by Sandy James
But she couldn’t tell him any of that. He hadn’t wanted her for who she was, and she wasn’t going to turn herself inside out just to make him happy. If the man couldn’t accept her for the person she was now, then how could she ever be sure of his love? How could she ever know if they’d be able to weather the storms that life was sure to throw their way?
Somehow, Chelsea made it through the song, holding on to the last note for so incredibly long that she was surprised Ethan matched her through the marathon. They ended together, each taking a breath. Then he kept staring at her, an action she mimicked, unable to pull her gaze away.
Brad’s voice piping through the headphones made her jump. “That was absolutely brilliant! You nailed it, guys.”
Chelsea finally glanced away, finding Savannah, who was sitting next to Brad. Instead of seeing a smile over a job well done, there was melancholy on her friend’s face. Savannah clearly knew what the song had cost Chelsea as only another singer could. Part of her heart was forever lost, left behind in that melody and in those lyrics.
And when people listened, they would never know how much of herself she’d shared.
“Wanna go a few more takes?” Brad asked. “Just for insurance?”
“No!” Chelsea fisted her hands and tried to rein herself in. “I–I can’t. I have to…go.” She jerked the headphones off, set them on the music stand, and hopped off the stool. “I just have to go.”
Ethan got to his feet, removing his own headphones. “Chelsea…wait.”
She shook her head, practically running out of the booth. She laid a hand on Savannah’s shoulder. “I have to go.”
Savannah let out a little sigh. “I understand.”
When Brad started to stand, Chelsea shook her head. “Don’t get up. I can show myself out.”
Unable to stop herself, she glanced through the glass to take one last look at Ethan. He stood there, holding his headphones and frowning.
Frowning. As usual, he was angry at her.
If she heard even one word of criticism, she would lose that last thread of her self-control. So, like a coward, she swallowed the threatening tears and hurried up the stairs.
* * *
Ethan had a million thoughts crowding his mind, each blocking the other so nothing could come out of his mouth.
Chelsea was gone. People fleeing burning buildings probably ran with less speed. Clearly, she wanted to get far away from him as quickly as possible. She hadn’t wanted to do another take of the song, even though the album she was doing for her father meant everything to her.
He’d hoped she would at least talk to him for a few minutes. Not that he expected to make a lot of headway with Brad and Savannah listening in. But Ethan figured he could get Chelsea to go somewhere so they could start a conversation. Maybe get some coffee, or even grab some steaks. If he could only get his foot in the door…
Instead, she’d let him know she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
Brad left the console to stand in the doorway to the recording booth. “How you doing?”
Ethan set the headphones down and shook his head. “I just wanted a chance to talk to her.”
Brad glanced back at Savannah. “Hey, honey. Give us a couple of minutes, please?”
On her feet, she tossed her husband a frown. She leveled a hard stare at Ethan, and he could almost see the gears turning in her head. She clearly wanted to say something, but she either wasn’t finding the right words or she was hesitating to talk to him.
“Just say what’s on your mind, Savannah,” Ethan said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she replied.
He flipped his hand, encouraging her to tell him what was on her mind.
“Fine.” Folding her arms under her breasts, her stare became a wicked frown. “You should go after her. That woman still loves you. I’m pretty sure you still love her too, but you didn’t have the balls to talk to her.”
Brad didn’t say a word, but the grin on his face as Savannah scolded Ethan was enough to show he agreed with her.
“Well?” Savannah snapped.
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going after her?”
Brad arched an eyebrow.
Ethan shook his head.
“Then you’re an idiot.” On that pronouncement, she turned to head up the stairs, leaving the men alone.
“Your wife is…subtle,” Ethan drawled as he sat back down.
Coming into the booth, Brad took the seat Chelsea had used. “My wife is right.” He grinned. “As usual.”
“You think I’m supposed to go running after Chelsea like some puppy?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” Ethan asked.
“On whether you love her as much as Savannah and I think you do.”
Over the years, Ethan had shared a lot with Brad—more than he had with any other person. Even Russ. They had history going all the way back to their high school years. Yet in all that time, in all those conversations and shared memories, there had never been a time when Ethan felt so awkward.
“Since you can’t seem to answer,” Brad said with a bit of a smirk, “I’ll assume the answer is affirmative.” His grin faded. “Are you going to let her get away?”
Ethan’s temper came rushing forward. “What choice do I have? She loves the fucking press! I can’t live like that. I won’t live like that.”
“What are you afraid of, Ethan?”
“You know what it was like, Brad. You remember my wonderful career as a singer, right?”
Brad let out a little laugh. “Who could forget?” He sobered so quickly, it took Ethan by a surprise. “I know reporters were jackasses about that, but it was a different world. You weren’t being yourself. They made you into some teenage wet dream.”
“It was humiliating.”
“I know. But the press doesn’t know the real you.”
“And if I play my cards right,” Ethan said, “they never will.”
“What do you think would happen if you were with Chelsea? Do you think they’d crucify you or something?” Brad shook his head. “It’s not that terrible.”
“They’ll print lies, just like they did back then,” Ethan insisted, feeling his resolve slipping away. Brad’s question kept looping in his thoughts.
“What are you afraid of?”
Ethan answered without a moment of thought. “They killed my parents.”
“Your parents died in an accident.” Brad held up a hand when Ethan started to argue. “The photographer was a bastard for chasing them, but it was your dad who drove into oncoming traffic. You’ve got to let it go, Ethan. The same thing’s not gonna happen to Chelsea, and it was so long ago…”
His hatred of the press was so old and so deep-seated that he’d never paused to consider whether that hatred was even relevant anymore. If he considered what had been circulating around the Internet, talk shows, and magazines about him and Chelsea, he had to admit the rumors hadn’t been all that outrageous. And Chelsea seemed much more organized about what she shared with the press—as opposed to his parents, who shared everything.
So the press speculated that he and Chelsea would marry. So what? His friends had made the same prediction. And Chelsea had admitted that she and Ethan were in love. Why had that enraged him so much? It was the truth.
Wasn’t it?
From his point of view, it still was. Singing that song had been agony. He must’ve heard that song a thousand times, but he’d never once felt it—not a single time—not the way he had when he’d sung it with Chelsea.
To Chelsea.
The words still hurt.
I’d give everything I ever had, everything I ever owned
Just to hold you in my arms and to kiss your sweet lips again.
“You know what?” Brad popped off the stool. “I want you to listen to something. Put those headphones on.”
Not sure what Brad had up his sleeve, Ethan obeyed while Brad returned to the
console.
“Close your eyes, Ethan.”
He did. A few moments later, the recording he’d made with Chelsea began. He let her honeyed voice fill his ears as the love he heard in her voice filled his heart. The last note made him swallow hard, hoping Brad wouldn’t think he was a pussy if he saw the tears in Ethan’s eyes.
“That woman loves you, Ethan,” Brad’s voice buzzed in his ears.
All Ethan could do was nod.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Chapter Thirty
Checking the monitor to see the crowd again, Chelsea brushed away a stray tear. How she was going to work up the energy she needed for this concert remained a mystery. All she wanted to do was drown in her sorrow.
Until she’d seen Ethan this morning, she’d been able to lie and convince herself that she was fine without him. One foot in front of the other, and her life went on.
But that was exactly what her life was—a lie. Her heart was broken and would probably never mend. Because she’d put her career first, she’d let the love of her life walk right out the door. Ethan was gone. And despite the twenty thousand people out there screaming her name, she was alone.
Addie poked her head in the dressing room. “Hey, boss? You ready?”
Chelsea let out a little scoffing chuckle. “The show must go on, right?”
Addie nodded. “Think you can do this? I know today was fucking rough, and—”
Holding up a hand, Chelsea stopped her. “This is what I chose, remember? So I damn well better learn to live with it.”
Gathering up her courage, she took one last look in the mirror and tried to slap on a smile. Dressed in her sequins and leather, she looked the part. Problem was that she didn’t feel it.
She scolded herself to straighten up, telling herself that once she started singing, everything would be all right. When she faced the people who loved her, who wanted to hear her voice, she’d get through this.
“Let’s go.” She hurried through the door, adjusting her earphones and mic to be sure everything was ready. “Testing,” she whispered.
“You’re good, Chelsea,” her sound manager buzzed in her ear. “Turning your sync on now.”
Addie waited with her at the bottom of the stairs leading to the stage. The deafening noise of the crowd was muffled by the white noise filtering in through her headphones. She got just enough auditory input to be able to hear her band and her stage director’s voice prompts without the ear-damaging cacophony of the speakers and the crowd.
“And…go,” the director said.
Chelsea obeyed, conditioned to doing her job. She hurried up the stairs to hit the stage, a grin on her face even though she sure didn’t feel like smiling. Waving her arm high, she tried to connect with the fans who’d paid good money to see her sing. “Hello, Nashville! It’s good to be home!”
The first song was an unmitigated disaster, at least in her estimation. Normally, performing was a thrill. She craved the adrenaline, the connection she had to the faces staring up at her. Tonight was different. There was a kind of disconnect that left her feeling worse than she had before she’d started the show.
Although the applause was thunderous, she considered apologizing. This show wasn’t giving the people their money’s worth, and unless she could give herself a mental kick in the ass, things were only going to go downhill from here. Shit, she should probably offer them a refund.
The band struck up the next tune, and much to her horror, they were playing the song she’d specifically crossed off from the list—“When You Were Mine.” Before the show, she’d gone over the set list with her musicians, cutting a couple of the songs she’d sung on the charity album, including the Walkers’ old hit. The last thing she needed was yet another reminder of Ethan. Now, the melody was infecting her, and she had to swallow hard to force back the desire to weep.
Turning to face the musicians, she made a slashing gesture, hoping they understood and would move on to another tune. Instead, every one of them grinned at her like simpletons, making her want to scream in frustration.
She tried one more tack, appealing to the stage director. Subtly hitting the mute on her mic, she said, “Barry, this song’s out. I won’t sing it. Not tonight. Get the guys on board.”
Guys? Her backup singers were every bit as bad, swaying to the song as they tossed Chelsea hundred-watt smiles.
Barry finally replied. “Too late. Just go with it, Chelsea.”
Like she had a choice. The band had already played the intro twice, and she was going to look like the queen of idiots if she didn’t start singing soon.
Tears stinging her eyes, she turned back to the crowd and waited for the band to come back around to her cue. She opened her mouth, but before a single note came out, a familiar thundering baritone filled her ears as the audience erupted into cheers, craning their necks to look stage right.
What the hell?
Chelsea whirled to find Ethan marching across the stage, singing in that effortless way that made her a little jealous. She’d always loved his parents’ cover of the song, but his voice eclipsed his father’s. So clean. So clear. So sensual.
As he drew closer, all she could do was gape. The chorus was coming up, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sing a note. Her heart was in her throat.
When he reached her, he took her hand in his and inclined his head at the crowd, encouraging her to join him.
And she did, her years of performing rushing to the fore, forcing her to do what she did best.
Sing.
* * *
Ethan had to fight the urge to sigh in relief when Chelsea finally jumped in to sing with him. The look on her face, the clear surprise in her eyes, had been gratifying. But he had a larger goal, one that was a hell of a lot more important than singing a duet.
Brad had asked Ethan what he was going to do to get Chelsea back. At first, he’d been stumped, fearing he might’ve made a mistake from which there was no coming back. How could he possibly show her that he’d been wrong, that he was willing to open up to her—and to the fans who cared about her?
Baffled, he decided to go to someone who knew her well. Addie. After all, Chelsea had always called her a miracle worker. Well, she’d been correct. Addie had come up with an idea that to some might have sounded over the top. But to Ethan, it had seemed like the perfect gesture. He would show Chelsea that he was willing to share her life, famous as it was, by surprising her at the concert and sharing her stage.
If it hadn’t been for Addie’s help, he would never have been able to pull it off. She’d handled everything down to the last detail, working with the band, the backup singers, and the stage manager to be sure that “When You Were Mine” was ready. She’d found Ethan a great place to hide backstage, bringing him the headphones and mic so he’d be prepared.
The crowd roared in approval, making him smile despite the case of nerves that had settled on him as he walked over to Chelsea. While many of the original online comments about him had been negative, it seemed Chelsea’s fans had actually lamented their breakup over the past few weeks. Even so, he was a bit surprised at the thundering applause when he’d hit the stage.
Addie had led him out of his hiding place and toward the stage. The intro of the song had made his stomach churn, especially when Chelsea missed the first intro and then the second cue for her verse. By the time he could see her, his own cue had come around and he’d gathered all his courage to bound up the stairs and start singing.
Step by step, he drew closer until they hit the final chorus. He stretched out his hand, hoping she wouldn’t snub him in front of the thousands of people watching him eat crow. If she did, he wasn’t sure he would ever live down the embarrassment.
Hand out to her, he waited, watching the emotions playing across her face. Heart pounding, Ethan sent up a quick, silent prayer.
A slow, easy smile blossomed on her lips, and she gradually raised her hand, placing her slender fingers on his palm.
He grasped her hand with the intensity of a drowning man groping for a life preserver. Once he had her in his hold, he vowed never to let her get away from him again.
When the song ended, Ethan pulled her close. She hesitated, subtly inclining her head toward the crowd, as though warning him they were being watched. He just grinned at her, well aware of the thousands of pairs of eyes observing them as they hooted and hollered their approval of the duet.
He tugged a little harder until Chelsea came close enough he could embrace her. Then he hesitated, suddenly losing his nerve. There was one more thing he wanted to do. But should she refuse him in front of all these people, his humiliation would be infamous.
Joe’s voice echoed in his mind. “Work up some guts, boy.”
It was now or never.
Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out the small, velvet box, laid it on his palm, and went down on one knee.
* * *
Chelsea froze, unable to process the scene playing out right before her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. None of what she was seeing was real.
Was she dreaming? Or was she simply trapped in some sort of fantasy-based delusion?
“Chelsea…” He swallowed hard. “I missed you more than you could know. I…I don’t have a life. Not without you by my side.” Ethan took a deep breath and squeezed the hand that still cradled hers. “I love you. I want us to be together forever.” He extended his left hand, balancing the black box on his palm. “Will you marry me? Please?”
Her breath caught before coming out in a muted sob. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many questions she needed to ask him.