Hearts on Fire

by Alison Packard

  Jessie fought the nausea that climbed up her throat. If she was about to throw-up now, how would she handle a sit-down interview millions of people might watch? Projectile vomiting on a respected journalist would only make matters worse.

  “I—I don’t know what to do.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and focused on Drew’s solemn face as the room started to spin. She took a deep breath, and thankfully, the dizziness passed. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’ve earned every bit of my success. What I did in the past shouldn’t matter.”

  “I agree. But that’s not how it works. You’ve been around long enough to know sensational stories sell. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but the rumors and speculation could get much worse. You can choose to not say anything or you can shut them all down by telling the truth.”

  She scowled at him. “Now you sound like Wally. I’m sure that’s what he wants me to do.”

  “Didn’t you tell me you got this far by listening to him?”

  She nodded.

  “Then maybe you should keep following his advice. He hasn’t steered you wrong yet.” His unreadable gaze roamed over her face. “Think of it this way, once you tell your story, you’ll never have to worry about it again. You can live your life without it hanging over your head.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she snapped, as she moved around him and grabbed the caftan. It was time to put the disguise back on and return to her suite so she could talk to Wally about the interview. She met his eyes in the mirror. “You’re not the one who has to spill their guts on national television and do a concert on the same day. In less than forty-eight hours, my career could be over.”

  “Or maybe not. Your fans love you. They won’t desert you.”

  But what about you? She choked back the question and slipped the caftan over her head. Drew had no idea of the things she’d done. Grammy always said you couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear no matter how hard you tried. And she was right.

  Twenty minutes later, Jessie preceded Drew into her suite, and was met by a very relieved Wally. He jumped up from the sofa and engulfed her in a comforting bear hug. “Thank God,” he said, and held her for several seconds before he pulled back to give her a stern look. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I was worried sick.” He released her and grimaced. “What in tarnation are you wearing?”

  “It’s called a caftan.” She pulled the scarf from her head and smiled. “And I know it’s butt-ugly. That’s the point.”

  Wally shook his head, amusement quirking the corners of his mouth. “You and your disguises.” He released her and nodded to Drew, who’d hung back in the doorway. “Thanks for finding her.”

  “You’re welcome.” Drew’s tone was flat. Jessie turned to find his eyes matched his tone. “I’m glad I could help.” His gaze shifted from Wally to her. “I’ll leave so you two can discuss strategy. Let me know if we’re rehearsing tomorrow and I’ll be there,” he said, then turned and left the suite, closing the door behind him.

  Jessie stared at the door and fought the urge to cry. The coldness emanating from him had chilled her to the bone. Even without knowing about her past, he was already treating her differently. His attitude confirmed that her decision not to tell him the truth had been the right one. But he’d hear about it anyway if she did the interview with Annabeth tomorrow. Bottom line, she was screwed either way.

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  “No.” She sniffed. “I’m afraid he’s going to hate me.”

  Wally put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “That young man cares about you. If he’s going to be angry with you for anything, it won’t be because of your past. It’ll be because you didn’t trust him enough to be honest with him.” He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s time you stopped being ashamed. You were dealt a raw hand and you played it the best way you knew how.”

  Unable to hold back her tears any longer, Jessie bit back a sob and crumpled against Wally’s chest. He smelled of the peppermint candy he loved; the familiar scent comforted her, as did the strong arms he wrapped around her. He made her feel safe, and until Drew, he was the only person, other than her grandmother, who ever had. “I don’t know what to do,” she murmured against his shirt. “I just want to forget that part of my life.”

  Wally leaned back and slipped a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. His eyes were kind, just as they had been the first day she’d met him. “If you want to put it behind you, then I suggest you face it head-on. It’s the only way you’ll ever be free of it.”

  Jessie sighed. “You want me to do the interview, don’t you?”

  “I think it’s your best option.” He frowned, causing the crooked lines on his forehead to deepen. “Surprised the shit out of me, but CMT is still on board with the concert tomorrow night.”

  “Then they must believe they’ll get ratings.”

  “That’s my guess. People will be curious. The story is on all the entertainment news show as well as on CNN and Fox.”

  Jessie let out a hollow laugh. “Must be a slow news day.”

  Wally chuckled, then quickly sobered. “Clark’s flying out for the concert. He’ll be at the CMT after-party.”

  “The head suit is making an appearance? I guess the label is doing damage control. Did you tell him about the interview?”

  “No. That’s your call. I’ll support you no matter what decision you make.”

  “Thank you, Wally.” Fresh tears swam in her eyes. “Thank you for always having my back.”

  Moisture glistened in his eyes, and for a second, she thought he might cry. “That’s enough of this mushy stuff.” His voice was gruff as he released her and sniffled hard. “There’s something we need to figure out.” He studied her with a thoughtful expression. “You and I are the only two people who know about your past. How in the devil did it get leaked?”

  Jessie spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know.” She moved to the mini-bar and retrieved a bottle of water. “Honestly, I don’t even remember the last time we talked about it.” She twisted the cap off the bottle. “What about John? Maybe he found out somehow. Or Dr. Yancy?”

  “Nah.” Wally shook his head. “I don’t think it’s them. John’s as loyal as they come. If he did overhear us talking about it, he’d never breathe a word of it to anyone. He’d never say or do anything to hurt you. And Doc Yancy would never talk about his patients. Hell, half of them are celebrities. It’s in his best interest to keep his mouth shut.”

  “What about his staff?” She sipped her water. It didn’t go down easy; her throat was tight with emotion. “Maybe it was one of them?”

  “I doubt it, but I guess it’s a possibility.”

  “I can’t think of anyone else.” She crossed the room and sank down on the sofa. “My face is so different now. It couldn’t be one of the foster families I was placed with.” Long simmering anger burned inside of her at the thought of one particular family. “And Grammy hasn’t had a lucid memory since I was thirteen years old. It can’t be her.”

  Wally pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “We’ll figure it out, but not right now. I’m gonna call Annabeth.” He paused to look at her, one bushy brow arched. “Are you going to do the interview?”

  Her stomach lurched. Sitting down with Annabeth and answering her probing questions was the last thing she wanted to do. But Wally—and Drew—were right. At this point the truth was her only option.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Wally nodded with approval. “I’m proud of you, Jessie. Not because you’re doing the interview, but because of how hard you fought to pull yourself out of a bad situation. You’ve got a lot of grit.”

  Her chest tightened at the paternal admiration she saw shining in his eyes. “Now who’s getting mushy?” she said, with a tremulous smile. “Call Annabeth and set it up before I change my mind.” She stood up and headed toward the bedroom. A long, hot bath sounded like heaven right now.

/>   “What about Drew?”

  “What about him?” She stopped and turned to look at Wally.

  “If you love him, and don’t want to lose him, then you know what you need to do.”

  Jessie’s heart started to pound. “Who says I love him?”

  Wally’s smile was gentle. “You do. Every time you look at him.”

  Not long after, Wally left her suite to work out the details for the interview, while Jessie sat in the large rectangular bathtub trying in vain to relax. Unfortunately, the warm water and vanilla scented bath salts she loved weren’t doing their job. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts of the interview and her feelings for Drew.

  At this moment, she had no clue how she was going to talk about her not-so-happy past to a woman she’d met only once before. She hadn’t spoken about it to anyone but Wally for years. The only link to her life back then was her grandmother. But the Alzheimer’s that had rendered her grandmother incapable of taking care of her when Jessie was thirteen, was now in its late stages. Alma Dickson sat in a wheelchair all day at the nursing home where Jessie had moved her to as soon as she’d earned enough money to pay for it.

  Although Jessie visited her often when she wasn’t on tour, the woman she loved so much no longer recognized or remembered her. Of course, the staff recognized her, but they didn’t know that Alma Dickson was her grandmother. All they knew was that Jessie Grant was a major benefactor who took a personal interest in the nursing home and all of its patients.

  She supposed that’s where she should start. With the horrible disease that had robbed her of her grandmother, and had set in motion the chain of events now being reported on and discussed like an afternoon soap-opera. The media’s version was sketchy. Understandable, since they didn’t have all the facts. Tomorrow she’d supply those facts to Annabeth, and afterwards, the public and her fans could judge her as they saw fit.

  With a sigh, she leaned forward and pulled the lever to drain the bathtub. The water gurgled as she got out of the tub and then dried herself with one of the large plush towels stacked on the marble vanity. A few minutes later, wrapped in her favorite robe, she wandered into the main room and was drawn to the window where outside, the brilliant neon lights of the strip lit up the night sky.

  Would her fans have compassion for the girl she’d once been? Would they understand that she’d done what she had to do to survive, and it was only by the grace of her God-given voice that she’d managed to make something of herself? She hoped so, but if they didn’t, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  Turning from the window, she looked around the spacious suite, and for the first time since she’d become famous, she didn’t feel like its luxury was something undeserved. She’d worked hard for everything she had, and maybe, instead of being ashamed, she should be proud of what she’d accomplished. And maybe, instead of begging people to understand her actions, she should own her decisions—every single one of them—and offer no apologies. She wasn’t a scared little girl anymore, she was a grown-ass woman; it was time to start acting like one.

  As for her feelings for Drew, well, that was even more complicated. Hindsight was 20/20, and now that she’d calmed down and had a chance to think about Wally’s wise words, it was easy to see she’d hurt him by not confiding in him when she’d had the chance to in her dressing room. Just like always, she’d deflected his questions by throwing his own past back in his face. She was good at that. Really good.

  And now, it may have cost her the man she’d fallen in love with.

  Drew downed the last of his Sam Adams and wished he hadn’t had the misfortune to run into Trista Cantrell’s manager in the casino. While in search of the nearest bar, where he planned to get stinking drunk, he’d barreled into the guy so hard that he’d knocked him flat on his ass. Literally. Of course, he’d felt like a jerk. So when Barry had asked Drew to join him and a few of Trista’s band mates for Trista’s birthday dinner, Drew had accepted the invitation.

  Big mistake.

  He’d only spoken to Trista a handful of times, but she hadn’t made much of an impression on him. She could sing better than some, but there was something off about her. His mother loved to watch the TV talent show Trista had won, but she hadn’t been as awestruck as the millions of viewers who voted for the girl with the angelic voice. According to his mother, Trista had shifty eyes, and anyone with shifty eyes was someone who should be given a wide berth.

  Across the table, Trista’s shifty eyes were honed on him as she waited for him to answer the question she’d just asked. But if she was looking for gossip, he wasn’t going to give it to her.

  “No. I haven’t talked to Jessie.” The lie slipped easily from his mouth. “I don’t know anything more about her past than what’s been on the news.”

  That last part wasn’t a lie and it was the reason he’d been looking to get his drink on. Obviously their friendship and what’d happened between them yesterday and this morning didn’t mean anything to her.

  “I feel so bad for her,” Trista said, then looked at Barry. “Have you heard anything about the concert tomorrow?”

  Barry set his fork on his plate and nodded. With his dark tan and expensive suit, the guy reminded Drew of one of those shady-looking lawyers who advertised their accident litigation services on television. “Wally called me before dinner. The concert is a go and CMT is still going to televise it. But I’m sorry to say they still aren’t including the opening act.” Barry reached for the salt shaker, and the thick gold link bracelet on his wrist caught the light. “Don’t take it personally, Trista. I tried to get them to reconsider their decision, but they only want the headliner.” He frowned as he poised the clear glass shaker over his plate. “Actually, I’m surprised they’re going ahead and airing the concert at all. I would have thought that Jessie’s past actions would have them worried. But I guess they believe the scandal will draw more viewers.”

  “Oh, I’m not taking it personally,” Trista said quickly. “I know it’ll take a while before I’m a headliner like Jessie.” She flashed a smile, then picked up her iced tea and took a sip.

  Drew studied her and wondered what it was about her that bugged him. She seemed to get along with Barry and the three guys from her band, and she’d given the appearance of being truly concerned for Jessie’s situation. Maybe it was her voice. The girl was a Yankee, but the fake-ass accent coming out of her mouth was more Southern than Jessie’s.

  He settled back into his chair, half-listening to the conversation at the table, as he tried to figure out how soon he could leave without being rude. While he was still contemplating an excuse, their server came by and asked if he wanted another beer. He nodded. The way his evening was going, another beer was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  By the time Barry refused his money and paid the check, Drew was more than ready to get away from Trista and her endless chatter. He thought back to when he was eighteen. Had he been that full of himself? God, he hoped not.

  He parted ways with Trista and her entourage outside the steakhouse, pushed his way through the throng of tourists and gamblers milling about in the casino, and headed in the direction of the hotel elevators. While he’d been pretending to listen to the conversation at dinner, all he could think about was Jessie and her stubborn refusal to trust anyone. Every single time he’d tried to get her to open up, she expertly turned the tables on him. And each time he’d backed off. This only proved one thing; he was a first-class hypocrite. How could he expect her trust him when he was keeping his own secret from her and everyone else he’d grown close to in Nashville?

  Drew wasn’t sure if it was the three beers he’d downed or if he wanted to prove something to Jessie, but instead of taking the elevator to his floor, he punched the button for hers.

  “Hey, John,” he said, approaching Jessie’s ever-present bodyguard who was stationed in his usual position in the corridor near the entrance to her suite.

  “Evenin’ Drew.” John, who looked like he co
uld bench press a Mack truck, tipped his shaved head and gave him an amiable smile.

  “She didn’t go out, did she?”

  “No. Wally left a while ago. She usually tells me if she doesn’t want visitors but she hasn’t said anything so I think it’s safe to knock.”

  Drew grinned as he moved past him and knocked on the door.

  A few seconds later Jessie opened the door and her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. I thought it was Wally,” she said softly.

  For about three seconds Drew was incapable of speech. Judging by the faint scent of vanilla that invaded his nostrils, her freshly scrubbed face, and the wet tendrils of hair that spilled out from a loose knot at the top of her head and clung to her neck, he knew that she’d just taken a bath or shower. The blue terry-cloth robe she wore shouldn’t be sexy, but on her, it was sexy as hell. Maybe because he knew exactly what was under that robe?

  “I need to talk to you,” he finally said. “Can I come in?”

  She nodded and pulled the door open wider, allowing him to enter. He moved past her into the room and noticed her guitar case leaned up against the far end of the sofa. “Are you working on a new song?” he asked, and turned around to look at her.

  “I have a melody in my head and I thought I’d try to get it down before I lose it.” She closed the door, then lifted her hand to her hair and smoothed back a few loose strands from her temple. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “I didn’t plan on coming back, but ever since I left all I’ve been able think about was what you said to me in your dressing room. And you were right. I’ve been keeping a secret. It isn’t as big as yours, but I didn’t want anyone to know about it. My father is…was…Andy Michaels.”

  Her eyes widened a fraction indicating that she recognized his dad’s name. “Andy Michaels, the session guitarist who passed away from cancer a few years back?”

  “Yes.”

  “I met him. He played on my second album. He was nice.” A frown marred her smooth brow. “I don’t understand why you’ve kept it a secret though. Your father was one of the best musicians in Nashville.”