“Oh my God, Troy,” she exclaimed in a bright voice as soon as she saw him, lifting a hand to signal to her hairstylist to give her a second. The hairdryer cut off. “You were amazing! I got chills.” She turned to her makeup artist. “Remember, Lorraine? When I said I had goosebumps?”
The woman nodded in confirmation. “She did.”
Troy shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it. “Thank you.” His tone was full of gratitude he struggled to adequately express. “I can’t thank you enough for everything.”
Stella scrunched her face in a warm smile. “You’re welcome. I loved getting to do it.” On screen, the crowd murmured in excitement. The lights had gone down, and the next act was preparing to start their set. She turned her gaze to the TV, but her attention was still with us. “Y’all are welcome to stay and hang out.”
Troy wasn’t really given a choice. Some of the music executives he’d dined with last night were here in Stella’s suite, and they came over to offer their congratulations on the show.
“Do you need anything?” I asked him in the spare seconds we could grab between conversations. “Something to eat or drink?” I gestured to his monitor that was no longer hooked in his ear but hung by the cord around the back of his neck. “Want me to find someone to take that?”
“It’s fine,” he said quickly.
I smiled knowingly. He’d commented he felt legit when he’d first put it on, and he wasn’t ready for that feeling to be over.
His expression suddenly went blank. “My parents.”
I nodded. “I’ll let them know you’re here, and you’ll see them after the show.”
When I turned to go, he grabbed my wrist. “Wait, Erika . . . it’s fine, I can do it.”
It was clear he was torn. He wanted to see his folks and he worried this would be awkward for me, but I laughed. I was too happy for him to let anything bring me down.
Plus, today wasn’t about me or Jenna or Bill anyway.
“No, you need to be in here. I’ve got this.”
He was reluctant to let me go, but he did.
Outside of the suite, I could hear the frenetic, lively sound of The Red Door Band pumping through the arena. They had a fiddle player that was outstanding and always got the crowd on their feet. It meant I had to knock loudly when I gave a courtesy knock on the door to Troy’s suite.
Inside I found Jenna and Bill sitting on the white leather couch, their anxious gazes turned to me.
“Hey there.” I strode into the room and gave them a polite smile. “I just wanted to let y’all know Stella invited Troy to hang out with her for a bit, so he’ll need to catch up later.”
Jenna’s disappointment rang through her expression and her shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
I took a step closer, feeling the urge to comfort her. “This is a really good opportunity for him to network. Folks from Stella’s record label are in there, and they want to chat him up.” I gave her an understanding look. “He’s eager to see you too.”
Bill set his hand reassuringly on his wife’s knee. “It’s okay. We can see him after.”
Jenna’s gaze drifted from her husband over to me, and emotion teemed in her eyes. “I wanted to tell him how proud we are of him.” She pressed her hand to her chest, her fingers toying absentmindedly with the lanyard to her VIP badge. “Will you tell him for us?”
The way she asked was hopeful and sweet, and it was as if she wouldn’t trust hardly anyone else to deliver this important message . . . but she trusted me.
I swallowed a breath and nodded. “Of course.” I cleared my throat, trying to disguise how affected I was. “Did you enjoy the show?”
I’d expected them to say yes, to gush about how amazing their son had been. Although I wouldn’t have traded being backstage with him for anything, I was a little envious they’d gotten to experience his performance from the crowd.
What I hadn’t expected was Jenna to leap from the couch, run at me, and crush me in a hug so powerful it was hard to breathe. The force of it made me stumble back a step.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, squeezing me fiercely. “I didn’t mean the awful things I said to you.” When she relented and pulled back, she had to wipe away her tears. “I was so scared I was going to lose him.”
I heard what she meant, the unspoken words she’d left off the end of her statement. She was scared she was going to lose Troy the way she’d lost his father. I’d never met Brett Osbourne, but he’d abandoned Jenna not long after their son had been born. He’d walked away, she’d said, because he wouldn’t be tied down. He didn’t care about anyone but himself.
My heart ached for my friend.
But didn’t she know Troy would never walk away? That he was nothing like the man he shared DNA with? He was much more like his true father—the sweet man who was sitting silently on the couch, trying his damnedest not to get emotional. Seeing his wife upset got Bill every time.
“You’re not going to lose him,” I said.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” she said. “I handled it badly, but I’ll try to do better, I promise. Please forgive me.”
I blinked, stunned. She’d said hurtful things, but I wasn’t blameless either. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. Can forgive me?”
She considered my statement thoughtfully. “I don’t want to be kept in the dark anymore, Erika.”
Hope sparked inside me that our friendship wasn’t too damaged to recover. “Yes, you got it.”
“Are you in love with him?” she whispered.
I jolted. How the hell was I supposed to answer that? “Uh . . .”
“Because he’s in love with you.” She straightened and smoothed her hands down her pants, like she could wipe away the heavy emotion that easily. “I’m sorry, but you can’t expect me to be happy about that. You’re a lot older than him, and I’m going to need some time to be . . . less uncomfortable with the idea of you with my son.”
“I understand.”
Her shoulders lifted on a deep breath. “All I want is for him to be happy, and you’ve made his dream come true. Happier than anyone else. So . . . I can tell you I’ll try. I can try to be okay with this. All right?”
I was too floored to say anything. I simply blinked in shock.
She nodded like I’d agreed with her. “Good.” She’d said her piece, and her emotions turned on a dime. Excitement lurked in her eyes. “Let’s go, Bill. I want to get back to our seats before Stella’s show starts.”
I found Troy sitting in the alcove of Stella’s suite, deep in conversation with Ardy, but when I appeared, both men fell silent. It was odd, like they’d been talking about me. I took a seat on the bench beside Troy and gave them both a suspicious look.
Troy was oblivious. “Everything go okay with my folks?”
I nodded. “It went great. Like, really great.” I couldn’t wait to explain it to him later. “They’re so proud of you.”
There’d been tension in his shoulders, and it eased somewhat, but it didn’t disappear altogether.
I tilted my head. “What are you two scheming about over here?”
Ardy chuckled. “No schemes. We were talking about his take on ‘Reckless.’ I wasn’t sure about it, but the kid made a believer out of me.”
My mouth went dry as I stared at Troy. I was terrified to ask it, because a big part of me didn’t want to know the answer. “You wanted to sing ‘Reckless’ over ‘Power?’”
But Ardy answered before Troy could, and his tone was dismissive. “‘Power’ wasn’t the right choice for his set.”
“What?” Heat flared inside me. Was this yet another decision that had been made on Troy’s behalf without consulting him? Had he sung ‘Reckless’ because his new manager had ordered him to?
“Did you like the arrangement?” Ardy asked. “From what I heard, these two,” he pointed to Stella, still in her makeup chair, and then Troy, “stayed up all night working on it. They wanted it to be a surprise for you.”
I w
as grateful to be sitting down, because when the meaning of his statement hit me, I nearly fell over. This was what Troy had been doing over at Stella’s place. He’d told me they’d hung out in her studio, playing music.
They’d been working on his rendition of ‘Reckless.’
Was this why he’d lied? He’d wanted to keep it a surprise? It was a lot to process. When I peered at Troy, his eyes were cryptic. What was he thinking about?
“Yeah,” I said between hurried breaths, “I loved it.”
“Good.” Ardy was pleased to have that settled. “He recorded it. I’m not his manager anymore, but I’d suggest putting it on his debut.”
My head spun, making me dizzy. “Wait, what? You’re quitting?”
“No,” Troy said. “I, um . . .”
Ardy let out an actual giggle, finding it that hilarious. “He fired me.”
I’d been upset with my boss, but it swung wildly toward my boyfriend. “What are you doing?”
“Apparently,” Ardy said, stroking a hand over his beard, “the kid doesn’t want me as a manager, he wants you. I’m inclined to give my artists what they want, because otherwise they get sad, and sad artists don’t make as much money—which then makes me very sad.”
My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the rest of the room.
I had my hand closest to Troy resting on the bench, and he set his beside mine, our pinkie fingers touching. This simple gesture was somehow more powerful than anything else. He wanted to connect with me, but he also wanted to keep it professional.
Although I was beginning to doubt anyone would care. Romantic relationships between managers and artists weren’t unheard of. If Ardy had no issue with us dating and working together, others would follow his lead.
Troy’s eyes scoured my face, searching for my reaction, but I was too shocked to have one.
Ardy sensed the enormity of the conversation brewing and rose from his seat. “Excuse me, I’m going to check on Stella.”
When he moved out of earshot, Troy’s voice turned quiet, but it was still strong and powerful. “You said you’re all in, so let’s be all in together. I’m not doing it without you.”
This handsome, talented man was willing to give up everything, once again, just for a chance with me.
“I want this,” he continued. “Don’t act like you don’t too.” His expression was so focused and determined, it made my pulse race. He leaned closer. “Yeah, it might not be easy, but I won’t give up.” He moved his hand, so it covered mine. “So, trust me, Erika, and say yes.”
He was right. I wanted this. I wanted him personally and professionally, and the only thing holding me back was my fear. I wasn’t going to let it stop me this time. My answer came quickly and sure. “Yes.”
His grin lit up his entire face.
Once again, Troy and I stood in the wings, our hands laced together, only this time there was a lot more room since the backdrop curtain had been lifted. Nearby, Ardy was gathered with the rest of Stella’s team, watching her final show.
The stage was bathed in bright strobing lights, and ahead of us, Stella strutted toward the crowd, flinging her hair over her shoulder as she sang into the sparkly mic in her hand. Her opening number had been one of her first crossover hits, and now she was performing the song ‘Inferior’ from her newest album, which was pure pop. The infectious tune was about a boyfriend who made her feel small to build himself up. It had a wicked hook, asking who was inferior now?
Not her, with a multi-platinum album and two Grammys to her name.
And she’d stayed grounded and gracious through it. It gave me so much hope for my boyfriend. He’d be a star like her someday, I just knew it.
Troy leaned over and had to shout it in my ear over the deafening music. “I have a question for you.”
“What?”
“I have a question,” he repeated, louder.
I shook my head. “No, I mean, what’s your question?”
“Can I change some of the lyrics in ‘Power?’”
He wanted to ask me this now? “Yeah,” I shouted back. “It’s your song, if you want to—”
“Cool,” he announced. “I’ll be right back.”
He dropped my hand and strode forward, picking his earpiece up off his shoulder to wedge it back in his ear. The same equipment tech from before appeared with Troy’s guitar, and after a quick exchange, Troy nodded and took it.
Onstage, Stella’s song came to its end and while the sold-out crowd of twenty thousand screamed, hyperawareness rolled through me. What was going on?
“What’s up, Nashville?” Stella asked, her voice flooding the arena.
She barely sounded out of breath, even as she’d sung and danced the hell out of her last number. The lighting changed and softened from the harsh red to a subdued blue, and as she spoke, the center section of the stage behind her began to rise, stacking into a set of giant steps.
“This is such a bittersweet night for me,” she continued, “because this tour has been an amazing experience and now that it’s almost over, well, gosh . . . I wish it could last forever. You know I have the greatest fans in the world, and I’m so blessed and honored y’all are here.” She clasped both of her hands around the wireless microphone. “So, I want to make tonight as special for y’all as it is for me, and debut something original. You’ll be the first to hear it. How does that sound?”
The crowd agreed, roaring so loud I felt it in my bones.
“I need some help though,” she said. “Y’all remember Troy Osbourne, don’t you?” She cast her arm out to the side of the stage, welcoming him to join her.
I lifted my hand, covering my gasp, not that anyone would have been able to hear it. I stared in disbelief as he strolled confidently onstage to cheers from the audience, going directly to the microphone stand on the near side. It must have risen with the stairs, which were graduated in different hues of blue light now. As he readied his guitar, she climbed the first few steps, and sat, her glittering skirt draped around her.
With a subtle nod, she told him she was set.
There’d been maybe nine thousand people in the arena at the time he’d sang ‘Reckless,’ instead of the song I’d hoped for. Now, as he began playing the intro to ‘Power,’ it was for the entire sold-out concert and my knees went weak. Twenty thousand people would hear our song.
Dear God, everything was more intense when he began to sing. The opening verse was his alone, full of smoke and smolder, and when he hit the chorus, Stella joined him in harmony. It elevated the slow, sultry love song, and it was so beautiful, my bottom lip shook.
She sang the lead in the second verse while he played, and his carefully placed accompaniment was perfect. I hadn’t thought of the song as a duet before, but now I didn’t want it to be anything else.
He crooned to the audience about desire and being lured in to capture, and not wanting to break free. About the power his lover held over him. And when he came to the bridge, I discovered the lyrics he wanted to change.
“If I said how much I loved you, would you say you loved me too?”
If I wasn’t already in love with him, I sure the hell was now.
Through the last note and the audience’s cheering, an eagerness began to swell inside me, because I knew what was going to happen when he was done and I was desperate for it. He thanked the audience and Stella, said his goodbye, and then exited the stage.
My heart was in my throat as he stalked toward me, took out his in-ear monitor, and handed off his guitar to someone. Anyone. It probably wasn’t the right person, but it didn’t matter. His focus was only on me, and mine was only on him.
“If I said how much I loved you,” I repeated, “would you say you loved me too?”
The electricity crackled between us. He knew I wasn’t reciting the lyric, and he was thrilled to answer my question. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then, I love you,” I said.
He grinned, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me tight
against him. “These shoes you’ve got on really are lucky.”
My mouth dropped open, but he laughed, and whispered it just before Stella’s next song started.
“I love you too.”
Troy
Erika glared at me, fire burning in her eyes. “I hate you.”
“Sure you do, but you have twenty more seconds.”
She was in a squat position and had a black battling rope in each hand, waving them in ripples against the mat. The loud, rhythmic pounding of them echoed through the empty high-intensity training room of the gym, and it matched the rock song streaming from her phone nearby.
I thought about making a comment about how much I liked her form, but I also wasn’t stupid. She’d rage-quit our workout, and I didn’t want this to end with her in a bad mood.
“Ten, nine, eight . . .” I counted down for her.
We’d discovered she liked bossing me around in bed, and I liked bossing her around in the gym. I’d quit my job as an instructor once my advance from the record label had cleared, but three times a week I met my girlfriend-slash-manager at the gym, and she let me do whatever I wanted to her.
Today was upper body with a side of cardio.
“. . . three, two, one. Good job.”
She tossed the ropes aside in a huff, put her hands on her hips, and paced a circle on the mat as she struggled to catch her breath. Did she have any idea how hot she looked right now? Her fitted tank top and sports bra beneath seemed designed to tease me with her cleavage, and her tight leggings flaunted her ass that, as I’d explained to her, was made for trouble.
“You suck,” she growled, picking up her water bottle off the floor and unscrewing the cap.
I smirked.
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