Chapter Fourteen
“Eloise! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!”
Warren looked whiter than a bleached seashell as his hands hovered near me but never actually made contact, seemingly afraid his touch might injure me further.
I put my fingertips to my nose as a warm gush tricked out of my left nostril. Mentally, I knew it was barely more than a drop I was looking at, but I’d never been good at seeing my own blood. I felt a tremor in my knees, and I staggered forward, reaching for a nearby stool to steady myself.
“I’m bleeding!” Taking in huffs of air in rapid succession, I said in disbelief, “I have a bloody nose! I’ve never had a bloody nose!”
“I’m sorry!” Warren repeated desperately. With his eyes focused on my oozing nose, he ripped his shirt off over his head and offered it to me. “Here.”
I did a double take at his carved abs and admirable pectorals exposed for the whole world to see. Still too concerned with my injury to notice me gawking, he pressed his shirt gently to my nose to sop up the blood. I’d fight Mike Tyson head on if it meant I was rewarded with a bare-chested Warren. My panic ebbed at the thought, and involuntarily, my tongue slipped out and moistened my lips, which Warren noticed. He fought a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched, and eventually, he gave in and broke out in an ear-to-ear grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, though he mercifully didn’t say anything.
Assessing the damage to his outfit, I pulled his shirt away only to discover it was already ruined with a smear of blood. “Your shirt! What are you going to wear on stage?”
“Think I could garner a few more fans if I went out like this?”
I faltered, trying to come up with reasons that would be a bad idea when Warren laughed playfully. “I’m just teasing, Eloise.”
“Then what are you going to do? You can’t go out with this shirt. It’ll look like you got into a fistfight backstage.”
Warren blew off my concern with a casual shrug. “Harrison will have something up his sleeve. Your dress is what I’d want to save. It’s far too pretty to have to find something else so last minute.”
Warren put his hand over mine and pressed the shirt back to my nose to wipe up the rest of the blood. The bleeding was almost already done, and other than a little tenderness, I was relatively unscathed.
“What happened here?” Mandy asked, utterly confused at the sight of blood and a shirtless Warren. For a brief second, her eyes ran over Warren’s exposed back, and I chuckled to myself—turned out Mandy was as much of a hot-blooded woman as the rest of us. “Did you two get in a fight?”
Holding up the offending bottle, Warren offered, “I whacked her with a water bottle. Totally accidental.”
“No,” I countered, “I was reaching for it and ran my own face into his hand. It’s not his fault.”
Mandy folded her arms. “That’s about the only thing you two seem to be able to agree on these days, and I guess, technically, you’re still disagreeing.”
“That’s not the only thing…” I said weakly.
Ignoring my pathetic attempt to sound more agreeable than I know I’d been with Warren—especially all afternoon when so much weighed on my mind making me more aggravated than I might have been otherwise. It was all fueled by the sticky, overbearing heat I couldn’t seem to escape.
“Are you going to be able to go out on stage? Becky’s already halfway through, and if we need to send out the backup dancers to do some sort of intermission, now’s the time to make that decision.”
Removing Warren’s shirt from my face, I sniffed delicately and wriggled my nose, wincing slightly as I moved it.
“It’s a little tender but I can work through it.”
“Good. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Mandy said, making a travel-sized package of baby wipes appear seemingly out of thin air.
Taking the wipe, I tipped my head toward Warren. “You should probably find a new shirt for him. He can’t go on stage half-naked.”
“I don’t think the women in the audience will complain,” Mandy said without the slightest hint she was joking.
“I was just telling Eloise the same thing,” Warren said.
“I’ll deal with Warren after you’re on stage. Here,” Mandy said, handing over an ice pack. “Put this on your nose. You have about three minutes to numb it until it’s your turn to go on. And take these pain meds. They won’t kick in for a while but you’ll thank me when they do.”
I was obedient and swallowed the pills with the water Warren carefully handed over and kept the ice on as long as possible, relieved that the throbbing pain was subsiding. Grateful I was able to sing without sounding nasally, I started warming up my vocal cords by running scales, stopping once to check my face in a nearby mirror.
“You still look good,” Warren said anxiously. Mandy had left to retrieve Harrison while Warren shadowed me, as if wringing his hands and worrying would heal me any faster.
I huffed out a single-syllabled laugh. “As long as my nose doesn’t swell so much I end up looking like a proboscis monkey, I’ll live.”
“Isn’t that the monkey with the huge honker?” Warren asked, squeezing his own nose for effect. When I nodded, he tossed his head back and howled with delight. I had always appreciated that his happiness was so infectious, and I felt myself lighten.
When the stage manager came trotting over to me with his headset on over his White Sox baseball cap and his itinerary on a clipboard tucked under his arm, I knew it was time. Offering to take my ice pack from me, I placed it in Warren’s hand, my fingers brushing against his calloused palm. My brain was finally accepting he and I weren’t meant to be, but that didn’t stop a burst of adrenaline from pushing excitement through my veins.
“See you out there,” he murmured.
“Yeah.”
As Becky came off the stage, she was swarmed by a handful of backstage crew who doused her with cold water and practically forced her to chug a bottle of Gatorade to rehydrate. She gave me the slightest nod of solidarity that only performers could truly understand, and I tipped my chin at her in return.
Counting down the seconds until it was my turn to take over, the stage manager gave me the cue to walk out, and as I came into view of the audience, they renewed their thunderous applause as I raised my hand and smiled triumphantly. The sheer wall of noise hitting me from the crowd sent another surge of adrenaline through me, making me forget about everything except giving them a good show.
I performed to my fullest until I was so drenched in sweat I was sure I’d dropped ten pounds. When it was time to sit down at the piano that had popped up in the middle of the stage, I wished I had a thirty second break to mop up the perspiration, but it was a luxury that wasn’t booked into the concert schedule when the tour was planned. That meant Warren was going to have to sit skin to skin with me while I lubricated his arm with my sweat. Pretending the thought didn’t bother me, I strutted confidently toward the piano bench right as Warren came on stage to join me. He waved and smiled, pandering to the crowd the same way I had, though it obviously had a greater effect on some of the attendees. The volume of wild shrieks from appreciative women increased tenfold.
I had to hand it to Harrison for being able to come up with such a simple yet perfect outfit that Warren was also comfortable in. With a plain gray t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and wrapped tightly around his lean biceps, Warren looked like he could be hanging out on the couch, cuddling and watching a movie just as easily as he could be performing live for an enthusiastic audience. The only thing was he’d be snuggling up with Stella, not me.
My heart jumped in my chest, and I swallowed as he fastened his brown eyes on mine, producing a smile that made me feel like I wanted to fight for a relationship with him. I grinned back, lying to myself that it was all for show.
Warren sat down next to me and leaned in. Surely he could feel the slime of sweat on my skin, but it didn’t make him draw back. “Still holding in there?”
> “I take it my nose isn’t puffy and drooping?”
Warren chuckled softly and playfully nudged the end of my nose with his finger. “Still the same adorable button nose as always.”
Dropping my eyes down to the piano keys, I rested my fingers on the familiar opening chord and changed the subject back to work. “Ready to give them what they want?”
“With you sittin’ by me, I already have everything I want.”
“Warren…”
“On three?”
There wasn’t any time left to talk, so I let myself appreciate the stirring melody we were able to produce when we worked together. Music would always be something pure and beautiful between us.
When we finished, I stood to take my bow and exit off stage when Warren grabbed my hand and stood with me, raising my hand like I was the victorious champion. We bowed together, and he clapped along with the audience, that same look of longing in his eyes as he watched me go.
With my eyes glued to his, I forgot to look where I was going, and stopped abruptly when I walked directly into one of the support poles at the outskirts of the stage. Only a handful of the crowd saw and gasped. By sheer luck, everybody’s cell phones were pointed at Warren, not me. Tears flooded my eyes, and I expected blood to come gushing out in the second ever bloody nose of my life, only half an hour after I had the pleasure of experiencing my first.
Looking back, I saw a blurry vision of Warren about to dash over and rescue me. I stilled him with a silent roll of my hand, gesturing for him to continue, then giving him an enthusiastic thumbs up before slipping backstage to my waiting entourage of crew ready to pump electrolytes through me. After a satisfying guzzle, someone handed me a fresh ice pack, and I couldn’t decide whether I should stick it in my underarms to cool off or re-numb my nose. Imaging myself with a saggy, bulbous nose in the near future if I didn’t take care of it, I opted for my nose. It was a shock it hadn’t started bleeding, as hard as I’d smacked it.
“What’s that all about?” Vanessa asked, dispersing the stage crew elsewhere with a flit of what looked like a very ornate peacock feather fan.
“I should be asking you the same thing about that fan. Do you do anything not ostentatious?”
“No,” Vanessa said simply, flicking the fan under her chin to cool her face. “And stop trying to get off topic. It won’t work.”
“What topic is that?”
Vanessa dropped her arms to her side. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m afraid I really don’t.”
“Then let me spell it out for you. If you’re so uninterested in Warren, why do you keep making gaga eyes at him?”
“What? I’m not,” I stumbled.
“You’re holding an ice pack to your nose,” Vanessa said, tapping the frozen pack I was holding to my face.
“I hit my nose on a water bottle,” I answered.
Vanessa’s eyebrows dropped and she squinted. “A water bottle? I saw you run into a post before exiting the stage.”
Harrison meandered over to us, having a brief repose in the middle of the concert now that everyone including Vanessa was dressed. “Yeah, she whacked it with a water bottle first. Saw the whole thing. She was reaching for it, and Warren was trying to give it to her. It was one of those freak accidents I kind of wished I caught on camera and put on YouTube. I could’ve retired to Cabo with the number of views it would’ve gotten.”
I stuck my tongue out at Harrison for being anything but helpful as Vanessa tipped her head back, and a peal of laughter ripped out of her. “See? Smashing your face into water bottles? Practically drooling when Warren walks on stage?”
“I do not drool!” I protested.
“Every time,” Vanessa countered. “Then walking into poles because you’re too busy gawking over your shoulder at him? Sorry, Eloise, but you don’t have anyone fooled.”
Dropping my voice to a hush, I asked, “So? I can appreciate his good looks, but don’t you remember what we were talking about on the bus? It’s not gonna happen. If he’s chasing after my sister, I’ll graciously bow out so there isn’t any more heartbreak on my account. Stella’s happiness is just as important as mine, if not more so.”
In the middle of my monologue, something stole Vanessa’s attention, and she hushed me, pushing her hand over my mouth. “Shh! You hear that?”
Shoving her away, I snapped, “Hear what? Music? We’re backstage at a pop music concert, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Grabbing my hand, Vanessa towed me toward a spot the backup dancers used to scurry on and off. Shoving me in front, she demanded, “Watch.”
“Watch what?” I asked, trying to worm my way backstage where I could lick my wounded pride that apparently I wasn’t as discreet as I thought, and everyone knew I was slobbering over Warren.
On stage, Warren walked toward a single stool and sat down, hooking one foot on the bottom rung. Reaching for an acoustic guitar that’d been place within arm’s reach, he spoke into the microphone. “Hope y’all are ready for something a little different.”
“Different?” I hissed at Vanessa. “Did Mandy approve him doing anything different? ‘Cause if he didn’t, he’s going to be in a boatload of trouble.”
“Shh!” Vanessa hissed again, never removing her gaze from where Warren sat center stage.
Begrudgingly, I clamped my mouth shut and watched Warren, determined to be as miserable as possible while I was coerced into watching him break protocol.
“Any of you out there have someone who’s moved on? Who you wish would just look your way?” Warren asked, evoking a cheer of solidarity among the crowd. Nodding along with them, Warren confessed, “Me, too.”
Vanessa flipped her thick hair behind her shoulder and gave me a pointed look, and I elbowed her in her bony ribs.
Warren continued speaking into the microphone, and I hated to admit that the sadness in his voice about made my heart bleed. It wasn’t me who was choosing this rift between us—it was him. “I wrote this song last night while doing some serious thinking. Shout out to the talented Ruby Hawkins for helping me polish it on my way here, playing it over and over on the tour bus until I got it just right. You’re the first I’ve shared it with, so I hope you enjoy it, and I hope that somehow, your unresolved love is fulfilled.”
The number of cameras pointed at Warren doubled, and a reverenced hush fell over the audience as he nimbly plucked the strings of the guitar. It was a haunting, slow melody, and despite the heat, it made goosebumps raise on my arms.
Leaning close to the microphone, Warren said softly, “This one’s entitled Written in the Stars.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I think it’s time to give that bag of chips a rest,” Kiki said, startling me as I lounged in a seat at the edge of the indoor stage where we were running through the new line up. Chips flew everywhere, scattering across the floor like confetti.
“Kiki,” Ruby chided. “You really need to quit sneaking up on people. It’s freaky how stealthy you are, especially when you aren’t even trying.”
Kiki slumped in a seat next to me and reached over, taking the bag right out of my greasy fingers and handing it to Ruby. Behind her, Vanessa shook her head and Monica Best peered at me with her cool, blue eyes, curiosity oozing out of every pore. We’d crossed paths a handful of times before in person, but until this finale in L.A., we hadn’t performed together under the banner of Harper Music.
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I think I would’ve gotten sick if I ate one more of those.”
“Then why didn’t you stop?” Vanessa asked, one fist resting on her hips.
Shrugging, I admitted. “I don’t know. I guess I was kind of lost in thought.”
“Ah,” Ruby said with a nod. “A snaccident.”
“What?” Monica asked.
“A snaccident,” Ruby repeated. “You know. When you’re too focused on something else that you don’t realize how much you’ve been munching. An accidental snack overload. A snaccident. It’s wha
t my nephews call it.”
Kiki, Vanessa, and Monica all exchanged a look while I laughed at the accurate description of what’d just happened.
Shaking her head, Kiki said, “No. I’ve never done that before.”
Ruby rolled her eyes and stuck her hand into the bag of remaining potato chips and tossed some into her mouth. Speaking through her chomping, she said, “Eloise knows what I’m talking about.” Crunching a few more, she groaned happily. “Thanks for the chips, by the way. The baby appreciates it.”
“Oh, stop,” Kiki said. “You can’t keep hiding your overeating behind pregnancy.”
Ruby shot back, “The doctor said I’m eating for two now. Especially now that the nausea is finally going away.”
“You may be eating for two,” Kiki agreed, “but the baby is the size of a pea, not Winston Churchill.”
Ruby tipped her head back and laughed wholeheartedly while Vanessa and Monica sat down in the row in front of me.
“What was on your mind so much that you’d consume a week’s worth of calories without noticing?” Vanessa asked, her eyebrows rising dangerously high.
“Oh, stop. It’s not what you think,” I said, shrinking down into my seat. Actually, it was exactly what she was thinking—my mind was stuck helplessly and completely on Warren. Again.
Ever since he’d performed that soul stirring masterpiece, Written in the Stars, it was obvious that he wasn’t giving up on a relationship with me. He’d captured the poignant beauty of our relationship in music, immortalizing us for the whole world to hear and see. Then, instead of confronting him, I went into hiding, avoiding him whenever we didn’t absolutely, positively have to be within fifty feet of each other. He knew me better than I thought, and it scared me.
Leaning closer to Vanessa, Monica whispered behind her hand, “What is she thinking?”
“She’s thinking about Warren,” Vanessa declared confidently.
“Ooo, Warren?” Ruby said, taking a seat on the other side of me and rubbing her oily hands together excitedly. “I want to hear all about this. It was so romantic of him to write that song for you. He’s got a real talent, you know.”
Written in the Stars Page 15
