“Is it about Delaney?” Leo asked.
“Yes, it’s about Delaney. I think she might need some help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WALKING INTO THE HARP that evening was one of the hardest things Delaney had ever done. Maddie would be there, and Quinn. Jen, too, probably. And a whole lot of other people who now knew who she’d been.
Clutching her drum bag to her chest, she took a deep breath, then opened the door.The pub was already crowded. The tables and booths were filled, and people were two and three deep at the bar. Conversation and laughter drifted toward her, the sounds of people having fun.
Waiting for a show.
Keeping her head down, she turned to the front of the room and set the drums on the floor. Paul’s guitar was propped in a stand, and the amps were in place.
The noise level dropped for a moment, and she knew people had noticed her. She turned around to face the crowd, and saw everyone staring at her. A few people waved and smiled, and as she waved back, the clamp on her chest eased a little. Either they hadn’t heard yet or they didn’t care. She hoped it was the second.
Then Paul appeared, pushing through the crowd. He scooped her into his arms and hugged her. “It’s okay, Del. It’s a five-day wonder. Good for you, facing them down. We’re going to give them a hell of a show tonight.”
“Thanks, Paul.” She eased away. “How come you’re so nonchalant about this?”
“I’ve known for a long time, Delaney.” He tweaked a strand of her hair. “You think you could disguise that voice of yours from a musical genius like me? Those eyes? Your stage presence? Not a chance, babe.” He hugged her again. “I’m damn lucky to have the opportunity to play with you.”
“Paul.” She stared at him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He shrugged. “It was pretty clear you didn’t want anyone to know who you were. I respect that. We all have secrets.” He scowled. “We’re going to have to deal with the reporters tonight, though.”
She opened the vinyl bag that held her drums, feeling suddenly lighter. “I’ll handle them.”
As she put the drums together, she spotted Maddie making her way toward the front of the pub, a determined look in her eye. Delaney stood up slowly to face her.
Maddie stopped a few feet from Delaney. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “We were…we were horrible to you yesterday. Can you ever forgive me?”
“It’s okay, Maddie.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I should have told you a long time ago. So we’re even. Okay?”
Her friend shook her head. “No, it’s not okay, and we’re definitely not even. You needed our support, and we let you down. I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept seeing your face as you pushed away from the table.”
“I don’t think it was my face that kept you awake.” Delaney tried to smile, but it felt strained. “I blame junior there.” She nodded at Maddie’s belly.
“He or she didn’t help.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Delaney said.
She turned back to her drums, but Maddie caught her hand. “Do you want your coffee?”
Coffee was part of the ritual. She always drank coffee when she played at the Harp so she didn’t have to think about drinking vodka. She wasn’t sure she needed it anymore, but it would make her feel as if it was a regular night. She needed something about this evening to be normal. “Sure. Thanks.”
Someone touched her arm as she set up the bass drum, and she reached behind her for the coffee. “Thanks, Maddie.”
“Delaney.” Quinn’s voice.
She set the coffee down and stood up to face him. “Hey, Quinn.”
“Forgive me,” he said in a low voice. “I wasn’t judging you. I was surprised. Stunned, I guess, that Chantal had been performing here and I didn’t realize it.”
She nodded. “We see what we want to see.”
He gripped her shoulders. “Are you okay? You didn’t go out and buy a bottle after you left here, did you?”
Some people would resent that question, but she understood. Quinn had fought the same battles. He knew exactly how strong the temptation could be. She shrugged. “I did, actually. I’m an idiot. I didn’t open it, though.”
“Will you need it after tonight?”
“No.” She smiled. “I put it away. For good, I hope.”
“I kept that bottle of Jameson’s on my shelf for a long time. It wasn’t until Maddie that I was able to let it go. You should have called me.” As soon as he spoke, he looked stricken. “You didn’t feel as if you could, did you?”
“I phoned my sponsor. Don’t beat yourself up.”
He picked her coffee up from the floor and handed it to her, and the rich aroma grounded her. Reminded her that she’d done this every Friday for a long time. She could do it again.
Paul played a note on his guitar, too loud, and she glanced at him. He jerked his head at Quinn, and the message was clear—want me to get rid of him?
She smiled at Paul and shook her head.
“I have to give you credit, Delaney,” Quinn said, as if he hadn’t noticed the exchange with Paul. “You knew the place was going to be packed tonight. But you still showed up.”
“It’s what I do, Quinn.” As she spoke, she realized that was true. She’d been trying to cleanse her life of all traces of Chantal. But Chantal was a part of her, and always would be. “I can be Chantal while I’m playing here,” she said softly. “Then I can leave and be Delaney again. It took me a long time to realize that.”
“You’ve got a gig here for as long as you want it.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “Heck, I’ll even kick up your pay.”
Before he could leave, she touched his arm. “There’ll be reporters.” As she turned out of her driveway, she’d seen them scrambling for their cars. “Let me handle them.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Stu and Hank showed up a few minutes later. Hank gave her a high five. “Coolest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said happily. “I’m in a band with friggin’ Chantal.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Stu said, elbowing him. “You’re still a lame-ass bass player. You doing okay, Delaney?”
“I’m fine, Stu. Thanks.” She hugged him, then Hank, and finished setting up her drums. She felt steadier. More in control. This was going to be okay.
As long as she didn’t think about Sam.
The first reporters began trickling in twenty minutes before the band was scheduled to begin playing. The bank of amplifiers and microphone stands and Paul’s scowl kept them back for a little while. But as more of them packed into the pub, they pushed closer. One of them bumped an amp, knocking it over. Paul grabbed the microphone. “That’s enough,” he barked. “Back off, all of you.”
Delaney took the microphone from him and stood there, waiting. The noise quieted as the crowd noticed her. There had to be at least twenty reporters in the pub. Several of them had videographers with them, cameras perched high on their shoulders. As she scanned the crowd, waiting for the buzz to die down, she saw Sam leaning against the bar, watching her.
He’d come here. For her.
Their gazes locked for a long moment. He straightened, then began elbowing his way through the packed room. As he got closer, she gripped the microphone and looked away.
“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Her voice was too loud—mic feedback—and she moved it farther from her face. She heard the sound of beer splashing into a glass from behind the bar, and several people shuffled their feet. Otherwise, the room was silent.
“It’s good to see so many friends here to support me. I appreciate each and every one of you, and I hope you enjoy our performance tonight. Paul and Stu and Hank are great musicians. It’s been a privilege and an honor to play with them.” She paused. “I hope I’m playing with them for a very long time.”
Someone began clapping, then another person, and another. Soon the whole room was cheering. Jen and h
er husband, Walker, stood up in the middle of the crowd. Jen nodded at Delaney as she clapped.
The knot in Delaney’s chest loosened a little. She finally smiled as she looked at her friends and neighbors. There were people in Otter Tail, she was sure, who would give her the cold shoulder.
But these people accepted her. She’d focus on them and ignore the others.
She glanced over at Sam and saw him clapping, too. She looked away quickly. “As for the gentlemen and ladies of the press….”
The cheering stopped, and she studied the group of reporters huddled together at the front of the room. Several of them were typing on their phones, but they looked up at her words. “You’re welcome to stay tonight.”
“Damn right we are,” one of them yelled.
She smiled. “There are a few conditions. First of all, it’ll cost each of you fifty dollars. That includes one beer, of course. Our bartender will be happy to recommend some local brews.”
Some of the locals laughed, and the reporters looked stunned. From the back of the pack, one of them yelled, “You can’t do that.”
She was pretty sure it was the same guy. “Sure I can. This is a pub. Pubs have cover charges, and tonight’s cover is fifty bucks. Our bartender is trying to make a living, and you’re scaring away the paying customers. If you don’t like it, you can leave.
“Second, there will be no pictures. And there will be no recording. If we catch anyone recording, your equipment will be confiscated and you’ll be kicked out. Without your beer. If you stay, you keep your mouths shut and leave my friends alone. None of them want to talk to you.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ll answer all of your questions tomorrow. I’ll ask the mayor and police chief to set up a press conference.” She glanced at Quinn, and he nodded. “You can take all the pictures you want then. So as soon as you all pay your cover charges, we’ll get started.”
None of them left. The videographers took their cameras out to their trucks, then returned. They all paid Quinn and settled in.
Delaney glanced over at Sam again. He had a tiny smile on his face. When he caught her eye, he raised his beer to her.
She watched him for a moment and her control dissipated. Everything she wanted was in front of her, shimmering like an oasis in the desert. But when she reached out to take it, it slipped away like a mirage.
Not the time to think about it. She put Sam out of her head and watched Quinn accept money from the crowd around the bar. When he gave her a thumbs-up, she handed the microphone to Paul and sat down behind her drums. They’d come to see Chantal, and she would give them a hell of a show.
DELANEY WAS PUTTING ON a hell of a show.
Sam leaned against the bar, sipping on a glass of Fatty Boombalatty, a locally brewed Belgian pale ale Quinn had recommended. Delaney’s arms flashed as she played her drums, her hands moving so fast they were a blur.And her voice was stronger than he’d ever heard it. Rich. Full of emotion. Haunting.
Her hair was damp, and so was her tank top. When she moved her head, he saw the sweat sliding down her temple.
She was the strongest woman he’d ever known. She’d come in tonight and faced a roomful of people who knew the most intimate details of her life. She’d dealt with the reporters, then made them cough up some money if they wanted to stay and hear her play. Helping out the friends who owned the pub.
Friends who hadn’t been there for her when she needed them.
Neither had he.
She’d told him she loved him, had bared herself in the most intimate way possible, and he’d freaked out. He’d left her alone to deal with a mess that he’d made.
It made him feel small. Contemptible.
Weak.
Maybe instead of love, all she felt now was pity.
After an hour, the band took a break. He tried to make his way toward her, but Delaney was mobbed by the audience. He stayed back and watched one person after another hug her, or pat her on the back, or take her hand.
Delaney’s smile was dazzling. It lit the room.
It faded when she glanced at him.
Halfway through the second set, he noticed one of the reporters holding a digital recorder at his side. Sam shouldered his way past the patrons between them and backed the guy into the bar. “Hand it over.”
The recorder disappeared into his pocket. “What are you talking about?”
Sam leaned closer. “I would love to pound the hell out of you. You have no idea how happy that would make me.” He extended his palm. “Give it to me, or we’ll discuss it outside.”
“First amendment, buddy.”
Sam smiled. “Outside now, buddy.”
The man stared at him for a moment, then slapped the recorder into Sam’s hand. Sam slid it across the counter to Quinn.
As he turned away, he saw two more people shoving something into their pockets. He stepped in front of them and held out his hand without speaking. Both gave up their recorders.
By the time the band was ready for their second break, Sam had made his way to the front of the room. The music was too loud, thumping from the amp next to him, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let her escape this time.
She saw him standing there, and leaned over to say something to the lead guitarist. The guy glanced at Sam, then nodded. Delaney set her drumsticks on her lap and adjusted the microphone.
The audience stilled. Most of them had been here often enough that they knew what it meant.
The keyboard man played a few notes, then Delaney began to sing. When she got to the line “love was everything they said it would be,” Sam tightened his grip on his beer and drained it in one long gulp. He felt like a total shit.
When the last “I’m leaving” faded away and she stood up to thunderous applause, Sam bulled his way through the crowd. Before she could slip past, he said, “Come outside with me, Delaney. Please.”
She started to speak, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd to the front door. Fresh air washed over them as they stepped out.
“What do you want, Sam?” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She was cold. She’d been sweating.
He took off his jacket and slung it over her shoulders. She hesitated, then huddled into it.
“That last song was for me, wasn’t it?”
She drew the edges of his jacket closer. “It was about singing something I like. It’s a beautiful song.”
She’d meant it for him, and it had worked. The lyrics had been a punch to his gut. “You’re incredible.”
“Thank you. With all the press here, it’ll be good publicity for the CD.” She tilted her head as she studied him. “You said you needed to talk to me. What can I do for you, Sam?”
“You can forgive me for how I acted last night. What I said. I…you took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to tell me you loved me.”
She didn’t say anything. She just watched him with guarded eyes.
He shoved his hand through his hair. “I came over last night after the kids were asleep, but you didn’t answer the door. I was awake all night, kicking myself.”
“Sorry I disturbed your sleep. It won’t happen again.” He saw a flicker of pain in her aqua eyes.
“Don’t say that.” He grabbed her hand. “Please. Give me another chance.”
“Another chance for what, Sam? More sex? Not going to happen. You were right to remind me I shouldn’t have fallen in love with you. There’s no future for us. I agreed to release the CDs because I wanted to get to know Leo and Rennie.” She swallowed. “I thought we had more time, but…” She shrugged. “I know you’ll take care of them.” Her expression softened. “I’ve seen you with them, and I know they’re loved. They’ll be happy with you.”
“I can move up here,” he said desperately.
“And live in the snow?” She cupped his cheek, then let her hand fall away. “You’d last about a month. Besides, you wouldn’t leave Leo and Rennie behind, and I wouldn’t want you to.”
She smiled sadly. “It’s not a chore you have to steel yourself for, Sam. It’s either there or it’s not.” She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly. A goodbye. “You’ll find someone, someday, and you’ll know it’s love.”
She handed him his coat and turned to go into the pub. Before she could, a tall guy with dark blond hair stepped out. “Delaney?” He looked from her to Sam. “Are you okay? Jen sent me out to check on you.”
“I’m fine, Walker. I was just heading back in.”
The guy drew her to his side. “You told me once you’d kick my ass if I hurt Jen.” He studied Sam as if he were a bug in a collection. “Can I return the favor with this guy?”
Delaney hugged the stranger. “Thanks, Walker, but it’s under control. If an ass-kicking is required, I’m more than capable of delivering it myself.”
She disappeared inside, leaving Sam alone with the other man. The blond raised his eyebrows. “Maybe I should do it, anyway.”
“Go ahead and try,” Sam replied, balancing on the balls of his feet.
After a long moment, the guy shook his head. “Sounds too painful.” He held out his hand. “Walker Barnes. You must be the infamous Sam.”
He hesitated for a moment, then shook. “Sam McCabe.”
“Delaney didn’t look happy,” Barnes said. “You responsible for that?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how to fix it, either.”
“That’s the right answer.” He sighed. “My wife and Maddie are sick about the way they hurt Delaney yesterday.”
Sam wanted to tell Walker how bad it really was. That she’d bought a bottle of booze after their meeting. But it wasn’t his fight. “They have to fix it with Delaney. Not me.”
“They know it. But maybe I can do something for her in the meantime. I have a plan to get her out of here tonight without the press following her home, but I need some help. You interested?”
“Absolutely.”
AFTER SHE’D SUNG THE LAST note of the last set, Delaney collapsed against the cool window behind her and exhaled. She was drained. Wrung out. She wasn’t sure she could move.
Life Rewritten Page 18