Hearts on Fire

by Alison Packard

  He lifted his hand and circled it in the general direction of her face. “Was it Wally’s idea to change how you look?”

  “No. It was mine. I didn’t want to be Mary Ellen Dickson anymore. I wanted a new life. I wanted to forget about Bobby and the awful way he treated me. And when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t want to see the girl who shoplifted and stole tips off tables in restaurants, or who dug through dumpsters eating other people’s scraps. I didn’t want to be the desperate girl who slept in alleys and had to use public restrooms to wash up in.” Tears blurred her vision. “The only thing I wanted to remember was my grandmother. She was, and is, the only good memory I have of my childhood.” The tears spilled over and trailed down her cheeks. “But she doesn’t know who I am anymore. I have all these memories of her. Wonderful memories. We were dirt poor, but she had a way of making me believe we weren’t.” Jessie swiped at the dampness on her cheeks with her fingers. “She was…is, a decent, honest woman. She didn’t raise me to lie and steal, but that’s exactly what I did.”

  “It sounds to me like you did what you had to to survive,” he said, moving toward her. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That’s what Wally said.”

  “He’s right.” He halted in front of her. The familiar scent of him surrounded her and filled her with deep longing. “And I think everyone who hears your story will believe the same thing.”

  “I wanted to tell you, Drew.” Her body began to tremble. She rubbed her arms to stave off the tremors, but it didn’t help much. “I really did. But I was scared you’d think less of me.”

  “I don’t.” He searched her face and instead of his earlier coldness all she saw was compassion. “If anything, I understand now why it was so hard for you to tell me, especially since you’ve been keeping it a secret for so long.” He heaved a breath. “I’m sorry I blew up at you this morning. It was a dick move on my part telling Wally I wasn’t going to finish out the tour after I said I would. I was angry, and I reacted without thinking it through. I’m not going back to Nashville until the tour is over.”

  She glanced at the duffle bag. “But…”

  “I was unpacking it when you knocked on the door. No matter how disappointed I was, I couldn’t leave you and the band in the lurch. I was going to tell you before the show tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile.

  “You’re welcome.” He lifted his hand to her cheek and brushed his finger lightly over her skin. “Thank you for trusting me. It means more to me than you know.”

  With her heart in her throat, she leaned into the warmth of his caress and the tremors that shook her body disappeared. Her worst fear hadn’t materialized. He didn’t hate her.

  Although she had to tell her story all over again in less than hour, the next time it wouldn’t be as difficult. The shame she’d felt all these years had been rooted in fear, not reality. Without even realizing it, she’d been her own worst enemy.

  “I need to tell you something else,” she whispered. She’d come this far. Maybe it was time to take another chance and tell Drew why she’d come to his apartment four months ago. She’d loved him then and she loved him now and she was tired of hiding it. If he didn’t feel the same it would hurt like crazy, but she’d survived worse, and knowing for sure was better than never knowing at all.

  “There’s more?” The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Should I sit down for this?”

  She let out a soft chuckle. “No. I just want to tell you why I came to—” A loud knock on the door startled her into silence.

  “Jessie!” Wally’s stern voice penetrated the thickness of the door and filled the room. “Damn it, girl. I know you’re in there. We were supposed to meet with Annabeth five minutes ago.”

  Her heart hammered against her chest as she glanced at her watch. “He’s right.”

  Drew stepped around her, strode to the door and pulled it open.

  “Are you trying to put me into an early grave?” Wally asked as he bustled into the room. His irritated gaze honed in on her. “Whatever you two were talking about will keep.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Let’s go. We don’t have time to be dilly-dallying around. Annabeth is waiting.”

  Jessie ignored Wally’s glare. “You have the worst timing,” she said, then looked at Drew. “I’m sorry. Can we finish this conversation later?”

  “Of course.”

  As she moved toward the door, he snagged her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze as she stopped next to him. “Just tell Annabeth what you told me and you’ll be fine.”

  An hour after Jessie and Wally left his room, Drew was stretched out on the bed staring at the ceiling. Except for the low whirring sound of the air-conditioning unit, the room was silent. He’d tried watching TV but couldn’t focus on it to save his life. Not while Jessie was fielding questions about her past from one of the country’s most popular television journalists, in one of the suites in the hotel.

  If he didn’t know how strong she was, what she’d had to do to survive, he would have been worried about her. But he wasn’t. Jessie Grant, the woman who’d knocked him for a loop the first night he met her, would show everyone out there trying to vilify her just how gutsy and brave she was.

  Brave enough to face him after he’d been a complete tool to her. He’d like to think threatening to leave the tour was a brilliant plan to get her to open up to him, but it wasn’t. It was a knee-jerk reaction that he’d regretted the moment the words came out of his mouth. And then he imagined what his father would think of him and felt like even more of a prick.

  With an angry grunt, he covered his eyes with his forearm. If Jessie kicked him to the curb, he’d understand. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d understand.

  What had she been about to tell him right before Wally busted in? From the expression on her face it looked important. And on the important front, he had something to tell her, too. Something he should have told her the night she’d come to his apartment.

  His cell phone rang. He rolled over, grabbed it from the night stand and checked the caller ID before answering. “Hey, Garrett. What’s up, man?”

  “I’m looking for an axeman at the Bluebird next week. You up for the gig?” Garrett Shaw asked, in his usual laid back Tennessee drawl.

  Drew swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. That he and Garrett Shaw had struck up a friendship still blew his mind. Of all the musicians his dad had worked with in Nashville, Garrett was the one he’d respected most. Drew had almost told Garrett that Andy Michaels was his father a few times, but adamant about refusing to cash in on his father’s name, he’d kept quiet.

  “I’d love to, but I’m not in Nashville at the moment.” Drew combed his fingers through his hair. “I’m filling in for Kenny Lassiter on Jessie Grant’s tour. I won’t be back in town until the end of September.”

  “Well. Damn.” Garrett sounded disappointed. “I’m sorry to hear that, but good on you for helping Jessie out. From what I’ve seen on the news, she can use all the friends she can get.” Garrett paused. “Give me a call when you get back to Nashville, would ya? I passed your demo on to the A&R guys at Full Moon. They’re interested in signing you and want to set up an audition.”

  Drew’s mouth fell open. A&R stood for “artists and repertoire” but most musicians in Nashville, and probably around the country, jokingly claimed it stood for “attitude and rejection”. Without being noticed by the A&R execs there was pretty much no way for an artist to get a record contract with a major label. What Garrett had just told him was huge.

  “I can do that,” he said, not able to keep himself from grinning. “Thanks for passing my demo along, I really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t thank me. It’s your talent that bowled them over. Not anything I said.”

  Drew knew that Garrett was being modest. The A&R department got hundreds of demos every week. So many they never had time to listen to them all. That Garrett passed it on meant somet
hing. That’s why they’d listened to it.

  “If you say so.” Drew laughed. “But seriously, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Well, I was lucky enough to catch a break early in my career, so I’m paying it forward. Hey, do me a favor, and tell Jessie I’m behind her one hundred percent. Everyone who knows her, and who’s worked with her knows she’s got a heart of gold under that tough exterior. Watch over her for us.”

  “I will,” Drew promised, and hoped Jessie would let him watch over her for a lot longer than the rest of the tour.

  A few minutes past four, Jessie preceded Wally out of the suite where she’d just repeated, almost word for word, the same facts she’d laid out for Drew earlier. She put a hand to her flushed face and longed for an ice cold beer and a shower, in that order. Between the harsh lighting and the fair but probing questions she’d been asked by Annabeth, her body was overheated. And since she had to perform in a few hours, the beer would have to wait, but the shower wouldn’t.

  “That went well.” Wally fell into step next to her and they moved down the carpeted hallway toward the elevators, with John following close behind.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Yes. Annabeth was visibly moved by your story.” Wally hugged the wall and she moved closer to him as a young couple rounded the corner. Holding hands and talking quietly, the couple paid them no mind and passed them by. “Hell, I think even a few of the crew were sniffling.”

  “She didn’t seem upset that I wouldn’t reveal the names of my foster families. As much as I loathe the Palmers’, I just want this to die down. And the Stiles’ don’t deserve the attention. They were kind to me while I was with them.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but a good reporter will be able to get that information.”

  “Isn’t it sealed or something?” They rounded the corner and stopped in front of the elevators. “I was a minor.”

  Wally pressed the call button, then turned to look at her. “Sealed or not. Now that everyone knows your real name, there are bound to be people in Hattiesburg who remember you, and who you lived with. Your classmates and teachers come to mind. Odds are, the Palmers’ and Stiles’ will be outed as your foster families by tomorrow night.”

  “Great.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m done talking about this, Wally. If anyone wants an interview, tell them I’ll be happy to talk about the tour and my album, but everything else is off limits.”

  The elevator chimed and seconds later, the doors slid open. Wally motioned for her to get on, and John followed, as silent and watchful as ever. He pressed the button for her floor and the doors closed smoothly as the elevator car ascended. “They’re still gonna ask,” Wally said, matter-of-factly.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Then I’ll say no comment.” She looked at her bodyguard. “If they ask again, I’ll sic John on them.” Jessie laughed at the surprised look on John’s face. “You’d kick their asses for me, wouldn’t you, John?”

  “In a heartbeat,” John said, and actually looked like he meant it.

  When they got off the elevator at her floor, she and Wally parted ways after arranging to meet up in her dressing room before the show. Looking forward to a short nap and then a shower, Jessie stifled a groan when she saw Trista standing in the hallway outside her suite.

  Trista’s extensions were history and her new haircut, a layered bob, was infinitely more attractive than her previous look. But judging by her somber expression, she wasn’t happy with her hair make-over.

  “Hey, Trista,” she said, and motioned for John to use his card key to open the door. “Your hair is darling.”

  Trista gave her a half-smile. “Thanks. I really like it.”

  “Doesn’t look like it to me.” Jessie tilted her head and surveyed the girl’s troubled face. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” Trista looked past her with worried eyes. “Can I come in for just a minute? It’s important.”

  Jessie exchanged a puzzled glance with John, then nodded. “Sure. Come on in.” Inside the room, Jessie closed the door behind her and turned to face Trista. “What’s got you so upset?”

  Trista crossed her arms over her midriff and bit her lower lip. “It’s Barry.”

  “Was he mad because you changed your hair?”

  “No. He doesn’t know yet.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I decided to tell him about my hair before the show, so I went to his suite. Monica, his assistant, let me in. She told me he was on a business call in the bedroom, and then left to go pick up something for him at the front desk.”

  Alarm pinged in Jessie’s chest. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that,” Trista said quickly. “His suite is nice.” She glanced around the room, then pointed to the table and chairs by the window and not far from the bedroom. “He has the same set-up. I wanted to see the view so I walked over to the window. While I was standing there I heard him tell someone that he was the one who’d leaked the information about you to the press.”

  Jessie gasped. “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”

  Trista nodded vigorously. “He said something about Charlotte, and how lucky it was that he’d heard you and Wally talking about your past.”

  “But we were in my dressing room. Did he plant a bug? Or sneak inside?”

  “He didn’t have to. My dressing room and yours had adjoining doors.”

  Jessie shook her head. “I didn’t see a door. I think I’d remember seeing one if it was there.”

  “That’s because it was behind that huge full-length mirror.” Trista’s cheeks turned pink. “Okay, I confess that I was curious and I opened the door once. It wasn’t locked, so I peeked inside. All I could see was the back of the mirror, and then I heard you and Nikki talking about how her husband wanted to name the baby Harley, because he’s into motorcycles, so I closed the door. It didn’t seem right to eavesdrop.”

  Jessie’s blood began to simmer. She remembered the mirror, and the conversation with Nikki. “Did Barry know about the door?”

  Trista hung her head. “He saw it himself, but I’m the one who told him it wasn’t locked. But I never thought he’d listen in on your private conversations.” She looked up at Jessie with watery eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wobbly. “It was my fault.”

  Jessie couldn’t bear the guilt she saw on Trista’s face. “Oh, sweetie, it’s not your fault.” She moved toward the girl and hugged her. “You had no idea Barry would do what he did. Don’t blame yourself.” She rubbed a soothing hand up and down Trista’s back. “Shush now. Don’t cry,” she said as Trista cried quietly against her shoulder.

  “What did he have to gain by doing this?” Trista asked, in a voice that was slightly muffled but still understandable. “He knows how much I respect you. Why would he do something so awful?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jessie stared at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, and for the first time in ten years, she didn’t see a trace of Mary Ellen Dickson looking back at her. She’d heard confession was good for the soul; maybe there was some truth to that old saying. Drew might have been the catalyst, but finally opening up about her painful past had lifted a weight from shoulders she didn’t realize she’d been carrying until it was gone.

  With a sigh, she lifted the cup, warming her hands, as she sipped her tea and honey. In less than thirty minutes, she’d be on stage singing her heart out, and at this moment, she had no clue if there’d even be an audience to sing for. The arena had been sold out for months, but how many of those people would actually show up? In the music business, it didn’t take much to go from the top of the charts one day, to a has-been the next. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility her career could be over.

  A knock at the door was followed by Wally’s voice. “You decent in there?”

  “Yes.” She set her cup dow
n and swiveled her chair around. “Come on in,” she said, and smiled at Wally as he entered the room and shut the door. “Did you ask Barry to join us?”

  “I found him on stage watching Trista’s set. He said he’d be here shortly.”

  “Good. I know we can’t prove he’s the leak, but I believe Trista. I think he did it.”

  Wally nodded and slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his black sport coat. He’d tamed his thick, white hair and looked a lot more relaxed than he had this morning. “I had that girl pegged all wrong.”

  “Me too. I had no clue that Barry was the one forcing Trista to be a Taylor Swift clone. I think she decided to follow his orders, and then go rogue on him when she turned eighteen.” She crossed one leg over her knee and sat back in the cushioned chair. “Now she can call her own shots. I can’t wait to see the look on Barry’s face when he finds out.”

  A devilish gleam sparkled in his eyes. “I do love a blindside.”

  Jessie laughed. “I’m glad I was wrong about Trista,” she said, with newfound respect for the girl.

  Earlier, after Trista calmed down, Jessie called Wally, and no more than five minutes later, he was knocking on the door of her suite. At Jessie’s urging, Trista repeated her story to him, and then asked him for advice on firing Barry and hiring another manager. Trista was a lot smarter than Jessie had given her credit for, and she admired Trista’s sense of right and wrong. Although only eighteen, Trista had a good head on her shoulders. That, and her voice, would take her far.

  “Before Barry gets here,” Jessie began, “I’d like to ask you for your advice on the duet. If I can talk Drew into it, do you think we should do it?”

  “Definitely,” he said. “I’m not sure why, but ever since Drew agreed to help us out, I’ve had that song in my head. I never considered it for you and Kenny, but I think it’s perfect for you and Drew.” He scratched his head and frowned. “But I’m worried about the lack of rehearsal time.”