by Sandy James
“That’s sad,” Savannah said. “My grandfather had colorectal cancer. He passed away about ten years ago.”
“I’ve seen all the commercials about getting scoped to check for it,” Russ added.
“A shame Joslynn’s not here.” Ethan looked down at Chelsea. “She’s a nurse. Could tell us more about it.”
“I’ve really got to meet her one of these days,” Russ insisted. “How come she’s not here tonight?”
“She’s on night shift,” Savannah answered. “Nothing like a Nashville emergency room on a Friday night. Besides, you’ll see her at the wedding rehearsal if nothing else.”
The conversation was entirely out of Chelsea’s control now, but she tried one more redirect. “I like the new backup quarterback the Titans signed.”
“I could record the duet with Ethan for you,” Brad offered.
“What a great idea!” Savannah smiled at Chelsea. “If Brad records it, Ethan won’t be so crabby about singing.”
“I’m not crabby,” Ethan said.
“Which is why I should handle things. Hell, I’ll do the whole album.” Brad grinned. “No charge, either. I can use the tax deduction.”
With a shake of her head, Chelsea said, “I can’t let you do that. The scheduling will be a nightmare.”
“Oh, please,” he said. “I own a bar. I’m used to nightmare schedules. Besides, I’d do it just for a good charity anyway. And if it makes Ethan less crabby—”
“I’m not crabby!” Ethan bellowed.
“And on that note…” Brad stood. “After Savannah and I tuck the munchkin in, it’s time to eat!”
* * *
Brad came to stand beside Ethan. Russ had left to help with closing up Words & Music right after he’d eaten his steak dinner.
“She’s not what I expected,” Brad announced.
The men had known each other so long that Ethan understood exactly what his friend meant—that despite her fame, Chelsea didn’t act like a typical diva.
“Dove right into helping,” Brad added, nodding at Chelsea as she stood by the sink, feeding dirty dishes into the dishwasher. “Savannah didn’t even ask. Chelsea pushed up her sleeves, stepped up, and started working.”
“She’s like that at the barn. Shovels shit. Gets her hands dirty.”
“She’s good for you.”
“I suppose so.”
“I think you ought to bring her to Jekyll,” Brad said.
“To your wedding?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’ll be private. No press—at least I hope not. Besides, weddings are so damn romantic.” Brad elbowed Ethan. “You just might get—”
“If you say ‘laid,’ I’ll punch you right in the nose.”
The notion of taking Chelsea to the island resort in Georgia that Brad and Savannah had chosen for their wedding was inviting. Although the event was only two weeks away, he warmed to the idea of inviting her. There would be plenty of privacy since Brad had rented out the entire place even though there would only be a handful of guests. With any luck, the press wouldn’t find out about the marriage until after the happy couple enjoyed a nice honeymoon and was back in Nashville.
Chelsea would probably love having a few days away from prying eyes.
“There probably aren’t any seats left on the plane,” Ethan couldn’t help but point out.
“Savannah let me charter a flight. Figured that might keep things quiet.”
“She’s getting harassed?”
Brad frowned. “Not as much as someone like Chelsea, but she’s ‘Nashville’s Sweetheart’ now, remember?”
“I know she hates that album title,” Ethan said.
“Allied wouldn’t give it up.” With a snort, Brad frowned. “They’re pretty good with other stuff she wants, but that title…” He shook his head. “Can’t always get what ya want, right?”
With a chuckle, Ethan said, “But like the song, she seems to get what she needs from them.”
“She’s resisting their push to do a stadium tour next year.”
“Can’t blame her.”
“So you’ll ask Chelsea to the wedding?” Brad asked.
“There’s room on the flight? Those charter planes are mighty small.”
“There’s room. And I imagine we’ll be able to find her a room at the resort since we’ve got all of ’em rented for the weekend.”
“She’ll stay with me,” Ethan blurted out.
“I imagine she will.” With a slap on the back, Brad said, “Now you’ve just got to get her to agree to go with you.”
* * *
Chelsea turned off the water and picked up the towel. All the dishes were in the dishwasher, and the few things that needed to be hand washed were done. After drying her hands, she turned to find Ethan and Brad staring at her. “What?”
“Wanna see the studio?” Brad asked.
“Absolutely!” Setting the towel aside, she followed him as he opened a door and flipped on a light switch. Then he motioned for her and Ethan to go down the stairs he’d revealed.
Brad called to his fiancée. “Savannah? You coming?”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” she replied from the other side of the big kitchen island, where she was wrapping up the last bowl of leftovers.
Down the stairs, Chelsea found a professional recording studio. “Wow.” She gaped at the place. “This is nicer than Red Barn.”
“Thanks.” Brad pulled out the chair at the master board. “You and Ethan should go in the booth and look at the new mics.”
Ethan opened the door to the booth and let Chelsea enter first. Even though the studio was in a basement, it was huge, and all the equipment was up to date. The microphones Brad had mentioned were nicer than the one she’d used when she’d recorded her last album.
If he really was willing to help with her charity album, she was thinking about taking him up on that offer. Out of habit, she picked up one of the sets of headphones and put them on, and Ethan mimicked her actions with the second set. While he put them on, she leafed through the sheet music that rested on the music stand in front of her. The title was “In Another Life,” which was unfamiliar to her, making her wonder if it was a new Hitman tune.
Brad’s voice came booming through her headphones. “Want to take the new mics for a test drive?”
She smiled at him through the glass that separated the recording equipment from the sound booth. “You haven’t used them yet?”
With a shake of his head, he shifted his gaze to Ethan. “Would you mind? Just a quick a cappella to see if they’re worth what I paid for them?”
The heat from Ethan’s glare could’ve melted the glass separating him from his friend, so Chelsea said, “I’ll do it. What do you want me to sing?”
“Your choice,” Brad said. As if he were immune to Ethan’s glare, he said, “You start, and I’m sure Ethan will join in.”
“Yeah, right…” She adjusted the mic the hung closest to her so that she could sing into it. “How about ‘Amazing Grace’? It’s got a good range of sound to see how the mic works.”
“Whatever the lady wants.” After fiddling with the equipment, Brad gave her the sign for “tape rolling,” so she launched into one of her favorite songs.
Surprisingly, Ethan was right there with her, singing in a baritone that near to took her breath away. As they sang the first verse, Savannah slipped quietly into the booth, put on a set of headphones, and joined Chelsea at her mic for the rest of the song.
Damn, but it was a pretty trio. The sharp tones from her soprano, Savannah’s rich alto, and Ethan’s husky baritone blended beautifully, bringing a tear to Chelsea’s eye as she remembered singing it at her father’s funeral service.
“That was awesome,” Brad said. “Give me a minute and I’ll play it back for you guys.”
“You two blew me away,” Chelsea said with a smile.
“Oh, please,” Savannah said with a dismissive wave. “Your voice is so pure. You could sing anything and make it fantastic
.”
“Back at’cha, lady. No wonder you’re hitting the charts with every new song.”
Rolling his eyes, Ethan said, “You two can stop trying to be humble. You both know you’re the best singers in Nashville.”
“Says the guy who could knock us both down a peg,” Chelsea countered. “You have such a great voice.”
“He really does,” Savannah added before the playback of their song stopped the meeting of the mutual admiration society.
Once again, Chelsea was moved by the song. If Ethan was willing to sing on the duet, she had no doubt their collaboration would be every bit as melodic.
“What do y’all think?” Brad asked, displaying a bit of his Nashville roots.
All three of them began to sing each other’s praises again until Brad interrupted. “Any objections to putting it online? I figure I can put a note about how Chelsea’s working on a charity album that’ll include Ethan. Will drum up some buzz.”
“Songs without videos are boring,” Chelsea couldn’t help but point out. When both Ethan and Savannah started laughing, she frowned. “What?”
Savannah pointed to a camera in the corner of the ceiling, then shifted to a second camera. “Just for future reference, my darling fiancé records everything in his studio, both sound and video.”
“So noted,” Chelsea said. “Pretty shrewd, considering how many times I’ve done a great cover in practice and wished I’d recorded it.”
“So are we Internet bound?” Brad asked.
“Fine with me,” Ethan replied.
“Go for it,” Savannah added.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to be the wet blanket,” Chelsea said with a frown. “I promised my publicist nothing goes public without running it by him. It’s not like I have my contracts memorized, either, and my label might have some clause about putting something out without their permission.”
She felt better when Savannah nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right. My label might have a fit.”
“Sorry, guys,” Chelsea said.
“What about the charity album?” Brad asked. “Will they let you post any of those?”
“Oh, yes,” Chelsea replied. “We’ve had a lot of discussions about what I can do with those songs.”
“Well, then.” Brad rubbed his hands together. “When we record the duets, we’ll get snippets of some of those songs online and drum up publicity.”
Chelsea gave him a smile through the glass. “If it raises more money for the charity, then I’m all for it.”
Chapter Twelve
Can we please talk about the duet now?” Chelsea asked, hoping to put the issue behind them once and for all.
The drive back to her home had been so quiet that she was worried she’d done something to offend Ethan, perhaps in refusing his continued offers to participate. If they could stop disagreeing over whether he’d sing on the charity album or not, she might be able to relax and simply enjoy that they were together.
“That might be a good idea,” he replied. For the first time since they’d left Brad’s house more than fifteen minutes ago, he seemed to relax. He even reached over to hold her hand.
“First of all, your voice is amazing,” she said.
“Thanks.” His hand squeezed hers.
“I really think we sounded good together, and I would love for you to sing on the album. But…”
“No ‘but’ about it, Chelsea. I don’t mind singing, especially since Brad’s recording it. He won’t screw it up like…” He shrugged. “I trust him.”
“Can you tell me why you hate singing so much? I’d like to understand why you were so angry at first.”
A weighty sigh slipped from his lips, and although he kept his eyes on the road, she could tell he was thinking hard about whether to answer her.
“If I’m being too nosy…”
“Nah,” he said. “You know, I actually love to sing, I just don’t like to think back to all that bullshit.”
“What bullshit?”
Ethan let go of her hand and put both of his on the wheel. “My parents made me record an album when I was seventeen. I hated every minute of it. Hated even more that by the time their producer was done, I didn’t sound like me at all.”
“What did he do?”
“You name it; he tried it. Echo chambers. Synthesizers. Overdubbing. He couldn’t decide if he wanted me to sound like a robot or Donald Duck. The songs were a fucked-up nightmare. My parents thought they were ‘timely’ and released the album anyway, no matter how much I begged and pleaded with them not to. They also wanted me to tour, so I had to do a couple of shows. Those were even more of a mess.”
“No wonder you were so mad.”
“The reporters were relentless,” he added. “They hated every single song, and they were quite happy to tell the whole world what a talentless hack they thought I was.”
Having had her own share of merciless reviews, Chelsea could sympathize. “They can be pretty brutal.”
“It’s in the past,” he said. “I just have a hard time leaving it there.” A few moments passed before he spoke again. “It’s more than that, though.”
“Tell me. Please,” she coaxed, wanting to know exactly what that “more” was.
“Do you know how my parents died?”
“A car accident, right?”
A weary sighed slipped from his lips. “Do you know why they had the accident?”
Searching her thoughts, Chelsea couldn’t remember much about the Walkers’ deaths. Crawfish was a well-known heavy drinker—that much she recalled. But she had no clue whether he’d been drinking the night of their wreck. “No, I don’t.”
“It was because they were famous.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“They were being chased by some zealous photographer and Dad was trying to lose him. He lost control of the car, and…I can remember it like it was yesterday.”
Her heart went out to him, not only because she knew the pain that came with losing a parent but because her own life had been touched by relentless paparazzi far too often. “I’m so sorry, Ethan.”
No wonder he shunned the limelight. After being taunted by the press for singing songs he hated, he also blamed them for costing him the two most important people in his life.
They came to the interstate, and Ethan headed up the southbound entrance ramp.
Chelsea tried to stop him by reminding him of the directions she’d given him to get her home. “I thought I told you to head south.”
“You did.”
“Then why—”
“Your car’s at the barn,” he said. “Remember?”
No, she hadn’t remembered. In fact, she was so tired that she doubted she’d even given him the correct directions. Before she could answer, a yawn slipped out, so deep she shuddered. “Sorry.”
“You must be beat,” he said as he eased the truck into the flow of traffic that still buzzed on I-65 despite the fact it was close to three in the morning.
She nodded as she covered another yawn with her hand.
“I shouldn’t have made you stay so late,” he said.
“I had a great time. Besides, I can catch up on my sleep when I get home.”
“The way you’re yawning? Not gonna let you drive. You’ll wrap your pretty little Land Rover around a tree.”
“Oh, please.” About to tell Ethan all about the number of times she’d had to endure exhaustion and still look great and sing well, she was interrupted by yet another yawn. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are. I can see that for myself.” Turning the volume on the radio down, he said, “Why don’t you lean back and close your eyes? We’ve got a good twenty minutes before we get to the farm. Take a short nap.”
“I should’ve thought about how far apart our places are when I let Joe take my car. I was focused on getting outta there so I could spend time with…I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yeah, it might’ve helped if I told y
ou how late we always stay at those Friday cookouts,” Ethan said.
The steady passing of the white lines on the interstate had the same effect as a lullaby. “You don’t care if I close my eyes? Just for a few minutes?”
“Why don’t you come over here?” he asked, patting his shoulder.
That was an offer she couldn’t resist. Anytime she could get closer to him, she’d jump at the chance. No man had ever captured her senses and her thoughts the way Ethan had.
Popping her seatbelt, Chelsea scooted across the bench seat. “Sure I won’t bother you?”
In a singsong voice, he replied, “Put your head on my shoulder.”
And she did.
* * *
In all his days, Ethan had never seen a person fall asleep that quickly. One second, Chelsea was talking. Boom, those eyelids shut and her head lolled against her chest.
He would have wrapped his arm around her, but he was afraid to wake her. Instead, he kept his right hand on the wheel and reached across his chest with his left to lift her chin and gently move her head to rest better against his shoulder so she wouldn’t get a stiff neck.
As he drove through the darkness, he thought about how well she’d gotten along with Brad, Savannah, and Russ. They all acted as though they’d been pals their whole lives, especially Chelsea and Savannah. But then again, they shared a career that tons of people swore they wanted but few understood. Empathy for stars was often an unavailable commodity. After all, bona fide stars had everything they’d ever wanted, right? At least that’s the mantra Ethan had heard his whole damn life. Since his parents were rich, famous celebrities, his life was supposed to be golden. Perfect.
Oh, how wrong people could be.
Brad seemed every bit as taken with Chelsea as Savannah was. In all the time Ethan had been friends with Brad, which was close to forever, he’d never sought Brad’s opinion on a woman. Then again, Brad had never taken Ethan’s advice, either. Probably because the two of them had played the field too damn much. None of the women they dated were worth getting to know better.
None of them was Chelsea.
For a moment, he was more than a little ashamed of his past. Although he’d been tested and was clean as fresh snow, he could easily have picked up something nasty—even potentially fatal—if he’d screwed around with the wrong woman. He and God didn’t have much of a relationship, but Ethan did send a quick prayer of thanks that he’d avoided that horrible scenario.