Nashville - Boxed Set Series - Part One, Two, Three and Four (A New Adult Contemporary Romance)

by Inglath Cooper

  “Thanks.” I look up at him with what I can feel is a weak attempt at a smile.

  He sits down on the chair beside me, hip bumping me over a bit. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug and take a sip of the fizzy water.

  “Beg to differ. You haven’t been yourself all night. Show at the Blue Bird not go well?”

  “It went great,” I say, a little too bright even to my own ears. “Everything’s good.”

  He puts a finger beneath my chin and forces me to look at him. “Give me credit for knowing you better than that.”

  “I guess I’m tired. It’s been kind of a long week.”

  “You’re working a lot. Why don’t you cut back on your hours at the restaurant?”

  “And eat with what?” I ask with a half-smile.

  “You know I want to help you out, babe. You won’t let me.”

  “I’m good, Beck. Seriously,” I say, immediately digging in my heels as I do every time he brings this up.

  “Just too tired to play,” he says, and for a moment, it feels like I am way older than he is.

  “Responsibility calls.” I immediately regret my sharpness.

  Beck leans back and gives me a long look. “Whoa. Where did that come from?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say instantly, feeling further guilt for something I’m not even sure I can identify. Beck and I have been officially seeing each other for almost a year now, and I’ve never once picked a fight. We’ve never actually had a fight.

  “Sorry for what?” he asks, the question sounding a little bruised.

  “For being a jerk.”

  “You’re not a jerk,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him. He presses a kiss to my cheek and then nips my lower lip before kissing me full and deep. I respond as I know I should. Kissing him back and telling myself as I have a dozen times before that I would be an idiot to throw this away.

  Beck Phillips is all but an actual commodity in Nashville. The only son of a major country music star. Good-looking beyond fairness. How many times have I waited for him at the end of one of his classes at Vanderbilt and seen the girls following him around like puppies after a treat jar? And every time, I’ve asked myself, why me? Of all the girls he could have in this town, why me?

  If I’ve found anything close to an answer, I would say it’s this. Beck doesn’t like losing. He likes winning. Not in an obnoxious, arrogant sort of way. It’s just what he’s used to. Having what he wants. Whether it’s right away. Or eventually. And maybe that’s what fueled his interest in me. I’ve yet to give him all of me. Emotionally or physically.

  He kisses my neck now, one hand looped around my waist. “Let’s go up to my room,” he says. “You can take a nap.”

  I smile and repeat one of my granny’s favorite sayings. “Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?”

  He laughs. “No, I don’t guess you do,” he says, kissing me full on again. He studies me without bothering to hide the need in his eyes. “What if I promise to be good?”

  “I need to go home and sleep in my own bed.”

  “We could do that.”

  This time, I laugh. “No one ever said you’re not persistent.”

  He loops an arm around my waist and lifts me onto his lap, kissing me deeply. When he pulls back, he says, “Desperation breeds persistence.”

  “All right, lovebirds, this is a public gathering.” Case Phillips ruffles Beck’s hair, saving me from a response.

  “Dad,” Beck protests, swatting his hand away. It’s really a weird thing, knowing who Case Phillips the country music star is most of my life and then to see Beck act as if he is any regular dad who irritates him the way most dads irritate their teenage sons.

  Case reaches for a chair and pulls it up next to ours. He’s holding a beer in one hand, but it’s nearly full. I’ve noticed he doesn’t drink as much as the people he surrounds himself with. He sits and leans back with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

  “Dad,” Beck repeats, “we’re kind of busy.”

  “I can see you’re working hard in that direction,” Case agrees with a raised eyebrow.

  I feel the blush start in my cheeks and level out at my hairline. I slide off Beck’s lap and sit beside him on the lounge chair.

  “I didn’t come over to ruin the party,” Case says, an apology in his voice. “I actually have a proposition for you both.”

  “What?” Beck struggles to dampen his aggravation.

  “My opening act for the upcoming tour seems to be falling apart before everybody’s eyes.”

  “Footfalls?” Beck asks.

  Case nods.

  “Why?” Beck sounds more interested now. “They’re crazy good.”

  “Agreed. Which is why a person has to wonder why they want to throw all that away by showing up for rehearsals late and loaded.”

  “Drugs?” Beck says, looking surprised.

  “Who the hell knows? I would assume. But you know I don’t stand for that crap on tour. They’ve been given three warnings, and it hasn’t made a difference yet. Paula didn’t make it through the first set this afternoon.”

  “I know Paula,” I say, unable to hide my surprise. “We’ve written a couple of songs together. I can’t believe she would-”

  “No one ever does,” Case says. “Who can figure the human psyche? Sometimes getting what you want comes with more pressure than some people can handle.”

  I get that, but I’ve had several long conversations with Paula about our love for music and the hope that we’ll get to do this our whole lives. She’s a small-town girl from South Carolina who has the support of a family who’ve given their all to help her get where she is. We were writing together the day she got the news that her band had been chosen to tour with Case. I nearly had to peel her off the wall. How could she willingly throw it all away? “That really doesn’t seem like something she would do. Does she know they’re at risk of being asked to leave the tour?”

  “I’m afraid we’re already past the at-risk phase. They’re gone. Out of my hands.”

  “That sucks,” Beck says.

  “Yeah. It does suck to see someone throw away something they’ve worked so hard for.”

  My heart actually hurts for Paula and everything I know she has just lost.

  “I had a thought this afternoon,” Case says. “Rhys played that demo we did in the studio, what a year, year and a half ago, with you and your friends, CeCe?”

  I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “Wish you’d quit with the sir stuff, hon. You make me feel like a founding member of Mount Rushmore.”

  I smile. “Sorry, Case. You’re not, you know.”

  His grin says he’s totally aware that he’s still got it as far as most American females are concerned. “I know Holden and Sarah moved back to Atlanta, but you and Thomas have a great thing going. What would you think about Beck joining the group and y’all stepping in as my opening act?”

  I hear him say the words, but they don’t completely sink in. I feel sure I must have imagined them. “What? Are you serious?”

  “Dead,” he says.

  Adrenaline rushes up from the pit of my stomach, and I wish Thomas were here to take this in at the same time I am. I glance at Beck and notice his surprise. Case has pretty much done his best to keep Beck in school and out of the music business.

  “Why now, Dad?” he asks, disbelief at the edge of the question.

  Case sighs and shoves a hand through his dark hair. “Let’s just say that after this last set of grades, it’s becoming clear to me that you don’t want to be in school any more than I did at your age. I know I’ve forced the issue. Maybe if you get out there and see what it’s like, you’ll want to go back at some point.”

  Beck raises his palm and high-fives his dad. “Heck, yeah!” he says. He looks at me then, as if he’s forgotten that I have yet to say anything about his joining Thomas and me. “CeCe? Wha
t do you think?”

  “I think it’s an amazing opportunity,” I say carefully. “Thank you, Case. I’d like to say yes this very minute, but do you mind if I talk with Thomas first?”

  “Of course, that’s how any good team operates,” Case says, standing. “Need to know something by ten tomorrow though. Sorry for the short notice. We’re running on a tight schedule now. Sound good?”

  I nod. “Case, thank you again so much. I really don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll do it,” he says with his trademark smile. “That’s thanks enough.”

  He leaves then, heading for a group of people chatting on the other side of the pool.

  Beck leans back and looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Am I missing something, or am I the only one who thinks what just happened is incredible?”

  “It is incredible,” I say.

  “Then why the reserve?”

  “I didn’t feel like I could really speak for Thomas and me both.”

  “I get that. Are you sure it isn’t more about the fact that he wants me included?”

  The question catches me off guard. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “I guess it’s just the vibe I’m getting.”

  “Beck, don’t look for something that’s not there.”

  “I’m not looking. But it’s definitely there.”

  I want to deny it, but the butterflies in my stomach are telling me I do have some concerns. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m wondering how we go from never having played together other than the demo at your dad’s studio to performing in front of sold-out crowds three weeks from now.”

  “We’ll just work our tails off until then.”

  “What about finishing up the semester at school? How will you manage that?”

  Beck glances away and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Yeah. That. I think Dad is playing one step ahead of the curveball.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He blows out a sigh and looks like he doesn’t want to say what he’s going to say. “My grades this semester aren’t going to cut it.”

  “Oh,” I say, more than a little surprised. “I’m sorry.”

  “Now you think I’m a loser, right?” he says, his voice low and unsure.

  “Of course not.”

  “The only reason I went there in the first place is because Dad wanted me to. I guess this is his way of throwing me a lifeline.”

  “Pretty nice lifeline,” I say, trying for a smile.

  He studies me for a moment, and then says, “You don’t think it’s fair, do you?”

  “What?”

  “Being handed this.”

  “Of course it’s fair. He’s your dad. That should count for something.”

  “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “A lot of people think I have a silver spoon up my butt.”

  This makes me laugh. “Well, if they do, they don’t know you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not necessary.”

  His expression goes suddenly serious. “I care what you think about me, CeCe.”

  There’s a different note in the admission, one I haven’t heard before. Vulnerability. And I’m not sure I know what to do with that.

  ♪

  BECK TAKES ME home, and we say almost nothing during the drive back into town. With the BMW’s top down, the wind provides a good excuse for silence although the space between us feels thick with Beck’s unusual somberness.

  I don’t even know why I’m acting this way, why my response to this completely out-of-left-field opportunity isn’t more of what it should be. As I stare out into the night whipping past us, I realize that my thoughts have been occupied with Holden on some level since Hart Holcomb’s manager came back to see us after the show at the Blue Bird. I’d like to deny it, but then I wouldn’t even be honest with myself.

  When we arrive at the apartment, Beck doesn’t turn off the car and get out to walk me up as he usually does.

  “Let me know what you and Thomas decide,” he says.

  I can hear that his irritation has now melted into something much more like hurt. My guilt is instant. I reach across to cover his hand with mine. “I’m sorry, Beck, for being so difficult tonight.”

  “Hey, it is what it is.”

  “But it’s not. Exactly.”

  He leans back against the seat and pulls his hand out from under mine. “Then what is it, CeCe? No, on second thought, don’t answer that. Maybe what’s happened tonight will serve a couple different purposes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Force your hand, I guess. Look, I think we both know I’m the one who’s been pushing you along in this relationship. Maybe I didn’t want to admit that exactly, but I don’t think I can deny it any longer. So while you’re making up your mind about whether you want this gig with my dad, why don’t you figure out whether you want me or not as well? And it’s not an either or proposition. I want you and the gig. But if I can’t have both-”

  I lean over and kiss him, quick and full. I feel his resistance for several long seconds, but then he gives and pulls me to him. I blank my mind of everything except him and the fact that he has been there for me during this past year. He’s made me part of his life, introduced me to everyone he knows in this town. And he has been. . .even as I’m kissing him, I’m searching for the exact description. Then it hits me like a splash of ice cold water: a distraction.

  I sit back in my seat just as the last two words slam through me. From Holden.

  I press my hand to my lips. They tingle from the intensity of Beck’s kiss.

  For the first time in a year and a half, anger blooms inside me. The petals unfold like the pink blooms on Mama’s Rose of Sharon tree in our backyard when spring prods it from its winter hibernation. I’ve imagined many times how those blooms must resist that awakening, especially when warm weather is teasing its way into existence, and there’s no guarantee that nighttime won’t drape them with frost.

  I think maybe I’m the Rose of Sharon in this situation, refusing to open my heart fully to Beck because somewhere inside of me, I am frozen with love for Holden. And I realize then that I’m angry with myself for that. Who stays in a holding pattern for this long? Waiting for something that’s already passed? That can never come back? Never be what it might have been. I know now that as surely as I’m sitting here, that’s what I’ve been doing. Waiting.

  I don’t want to wait any longer. Everything I’ve been working for, everything Thomas has been working for, is now right in front of us. Within reach. Only a fool would turn away from it.

  “I want this, Beck,” I say, linking my fingers through his. “I want you.”

  He’s looking at me as if he’s sure I didn’t say what I just said. “What?”

  “Don’t act so surprised. You know you’re hot.” This brings a smile to his lips, and I think I may have redeemed myself, at least a little bit anyway. He leans across and kisses me again, and there’s sweetness at the edges. Beck is a cool guy, and it’s not in his playbook to show insecurity. I feel that now and the responsibility of it. An immediate desire not to take advantage of it.

  “You won’t regret it,” he says softly. “Any of it. I promise, okay?”

  “I know I won’t,” I say. “I’ll talk to Thomas and call you.” I glance at the clock. “It’s already after three. In a few hours.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, CeCe.”

  “Night, Beck.”

  And with the closing of the car door, I feel something close inside me as well. If it’s not gladness that follows the click, maybe acceptance is enough.

  ♪

  HANK JUNIOR IS asleep on the couch when I unlock the door and step inside the apartment. He raises his head and blinks sleepy hound eyes at me then thumps his tail in greeting against the sofa cushion.

  “Hey, sweet boy,” I say, going over to sit down beside him. I rub his soft head and velvety ears. “Need to go out?”


  He rests his chin on my leg and closes his eyes in answer. I try to talk myself into leaving the conversation with Thomas until morning, but the thought of sleeping with all of this on my mind is an absolute impossibility. I knock on his door and call out, “Thomas?”

  A couple of seconds pass before he answers with a groggy, “That you, CeCe?”

  “Yeah. Are you alone?”

  “Actually, no, I’m not.”

  “Oh,” I say, not doing a very good job of hiding my disappointment.

  “Everything all right?” he calls out.

  “I was hoping we could talk for a minute.”

  A pause and then, “You are aware that it’s three o’clock in the morning?”

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “And this is important?” he asks, as close to grouchy as he gets.

  “It is,” I say.

  “I’ll be out in a sec.”

  I wait for him in the hallway, and when he steps through the door, I try to peer over his shoulder. “Who is it?” I ask.

  “None of your business,” he says, turning me around and pushing me toward the living room with his hands on my shoulders.

  “If it’s a secret, she must not be very-”

  He stops me with, “CeCe, what the devil are you getting me up at this hour for? Just to give me a hard time about who’s in my bed?”

  “I’m not,” I say. “I mean, that’s not why I got you up.”

  Thomas plops down on the couch beside Hank Junior. I take the chair across from them. He’s wearing light blue boxers with banjos on them. I squint at them and say, “Nice.”

  “Do you really need me to go back and put on some britches?”

  “No. I’ll keep my eyes chest level or above.”

  “Thank you. Much appreciated,” he says. “Are you planning on telling me why you got me up in the middle of the night?”

  “Footfalls got fired as the opening act for Case’s tour. He wants us to go in their place.”

  If I had just dropped, “Elvis is alive and coming over for dinner,” I don’t think Thomas could’ve looked any more surprised.

  “Did you say-” he starts.

  “I did,” I interrupt.