by Virna DePaul
Here, the colors are vibrant. Wildflowers, including some my mom and I had planted years before, grow like crazy, and there’s a riot of color along the creek. The water’s a light green-blue, flowing over rocks and sand, reflecting the puffy clouds overhead. Birds chirp in the tree canopy, and crickets hum and whir in the tall grasses. I breathe in and the scent makes me feel full.
I sit on the bench my dad built at the wide spot in the creek where I used to swim. Something nudges my mind, and I pull out my smart phone and open up the Notes app.
And suddenly I’m writing. It’s like being here has opened up my thoughts and given my inspiration room to soar. I have nothing particular in mind, no song I want to create. The words flow from me, cathartic and necessary. About an hour after I started to write, my phone dies, so I run up to the van and grab a purple notepad and a couple of pens and head back to the creek to write even more. My emotions run the gauntlet—I laugh, I shed tears, I throw rocks into the creek. I curse Declan, and Carter, and myself. I write until my hand cramps. The faster I write, the more I want to write. The words, the thoughts, the emotions are pouring out in enough waves that it could fill this entire nation.
I end up staying the entire day, until evening sets in. And when the sun starts to set, the sky now a dusky rose, my mind finally begins to slow. Good—because apparently I’ve used all but two pages in the notebook. The rest of the pages are covered in lyrics and sheet music.
It hits me suddenly and powerfully: Declan was right.
I had been running away. For five years I’d thought I was running away from Carter McCall—and at first, I was. I’d needed to get away from being controlled by the man to find my own strength, and the only way I knew to do that was to disappear. Take off. Go into hiding. I’d done what I needed to do to survive at the time.
But somewhere along the line I’d found myself again. I’d found my own strength, my own backbone. And yet I still ran. I wasn’t running to protect myself anymore—I was running because, as Declan said, it was easier to run than face my fears.
I’d built up so many protective walls that I couldn’t see I was punishing myself by denying what I love to do. What’s in my blood and makes me feel alive. Giving up music for the past five years has felt like giving up one of my limbs. I tried to replace it with painting, with all kinds of things. It didn’t work.
Being back here, where it all began, surrounded by everything that had originally inspired me, I know now that music is who I am, and without it, I’m just a shell of a person.
I don’t have to be in the business to make music. I could write songs and perform them for myself in my apartment, where they would never see the light of day. Or I could write for another performer. Artists did that all the time.
But creating music is only part of who I am. Performing music is another part, the two inextricably linked. I think back to that night at the auditorium in that tiny coastal town. It’s not just the music for me. It’s the audience, too. That crowd in front of me, their hands outstretched, their faces shining with sweat. Up on stage, I never feel as if it’s just me singing. It’s all of us. Me, the band, the crowd. We’re all there, swept up in this experience that I can’t get enough of. When I perform, the audience and I become one.
I’d forgotten how performing lit me up inside. God, I loved it.
Declan’s voice murmurs in my mind again, and unlike last night, this time I stop and listen. “…that thing that frightens you is showing the world who you really are, without the carefully cultivated image—a bubble, really—that Carter put around you. If you came back to music now, you’d come back as you. And that’s got to be scary as shit.”
I double over. Oh god, Declan was right. Fear made me forget how much I loved making music, how much I’d loved performing. I’m so afraid of making myself vulnerable. So afraid of being me—the real me—on stage, in the media. Because being the real Kara Hester means having to face critics beating up on the real me. When I was Carter’s Kara Hester, the critics were assessing a façade. Being truly me meant being vulnerable on a huge, gigantic scale. And that was scary as shit.
Declan was wrong to lie to me. That much is true, and it’s hard to accept that he did it. Trust is needed to build every relationship, and I wish ours hadn’t started on a rocky foundation that consisted of only half-truths and cover-up lies. A person’s heart is a precious thing, and I want him to be worthy enough to have mine.
In everything else he ever did with and for me, he was worthy, though.
And even though he lied, he said he stayed for Kara. Not Kara Hester. That he couldn’t lose me.
For the first time since we last talked, I push aside my hurt and pride and let myself really consider it. That Declan wasn’t trying to manipulate me into signing with his agency. That he simply wanted more time with me. And that he fell in love.
In my heart, I believe what he’d confessed is true. And as my heart thuds heavily in my chest, I know I love him, too.
He wasn’t the only one pretending to be someone else. I could have, at any point, told him who I really was. He wasn’t the only one lying by omission.
And I’d given him an even worse lie: I’d told him I didn’t love him.
Slowly, I make my way through the field and back to the van. The sun has slipped away and it’s now dark. Instead of getting back on the road, I scarf down a granola bar, pull my bedding out of the back, and lay down in the field to sleep, just like I used to do as a kid. I look out at the stars in the night sky, wishing they could tell me what I should do. Where I should go.
There is one thing I am certain of, though: I’m in love with Declan.
Yes, loving someone comes with risks, yet everything we did together during our road trip had been a risk, and each risk kept paying off in new and unexpected ways. Each risk made me feel alive and happy and joyful. Each risk brought me closer to my realest, best self.
Maybe it’s time to take the biggest risk of all.
DECLAN
For the last couple of days, I’ve shown up at work early, sharp and eager, but somehow I’m different now. I’m no longer stressing out over phone calls, no longer putting in the long hours. The beach vacation my brothers had sent me on wasn’t what changed me—it was my time with Kara. The way she’d so openly and excitedly thrown herself into new adventures, the way she’d embraced the little things life offered, has rubbed off. Work is work. My career is special and I’ll always do right by my clients, but my life is special, too.
For the first time since my mother died, I feel as though I can slow down a little. And in slowing down, the extra time allows the memories of my mom to float to the surface. At first it’s painful to remember, but any time the pain gets a little rough, I put on Kara’s first album and peace fills my soul.
I finish my last call for the day and am printing out a contract for a new act when my assistant, Sheri, pokes her head into my office. “Declan, there’s someone to see you.”
I look at the time. “Now? I don’t have any meetings scheduled.”
“I know. But this girl, she’s insistent.”
I stand and shove my cell in my jacket pocket. “Tell her to make an appointment. I think there are a few openings next week.”
I’m about to duck out the back door that leads to the elevators when Sheri leans toward me like she’s imparting state secrets. “It’s Kara Hester. The Kara Hester!”
I grow still, my hand frozen on the doorknob. Kara’s here. But why? I’m still frozen in place when Kara walks in. Her guitar hangs over her shoulder, and her expression is filled with both excitement and worry.
Sheri gives me a look, but I tell her she can leave and shut the door.
Now it’s just the two of us.
I want to kiss Kara so badly I ache. But I force myself to steer clear of her, and instead walk to one of the loveseats. I motion to the facing loveseat, and she sits, shifting her guitar onto her lap, her fingers light on the strings.
“What
are you doing here?” I ask after sitting down. My voice is gruff.
Kara winces. “I wanted… I wanted to play for you.” She strums her guitar for a moment. “Is that all right?”
I’m confused, and I wonder if I’m dreaming. I sit back and nod, totally off balance.
She plays a song I’ve never heard before, a song that I quickly realize is about us. A song that chronicles our road trip together, how she fell for a guy she thought she knew. My heart clenches. Is she playing this as some kind of revenge? To get back at me?
But as the song continues, it changes. It turns into a song about how she thought she was angry at me, but she really was only angry at herself. She was afraid of being the person she knew she could be. Who she yearned to be. When the last note rings out, the last line proclaiming that she had given her heart to me.
I’m speechless.
When it ends, tears sparkle in her eyes. She inhales deeply and blinks back tears. “I ended up going home. Back to Nashville. It gave me a lot to think about, being back where I grew up, back where I found my voice, my music.” The brimming tears release, forming soft streaks down her cheeks.
I get up and go to her. “Kara...”
“No, wait.” She’s crying harder now. “When I was there, I realized you were right. I was running away—not from my past but from my future. I was right to run, at first. I did what I had to do to get away from Carter. But later?” She makes a small motion with her hands before continuing. “You were right about being vulnerable, playing my music for people again. Showing them how I really felt. It’s scary. More than scary. It’s terrifying knowing you may be judged for you, and not for an image.” She takes a deep breath. “But I’m here today because I want to make music again. I need to make music again. I want to stop hiding. Because I love you, Declan. You showed me that living life isn’t about hiding from our weaknesses, but facing them.”
I want to laugh, but I want to cry, too. She’s finally here, saying all that I needed to hear. Because I have no words, I cup her face in my hands. Her guitar is between us, though, and she laughs a little and pulls away to take it off.
“Say it again,” I whisper when I wrap my arms around her.
Her smile could part the clouds on a rainy day. “I love you.”
“Thank God, because I love you, too.”
Then I kiss her.
It’s not frantic, like I thought it would be. It’s slow, soft, and the kiss does something to me that turns me inside out. I kiss her until nothing else matters. I kiss her and hope she realizes that I would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked me to.
When we pull away, she looks deep into my eyes. “There’s more, Declan. I want to sign with you. I want to get back into the music business and I want you to be my agent.”
I jerk in surprise before taking a breath, then saying gently, “I can’t sign you, Kara.”
Her eyes round and she automatically starts to pull away. I bring her back and kiss her lightly. Then I explain. “I love you. I want you in my life, but not as my client. Never as my client. I don’t ever want you to harbor any doubt that that’s what I’ve wanted from you. So long as you return to music and feed your soul, that’s what matters. But don’t get me wrong. I will do everything, everything in my power to help you do that, even if that means finding you an agent that’s even better than me. Though that might be a hard road.” I wink at her.
She gapes at me. Silence fills the office, and suddenly her mouth is back on mine, her arms around my body, and all thoughts vanish as I kiss her once more. Knowing that she’s mine and she loves me as much as I love her only adds another dimension to our kiss. It’s like a vow of some sort, and it makes my heart pound. I kiss her until she has to hang onto me, until she moans and makes that sound in the back of her throat that I love.
I want to do more than just kiss her right now, but I have just enough self-control to stop.
You saved me,” she says when we finally pull apart. “You showed me that I can’t give up on music just because of what happened when I was younger.”
I hold her close. Nuzzling her hair, I murmur, “I’m so glad. So what’s next on your agenda? Where’s the van?”
She grins. “Believe it or not, in a parking lot in the Nashville airport. Once I knew what I had to do, I wasn’t about to waste any time getting to you. So I flew. First time in five years.”
“Lucky me.”
Kara waggles her eyebrows. “Not as lucky as you’ll be in a few minutes. Take me to your home, Declan. And then take me to bed. I want to have sex with you in your place. In your bedroom, like a normal person. Not in the backseat of my Volkswagen, or out in the open, or in some random hotel.”
I grin, grab her hand and lead her out of my office.
Toward my home.
Our home.
Because my home is wherever Kara is.
Epilogue
KARA
It’s been a year since I showed up in Declan’s office, risking everything to tell him I love him. Now I’m finishing up on my first album in six years. I’m nervous and excited, as I have no idea how my fans—and the public in general—will react to these new songs. They still sound like Kara Hester, but an older, wiser one. A Kara Hester who understands the roots of country western music in a way she never had before, because of her journey around the United States. A Kara Hester who’s lived life and realized what she wants out of it. A Kara Hester in love.
“Great, that was perfect,” Declan says as I finish singing the next to last bar of this song. He’s in the recording booth, separated from me by a thick wall of glass, and is speaking into the microphone. His face tells me he loves what I’ve just put out there. It’s the song I sang at the fundraiser in that tiny town off the eastern coast, where something in me had changed… something that opened the door to me being willing to take a risk with my music and my heart. Although at the time, I hadn’t been certain of either realization quite yet.
“Let’s do the chorus one last time,” Declan says. The mixer, a guy named Tom, queues up the music, and everything goes silent. I take a deep breath.
I close my eyes as I sing the chorus, the melody calming me and yet invigorating me at the same time. When I reach the high note, I open my eyes and keep my gaze on Declan. I’m singing this song to him, for him.
His eyes gleam as I sing. I smile, my voice soaring. I get goosebumps. If the public doesn’t like this album, I don’t know if I’ll really care, because I love it, and so does Declan.
“Okay, that’s a wrap. Awesome job, everybody.” Declan slaps Tom on the shoulder, and I exit the sound booth.
“That was amazing,” Declan says after Tom goes on his break and I pop out of the recording booth. Now it’s just the two of us. I’m about to go sit on his lap, when he says, “Kara, I want you to close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes. I want to show you something.”
I immediately close my eyes, and something light lands on my palms.
“Okay,” he says, “open them.”
I open my eyes. and he’s placed a huge square poster in my hands. It’s of a beautiful painted goddess-looking woman… Wait a minute. My eyes go wide.
“This is me,” I breathe. “That night between us, on the beach. It’s me.”
“Yep.” His eyes gleam. “I never deleted the photo. I had it made into what I think should be your new album cover. Of course, it’s your choice.”
“I love it.” I’m completely blown away. It’s so beautiful.
I’m so beautiful.
Declan always makes me feel that way.
He pulls me down onto his lap, and I wrap my arms around his neck. His eyes narrow when I wiggle against him.
“You keep that up, and you’ll definitely be leaving work today walking bowlegged,” he growls, smiling.
I grin. “Is that a threat? Or a promise?” I tap my bottom lip, and I smile wider when I feel his erection grow. “Huh, that a gun in y
our pocket, Officer, or are you just happy to see me?”
He jostles me. “If Tom weren’t just outside that door...”
I touch my nose to his. “Too bad, right?”
He growls a warning, communicating he’ll get me back when we go home. I can’t wait. Being with Declan is everything I could’ve asked for and more. It’s like every day I discover something new and amazing about him.
Declan kisses me, and I hum contentedly. I run my fingers through his hair, and he’s about to cup my breast in his hand when we hear a noise.
I giggle. “So much for that.”
He sighs. “I wanted to talk to you about something, anyway.”
I wait expectantly.
“I heard from Carter McCall today. He wants to talk to you. I told him absolutely not. But I didn't want to hide his call from you.”
At first, I stiffen. I feel cold all over. But then I slowly relax. I'm not the young girl I used to be when Carter was my agent. I'm stronger. Even stronger with Declan by my side.
“Why do you think he wants to talk to me?"
Declan rubs my back. “He told me he wants to make amends. He said when he read your interview last month, it made him realize how over the top he'd been with you. He's trying to be better.”
I gave an interview to Rolling Stone recently, detailing extensively my experiences when I was nineteen and my plans for my upcoming album. I also mentioned that I’ve partnered with Declan Kiss, my agent, although despite the interviewer’s best efforts, I wouldn’t reveal anything else about our relationship.
It took me almost a month to convince Declan to take me on as a client. To convince him that I’d never be as comfortable with anyone else helping me with my career as I would him. Not a day goes by that I regret my decision.
I go quiet, considering, before finally saying, "I heard you and Owen talking one day. About how he and that other agent partnered together and he’s doing right by Heart Demons."
