Can't Let Her Go

by Sandy James

Savannah shook her head. “I can’t do what I do and not interact with the press.” She glanced at her husband. “Brad hates it. Not as much as you, but even he knows that if a person wants to make it in country music, she can’t live in a vacuum. What I was saying was that Caroline needed to understand who her mother is and why she might see herself on magazines or have people who know her talking about what they saw, like she did when one of her friends bugged her about People.”

  “So you’re okay with people taking pictures of your daughter day and night?”

  Her smile seemed a bit odd. “C’mon, Ethan. Honestly. Day and night? Even reporters sleep. Besides, when the press wants access to me or my daughter, they get it on my terms. There’s no reason you and Chelsea can’t handle things the same way.”

  Although he felt as though she might be condescending to him, he recognized his own hyperbole.

  Brad set his fork down. “She’s supposed to lay down that last track tomorrow, buddy.”

  The last track. “When You Were Mine.” How ironic that she’d chosen that song from his parents’ repertoire—a tune that lamented lovers moving on while wondering why on earth they’d ever allowed themselves to part.

  “What’s she singing?” he asked. “She can’t do ‘When You Were Mine’ as a solo.”

  “We finally settled on ‘In My Life,’” Brad replied.

  “The Beatles song?”

  “That’s the one. Said something about the words meaning a lot to her.”

  “Probably because of losing her father.”

  Ethan frowned when Brad rolled his eyes. “I’m sure he’s not the only person she hurts over losing.”

  “Brad’s right,” Savannah said as she rubbed small circles on Ethan’s shoulder. “So what are you gonna do, Ethan?”

  * * *

  Addie was shaking her head as she joined Chelsea in the kitchen. “You’re not going to fucking believe this…”

  Glancing up from the celery she was chopping for a salad, Chelsea frowned. The last thing she needed was bad news.

  Then again, her life was in the toilet. How much worse could it get? “Spit it out.”

  “Brad just called to tell me that Ethan is gonna do the duet.”

  Chelsea blinked, not sure exactly how to react to the news. She and Brad had already made plans for her to record the last song for the charity album tomorrow. It was supposed to be the only song that wasn’t a duet, and they’d gone through hundreds of songs searching for the right tune. They’d finally found it in the sentiment of “In My Life,” which seemed the proper tribute to her late father while also letting her sing about the hurt she’d felt since Ethan had left her. Not that she’d reveal that hurt to anyone but herself.

  Now, instead of doing a couple of takes of a song she knew well, she was going to have to face Ethan.

  Three weeks. Three weeks of soul-searching and tears and anger. People were supposed to go through five stages when they grieved, but when they made it through, acceptance would eventually come along. Chelsea couldn’t help but believe that she would never get there.

  Acceptance? Of what? Of making the worst mistake of her life?

  It wasn’t your mistake. It was his. He walked out, not you.

  But she hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t done a damn thing but let it happen. And despite picking up her phone a hundred times to call Ethan and tell him she missed him so much she ached, she always put it right back down without following through. Her wounded pride would always kick in, asking her why she wanted a man who didn’t love her as she was, who wanted her to change everything about her life.

  Exactly like you asked him to change everything about his life?

  God, she wished she could turn her brain off. Her thoughts never let up. Not even when she slept, since Ethan made an appearance in most of her dreams.

  “I gave him your new number,” Addie said. “Figured he might need to contact you tomorrow before the session instead of always going through me.”

  “It’s fine. He won’t give it to Ethan without asking me first,” Chelsea insisted. She’d gotten a new cell phone to be sure he didn’t contact her. How could she possibly have endured it if a call from him had popped up on her screen and she discovered that he wasn’t begging for her to come back, instead he’d only pocket-dialed her.

  “Yeah, Brad’s a good guy,” Addie agreed.

  Thankfully, Brad and Savannah didn’t hold the breakup against Chelsea. Nor, from what they’d told her, did they make Ethan feel as though he was the one in the wrong. They could be friends to both of them, which made her extremely grateful. Brad was still helping finish up the charity album, and he’d even found someone willing to distribute for her. And Savannah had already reached out to let Chelsea know that she still cared about her and hoped the two of them could stay in touch.

  “So you gonna sing with him?” Addie asked, plucking one of the croutons from the salad and popping it in her mouth.

  “Good question.” Chelsea shrugged. “Now I just have to figure out the answer.”

  “Ticktock, Chel.” Addie glanced at her watch. “I told him you’d let him know by seven tonight so he could work on getting the tracks prepped. That doesn’t give you much time for a rousing mental debate.” She winked.

  “What time is it?” Chelsea asked. Seemed as though she’d spent the last three weeks in a daze. Addie had constantly reminded Chelsea when she needed to be someplace. Thankfully, her assistant was the queen of organization, and she kept Chelsea on track. If not for Addie, she would’ve stayed in bed all day, eating frosting straight from the container and alternating between bitching and crying.

  “It’s almost six.” Leaning her forearms against the island, Addie stared at Chelsea. “I’ve made the last of the calls for reservations. Are you really sure you want to…you know…do this?”

  “You mean take a break?” Chelsea nodded.

  “I was able to clear your calendar, but it’ll cost you.”

  With another nod, Chelsea scraped the pieces of the celery she’d prepared from the cutting board into the large salad she’d made. Now that it was done, she found she had no appetite. She’d put a lid on the container and shoved it in the fridge, along with the other healthy food she’d whipped up lately that she never got around to eating. She tended to root around to see what kind of ice cream was hiding in the freezer instead.

  “It’s worth it,” she finally said. “I just…can’t. I don’t know how I’m going to get through tomorrow morning, let alone the concert tomorrow night.” She let out a weary sigh. “I wish they would’ve let me cancel that, too.”

  “Not when they’ve sunk a wad of moola into the marketing campaign.”

  “I know. But like I said, I just…can’t.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Addie replied. “I get why you need a break. Everything’s booked, by the way. The flight. The car to take you to the dock. Someone with no fucking agenda to ferry you out to the island.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s just…” Addie let out a sigh of her own. “Are you sure you want to go back there? I mean, won’t it…hurt?”

  Hurt? Of course it would hurt to be on the island again. But for some reason, that was exactly where Chelsea thought she should be, where she needed to be. “I know it’s weird, but I can’t explain why that’s where I’m heading.”

  “Your choice,” Addie said. “You’re allowed to go wherever the fuck you want to go. If you wanna get away from Nashville and sun your ass on that island, I say go for it. Go there. Let yourself heal.”

  All Chelsea did was nod as the crippling sense of loss washed over her again.

  For that moment, she let her guard down and looked Addie in the eye. “How am I gonna face him again?” Damn if her voice didn’t quiver.

  “Oh, honey…” Addie pushed away from the island and came around to give Chelsea a hug. “You’ll be fine.” She patted Chelsea’s back. “You can do this. You’re a tough broad.”

  Tear
s threatened but Chelsea held them at bay. Tough broad, my ass.

  Easing back, Addie gave her a wan smile. “Do it for your dad. Just go in there, sing the shit outta that fucking song and walk out with your head held high.”

  As though it were that simple…

  But Addie was right. If Chelsea could get her emotions under control, she’d go to Brad’s tomorrow, sing the song, and get right back out.

  “The first time’s the hardest,” Addie said. “Once you see Ethan, once you get this first awkward meeting under your belt, it’ll get easier. Besides, the two of you don’t move in the same circles. He has his friends; you have yours. Just go, Chel. Go and sing. Then all you have to do is get through that concert, and you’re on your way to paradise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chelsea gave Savannah a heartfelt hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I wanted to…you know…be a buffer,” Savannah said. “I imagine it’s kinda weird to see Ethan again.”

  The understatement of all time. Weird didn’t come anywhere close to describing the gamut of emotions roiling through Chelsea at the notion of being in the same room—the same small recording booth—with the man she loved but couldn’t be with.

  She hadn’t slept at all last night as scenario after scenario played out in her thoughts, becoming more and more ludicrous as the wee hours of the morning came and went. Ethan telling her he missed her. Ethan lamenting that he’d made a huge mistake leaving her behind. Ethan falling to his knees, begging her to take him back.

  “You okay?” Savannah asked.

  With a weak smile, Chelsea nodded. “Is he here?”

  “Yeah, he and Brad are downstairs already. You want a glass of wine or something?”

  While it would be easy to drown in alcohol, to try to fuzz up her thoughts so this meeting wouldn’t be so damned awkward, Chelsea shook her head. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Chelsea…don’t sound so depressed. Who knows, maybe…Well, maybe—”

  “No ‘maybe,’ Savannah. Ethan and I are done.” Firming her resolve, Chelsea headed toward the door to the basement studio. “I’m only here to sing a song. Nothing else.”

  If only her heart could understand that just because she was here to see Ethan didn’t mean anything would come of it. No matter how much she missed him, how much she wanted him to still love her, she had to face reality.

  He’d walked away. When given the choice between his life of privacy and being with her, accepting her and the life she was destined to lead, he’d walked away. For three long weeks, she hadn’t heard a peep. At least not from him.

  The press?

  That was another story altogether.

  The stories still ran. Speculation about why the two of them were never seen together was phase one. In response, Chelsea had refused to release a statement—in her mind releasing a statement made it all the more official. Instead, she went about her life without Ethan Walker and hoped gossip would die down. Her silence only led to phase two—pictures of her every damn place she went. God forbid that she be anywhere near anyone with a Y chromosome. That only brought about bullshit conjecture about her having a new guy in her life.

  So on Addie and Will’s advice, Chelsea finally released a quick statement that she and Ethan weren’t a couple any longer. All the admission did was ignite phase three, which consisted of rampant rumors over whose fault it was that they’d broken up.

  Disgusted, she’d told Addie to clear her calendar. Chelsea was getting the hell out of Nashville, away from every reminder of exactly how much she hated her life without Ethan in it. Although she felt a little guilty leaving her mother, she needed to be alone. When Addie asked where she wanted to go to get away, all Chelsea could think of was finding someplace where she thought she could heal.

  The island.

  Although heartache probably waited there, that was the place she most wanted to be.

  All she had to do now was survive this recording session—which would be a minor miracle—and get through the concert tonight. Then she could pretend she was only some woman living on an island all by herself. No career. No paparazzi.

  No broken heart.

  “No wine, then?” Savannah asked.

  Chelsea let out a chuckle. “One glass couldn’t hurt.”

  A smile lit Savannah’s face. “Head on down there. I’ll bring it down.”

  With a nod, Chelsea went down the stairs to face the one thing in the world she wanted more than anything but couldn’t have.

  Ethan Walker.

  * * *

  He heard her before he saw her. Although he couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying, his heart sped in recognition. Pounding, the damn thing slammed against his rib cage simply because he’d heard her speak.

  How in the hell was he supposed to get through this song? He could barely catch his breath.

  Then she appeared, coming down the stairs slowly, as though she were going someplace she dreaded. Which meant she wasn’t nearly as happy to see him as he was to see her.

  She’d obviously moved on.

  Not that he should be surprised. He’d seen the pictures, and he hadn’t needed to go out of his way to do so. Shit, he couldn’t even go in a convenience store without being hit in the face with another magazine headline that shouted she was with some new guy.

  At least he had his privacy back. His name might pop up from time to time, but he didn’t have to see his pictures any longer. Just Chelsea with other people. Other men. Men who were linked to her. Men who could see her all the time and share her life with her.

  Ethan scowled when she gave Brad a quick peck on the cheek. When she glanced up at him, she must have caught his expression, because she frowned in return.

  “Let’s get this last song done, Chelsea,” Brad said, indicating the recording booth with a quick gesture of his hand. “One more, and we can wrap this baby up.”

  As she walked around the console, she eyed Ethan warily through the glass. When she was standing in the open door of the booth, she stopped and stared at him, reminding him a little of a doe scenting danger. For a moment, he wondered if she would run.

  It hadn’t been easy for him to be there, either. But he couldn’t help but think of how much sadness she’d had over her father’s death. This album was her tribute to him, and Ethan had promised to sing the duet. He might be an idiot, but he was also a man of his word.

  No, it was more than that. He hated admitting, even to himself, that he’d fantasized about her rushing into his arms, crying and pleading for him to be with her again. Childish fantasies, but they were digging at him nonetheless, making him wish for things that wouldn’t happen. Things like being able to touch her, to kiss her. To spend the rest of his life with her.

  So here he was, and now he was sure he’d made a mistake. He hadn’t been willing to give an inch, why should she? He needed her to stay and get this damn duet done—to fulfill his promise. Then he wouldn’t have to face her again. Which was exactly what he wanted.

  Or did he? Seeing her standing there, hesitating to be near him, hurt.

  Chelsea was never going to stop being famous, and Ethan wasn’t willing to share his life with the whole damn world.

  End of story.

  So why did he feel so empty?

  “Hi,” she said as she finally stepped into the booth.

  She looked tired. And a little thinner. Her wavy hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she was dressed casually. Jeans and a sweater. She took the empty stool and arranged the music on the stand in front of her. Then she donned the headphones.

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  “You two ready?” Brad asked, his voice buzzing in Ethan’s headphones. “Knowing you two, we’ll probably strike gold on the first take.”

  Ethan snorted, drawing a quizzical stare from Chelsea. He’d forgotten how intense those green eyes of hers were.

  He wanted to drown in them.

  “Ethan?” Brad’s voice buz
zed in his ear again. “You okay, buddy?”

  No, I’m not okay. I fucked up my life.

  “I’m fine,” Ethan barked. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Chelsea bristled at his angry tone, straightening her spine until she thought it would snap. There was no way she’d let him know how much it hurt her to hear how desperately he wanted to get away from her. Clearly, leaving her behind had been easy. He was back to his normal cantankerous self, wanting to get as far from music as he could.

  “I’m ready, Brad,” she said.

  As she listened to the intro of “When You Were Mine,” she saw Savannah on the stairs, carrying a glass of red wine.

  Chelsea wanted her friend to bring it straight into the booth. In fact, she wanted Savannah to go get the whole bottle. Only copious amounts of alcohol were going to get Chelsea through this ordeal.

  Ordeal?

  No, this wasn’t an ordeal. This was open-heart surgery without anesthesia. She felt shredded, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to sing at all, let alone sing a song about the regret of lost love.

  She closed her eyes, wanting to lose herself in the tune by living in the past. Picturing when she and Ethan were back on that beach at Jekyll Island, confessing their love, she let the music flow through her, lifting her away from the pain that had drowned her from the moment he’d left.

  As she sang the first verse—her verse—she felt every single word of regret all the way to her soul. By the time Ethan joined her for the chorus, she’d disappeared into the world of the song.

  “When you were mine, when love was what we shared,

  “The world made sense, because I knew you cared.

  “Now that you’re gone, I can’t make it through the day.

  “I can’t live without you, and there’s nothing more to say.”

  She didn’t open her eyes until he sang his verse, and when she did, she was shocked to find him staring at her as though he were singing to her. If she hadn’t known better, she might’ve believed the longing in his voice was real.

  Part of her wanted to tell him that she understood what he’d been saying, that he was right about not needing to be so open with the press. She was allowed to have a life, a private life that didn’t have to include sharing every single thing she did, every thought, every action. She’d never realized how suffocating the press had become until he’d come into her life. Now, she understood. And she was making changes, including canceling several appearances so she could get away and heal from all the hurt that still thrummed through her—something she would have never done in the past.