The Closer You Get

by Kristi Gold

  “No.”

  “Then whose car is that in the drive?”

  “It’s a rental,” she said. “For me.”

  He seemed confused for a moment before his expression turned somber. “Why do you need it?”

  “Because I’m going home.”

  Brett raked the opposing chair back and sat. “For how long?”

  He either didn’t get it, or he was pretending not to. “Permanently.”

  He took off his hat and tossed it aside. “Why now? Are you trying to punish me by dropping this on me on the most important night—”

  “Of your life,” she finished for him. “And no, I’m not trying to get back at you for not inviting me to the party. I almost left you a note, but I thought you deserved to hear it from me face-to-face.”

  He stared off toward the lake, his dark hair ruffling in the warm breeze. “When did you decide?”

  “I’ve been debating it since the night Tim came for dinner and you said if I could live one day at a time, you wanted me to stay. I can’t do it anymore.”

  “You’re giving up on me.”

  “On us, Brett. The other day I remembered something my grandmother once told me. She said never go into a relationship thinking you’re going to change someone.”

  He finally turned his gaze to her. “I imagine you have a long list of things you’d like to change about me.”

  “Only your tendency to close yourself off to all the possibilities, but I do understand why you do it.”

  “Maybe you should enlighten me.”

  She ignored his sarcasm and continued. “You’re so afraid people are going to leave that you drive them away, making it a self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re also afraid of opening old wounds, so you keep everyone at emotional arm’s length.”

  “I don’t like to bleed.”

  “Sometimes you have to in order to heal.”

  He surprisingly smiled, a sincere one. “Did you minor in psychology?”

  She smiled back even though she found it odd they could share a little humor in such a serious situation. Or maybe that spoke to the better part of their relationship. “I did take a few courses, but you don’t have to be a psychologist to recognize someone who’s in a lot of pain.”

  “I’m not when I’m with you,” he said. “I haven’t been able to say that in years.”

  Hearing him say that now gave her hope. False hope. “Maybe you temporarily suspend the pain when we’re together, but it’s always going to be there until you come to terms with your past.”

  “Our past makes us who we are, good and bad. That’s something that can’t be changed, Cammie.”

  “No, but if you don’t learn from your mistakes and move forward, then you’re not living. You’re at an impasse, and no matter how much I love you or how patient I am, until you’re willing to deal with it, I can’t save you.”

  “I’m not asking you to save me, dammit. I’m just asking you for more time.”

  “And during that time, I’d be expected to remain in the shadows and pretend we’re not together while you allow your career to dictate your personal choices. I can deal with your sullen moods and even your temper, but I won’t play second fiddle while I’m hoping you’ll eventually come around.”

  He fished his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call Tim right now and tell him I’m bowing out tonight.”

  She laid a palm on his arm. “You can’t do that. You’ve earned this night and you should be there.”

  “But you’ve already made it clear that my career is coming between us.”

  “I would never, ever ask you to choose between me and your career. Music’s as much a part of you as that lucky buckle.”

  “Jana never understood that,” he said. “She told me not long ago I cheated on her with my job. And she was right. But I had to keep going to provide for her and Lacey. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You have to find a balance, Brett,” she said. “A lot of couples figure out how to do it. They tour together and even raise their kids on board the buses. It’s not impossible.”

  He sat back and sighed. “Jana hated the road. After the baby was born, she refused to go with me, even on shorter trips.”

  She was taken aback that he decided to go into detail about his relationship with his ex-wife. “You and I both know it’s not for everyone. They can’t appreciate seeing sunrises and sunsets on the road or the excitement of seeing new places and meeting new people. Some folks are just happier staying home while the world passes them by.”

  “But you’re not, which is why I don’t understand why you’re going back to Memphis to settle in a routine that doesn’t make you happy.”

  Touché. “I told you why, Brett. I owe my grandparents so much.”

  “Then I guess that means we’re both chained to our obligations and our pasts, doesn’t it?”

  He had her on that one. “Maybe it does.”

  He set the phone down and took her hand in his. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind about staying? Or at least get you to wait until I get home so we can talk more about it?”

  If she did that, she could wind up back in bed with him, and she’d be right back where she started. “The longer I stay, the closer I’ll get to you, and the harder it will be to leave. It’s hard enough now as it is.”

  “Baby, it’s about to kill me.”

  Cammie tried unsuccessfully not to cry, but when the first tear fell, Brett brushed it away with his thumb. “I want to hold you right now and tell you it’s all going to be okay and promise I’ll never make you cry again. I can’t promise that. Life’s full of tears, especially my life. But if you’ll give me the chance, I’ll try harder to make you happy.”

  She swiped at her face. “How would you do that, Brett?”

  “I’ll support you in whatever you want to do about singing. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing. And I’ll make good love to you whenever you want—all you have to do is ask. No more excuses.”

  “That all sounds great, but will this be as a permanent part of your life or as a live-in convenience?”

  He let go of her hand and rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know what’s permanent these days. I see people who look like nothing could tear them apart and then they get married and it all goes to hell.” He leveled his gaze on hers. “Why can’t we just be together?”

  How quickly he’d forgotten the conversation with Tim. “Best I recall, you agreed that as long as we’re living together without the benefit of a license, it could damage your career. And since you’ve made it quite clear you have no intention of remarrying, that puts a kink in my plans. I’m too old to go steady the rest of my life.”

  His expression went hard, unforgiving. “I’ve been through one divorce. I don’t want another one.”

  “You want a no-risk guarantee, Brett. That’s not reality. If I thought for a second you might eventually change your mind somewhere down the road, I’d stick it out. But until you deal with your issues, including your relationship with your daughter, you’re never going to be open to all the possibilities.”

  He shoved his chair away and walked to the edge of the deck, hands knitted together behind his neck. He remained silent for a while before he faced her again. “I’m spilling my guts to you, telling you the only way I know how that I need you in my life. But if that’s not good enough, then go back to the family business. It’s safe. Not very exciting, but safe. That’s not me, Ca
mmie. And it’s not you, either.”

  “Sometimes safety is preferable to constant insecurity.” She rose from the chair and pushed it under the table. “I have to go, Brett.”

  He took a few steps toward her and paused. “First, I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to sing with me one more time.”

  That meant saying goodbye a second time. “Brett, I don’t think—”

  “It’s two weeks from tomorrow,” he said, ignoring her impending protests. “A few years back, I started a foundation to provide funds for organizations that support at-risk kids with music lessons and therapeutic horse programs. This is the annual benefit concert.”

  Cammie began to comprehend exactly how much she still had to learn about him, and that she wouldn’t have the chance. “It sounds like a great cause, Brett. I’m glad you’re willing to give your money and your time.”

  “I’ve been lucky. I just want to give back when I’ve been handed a lot in my lifetime. It’s important to me, and that’s why I need you there.”

  She scraped her brain to come up with a good excuse to bow out. “As much as I’d like to contribute, Sundays are busy. I’m positive my grandfather will have me scheduled to drive. But I’m sure you’ll do just fine raking in donations without me.”

  “I need someone to sing backup,” he said. “Jerry Neill’s signing on but he can’t join us until Jensen releases him, and that might be a while. Technically you’re still under the original contract, so I could force you to do it. I’d rather you do it because you think it’s the right thing.”

  She paused for a moment to consider the risk in joining him onstage again. But she couldn’t in good conscience refuse a good cause. A cause that obviously meant a lot to him. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll have the information faxed over to you and arrange for transportation to and from Memphis.”

  She would have expected him to sound less official and more pleased. “I’ll drive myself.”

  “How do I know you’ll show up?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “Guess I can do that.” He smiled, a sad one. “Like I’ve said before, I trusted you with my life every time you drove my bus.”

  She only wished she could trust him to make the necessary changes so he could finally have some peace. “Well, I better get on the road and you better get dressed.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

  Yet neither of them made a move. They just stood there for a long moment and stared at each other. Cammie wanted so badly to hold him one last time, but she feared she might not let go. But when Brett pulled her into his arms, she put aside her worries and captured these moments to add to her memory bank. Memories of the first time he’d held her, that first awkward kiss, that night they’d made love and every time since. She would have to rely on those recollections to get her through the next few weeks without him. And in order to start the process, she needed to leave immediately.

  But when Cammie attempted to end the embrace, Brett held on tighter, brought his lips to her ear and whispered, “I do love you, baby. I just wish I could love you better.”

  The waterworks started then, hot tears that fell from her eyes, dampening Brett’s shirt where she rested her cheek against his chest. And he continued to hang on to her until she found the strength to compose herself, and prayed for the strength to walk away.

  “I have to go,” she said as she worked out of his grasp and backed toward the door.

  He didn’t put up a fight or beg her to stay. He did look resigned. “Drive safe, Cammie. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

  He suddenly seemed so civil, and so detached. Maybe that was best for both of them. But before she left, Cammie had a request for him. “Please call your daughter, Brett, and don’t wait too long.”

  She saw a flicker of pain in his blue eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

  As she turned to go, she remembered something else she needed to say. She faced him again and smiled. “And good luck tonight. I hope you win.”

  * * *

  “AND THE WINNER IS...Brett Taylor.”

  For a moment—it seemed like hours—Brett didn’t move. He’d been practically paralyzed from the reality of earning the industry’s top honor. Then Tim appeared from nowhere and shook his hand. With Rusty, Bull and Jeremy trailing behind him, he realized he was moving in the direction of the stage, although he didn’t remember standing. People slapped him on the back, shook his hand, hugged him. He ascended the steps and somehow made it to the podium, running on autopilot. He took the award from the woman onstage and greeted the presenters, who backed away so he could speak.

  Funny, he hadn’t even prepared a speech. But he knew what he needed to say before all these people now waiting for his words of gratitude.

  He cleared his throat before he spoke. “I want to thank everyone involved in my career...” He listed his manager, producers, the fans, the band now standing behind him and, lastly, Pat. After he was done, he paused to look over the masses. With the exception of a random cough or the occasional whistle coming from fans seated in the balcony, the crowd remained quiet. He looked at the faces with detachment, not really seeing anyone. Cammie’s face was the only one he cared to see. But she was long gone, from town and his life.

  Then it struck him. None of this mattered much anymore. Not the accolades. Not the fame or the fortune. Only the woman he loved like crazy and the daughter he’d left behind.

  Brett lowered his eyes and ran his hand over the award’s solid metallic surface before lifting his face to the camera. “Life changes on a dime, and I’ve learned you’ve just got to change with it before you wake up and realize you’ve missed out on what real living is all about.” He held the statue up and hoped she was watching. “Cammie, this one’s for you.”

  After he left the stage, Brett didn’t wait for the usual backslapping from the guys. He even bypassed the press area for the required postaward interviews. He just wanted to get out of there now and deal with the consequences later.

  Brett pushed through the side doors, bent on making a quick getaway so he could get home to take care of some personal business.

  “Too bad I beat you out for the male vocalist award, Taylor. Better luck next time.”

  He paused when he heard Mark Jensen’s snide comment, but he didn’t bother to turn around. He did hold the award high. “Hey, I have this one and it’s bigger and better. So better luck next time, you bastard.”

  “Yeah, you’ve been stealing awards from me for years, just like you stole my bass player and my woman.”

  He should just keep walking, but the anger simmering below the surface had reached the boiling point. He spun around, walked right up to Jensen and pointed a finger in his face. “Let’s get one thing straight. Jerry’s joining me because you’re an egotistical prick, I earned this award by singing instead of shaking my ass and Cammie was never your woman to begin with.”

  Mark shoved Brett’s hand away and glared at him. “One day, Taylor, you and me are gonna get some things straight, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

  Even though he wanted to knock the hell out of Jensen, Brett sent him a look of disgust and went on his way. Causing a scene wasn’t worth it, not with the press hanging around. They’d go on a media feeding frenzy if he did what he’d wanted to do to the jerk since the first time he saw him touching Cammie.

  “Hey, Taylor,
now that you broke Cammie in, think I’ll get a little piece of that action. And this time you won’t be able to stop me.”

  The threat plunged into Brett’s gut like a switchblade. The fury—the disappointment and futility—tore through him all at once. He had enough wherewithal to switch the award into his left hand before he whirled around and charged the bastard. And with one furious, frustrated blow, expended all his hostility on an unprepared Mark Jensen.

  Brett flexed his bruised fist and glared down on Mark, who’d landed on his ass at the bottom of the steps. “I’ll see you in hell before I see you lay one hand on her again. Don’t forget, I was the man she chose to be her first. Me, not you. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure I’m her last.”

  As Brett turned to go, he noticed a doe-eyed female reporter coming after him. He picked up the pace but she caught up with him, anyway, microphone in hand, cameraman bringing up the rear.

  “Brett, care to comment on what that was all about?”

  No, he didn’t, but he would. “Just taking care of a problem that should’ve been handled a long time ago.” He took off at a sprint in search of his truck and a fast escape.

  After Brett drove away, he hadn’t made it out of the parking lot before his cell started ringing. He pulled the phone out of his jacket pocket and barely answered before he heard, “Where in the hell are you, Brett?”

  “I’m heading home, Tim.”

  “You’re expected to attend the after-parties and a press conference.”

  “Just tell them I’m sick.” Sick of the whole scene. “And while you’re at it, call my attorney and put him on notice. I might be needing his services.” And the image of Jensen holding his broken nose was worth every penny.

  “Mind explaining why that’s necessary?”

  “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  He hung up, turned off the cell and slipped it in his jeans pocket. All the way home, he thought about Cammie. He thought about the changes he needed to make in order to have her in his life, and he was ready to make them. If luck was on his side, he’d find a way to win her back, but it was going to take more than a lucky buckle—like careful planning and good timing.