’s not taking on any new clients at the moment, but—”
Gigi never broke eye contact. “I know you only work with musicians that blow your socks off.” She handed him the stick. “So, it would mean the world to me if you’d give me a chance. Even if you only listen to the first song, that’ll be enough to get a feel for my sound.”
He looked at it like it had eight hairy legs.
Emmie reached for it. “Thank you. We look forward to listening.”
“No, you don’t, and I understand that. You see me as a Lollipop. Look, I got discovered in a karaoke bar when I was nineteen. I’d love to tell you that dropping out of USC and signing with Clean Beatz was a brilliant decision and that I have no regrets, but I can’t do that. I did it because the boy I’d loved with all my heart broke up with me in the worst way possible, and from what I could see on social media, it looked like he’d moved on and was having the time of his life. I wanted him to see pictures of me as a superstar, living my best life.” Her heart thundered, her palms went clammy, but she powered on. “I gave up the most essential part of me—my music—to stick it to a boy. But I’m back in my own skin now, and I’d like you to listen to my original songs.”
Irwin watched her carefully, like she might rip off her facemask to reveal the clown underneath.
The ground beneath her feet turned to quicksand, and she wanted to hurry up and get sucked into it.
But, then, the legendary Irwin Ledger spoke to her in his English accent. “I don’t listen to pop or country music, and while the song I heard tonight was lovely, it’s more along the lines of a country-pop mash-up. If you’re shopping a demo, I’d suggest committing to one style or the other as a starting point.”
“I don’t see myself as either.”
“And yet, if I said I work with country artists—and your voice certainly lends itself to that sound—would you be willing to buy some cowboy boots and add a little twang to your voice?”
Okay, so he was going to make fun of her. She’d expected to be dismissed not ridiculed. “I already own cowboy boots, and I’ve just spent the last seven years being a puppet for a tyrannical record label. And, actually, I’m really glad I met you, because I’d turned you into this mythical creature in my mind, but I know this is a business and money is the bottom line, so I understand you’re trying to fit me into a market that will bring your label money.” A calm settled over her. “The thing is, I’m done fitting into someone else’s idea of who I should be, and I think…I think I’m okay with spending some time building my own brand. So, the next time you’re bored of hearing the same old same old, look for me on SongCloud. You might like what you hear.” She turned to Emmie. “I appreciate everything my manager’s done for me, but I don’t think we’re on the same page anymore. If you’re looking to add another artist to your roster, I’d love to work with you.” Then, to both of them, she smiled and said, “Thank you for your time. Goodnight.”
Body bruised and aching, Cassian only had to get through one more repetition in the seven-on-seven passing drill. But, dammit, he needed to get this one right.
His rookie receiver flashed open on the right side, and Cassian released the ball. He knew the moment it left his hand that he’d fucked up. The angle was off. Didn’t get the height.
So, when the assistant receivers coach lifted his paddle to disrupt the throwing lanes and swatted the pass away, Cassian lost it.
Pulling his helmet off with both hands, he fired it to the ground.
The line coach jogged over, reaching for the ear pad that had popped out from the force. “Take a break, man.”
“No, I’ll do it again.”
The guy turned his back to the field and lowered his voice. “Go home. Start fresh tomorrow.” The compassion in his tone got Cassian’s attention.
He was fucking things up for everybody. With a curt nod, he left the field. It was the end of the day, anyhow. He’d head home. Start fresh tomorrow.
Inside the cool locker room, he sat on the bench and untied his cleats, peeled off his uniform, and dropped it on the floor.
He needed to show up for his team. He needed to get his head in the game. Hell, he’d spent his entire career playing with half a heart. Nothing new here.
Heading to the showers, his legs felt stiff, like he’d forgotten how to walk, like the connection between his mind and body had been cut. He stood under the spray, tilting his chin down, and letting the hot water pour over him.
Eyes closed, alone in the locker room, he let it sack him.
I lost her.
I fucking lost her.
He didn’t think he could stand going back to a life without her.
Squirting soap onto his palm, he lathered up and scrubbed the sweat off his body. As he rinsed, he reminded himself he wasn’t going to win her back by turning into a sad sack of shit. His only hope was to clean up his reputation. Slamming his fist against the faucet, he stepped out and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist.
Would she move on before he could put into action all the things he needed to do to make his world safe for her? She loved him. He knew that. He just…
I’m scared shitless I pushed her too far away this time.
He came back into the empty, dead-quiet locker room and put on his boxers, jeans, and a faded Lollipop T-shirt. Grabbing his sneakers, he turned to sit on the bench and found Dean, in his grass-stained practice pants, watching him.
Without a word, his closest friend opened his arms, and Cassian just fucking crashed. Dropping his shoes, he walked right up to him and leaned in. It didn’t take more than a couple seconds for him to give Dean all his weight.
His mind went completely still for the first time in the three weeks since he’d lost her, leaving him nothing but pain and desolation. He languished in it. Tears burned, and he blinked furiously. “I want her back.”
Dean grabbed his shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “You can have her back…but not until you make a choice between her and us.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Right now, you’re dividing yourself between your teammates and Gigi—and she’s come out the loser.”
“That’s bullshit. I would choose her over football any day. You know that.”
He shook his head. “That’s not the choice you need to make. Look, you can take your teammates on all th
e trips you want, buy them a new fancy watch every year, but if you’re not winning, they’re not going to like you. They’ll consume you, but they won’t like you. They need you as a leader.” He dropped his arms. “Winning requires leadership—not weeklong parties where you’re, essentially, babysitting them. You’re George S. Patton, and they’re the troops you’re leading into battle. They need to believe on an emotional level that you’re going to lead them to victory. If they do, they’ll follow you anywhere. They’ll take personal pride in being on your team. So, put your energy into being the best damn quarterback you can be, in energizing the guys on the field. When you do that, Gigi’s not competing with the guys anymore, right? She’s the priority of your personal life, and football’s your career. You get me?”
He pulled his friend back in for another hug and slapped his back. “I do.”
Before leaving the stadium, Cassian had one more stop to make. Up until now, he’d let management decide his fate, and he was done with that.
Coach’s door was open, so Cassian leaned in. “You got a second?”
“Sure thing. Come on in.” In his usual impatient manner, Coach flapped his hand. Close the door. “What’s up?” The big man gestured to the empty chair facing his desk.
“I don’t know how far along you’ve gotten in your discussions about trading me.”
“Son, this is a conversation between me and your manager.”
“He can’t represent me the way I can.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few weeks.” He hadn’t gone out with the guys. After training, he went home, made dinner, and crashed. And it wasn’t about winning Gigi back. It was about figuring out his shit. And to do that he’d needed time alone.
“Yeah? Then I’m doing something wrong.” He grinned but Cassian didn’t play along. “I’m going to have to keep you busier tomorrow.”
Cassian had something to say, and he didn’t want to screw around. “I wouldn’t be playing for you right now if it weren’t for Tyler Cavanaugh. I don’t know what he saw in me, but he chose to mentor me, and I’ve spent most of my life trying to make him proud. I didn’t have that kind of relationship with…” He cleared his throat, unused to talking about these things. “It was different with my parents. They worked a lot, and I guess I wanted their attention. When asking for it didn’t work, I tried to get it any way I could. But, with Tyler…I wanted him to be proud of me.” He took a moment to get his thoughts together. This is fucking hard. “I don’t think it was until the team made me captain that I stopped playing for Tyler Cavanaugh.”
“You mean to make his investment in you worthwhile.”
“Yes. And I think I was so busy getting my teammates to accept me as Ben’s replacement that I didn’t think about your investment in me. I’m thinking about that now.”
Coach looked almost apologetic. “It’s a cost-benefit analysis. On the field you’re a natural leader and outstanding athlete, but the cost is that off the field you damage our brand. Football is family entertainment. What family wants to read about your threesomes?”
“I agree. A long time ago, Tyler asked me a question that turned my life around. He made me define my goals. If I could see myself as a professional athlete, he believed he could get me there. So, over the past couple of weeks, I’ve asked myself that same question.”
Coach’s gaze narrowed. He seemed very fucking interested, and that made Cassian feel like shit because his coach had worked so damn hard for him, and Cassian had let him down.
But I won’t anymore. “My number one goal is to be worthy of Gigi Cavanaugh, which might not seem important to this conversation but bear with me. My number two goal is to marry Gigi Cavanaugh. Again, hang on. This is all leading to something that affects you.”
Coach chuckled.
“And my number three goal is to beat every record ever set by a quarterback in the history of record-keeping.”
His coach broke into a huge grin. “Yeah?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it before, because I’ve been trying so hard to win over the guys. But I don’t care about that anymore. I care about being the best damn player I can be, and to break records, I’m going to have to cut out anything that doesn’t move me along that path.”
“That’s how to get it done.”
“I don’t know where you are in discussions about trading me, but I’d like to ask you to stop. I’d like you to give me a chance to see how my shift in perspective impacts my performance both on and off the field.”
Coach’s features softened. He had an almost paternal look. “Cassian, I’m not trading you. There are no discussions. I just wanted to give you a kick in the ass.”
“Consider my ass kicked.” Relieved, he got up and reached for Coach’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.”
Just as his hand grasped the doorknob, Coach said, “Just so you know, Amie’s been cut from the cheerleading squad.”
“But she’s back on that TV show. How can she be on it if she’s not a cheerleader?”
Coach grinned. “She can’t.”
Cassian jumped into his truck. He wasn’t much of a list maker, but he was damn glad to check off Make amends with Coach.
Next up? Drop to his knees and propose to Gigi.
But, since he couldn’t do that, he’d hire a moving company to pack up her belongings and move her into his apartment in Boson.
Okay, can’t do that, either.
Fine. Then, he’d like to get an ultrasound of his heart as proof it only beat for her.
Since he couldn’t do any of those things, he’d do the only thing he could: he’d make his world a place she’d want to live in.
The cab barely crawled along Fifth Avenue during rush hour traffic. Fortunately, Amoeba Records was located near Central Park, so she had a great view of all the pretty storefronts. September in New York City meant colorful fall decorations.
Still buzzing from her unbelievable meeting with Irwin Ledger, she reached for her phone. She needed to share the moment with…
Someone who isn’t Cassian.
Right.
One day, she’d stop having the impulse to talk to him.
She’d done the right thing—breaking it off—she knew that. It just…it wasn’t that simple. She’d be living the rest of her life missing a vital piece of herself.
What’s the matter with him? Why won’t he cut it out already?
Glancing out the window, she noticed the street perpendicular to Fifth ended in a large building. Grand Central Station.
An idea struck. “How far’s Boston?” she asked the driver.
“Three and a half hours.”
That’s not bad. “Thank you.” Her flight back to LA didn’t take off until tomorrow afternoon.
Last time they’d ended things, she’d stewed for nine years. She’d never confronted him, never had her say. And hurt had hardened into bitterness and anger.
This time…she wasn’t going to do that. She’d get it all out, purge all the anger.
And then she’d be free to really move on.
“Excuse me? Could you please drop me at the train station?”
The music was so loud outside his door, Gigi didn’t think he could possibly hear her ringing the bell.
Unbelievable. Cassian’s hosting a rave in the middle of training camp?
So, good, it only confirmed she’d been right to end the relationship. He’s never going to change.
Pain got a grip on her heart and squeezed. He had me back, and he still messed up.
She pounded on the door. Which…was pretty stupid.
He’s having a party.
Screw it. I’m leaving.
Showing up at his door would only make him think she still had feelings for him.
And wouldn’t that be embarrassing?
Right then, the elevator doors opened and out strode a bunch of men who absolutely had to b
e football players.
“Hey, girl,” one of the guys said.
“Andre?”
He swallowed her up in his big arms. “What’re you doin’ in Boston?”
“I had a meeting in New York, and I thought I’d…” Stupidly, she’d imagined Cassian crapped out on the couch, drinking something green, and icing his shoulder. The last thing she’d expected was to find him partying. “I came to visit Cassian.” Like an idiot.
His smile flattened into confusion. He motioned for the others to head into the apartment without him. When the door opened, music and conversation roared. It closed, and he asked, “When was the last time you talked to him?”
“I haven’t seen him since I left Calamity a month ago.”
“He forget to send you his new address?”
“His…what? Cassian doesn’t live here anymore?”
“Nope. I do.”
Confused, Gigi stood on the sidewalk, taking in the aged brick façade of a five-story townhome in an historic neighborhood in Boston. Quiet and elegant, the tree-canopied street, with its wrought iron streetlamps and cobbled sidewalks, was absolutely nothing like the party penthouse where Cassian used to live.
Why would he move to a family neighborhood?
It didn’t make sense. What’s going on?
On either side of the massive oak door, recessed platforms held planters spilling with brightly colored flowers and ferns. She rang the bell and heard, “Hang on a sec.”
His voice hit her like a blast, rocketing through her body, and she was overcome with the impulse to run.
What the hell had she been thinking, coming to see him in person?
She wasn’t ready for this. To see him, hear his voice…it’s too soon.
I can’t do it.
I miss him.
Her reaction told her the truth she hadn’t wanted to admit.
She’d come because it was the only way to prove to herself that she was done with him. And she really, really needed to do that.
Because if she couldn’t, she’d be doomed to repeat the last nine years.