Forgiveness

by Marianne Evans

  “Why else do you think I’d be dragging you to the food table?”

  He cast a grin, and Pyper laughed at the same instant she heard a familiar voice. “Hey there, superstar!”

  As soon as she heard the greeting, Pyper spun from Darren’s hold and squealed like a teenager, landing straight in the middle of a tight hug from her best friend, Anne Lucerne. “Annie!”

  A statuesque brunette, Anne had a lovely, heart-shaped face, huge green eyes, and enough energy to fill the entire room. In honor of tonight’s occasion, Pyper’s surrogate sister wore cowgirl attire—right down to a flouncy denim skirt, a white button down shirt and a pair of black leather boots that were showroom fresh.

  Issuing a teasing huff, Pyper decided to give Anne the business about that particular fact. “OK, seriously, you need to stay here with me forever so you can break those in. They need some scuff and wear.”

  They giggled and hugged all over again, spinning into a timeless dance. “Consider it done. My word, but you’re completely gorgeous. I hate you.”

  “Oh, I am not. This face is the result of skilled makeup technicians and nothing more. But what about you? You look like a fashion model with those mile long legs. I’ve always resented that about you.”

  Anne struck a dramatic pose. “So true, but you’ve always been an adorable little shorty, so I’ve opted to hang out with you anyway.”

  A fresh round of laughter ensued; they talked over each other all over again, forcing their time apart to vanish beneath the history they had shared since childhood.

  “Where are your mom and dad?” Pyper asked. “Did they come, too? I hope they made it.”

  Her wish was answered when a quick scan of faces revealed Ken and Kiara Lucerne. The pair stood not far away, nearly swallowed within a buzz of afterglow chaos. Ken’s searching gaze lighted on Pyper, and he gave her a nod along with a smile that mirrored Anne’s. He moved their way with his wife in tow.

  “Wow.” The cadence of Ken’s deep voice, punctuated by a Midwestern twang straight from Michigan, was a slice of heaven to Pyper’s ears. “Honestly, all I can say is wow.”

  Kiara wore a dazzled expression as well. “So, this is how life is lived in the big leagues.”

  Pyper fell into a fresh round of hugs and welcomes that filled her heart to overflowing. “It’s the big leagues now that you’re here! I am so glad to see you!”

  “We’re honored you included us. What a night for Tyler.” Ken continued to take in the faces and energy of the room. Dressed casually in a polo shirt and jeans, he sported salt-and-pepper hair and remained strong of build, even at close to sixty.

  Kiara settled her purse strap on her shoulder and fingered back strands of shoulder-length, honey-colored hair just barely touched with dashes of shimmering silver. Soft green eyes—a replica of Anne’s—danced with happiness. “Speaking of music, I can’t believe the way Tyler’s life—and now yours—has become such a powerful mission field. Pyper, you’re honoring his legacy in ways that are just incredible. I’m amazed at what God brought to life for you all.”

  If she didn’t crack a joke, she’d lose it and cry, so Pyper gave her extended family a saucy glance. “Kiara, please, you’re not in Michigan anymore. You’re in Tennessee. It’s not you all, it’s y’all!”

  While laughter burst between them like sparkling confetti, Pyper’s mom bounded toward their gathering, letting out a happy exclamation when she caught sight of their visiting dignitaries. “Ken! Kiara! I wondered where you were. I knew you had checked in with the VIP’s, but I didn’t have a chance to connect with you in the theater; I’m so sorry for that.”

  Kiara tugged Amy close for a long, tight hug. “You were a little busy, Miss Thing. We loved the performance! Where’s Tyler? I can’t wait to see him!”

  Miss Thing—that was the nickname Kiara had given Pyper’s mom decades ago, during a different, tragic season—in a life so different than the one Pyper now knew. Michigan memories, Michigan love, took her under. In a blink, Pyper was five-years-old all over again, battling monsters, battling hate and an innocence-robbing fear—and winning the victory. God’s grace had seen to it that she and her mom circled away from a life marred by abuses both physical and mental.

  During the height of battle, Pyper and her mom had found a safe harbor with Ken, Kiara, and Anne. Shortly thereafter, Tyler had entered their lives, and the nightmare ended for good and for all. These were the people who formed a precious framework for Pyper’s heart. The celebratory evening wouldn’t be anywhere near complete without them.

  She surrendered her link to the past when her dad joined their group, explaining once again how he had been conned into thinking tonight’s performance was just another routine show at the Opry.

  “I don’t know how they pulled it off. There I was, completely unaware, tucked behind the doorway of the Stars and Stripes dressing room, strumming with Zach and chatting with friends like I always do, yet I had no idea what was brewing.”

  “Well you deserve the accolades. Oh, man—do you remember the mission trip to Appalachia?” Ever stylish in wide-leg slacks of gray and a hip-length blouse of soft pink lace, Kiara gave Pyper’s dad a grin and a nudge. “The entire trip to and from Pennsylvania was full of you and Amy with your teenage dreams and connections. Even then I knew your love of music would play itself out, Tyler. And I knew, somehow, some way, you and Amy would find your way to each other.”

  Tyler didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Rather, he kissed Amy’s lips. Pyper sensed the way her parents lost themselves in one other for a few precious seconds and her heart sighed. That’s what I want. That level of passion. That level of joy. God, please show me that sureness of connection, the spirit-melt that leaves two people in the shape of one.

  Hmm. Now those were song lyrics. Definitely. She’d have to jot them down before dropping off to sleep tonight…

  Seeming to realize an immediate visit to the food table was placed on hold, Darren joined their circle and more introductions and chat ensued. Meanwhile, Pyper’s mom focused on her friend and mentor, Kiara. “When we visited Michigan a couple months ago, you two had just retired from Woodland Church. How are you and Ken adjusting to the change?”

  Updates were exchanged, paired with jokes about Ken never completely retiring from pastoral duties and Kiara not quite relinquishing her involvement in the church’s youth group activities. Pyper stood next to her dad, content to rest against his side and survey the action taking place all around—their nearest and dearest gathered close to savor the moment of a lifetime.

  Darren, she noticed, carried on a companionable conversation with Anne, which reminded Pyper she had become totally sidetracked and hadn’t yet snared a bite to eat. She tilted her head, noticing the way easy smiles and a somewhat solitary focus seemed to encircle Darren and her best friend.

  When Pyper paused to study them, she wondered why the exclusive focus she sensed inspired threads of happiness rather than seeds of jealousy. The thought had barely struck home when Chase Bradington entered the room and distracted Pyper completely. Fresh from the stage, he sent her senses into a rush.

  Honestly. What was with her right now?

  Surrounded by an eager entourage, he offered large, warm smiles and strode straight toward the food line. More folks gathered, shook his hand, offering what seemed to be encouraging comments; the overall presence of support earned nods, a few hugs as well as some hearty laughter. Nothing, Pyper supposed, beat the marketing angle of a fallen angel attempting to rise.

  Hmmm. A fallen angel attempting to rise. Even more lyrics to memorialize later. She had definitely scored a ten on the inspiration meter tonight.

  With her gaze latched onto the iconic singer, Pyper took note of the way folks continued to battle for Chase’s attention. Through it all, he remained visibly composed. No small feat, she figured, since he was just hours out of rehab. In spite of the frenzy, she couldn’t help but admire the view. Chase’s smile was warm and wide; he engaged peopl
e in a direct manner and with an energy she absorbed even at a distance.

  Mysteriously propelled, Pyper excused herself from her group and prepared to join the food line so she could touch base with her younger brother. Presently, Zach was making his way toward Chase like a wide-eyed groupie.

  Darren, along with the rest of the world, faded to black while Pyper moved toward Chase, intent on conducting some reconnaissance and somehow subduing her unexpected reaction to the man.

  4

  What. A. Stunner.

  Three small words, paired with a mouth-watering image, displaced everything else in Chase’s world as the spritely blonde who had tumbled into him pre-performance drew near, circling through the crowd. Her level of poise and confidence could leave a body wondering if she didn’t in fact own the Grand Ole Opry and its famed after-performance gathering space. Crash—as he liked to think of her now—was none other than Pyper Brock, Tyler Brock’s daughter and an up-and-comer in the Christian music scene. She had a great smile. He focused on full, generous lips that tempted with a sweetness he could all but taste. Nice curves, too. She retained an easy, natural grace that set her skirt line skimming against slim legs and drew his attention to them quite nicely, thank you.

  When she broke free of her conversational tribe and sashayed toward the spot where he stood, Chase experienced a flood of expectation, a push of wistful desire and heat. He froze against those thoughts and gave that pull of longing a real fast shove to the rear. Bad idea, Chase. Very bad idea. Stop where you stand. Can you imagine how her rock-solid, upstanding father would react to the display of any interest on your part?

  She stepped into place at the end of the line right next to a man Chase recognized from the show tonight; that’s when a whole new development tossed ice water against the warm slide of attraction toward the woman. Evidently she had earned the attention of Darren McCree, a guitarist who had backed her and her daddy during the show tonight. A man in the band. The two were most likely off to a proper and perfect life together. God bless ’em both.

  Fortified, Chase ignored the encroachment of an impossible, romantic fantasy and concentrated instead on the more important task of networking. He pressed palms, worked through the growing layers of industry suits, media members and fans. All the while, he remained easy-spirited, grateful for every show of support. Yet, his gaze tracked to the sweet innocence of Pyper Brock. A pierce-point struck home at the center of his heart. He could have sworn he felt a bleeding start deep within—a hemorrhaging for something he could never have.

  Too much time wasted ever to be young again. Too much time wasted ever to taste pure again. To be worth more than…

  Forgiveness.

  Just like that, a flash sent his mind far from the charms of a fascinating woman. He tumbled headfirst into a song that came to life, breaking free from a spot in his soul he hesitated to approach, let alone open wide. He stood immobile, fearful and exhilarated at the same time.

  Forgiveness.

  A song with meaning like that would be great, but it would also require exposure—the kind of soul-deep exposure that would only come after exhaustive revelation. Could he do it? Right now, he just didn’t know. After all, once chains like that were unlocked, who knew what might spring free—good or bad? Risky? Yes, absolutely. Worth the gain? In the end, who knew but God?

  Forgiveness.

  Chase’s focus returned to Pyper. Something about the woman kept pulling at him. Maybe it was those soft, ruby lips he had enjoyed perusing. Maybe it was something in the radiance of her eyes and demeanor—as if she bubbled with love and simply let it flow over the ones closest to her. She captivated him because she was alive and unguarded. Self-assured. She walked with a degree of confidence that could only come after being brought up right, with a careful blend of love and discipline that had obviously molded her into a formidable woman.

  In short, she possessed all the benefits he wished like crazy he could have found in his own life.

  “Excuse me…ah…Chase Bradington, right?”

  Thank goodness for interruptions. Chase delivered himself to the moment at hand, placing his smile even before he turned to face…

  A kid? A teen? A handsome, earnest youth with an almost familiar look to him. The eyes of blue in particular, spoke of something familiar, but…

  The boy extended his hand with smooth aplomb, like a polished adult. “I’m Zachary Brock.” Only then did he shuffle his feet a trace. “Zach, actually. I just wanted to say hello and tell you how much I’ve always loved your music. Great to see you back on stage again. You did an excellent job tonight and everything.”

  Chase’s smile warmed from ‘performer’ to authentic when he met Zach’s straight-on gaze. No wonder the kid looked familiar. He was probably a replica of his father when he was in his mid-teens. Chase saw the resemblance clearly now.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zach. Thanks for your kind words. I appreciate them. Your daddy is incredible. He’s a mighty tough act to follow.”

  “Tell me about it.” Zach’s gaze flicked to the spot where Tyler stood, then to the ground as if somewhat embarrassed by the admission.

  Chase’s comment had been innocent, an ice-breaker, but it visibly shook the kid. Chase recognized battle lines—stress fractures waiting to expand. He did his best to countermand those developments. “You have a great family. Count yourself lucky. I’ve known them for years by reputation, of course, but it’s nice to get to meet them officially.”

  “You sounded amazing. Will ‘Burning Bridges’ be on the next album?”

  Obviously Zach wanted to drop the topic of family. Fair enough. Chase didn’t push. Besides, the kid’s optimism was a panacea, the best form of medicine he’d received since exiting Reach. “I sure hope so. I’m looking to get something started for certain.”

  Zach went silent for a moment. “You will. You’re an incredible musician.” He hesitated again and Chase absorbed another resemblance.

  With eager optimism and innocent enthusiasm, Zachary Brock put him in mind of someone else. Shayne Williams, back in the day.

  “I hope you’re feeling OK. You went through a terrible set of circumstances, and I can’t wait to watch you prove what you’ve got all over again.”

  The words were like a mystical response to the connection Chase had just made. God at work. Zach seemed bent on conveying his support, yet cautious of stepping into territory best left alone. Shayne would have reacted just the same. This youngster’s warmth left Chase wanting to open up and respond in kind.

  “I won’t lie. That kind of affirmation is something I’m awfully glad to hear right about now. Working the stage tonight was equal parts terror and adrenaline rush.”

  “Man, I can’t even imagine how cool it must have felt to—”

  “Mr. Bradington. Good evening.”

  Conversation stopped immediately and Chase’s world froze as Pyper strolled into place next to her brother. Inky lashes fluttered against an ocean of luminous blue; her lips tilted upward as their gazes connected, and held.

  Chase caught his breath, steeled his spine. “Pyper Brock. I’m delighted to meet you, formally that is.”

  She chuckled. “I see. So, that little body blow from earlier wasn’t quite formal enough for you?”

  “Not nearly. You OK, by the way?”

  “I don’t intend a lawsuit, so rest easy. Thanks for the great performance tonight. You rocked the house. Congratulations.”

  What awesome sass and personality. Chase’s regard for Zach faded to the background fast, though he noticed the way Pyper’s brother kept close tabs on their interaction. “I’d like to say the same to you and your daddy. You must be awfully proud, crash.”

  “To levels I can’t even contain, but, excuse me, ‘crash’?”

  She moved a step closer then another—whether for food or connection Chase couldn’t quite tell. Handing her a plate then nabbing one for himself, he delivered a negligent shrug. “If the name fits…”


  Chase went to work retrieving a cluster of grapes, some strawberries, a couple skewers of chicken satay and a handful of veggies accompanied by a dollop of creamy dip. He munched on a few of the grapes, avoiding her eyes. Next he snagged a small stack of crackers and some cheese cubes.

  “I shouldn’t have referred to you as ‘bad boy.’ That was mean and uncalled for. I apologize for that.”

  Chase flicked a glance in her direction. Those eyes of hers were breathtaking. “Don’t worry about it. I knew you didn’t mean any harm. Let’s start from scratch.” He extended his hand to pave a road to fresh starts. Also, he wanted to touch her—to feel her hand in his.

  She accepted the gesture, but a sudden and shy hesitance filled the space between them. Chase pondered that reaction. Had he just earned the upper hand? With Pyper Brock? He sensed that didn’t happen often. Lips twitching, he nudged her gently out of the way so he could nab a couple crispy ovals of garlic toast. At least that way he got to invade her space a little. She jumped back slightly. He grinned. Playing with her was kind of fun.

  All at once, she stopped filling her plate and an expression of intrigue colored her features. Chase tracked the line of her gaze straight to a spot on his right wrist where a rolled up shirt sleeve revealed a small purple cross that had been inked into permanence by a tattoo artist.

  “You’re a believer.”

  The observation, so simple and straightforward, struck against the most important facet of his rebirth, recovery, and commitment to life. “Very much so.”

  “A tattoo?”

  “Yep. A memorial, and a reminder.”

  “I sense there’s a story behind your story.”

  He discovered he liked being the recipient of her intrigue. “There is at that. In short, the cross memorializes my best friend, and it’s also a permanent reminder of who I belong to from here on out.”

  “Shayne Williams and God.”

  “Yep.”

  She set aside her plate and took hold of his hand, cupping it in both of hers so she could examine the tattoo. She brushed her thumb light against the surface of his skin; his pulse took off as heat built and stirred his senses.