by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden
He grabbed another towel and rubbed it over his hair, smiling wryly. Friends. Did any of those people know the barest facts about him? They’d all known when he’d be hosting a party, which girls would be there, and that they’d be seriously tanked by the time the night was over. Many of them had spent days at a time here, drinking and partying. But he would have bet that none of them knew the name of his hometown or his favorite candy bar. They’d been content to ride the wave of his fame as long as it lasted, but when his world came crashing down, they’d had no problem bailing on him.
Even when his house had been filled with music and models, drugs and liquor, he’d still felt lonely. Those things had just made it easier to ignore the feeling— they kept his mind in a constant haze. His addictions had pushed away everyone who had ever cared about him, driven a wedge between him and his family. They’d brought his career to a crashing halt when he hadn’t been able to so much as arrive at the studio sober.
He looked through the Plexiglas fence surrounding the pool area then down to the beach below. This time of day, some surfers still rode the late-morning waves, but most of the diehards had left hours ago. Now families spread out towels, opened umbrellas, and applied sunscreen. The sight made him feel more alone. He owned a multi-million dollar house, one of the most exclusive residences in the county. But though the location was amazing, the view staggering, and everything inside top of the line— he was still alone in a world where he didn’t feel like he belonged anymore.
He remembered how hard he’d tried to invite AnneMarie into his life ten years ago. Anger welled in his chest as he thought of how she hadn’t come to his concert that night. And pain. He’d waited, hoped...
He leaned back on a lounge chair and closed his eyes as the morning haze burned off under the California sun, which warmed his skin. He heard the sound of the sliding-glass door and Marilyn’s heels clacking on the stone tiles behind him.
He felt her shadow across his face as she stood over him. “Are you gonna tell me what happened yesterday?”
He didn’t sit up or open his eyes. “What happened is we wasted our time. She’s not interested.” His face burned as he said the words, and he hoped his voice wouldn’t crack. He needed to learn to cope with his newly rediscovered emotions.
“I don’t think so. We both heard her interview. So unless there was another guitar player at that summer camp—”
“I’m not that guy anymore.” He sat up and twisted around, slapping his bare feet on the ground. He couldn’t help but think of the hurt in AnneMarie’s eyes before the car door closed behind her yesterday, and know that he was the reason. It made his chest ache. “I’m not the guy she remembers.”
His manager handed him a t-shirt, which he obediently put on. She refused to conduct business when he was half-dressed. “You’re not giving up this easily. Not when I had to pull the big shot rock-star card to get you on The After-Hours Show the same night she was. It’s going to take a little work to win her back, but you know how to work hard. And she’s worth it, right?”
Marilyn folded her arms around her iPad. She wore slacks and a starched white blouse. He liked how she was always professional and didn’t try to look like a twenty-year-old. Unlike most managers he’d seen, she was comfortable with who she is. Her light hair had a few grays showing, but that didn’t seem to bother her in the least.
He squinted as he looked up at her. Firing his old manager, Rudy, and hiring Marilyn Daniels had probably been the best decision of his life. Not that it was much of a contest. The bad decisions he’d made over the years stacked so high that it had taken lawyers, bankers, and, of course, his manager to dig him out from under all of it. Without her, he’d either be in jail, broke, or dead. Maybe all three. Marilyn had figured out that Rudy was robbing him blind. She’d convinced Lance to go to rehab, and she was the only one allowed to visit while he sobered up and took a good, hard look at his life.
She’d seen him hit rock bottom. She stood firm while he threatened, screamed, and cursed and told her he’d fire her if she didn’t get him a hit of something now. She hugged him when he sobbed on her shoulder. And once he was clean, she helped him figure out where he wanted his life to go. He would never have made it this far without her.
His old manager had been ridiculous. A smooth-talking, Armani-wearing slime ball who constantly yelled into the Bluetooth on his ear. He made a career of telling Lance exactly what he wanted to hear, feeding him lies and flattery until he didn’t know what the truth was anymore. When Lance had wondered about his career path, Rudy had thrown so many girls and drugs at him that after a while, Lance had stopped caring, and let him have free rein with his money. Marilyn was probably the only person in the last ten years to speak to him with complete honesty— something not always easy to hear, but he loved her for it.
“Yeah, AnneMarie’s worth it. But that’s the problem. I’m an addict with a rap sheet and one of the worst reputations in Hollywood.” He held his hand up to shade his eyes. “Nice girls don’t want to get mixed up with a mess like that.”
Marilyn pulled a chair closer, and sat across from him. “You’re a great guy who’s had some bumps in the road. But you’re getting your life back together. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, you should be proud of how far you’ve come.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t see it like that.”
“Why not?”
Lance hung his hands between his knees. “She had goals too. She followed her dream, but she kept her head. She didn’t sell out. She didn’t let other people flatter her to the point of forgetting who she was and nearly losing everything.” It was when he was at his lowest point that he realized the need for a slower pace and stability. But maybe he’d realized it too late.
He glanced at Marilyn. Her face showed compassion, but not pity. Yet another thing he loved about her. She wouldn’t let him feel sorry for himself.
“We all have to grow, Lance. And people do change.”
He blew out a breath. “She hasn’t. And what if I’ve changed too much?”
Marilyn crossed her legs and set the iPad on her lap. “You’re back on track now and deserve to be happy. But you also have to be willing to work for it. In the last decade, I’ll bet you never had to do more than show that crooked smile to get any woman you wanted to come running.” She raised her brows. “And how long did any of them last?”
Lance didn’t answer. His gut burned with shame when he thought of the memories— she was right, of course. How could she speak so calmly about the appalling life he’d led?
She leaned forward to catch his eye. “But trust me; a woman you have to work for— she’s worth the effort.” She nudged his leg with her toe. “And you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t try.”
Did he dare try again? AnneMarie had seemed so angry yesterday in the limo. His mind moved back to the summer ten years earlier. How enchanted she’d been by Glass Beach and the picnic that turned into late-night stargazing. She’d whispered the words of a poem she had written but was too shy to say aloud. He’d played his guitar and sung to her as she lay with her head propped on one hand, watching him with a look that melted his youthful heart. Her hair had been longer then, and it glowed in the moonlight, just like her eyes.
A tune started in his mind. Lance jumped up. “I need my guitar.”
“I know that look.” Marilyn pointed her finger toward him.
Lance hurried into the house and down the hall to his studio. The melody was growing more insistent; if he didn’t get it down on paper, his brain would explode.
For the remainder of the day, he lost himself, chasing words, experimenting with chords, and filling page after page with notes. Finally, he played the song through, singing as he strummed the tune that had hijacked his thoughts. The lyrics weren’t his, but he remembered them as clearly as if he’d heard them every day of his life.
And in a way, he had. They’d sounded in his memory so often that they’d somehow wedged themselves
deep into his psyche. He hadn’t realized how difficult they would be to hear again after so long, not until he sang them. He played the last note and closed his eyes, relieved to have it all down, and swallowed at the tightness in his throat.
Hearing a soft knock, he looked toward the doorway, where Marilyn leaned against the doorframe. “It’s amazing, Lance.” She wiped at her eyes. “We have to put it in the set tomorrow.”
His neck heated. He hadn’t intended for anyone to hear, especially with his voice cracking as the lump in his throat had grown. “That would change the entire lineup.”
“It wouldn’t require much adjustment. The acoustic version is beautiful all by itself. Nobody else would need to rehearse with you.”
“I don’t know. It’s still pretty raw.”
“It’s a hit, Lance. When something comes from your soul like that, it speaks straight to the heart.”
“Yeah, but the person whose heart I want to speak to won’t even know it’s for her.”
Marilyn tilted her head and was still for a moment. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. “I don’t know if you’re up for it, but there’s a romance author signing books downtown for another two hours.” She tapped a finger on her lips.
If he went, would AnneMarie be happy to see him? Would it do any good? Had he blown his chance? Her words from the show sounded in his head.
He’s the only one I’d say I was ever in love with.
He jumped up and hung his guitar on the rack, then ran out of the room. “I can be ready in ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder.
His heart pounded as he hurried into the shower. Marilyn was right. Winning back AnneMarie’s heart would take some work. But he could do it.
Years ago, her soul had touched his through her poem. His song might do the same, right? His chest tightened with doubt but softened again when he remembered that AnneMarie loved “When You Say My Name.” She saw through the years of music and fame and picked out the one part of his career that was really him.
She was definitely worth it.
But was he?
Chapter Four
AnneMarie let out a relieved breath. She stepped away from the podium on the raised stage where she’d just finished speaking and answering audience questions. As much as she loved hearing from fans and talking about her writing, she preferred doing it through email. Standing in front of a crowd turned her brain into mush— and kicked her sweat glands into overproduction.
She had to admit, though, that she was delighted by the turnout. Every chair was filled; the hotel ballroom was standing room only. Journalists were on hand, snapping pictures, and a cameraman wearing a jacket with a local TV-station logo stood in the back, filming. She glanced at her agent, Sue, who was speaking to a man in a suit who held a microphone.
AnneMarie pulled at her blouse to get some airflow, hoping the silk wouldn’t stick to her skin. She thought through what she’d said, wincing at some of her dumb answers. At least when she was writing, she could go back and edit her words.
“That was great,” said Christy, the event manager, who met her at the bottom of the steps. “I don’t know what you were so worried about.”
AnneMarie gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks.” She looked around the noisy room as the two of them walked to the side of the ballroom where a line was already forming at a table stacked with books.
Sue hurried over and wrapped her in a hug. “Did you hear? We had to send someone to Vroman’s for more books.” Her literary agent looked practically giddy.
“That’s wonderful.” AnneMarie’s eyes traveled over the crowd. The other, smaller events she’d done had always been in a library or bookstore, and had been much more subdued. The crowds and attention here were exactly what had intimidated her— exactly what had come between her and Lance. She felt sick as she thought about yesterday and blowing him off, though she knew it had been the right thing.
But he misses me? At the time, his words— and the sincerity of his expression— had stolen her breath, but now that she’d distanced herself, she realized he couldn’t have been serious. He had his choice of women and must be either bored or on a rebound.
Her smile must have looked forced, because Sue squeezed her hand. “You’re almost done, and then you can go back to hiding in your little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.” She rolled her eyes, joking. Sue loved to tease AnneMarie about her quiet life, and even more about what she considered to be a mind-numbingly small town. Sue was used to the activity and excitement of New York City and couldn’t understand why AnneMarie would choose such a solitary existence.
AnneMarie watched her agent hurry away and start a conversation with a reporter, then turned back to the table.
Enormous posters of her book cover leaned on easels, and AnneMarie grimaced at the not as enormous, but still horrifyingly large author photo on a poster next to them. She sat on the designated chair and picked up the pen, smiling as the first woman in line stepped forward and held out a book.
Someone squealed, and the woman in front of her spun around, nearly running into the tanned pectoral muscles of Gaston de Vaux— or, more precisely, the cover model who depicted him. Lenny was dressed in full medieval costume, shirt open and long hair cascading over his shoulders. He looked as if he’d just arrived on horseback straight from the Middle Ages. The woman pressed her hand to her chest and sucked in a breath, her face turning crimson.
AnneMarie couldn’t help the giggle that escaped.
The woman turned toward her and fanned her face with her hand. “Oh my.”
They shared a laugh as the cover model moved on. He strode through the crowd, stopping to take pictures with swooning, giggling women— he had to be loving it— just like his character would if he'd been transported to the twenty first century.
For the next two hours, she signed books and chatted with fans about Gaston de Vaux, movie rumors, and what she planned to do next. After each person left, she glanced at the far end of the room, looking for the end of the line, but it didn’t seem to be getting shorter. She was humbled that so many people would wait for so long to see her, and found that in spite of her earlier reservations, she was actually enjoying the night.
Sue sat next to her and placed a bottle of water on the table.
AnneMarie took a drink. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing, honey.” Sue opened her compact and checked her lipstick. “I can’t believe this turn out.” Sue struck up a conversation with the next woman in line.
AnneMarie scrawled her name, closed the cover, and held out the book. But the woman had stepped away and looked toward the door. A change came over the room like a shift in the energy. A wave of whispers spread through the crowd. She shrugged at Sue, who seemed as confused as she was.
The line became irregular as people craned their necks to see what was going on. Someone squealed. And the already noisy crowd became noisier. Is Lenny flexing or something? The whispers got louder, and AnneMarie started to pick out phrases.
It can’t be.
Can you really see him?
Why would he be here?
The crowd moved so that the line was nonexistent.
It is him!
Oh my gosh! Lance Holden!
AnneMarie’s heart raced, blasting hot blood throughout her body and settling in a flush over her skin. He’s here.
Another squeal sent the crowd rushing for the door. AnneMarie stood, trying to see through the throng of people.
“I’ll go check it out.” Sue smoothed her hair and hurried away.
AnneMarie stepped to the side, watching the crowd, which had stood patiently in line to get a book but had suddenly turned chaotic. Women pulled out their phones and screamed things like, “Someone find me a Sharpie,” or “I can’t believe he touched my shoulder.”
In the middle of the frenzy, she caught a glimpse of Lance, and the sight sent another jolt through her. Her pulse sounded in her ears, and her breathing sped up. He’d come to
see her.
Their eyes met. He looked like he was trying to move toward her. But a teenage girl stopped him, throwing her arms around his neck and whispering something in his ear. Lance smiled back but pulled her arms away, even as another woman grabbed him around the waist, putting her face next to his and snapping a selfie. Someone shoved a piece of paper and pen in front of him. He shook his head, turning back toward AnneMarie.
The orderly line was reforming, but in the opposite direction, as people waited to get their picture taken with Lance. Women far too old to justify the behavior pressed against him and exposed body parts, hoping for a signature.
AnneMarie looked around. Her side of the room had emptied except for the bookmarks and other paper products littering the floor. She stood alone next to a giant picture of herself, behind a table stacked with her books. The biggest night of her life had become a disaster.
Her initial elation at seeing Lance sank. Her insides twisted, and angry heat flushed through her. Why was he doing this? Was he trying to prove something? To show her how famous he was? His obvious play-acting frustration as he “tried” to escape enraged her further. He knew exactly how a crowd of women would react to his appearance.
Her breathing became uneven, and she clenched her teeth. Lance and his stupid fame had ruined her night. Suddenly she couldn’t stay in this room and watch women fawn over him for another second. She looked around for an escape and spotted a service door. Without a backward glance, AnneMarie fled.
Chapter Five
Lance watched AnneMarie rush through a side door. Panic at losing her spiked through him. He pushed his way through the crowd, doing his best to keep his smile on and not shove anyone to the ground, but his frustration was building. She looked furious, and he was desperate to reach her. He had to explain.