Forgiveness

by Marianne Evans

  “I wanted to honor him and the changes I went through as I dealt with…recovery.”

  One look into her eyes and he knew she didn’t need a roadmap through the terrain of his past and his very public fall from grace.

  “You’re all about your faith now.”

  Chase nodded.

  “I could that tell by the lyrics you wrote. You’ve found Christ.”

  He nodded once more, relishing the sensation of her touch.

  “It’s purple. Why’s that?”

  “Think about it, Pyper. What does the color purple symbolize?”

  Puzzling briefly, she blinked—then made a connection. “Royalty.”

  “The lady isn’t just beautiful, she’s smart, too.” Chase registered the quick touch of pink that tinged her cheeks at the compliment, then he looked down, glad their connection lingered. Her skin formed such a soft and creamy contrast next to his. “Christ is the King of kings. I thought the color fit.”

  “It does. It’s perfect. I love it.”

  She released his hand and her smile worked through him like sunlight.

  “About the whole ‘bad boy’ thing…I really was just being a smart-mouth, and I also hope the nickname doesn’t fit you anymore. After all, tonight was about winning back trust, right? A chance to shut up the critics and regain loyalty? After listening to your new song, I promise I’m one of the folks cheering for you, Chase. Come back, y’hear? All the way back. Your talent’s too good to waste.”

  Now carting a full plate—when had that happened exactly?—she tilted her head, delivered a tender wink before turning and walking away. Enchanted, Chase stared, wondering. Did she practice that pretty little spin move in her spare time? The decidedly feminine exit worked on him like a spell, especially when she added that mind-blurring smile, and the sparkle of those warm, beckoning eyes.

  For the rest of the night, Chase lost himself in the afterglow, but his attention stayed glued to Pyper.

  5

  Chase’s world patterned into a weird form of black-and-white. He was backstage at the Ryman Auditorium, but he wasn’t set to perform any time soon. Instead, he was stretched on a gurney, right arm held down by a person’s hand…a person he couldn’t see. He didn’t hurt, but didn’t feel altogether comfortable, either. Why wasn’t he afraid?

  Maybe because of the amazing light show. Sunbeams poured through stained glass, painting a multitude of colors across the stage, the carpet of the theater, the stairs and pews that now acted as seating spaces rather than spots for worship.

  “You ready?”

  A man’s voice, vaguely familiar, came from the right; a whir and a buzz filled the air. Chase nodded, but found himself transfixed by the dozens of colorful stage lights rigged to the ceiling. “Yeah, but where’s the audience?”

  “They’ll be here soon enough. You wanted this first, right?”

  Wanted what? And what was that buzzing?

  Beside him, on a surgical table, he saw a hammer, a long, thick nail. Why wasn’t he scared?

  Suddenly, the nail point came to rest against his wrist. He saw a hand pick up and lift the hammer. Turning his head, Chase tried to attach a face, a person, to this odd vignette, but the buzzing increased and a blaze of fire hit the nerves of his right wrist. A pierce point? The start of a stabbing blow? No. As fast as they materialized, the hammer and nail disappeared, replaced by a tattoo machine, held by the guy he now recognized as the one who had inked his cross.

  A scene shift took place.

  “You’re a believer.”

  Chase came upon the sound of Pyper Brock’s soft, south-kissed voice. A blink later, there she stood, gorgeous as could be, wearing her show outfit from the Opry. They were face-to-face outside the Women of Country Music dressing room, where their worlds had collided. Without a word, without reservation, he took a dive into those tempting blue eyes, admired the perfectly styled tumble of dark blonde hair that his fingertips just twitched to comb through…

  “Jesus saved me,” he replied.

  It was the purest, simplest admission he could manage, the truth of his life encapsulated into a brief trio of words.

  “He did, Chase, and I’m so glad for that.”

  All at once, the eeriness of the previous vignette morphed into a rushing tingle, into a warmth so soothing he nearly weakened at the knees. All at once, a need took him over; a longing pulsed through his chest and filled him. In that instant, he knew she was all he’d ever wanted.

  His world came to a standstill that echoed with all-over peace, a tranquility he craved more than any shot of alcohol he’d ever consumed. All he felt right now was homecoming. A sense of fulfillment.

  Pyper stretched to tip-toe; her hair smelled of jasmine and spice. Chase closed his eyes, surrendering to the touch of her lips against his left cheek, then his right.

  “I’ll see you, Chase. Have a great show.”

  The tattoo machine amped up again and the inking resumed…

  Chase awoke against a harsh snap of consciousness, bathed in a sweat that chilled his skin. He heaved to a sitting position. The conversation with Pyper last night had obviously tripped a few of his less-than-steady mental wires. Still battling the shakes, he angled his wrist, rolling it, pondering the cross tattoo—the mark of his Savior’s sacrifice, the symbol of Christ’s supreme act of forgiveness and redemption. He traced the image, but his memory took a taste of Pyper’s sweet smile; into his mind drifted the image of clearest blue eyes. The soft touch of her fingertips still echoed—a touch that had obviously slipped past skin-level to something much deeper.

  And terrifying.

  Odd dreams weren’t an uncommon companion, but this one proved more powerful than most. Had to be the result of leaving rehab and taking to the stage again.

  And the impact of Pyper Brock.

  He padded from the bedroom to the kitchen. There, on the green quartz countertop, right next to his keys and wallet, rested his cellphone. And he had forgotten to latch the stupid thing to a charger.

  “Smooth, Chase. A bit distracted, were you?”

  All over again, the perfume that was Pyper Brock swept through his psyche. He plugged in the device which started to juice, then lit like a mini firework. There were a good number of congratulatory texts. Nice. He would read through them while he sat on the balcony outside and devoured a stack of pancakes and sausage patties.

  A grumbling stomach prompted him toward the stainless fridge, but before leaving the phone behind, he scrolled through a long string of missed calls. Two came from Mark Samuels. That made him smile. Maybe they could meet for lunch. Sooner rather than later. It would be great to reconnect and absorb some of the man’s ever-present reinforcement—and wisdom.

  Chase whisked batter, cooked and plated, pausing just long enough to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the living area of his condo. His home featured a sparkling view of downtown Nashville spread across the land like a jewel. It had shaped up to be a perfect morning to enjoy a leisurely breakfast alfresco, so he grabbed his half-charged cellphone and carried his plate to a small bistro table of black metal. The outdoor space was expansive, dotted by spiky green plants his housekeeper had tended to faithfully during his absence. Most of all, he enjoyed the privacy afforded by walls that enclosed each side of the balcony. He had spent much of the last three years both dodging and courting the paparazzi. Home, however, was his sanctuary. Here he coveted one thing—mental rest. Solitude.

  He settled into one of the chairs and then glanced at his phone. In addition to calling to Mark, there was business to be done after he ate. His gaze rested on one of the tallest, most prominent markers in the city skyline. A lot of locals referred to it as the Batman Building, due to the way its twin antennas sprouted from each side, pushing to the sky against a slightly arced topline. Right now, as Chase studied the structure, he saw only one thing—hope—hope in the form of an entertainment agent who worked within that glass and metal skyscraper. Kellen Rossiter.

&n
bsp; Instinct left Chase wanting to call Kellen first, but he knew what would serve him best, and he was equally determined to follow that call. He needed the reinforcement and guidance of his recovery sponsor first. So, once he finished breakfast, after dropping his dishes in the sink and replenishing his mug of coffee, he dialed up Mark Samuels and resumed his seat outside.

  “Chase!”

  “Mark. Have I interrupted you mid-packing?”

  Mark’s laughter crossed the cell connection. “You wouldn’t recognize my office anymore. It’s barren.”

  “You gonna be paying a visit to the new Reach facility in downtown Nashville anytime soon?”

  “On my way there in a couple of days, actually. I leave South Carolina on Wednesday. We need to finish set up and get ready for launch now that I signed a lease on an apartment in Tennessee. You doing OK?”

  Muffled background noise came to life, drawers opening and closing, items being moved around, but it only took a split second for Mark’s tone to switch from easy going to intent and concerned. Mark was on his way to Nashville from the Reach flagship facility in South Carolina where Chase had first met him. Mark had followed Chase to Franklin, Tennessee to take on a permanent position in Nashville at a new facility. During the interim, he had finished Chase’s counseling, and assumed a few cases that would carry over to his new position. The man never seemed to quit on his patients. That level of commitment—that drive to be present to those who needed him–was assuring, and had always filled Chase with confidence.

  So, he stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles, looking ahead, at the curves and glitter of the Cumberland River as it ambled through town. “I’m doing good so far. No worries.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  Judging by the sound, Mark seemed to drop a few heavier items into a box. He chuckled. “Hey, I’m tech savvy. I know how to check out social media feeds. Your name was all over the place this morning. Country music fans and critics alike are singing your praises loud and clear. Seems you hit the comeback trail with a rock-solid swing. Keep it up.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I received some interesting nibbles as the result. Your arrival in Nashville couldn’t be more perfect. I have a meeting coming up later this week with an agent, Kellen Rossiter. Seems he wants to take me on as a client. I’d love to see you first and take your temperature on things. I’ll even help you unpack.”

  “What an incentive. Really. You’re too gracious for words.” They shared a grunting laugh and a snort. “With all that’s going on, everything running at high octane, are you doing OK? Staying away from temptation?”

  Chase smirked to himself. Temptation in the form of alcohol, yes. Temptation in the form of Pyper Brock, no…not so much.

  “Closest I came to a bottle was the instant I left the rehab center. Nearly stopped at some dive liquor store off the highway. Passed that up in favor of time better spent.”

  “Yeah?

  “Shay. I visited Shayne’s gravesite.”

  Silence filled a beat or two of time. “Good for you. I think that’s great.”

  “After that, the Opry event took up the rest of my focus. I’m doing all right. Really.” So far, he added in silence, drawing in a breath of cool morning air.

  “I’m checking in at Reach North pretty much right after I land. Let’s plan to meet after that.”

  “Absolutely. Talk to you soon, Mark. Thanks.”

  “I’m praying for you, Chase. Keep your head in the game, hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The term didn’t stem from simple affection, it stemmed from a level of respect Chase had felt for precious few people in his life.

  Call concluded, Chase continued to rest in the warm sunlight and muffled urban noise of central Nashville. He tipped his head back so the rays could kiss his skin, and he prayed. He relaxed his mind and body completely and surrendered to a quiet interlude, along a fresh wash of memory. An anticipatory smile split his features as he recalled his final moments at the Opry gala and the approach of Kellen Rossiter.

  Kellen owned and operated the entertainment agency that bore the man’s name, and he had long enjoyed a reputation for fierce and intelligent representation. Kellen managed Tyler Brock’s career, and Chase had admired the agent for years based on industry word-of-mouth alone. Chase knew Kellen to be dedicated, loyal and dogged in his approach to client management. He possessed a knack for recruiting great artists, but he kept them in place by displaying tenacious fighting skills tempered by a solid core of decency that Chase had uncovered in far too few players within the mainstream media.

  Last night’s introduction had been the first time Chase had spoken to Kellen directly, and the agent had made it very clear he was interested in fostering Chase’s return to the industry.

  “Keep up the kind of performance I witnessed tonight, and I’d like to talk to you about what’s ahead.”

  “You’d be interested in representing me?”

  “I am if you’re serious and committed to a road that’s straight and narrow.”

  “That much goes without saying, I promise you that.”

  Kellen cracked a broad smile at the disclaimer. “I hope so. Like everyone else, I paid attention when you hit bottom, but I also paid attention when you pushed through recovery. I paid attention to what I saw and heard tonight. If you intend a return to the gifts you’ve been given, if you stay strong, I see a lot of good things in your future. I sense you’ve changed. If that’s the case, I’d like to talk about taking the helm of your career and building on tonight’s momentum.”

  Kellen extended his hand and Chase accepted the gesture at once. “I’d appreciate the opportunity.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Tugging a business card from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat, Kellen extended it to Chase. “Call me, and let’s meet next week.”

  Chase palmed the offering like a gift; Kellen delivered a final nod and blended into the crowd.

  When his eyes came open in the here and now, the first thing Chase saw was the Batman Building. He fiddled briefly with Rossiter’s business card then picked up the phone and dialed. He was ready.

  It was time to make music again.

  6

  “Hey, Pyper, and Tyler, it’s good to see you.”

  Pyper’s affection bloomed like a spring meadow when Kellen Rossiter rose from his desk chair and crossed the length of his office to greet her and her dad. Dashes of silver highlighted Kellen’s dark brown hair. Olive skin was touched by light lines that curved against the corners of his mouth and formed a faint spray against his eyes. Her dad’s agent and their long-time family friend was sharp and intense, but soft-hearted when it came to the ones he cared for the most. Knowing full well she was counted among that circle, she stretched to tiptoe and kissed Kellen’s cheek. Tyler accepted a firm handshake before Kellen directed them to a pair of chairs in front of his desk.

  “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I wouldn’t push if it wasn’t important.”

  “Timing’s no worry, Kellen, but I have to say, our curiosity is definitely piqued.” Tyler answered Kellen’s concerns while Pyper settled, and waited. “What’s going on?”

  “The short story is I want to talk to you both about an idea I have.” Kellen returned to the chair behind his desk.

  “An idea. With that, I’m all set to hear the long story.” Pyper stifled a laugh while her dad shared a teasing smirk with his agent.

  “Then I’ll start at the beginning. First off, I’ve signed Chase Bradington as a client.”

  No denying the flush—the awareness—that skimmed through her system when Kellen dropped that piece of news. Pyper stiffened against the memory of dark, fathomless eyes, a strong build, and a heady vibration of charisma. She abandoned those thoughts when she noticed the way her dad’s brows pulled.

  “So, you’re on the Bradington comeback train?”

  “As his agent, I might even be considered its cond
uctor. I’m behind the guy, yeah. I believe there’s a lot to him.”

  Her dad sat back in his chair and stared, his concern palpable. “Yeah, there’s a lot to him, and don’t get me started reviewing it all.”

  A tense form of energy flooded Pyper’s body while her dad went on offense, refuting Chase quietly and calmly, yet with a finality that told Pyper everything she needed to know about a future with the handsome icon. Alcohol. A powerful, alpha bad-boy image. Battles small and large in his personal life. What was she thinking letting a purely chemical reaction run wild like this?

  Resolute now, Pyper nodded in agreement with her dad. “Kellen, due respect to you, truly, but isn’t he a tremendous risk?”

  Kellen accepted that query with a nod. “Maybe. And, yes, I understand where you’re coming from. The arguments aren’t unfamiliar to me.”

  Her father gestured wide. “Of course they’re not. You know the business inside and out. That begs the question. Why would you—”

  “I get that he’s a risk, but to my mind, he’s a calculated risk.” Kellen’s interruption was emphatic, accompanied by a glint of light that dawned in his eyes, a light sparked by challenge…and something a bit more that Pyper couldn’t quite define. “I intend to help give him a second chance.”

  Pyper sighed inwardly, but figured, case closed. “I hope it works out well for both of you, but you’re making me wonder why you’ve asked to meet with me and Daddy. It’s certainly not our business who you represent.”

  “Actually, Pyper, my representation of Chase just might involve you directly. As such, I wanted Tyler’s take on my plans as well.”

  That nervous stiffness returned all over again—with added strength this time. Pyper straightened against an onslaught of complicated, mixed-up feelings. Kellen, meanwhile, focused on her dad for a second or two before continuing.

  “Pyper, sometimes life gives us an opportunity to start over again. I know what it’s like to lose something I cherish then use everything I am to claw my way back and return to what’s good. From where I sit, that’s what Chase is doing right now. He’s determined to succeed. His effort has earned my attention and my opinion that he deserves an opportunity to prove himself again.”