Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9)

by Heather Wardell

  Since the stream of people was constant, it took me a while to notice the girl standing still as the crowd moved past her. I happened to glance up once, and then again a few minutes later, and she hadn't moved. I kept sneaking looks after that, and sure enough she stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself staring at the ground and letting everyone go ahead of her.

  I stood up and called, "Hey there."

  Everyone, of course, turned to me, and she did too. I locked eyes with her. "You're coming up to see me, right?"

  She rocked back on her heels as if I'd struck her.

  "I hope so." I scanned her for something to mention. "I want to see that gorgeous bag up close."

  Her mouth fell open and she nodded.

  "Good." I smiled at her and returned to signing but glanced up again a minute later to make sure she wasn't standing still. She wasn't, but she was watching me, and I got a tiny smile from her when she realized I'd been checking on her.

  My curiosity about her grew as I chatted with everyone else and awaited her arrival, and when she finally appeared before me I said, "Lovely to see you," with even more enthusiasm than I'd been using with the others. A few people had said, "You must get tired of this," and I'd told them honestly that I loved it. But I loved seeing this one, who'd overcome her fears to come to me, even more. "So, let's see this bag."

  She laid the multi-colored bag on the table before me and I brushed one of the suede circles that had been crocheted together to make it up. "I was right, it's gorgeous. Did you make it?"

  Her eyes lit up. "I did. Do you want one?"

  "Oh, no, it's yours! You don't have to give it to me."

  She dug in the bag and pulled out another one. "I made this one for you while I was listening to your songs."

  "Oh, that's so—"

  "These songs." Another delve into her bag, and she laid my CD on the table before me.

  "Wow," I breathed. "I didn't think anyone listened to these any more."

  "I do." She blushed. "Well, obviously I do. Sorry. But I bought this back when it first came out and I've been listening to it ever since. You encouraged me to make my bags by saying I should live out loud."

  My throat tightened. "Sweetheart, you've made my day. I'm so glad my songs had that effect on you."

  "I've got all your songs." Her eyes clouded. "They were starting to change for a bit, a while ago. But the last few, like 'Cleaner', are back to what I like." She brightened and tapped the case of my Amethyst CD. "They're back to being these ones."

  I had never cried in front of a fan before but I was dangerously close to breaking that streak. I'd hoped I was managing to meld Misty and Amy and I loved her for confirming it. "What's your name?"

  "Zephyr."

  I blinked, and she rolled her eyes. "My mom used to be a hippy."

  I laughed. "Mine too. My real name's Amethyst."

  "I know." She tapped the CD again.

  "Yeah, of course. Sorry. So, what can I sign for you?"

  She pushed over my CD, a t-shirt from my North American tour, and two posters of me. I'd been told not to sign more than one thing per person so the line wouldn't last forever, but we were near the end and I'd have signed anything this girl handed me.

  As I did, after first getting her to write her name down so I wouldn't mess it up, she said, "My dad always says dreams don't come true and I should forget the bags and just go get a job somewhere. But your dreams all came true, didn't they? So now I have proof that he's wrong. That's why I like listening to your music so much. It reminds me it's okay to have big dreams."

  The poster in front of me blurred. All my dreams came true? She had no idea.

  Actually, maybe she was right. I hadn't dreamed of any of this, but I had dreamed of helping girls. Well, I'd helped this one, without even meeting her. How many more were there out there, just like her?

  I blinked hard and cleared my throat. "You are so right. Make those dreams bigger than..." I couldn't find something appropriate so I said, "Bigger than the biggest thing there ever was."

  She laughed, and I said, "I usually do a little better coming up with lyrics than that."

  "Oh, I know."

  She stood in front of me clearly not wanting to leave. I didn't want her to go either. "Hey, listen, are you sure you want me to have this bag?"

  She nodded at once. "I made it for you."

  I held out my marker. "Would you be willing to sign it for me?"

  Her eyebrows went way up. "Why?"

  I smiled. "When you're a world-famous bag designer, I'll be able to prove I've got one of your originals."

  Her chin quivered.

  "Don't, or you'll make me cry too."

  Half-laughing-half-crying, she took the marker and signed the middle of a baby pink piece of suede.

  "Thank you," she said, so softly I could barely hear her. "Thank you for everything."

  "No. Thank you."

  *****

  When I'd finally met every last one of the fans and sent them on their way giggling and comparing autographs, Cindy and I and my security team headed wearily for the exit. On the way, we passed a bathroom, and Cindy said, "I shouldn't have had that second coffee. Do you mind waiting a minute?"

  "Of course not."

  She disappeared inside, and I leaned against the wall, too tired even to chat with the guards. I particularly liked these two, since they'd both admitted to being fans of my music without acting embarrassed about it as so many people did, but I couldn't find the energy.

  Footsteps echoed down the hall from around the corner, and Sarah moved to stand beside me while her partner Eric took my other side. The steps grew louder, then the person appeared.

  Both guards drew closer to me, and I was so glad. I'd never expected to see him face-to-face again and I needed their support.

  "Hello, Misty," Shawn said. "Or should I call you Amy?"

  "You shouldn't call her anything. Get lost."

  He laughed. "Come on, man, I can talk to her. We're good friends, aren't we, Amy? Friends with benefits, at least on my side. Although you've done pretty well for yourself so maybe there were benefits for you too."

  His difficulty pronouncing "benefits" told me he was drunk. "I have nothing to say to you."

  He took a step forward and both my guards grabbed an arm. He tried to shake them off, but he didn't stand a chance. "Amy, make them let go," he whined. "I just want to talk to you. I need money."

  My knees were shaking but strength was filling me at the same time. This pathetic creature had haunted my love life, my whole life, for eight years? What had Tim called him? A pervert and an asshole? That seemed about right. "You want money from me? Why on earth would I do that?"

  "I'll tell. About what you did. Down on your knees in that—" He cut off as the guards, especially Sarah, squeezed his arms tighter. "Ow!"

  I felt sick remembering it, but as I took a deep breath the sickness and shame floated away for the first time. I had done something stupid, yes. But I'd moved on, rebuilt my life. He was still stuck in that alley, and I wasn't any more.

  I raised my chin, feeling clean and strong. "You did tell, remember? You told the world your supposed story. And they laughed at you. Because they know Misty would never do a thing like that. You know what else I'll never do? Give you a cent."

  I heard a gasp behind me, Cindy emerging from the bathroom and seeing who had accosted me, but I didn't look back. I couldn't look away from Shawn as he stood, wobbling, in the grip of my guards. I waited to see what he'd say next, surprised by how I felt a morbid curiosity but nothing more. I didn't feel shame, didn't hate myself. I'd made a mistake, and I'd grown from it. His hold over me was broken forever.

  "My wife left me when the story came out. Didn't like me going to hookers or something. She made all the money, and now I have nothing. You have to help me."

  Eric choked back a laugh. I smiled at him then pulled the smile from my face and said to Shawn, "I don't have to do anything. The story didn't 'come
out'. You told it! You tried to blackmail me. We're done here. Never contact me again."

  He blustered something about it being a free country, but Sarah said to Cindy, "Take Misty out to the car," and we left while Eric held Shawn and Sarah called for the guards waiting in the limo to meet me at the door.

  "God, Amy," Cindy whispered when we were far enough away not to be overheard. "Are you okay?"

  I stopped and hugged her hard. "I am."

  She squeezed me back but then said, "Why are you hugging me?"

  It hit me like a ton of bricks. Because I wanted to hug Tim to thank him for all he'd done for me and I couldn't.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Four weeks later, I stood in full Misty costume in front of at least two hundred reporters and photographers. My newest song, "Moving On", had sold a million copies online in less than two days, the fastest any song in history had reached that amazing milestone, and Jo had called a press conference to announce this and draw even more attention to the song.

  I had never been more proud of a song, so my delight at its success was magnified to the point it almost hurt to think about it. By far, this was the best thing I'd ever done.

  I'd written it the night of that fan meeting and the encounter with Shawn, after curling up on the couch and luxuriating in the fresh-washed feeling of finally being free of the shame I'd felt since that awful day in the alley.

  I couldn't have made that happen alone. I'd tried to ignore my feelings, tried to push them away, but they always came back. It had been telling Tim that opened the door for me to get over it.

  Knowing Giselle had made me believe in the importance of helping others. Knowing Tim had shown me that a big organized center wasn't the only way to do that, and maybe wasn't even the best way. What group session could have helped me as much as his arm around me on the plane to Frankfurt?

  They were both gone. But I would move on.

  My first inclination was to make the song a vibrant up-beat number, all 'look at me go' like Gloria Gaynor did with "I Will Survive". But her song had been about getting rid of a lover who treated her badly. Mine would be about taking everything I'd learned from my two dear friends and using it to make my life amazing.

  I wrote the words and the sweet but haunting music that night, up until three o'clock in a white-hot blaze of energy and creativity. Then I giggled myself to sleep, so thrilled with what I'd created.

  The next day, Jo was thrilled with it too, and so were Jez and Steven. Though nobody said it out loud, we all seemed to know that this was the song. This was what would make my career. It was perfectly Misty but had the depth I wanted too. We worked endless hours on it, but even in our fatigue we didn't bicker. We were united.

  When we released it, the fans loved it at once. Not all of the critics did, but a surprising number were willing to admit there was more to me than they'd expected.

  Jo was finishing introducing me. "And for once," she said, "recordings are permitted. Please welcome Misty Will, with her amazing new song, 'Moving On'."

  They clapped, and a few even cheered which made me smile.

  The song had a long introduction, which felt appropriate since it had taken me a long time to get to this point, and as Jez played I stood loving every note, running my eyes over the crowd and smiling because I was too happy not to.

  My gaze stopped, and stuck, on a man, and my world narrowed to me and him.

  He was near the back and too far away to really see but I had no doubt it was him. I'd have known him anywhere.

  Our eyes locked, and even from such a distance I could see him salute me.

  I felt like I'd slipped into a warm bath, cozy and comforted and safe. My mouth curved into a smile, and to my surprise the flurry of flash bulbs increased. I'd been smiling before, so I didn't know why, but I didn't much care.

  Tim had come back.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jo had planned a party for the entire staff to be held after the press conference. When she'd told me about it beforehand I'd been delighted by her sweetness, but as I rattled around the big conference room wondering when I'd get a chance to be alone with Tim I wished she hadn't done it.

  "You sang beautifully today, Misty," Jo's assistant Nancy told me. I'd lost track of how many people had said that, but Nancy added, "You always do but today was different. Richer somehow. Deeper. I can't explain it."

  I smiled and thanked her and didn't tell her I could have explained exactly why I'd sounded different. I'd sung to and for Tim, letting my gratitude and appreciation and the feelings I'd realized too late I had for him flow out of me, and afterwards I'd been surprised to see I'd actually brought a few of the reporters to tears.

  The compliments were lovely, of course, but what I really wanted to hear was what Tim thought of the song. Though we'd smiled at each other across the party we'd both been too swamped with well-wishers to talk, but nearly every time I looked in his direction I caught him looking back at me.

  I was about to go to him when Jo called for attention. "First and foremost, congratulations to Misty. Perfect song, perfect performance, perfect everything. I told you before you had a long career ahead of you and I know now I was right."

  As everyone clapped, my eyes met Tim's and he winked. We'd both heard her tell me, on more than one occasion, that I needed to move fast before the public lost interest in me, but apparently she'd changed her opinion at some point.

  "And I have an announcement to make too. The lost son has returned to us. Tim is back, ladies and gentlemen, and will be working on songs starting first thing tomorrow morning." She shook her finger at him, smiling. "First thing."

  He smiled back and said, "Yes, ma'am," and I couldn't help smiling too. I'd get to work with him again, and I would tell him exactly how he'd helped me. I couldn't wait.

  She started to say something else, and he said, "Actually, Jo? Can I start now?"

  She laughed. "As if I'd stop you from working. Get to it. We will party without you. Right?"

  Over the cheer that rose, he said something to her.

  "Pardon?"

  He cleared his throat. "Can you party without Misty? The song I have in mind is for her."

  Jo's eyes flicked to me. "It's her party, but if she's willing to work it's fine with me."

  My heart sped up and I nodded.

  "Then get out of here. Conference room on the second floor would be good so we're not too loud for you."

  Perfect. Nice and private.

  "But Misty has to cut the cake first. Then you can take some with you."

  Jo had bought a huge cake, but fortunately didn't want me to do more than the first ceremonial cut. I thanked everyone for their hard work on my behalf then sliced the cake as everyone clapped.

  Jo cut pieces for me and Tim and said, "Go. Write me another bestseller."

  "Hug time first," Jez called.

  I handed my plate to Tim so I could squeeze her tight. "You're the best, Jez."

  "I know."

  We laughed, and I waved to everyone as they said goodbye, then followed Tim out and into the elevator. Neither of us spoke. From the second I'd seen him in that conference I'd been happier than I'd ever been before, and I was afraid of saying something that would break the spell.

  He tried to juggle the plates to open the conference room door, but I pulled it open before he managed it. Once inside, he set the cake on the table then went back and locked the door.

  My racing heart tripped over its own beat. He wouldn't bother locking it just to work on a song, would he?

  He moved to face me, standing close in front of me. "God, I've missed you."

  The warmth of his voice told me everything I needed to know, and I sighed out, "I've missed you too," on a wave of relief and happiness.

  "Amy, you're amazing. I've never heard anything like that song. The moment I heard it I knew I needed to come back. I can't not work with someone who can write that."

  His switch to work confused me. I'd been sure he'
d been talking about missing me personally not professionally. But curiosity compelled me to say, "Didn't you get that working with Annika? She's deep."

  He looked into my eyes. "She's about as deep as a dog bowl."

  I couldn't hold back a startled laugh. "But I thought—"

  "That's what everyone thinks. But her lyrics aren't deep. She deliberately makes them meaningless so people assume they're deep and spend ages trying to analyze them. She pretends to be all artsy, but I can truly say I prefer working with Angel to working with her."

  "Dear God."

  "Exactly."

  Our amusement faded at the same time as we studied each other. "That song," he said softly. "Does it mean what I think it means?"

  My throat tightened. "I knew you'd get it. If you heard it. Yeah. I don't hate myself for what I did any more."

  He wrapped one hand around the back of my neck. "I'm so glad."

  His heat sinking into me made my head spin. I'd known I liked him, but I hadn't realized how strongly attracted to him I was. Had I always been? Maybe. I hadn't noticed.

  But I noticed now.

  I took a small step forward, raising my face to his. "It's because of you. When you didn't think I was shameful, it helped me to stop thinking it."

  His eyes softened and he raised his other hand to touch my cheek. Before it did, though, he gave a grunted laugh and looked at his hand. "That's no good."

  I followed his gaze and saw a smear of hot pink icing along his index finger. "It's not really your color."

  He rubbed the back of my neck, then withdrew his hand. "I'll grab a paper towel. Hold on."

  As he let go, I knew I didn't want him to go. And I knew further what I wanted, needed to do. "Wait."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  I caught his wrist and drew his hand to my face so the icing was near my mouth. "Can I?" I murmured, too afraid of whether I could really handle what I was going to do to speak loudly.