IT WAS ALWAYS YOU

by Erika Kelly

  Tyler Cavanaugh.

  The angry man drove right up to his fender, cut the engine, and swung out of the truck. “What the hell’re you doing here, Ellis? You know she’s not here.”

  It was hard to look his mentor in the eye, knowing what he’d done. What Tyler had seen on that recording. The look in his daughter’s eyes, as she’d raced out of the bedroom.

  Fuck. A thousand poisoned darts pierced his heart, and he couldn’t escape the pain. He leaned into his truck, grabbed the waxed paper bag off the passenger seat, and handed it to him.

  The big, muscular man scowled but opened the bakery bag anyway. When he saw his treat, he turned wide-eyed, like a kid getting a full-size candy bar on Halloween. He looked up. “Is it chocolate?”

  “You save some of that babka for me, old man,” his wife shouted from the speaker.

  “I’m not going to eat the whole thing.”

  “No,” his wife said. “But you’ll hide it.”

  “Make some coffee. I’ll get rid of Cassian, and be right in.”

  If his heart didn’t hurt so fucking badly, he might’ve smiled at that. “I’m the one who brought it to you.”

  The man took a big bite out of the loaf of sweet, braided bread, closed his eyes, and moaned. “Damn, that’s good.” Then, he put the rest back in the bag and rolled it closed. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to help me get Gigi back.”

  “No. Anything else?”

  “If you’d messed up, and Joss had left you, would you have just let her go?

  “I didn’t fuck up once I found her.” The man rarely shouted, but his face had flushed with exasperation.

  And, of course, he was right. The truth gutted him. That he’d finally won—earned—the love his life.

  And then lost her.

  Again.

  The giant, sucking mass of loss threatened to yank him under, but fuck that. He wasn’t giving up. Not ever. “I’ve loved your daughter since I was fourteen. I’m not giving up until I get her back.”

  “Well, how’s that going to work if she doesn’t want to be with you?”

  “I…” He hadn’t expected that question. “I’m going to prove to her that she can trust me.”

  “Been there, done that, fucked it up.”

  Fear clapped its steely jaws inside the cage beneath his feet. Stay strong. “I need your help.”

  Tyler shook his head. “You can’t have it.”

  “You don’t think I’m good for her?”

  “She doesn’t think you’re good for her.”

  “I am. I will be.”

  “You’ll be whatever she needs you to be, right?”

  “Yes.” Okay, good. We’re getting somewhere. “Of course.”

  Tyler pointed a finger at him like it was loaded. “And that’s why you can’t have her.”

  Cassian felt more lost than ever. Panic made his blood pound. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want you to help me.”

  “I’m not talking to you about my daughter.” He reached into the bag and tore off a chunk of bread. Sniffing it, he took one small bite. “Jesus, Mother of God.” He closed his eyes, tension gripping his features. “How can anything taste this good? How?” When he opened his eyes, he must’ve picked up on Cassian’s torment, because he turned compassionate. “Not gonna talk to you about my daughter, but I will talk to you about football.”

  “I don’t need to talk about football.”

  “Okay.” He closed up the bag and lifted it. “Thanks.” And he started back to his truck.

  Desperate, his ability to stay strong on its last thin thread, he blurted, “Coach is talking about trading me.”

  Tyler lowered his head and sighed. Slowly, he turned. “And what do you think of that?”

  “I’m pissed.” Which he hadn’t even known—because, so far, he’d just been anxious. “I’ve got the best quarterback rating in the league.”

  “Don’t bother reciting your stats to me. I know them. We all know them. You’ve got superior arm strength and pinpoint accuracy. You’ve got a sixth-sense connection with your receivers. That’s why you’re the captain of the winningest team in the league. Yup. Got it.” He tipped his head, a challenge in his eyes. “But you’re also in the news for threesomes and love triangles.”

  Shame spread through him hot and fast. It was one thing to experience that kind of exposure in the news and among his teammates. Another thing entirely hearing the sordidness from his mentor. “Nothing was how they represented it. I’ve never touched Amie.”

  “Thought we were talkin’ about football?”

  “I—” He was absolutely right. And this is what Coach has been trying to tell you. “Coach says I’m not a leader.”

  “Is he right?”

  “I’ve led my team to two Super Bowls.”

  “Again, I know your accomplishments. I’m talking about qualities they don’t track on the scoreboard. Leaders lead by example. What kind of example are you setting?”

  “I’m the first one on the field, the first one to help set up. I live clean.”

  “Okay, so then Coach is going after you for no reason?”

  “No. It’s like you said. My celebrity overshadows football.” That’s putting it nicely.

  “Cassian, you’ve been dancing a long damn time. You danced to get Griffin to like you, to get your aunt and uncle to keep you, to get your teammates to like you. Aren’t you tired of it?”

  He let that sink in. Experiences from a dozen years flipped through his mind, forcing him to admit the truth. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You want to play ball?”

  “I do.”

  “You want to be captain?”

  He didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes. I do.”

  “Then quit trying to win the guys with vacations and blow-out parties and start earning their respect. Everything you do with them needs to be about ball. You can take them on retreats—hell, you’re supposed to do that. But the focus has to be on bonding. Why do you and your receivers have that sixth sense for each other? Because you’re good friends. You trust and respect each other. Believe me, when you’re partying, there’s no bonding going on. When you’re drunk, you’re not connecting on any level.”

  “The guys love those trips. It’s the only reason they volunteer at my football camp.”

  Whatever he’d said twisted Tyler’s features in pain. “Ah, hell, son.” He set the bakery bag on the hood of Cassian’s truck and then came right up to him. He gripped his shoulders. “Cassian, listen to me. You’re enough. Your talent, your leadership, your instincts…you’re enough. I’m sorry nobody ever told you that.”

  Emotion hit like a wall of water, slamming him back. The knot in his throat felt sharp as razorblades, and he couldn’t speak.

  He was thrown back to his childhood, the little boy watching his dad—always watching. Waiting for him to notice him. Hang out with him. Talk to him.

  That fucking longing.

  And then his dad had died before he’d ever had a chance to know him. Know him as a man.

  Tyler held his gaze with searing intensity. “You were always good enough for my daughter. I’m sorry if telling you to stay away from her sounded like you weren’t. That was never my intention.”

  His chest—Jesus, it felt like a thousand pounds of defenders had piled on top of him—and he struggled to breathe.

  “You’ve had to fight for your place every step of the way, but you’ve earned your spot on the team. So, from now on, lead by example. Be about football. It doesn’t mean you’re doing drills on these retreats. It means you’re eating clean, working as a team to build a rope bridge across the Gallatin River or whatever ideas you can come up with. You don’t need to provide top-shelf scotch. You need to help your teammates become the best damn players in the league. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Good. Now, let me eat this while it’s still warm.”

  Cassian wat
ched him walk away, his lifeline to Gigi stretching so thin it was about to snap.

  I’m about to snap.

  He couldn’t take it anymore. He just fucking couldn’t live without her.

  “But what about Gigi? What does any of this have to do with getting her back?”

  “You can’t connect the dots?”

  “Not when I’m terrified I’ve lost her for good, no.”

  Tyler watched him carefully. “Son, you tell people how to treat you. You think any of my friends are going to come into my house for a party and leave used condoms on the floor?”

  Of course not. He didn’t even need to answer.

  “Require the respect you deserve—and I guarantee all this noise will go away.”

  “What if it’s too late? What if she moves on?”

  “You think there’s someone else for her?”

  “No.”

  “There you go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The red light in her studio flashed. Gigi pulled off her headphones and set her guitar down. Hurrying out of the soundproof room, she crossed her living room. Who could be here?

  Grant was in town, but he wouldn’t just show up, would he? He knew she was recording.

  An ocean breeze swept through her cottage, ruffling the gauze curtains. She loved her little house. She really did, but it had never felt this empty. She’d never felt this empty.

  Through the glass panels framing the old oak door, she saw a canary yellow delivery van double-parked on her narrow street. She opened it, and the young man handed her an envelope.

  “Thank you.” She signed for the package and closed the door. The shipping label had no return address, so she ripped it open to find two tickets for a Blue Fire show at the Staples Center, including two backstage passes.

  She wracked her brain trying to think who would do this. It couldn’t be random. Nobody would send her Blue Fire tickets out of the blue. Only someone who knew Irwin Ledger was their A&R rep. And the only people who knew that Irwin was her brass ring were her parents…and Cassian.

  Her phone chirped from the kitchen, and she hurried to answer. Grant. “Hello?”

  “Hey. You lookin’ for a plus one?”

  “Okay, what’s going on? Who sent me these tickets?”

  “We can talk about it in the limo. Right now, you need to jump in the shower. I should be there in about an hour.”

  “It’s tonight?” She held up the ticket. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I can’t go to a concert tonight. I’ve been in the studio for four days. I haven’t even washed my hair.”

  “Okay, well, how ‘bout I swing by and take those tickets off your hands?”

  She heard the amusement in his voice, but she wasn’t smiling. “Did Cassian do this? Is that what’s going on? Because he’s crazy if he thinks I’m just going to hand my demo over to Irwin in the green room.”

  “You don’t have to do anything but show up and enjoy the concert. Though, you might want to bring your Fender.”

  The line went dead.

  Why would I bring my guitar to Blue Fire’s concert?

  What in the hell had Cassian arranged?

  * * *

  The audience screamed so loudly Gigi’s ears hurt. Blue Fire, fronted by the hottest lead singer she’d ever seen, had just finished one of their older hits, “Get it, Boy,” and the crowd went wild.

  Grant tapped her on the shoulder and jerked his head. Come on.

  “What are we doing?” she shouted, but of course he couldn’t hear her.

  He led the way through the mass of sweaty, shrieking bodies, and for the first time in five years she went unrecognized. Returning to her original brunette had done wonders for her anonymity.

  “Thank you, LA,” Slater said. “You’re the best. Tonight—”

  A collective “Ahh” sounded throughout the stadium. She glanced to the stage to see three kids—ages two, four, and six—come barreling toward him.

  Cracking up, Slater dropped to a crouch, and all three climbed on him. He still held the microphone, so everyone heard the kids fighting.

  “Mommy said it’s my turn.”

  “No, she didn’t. It’s my turn.”

  “Daddy, I get to sleep on the bus tonight, right?”

  And then the littlest one looked up at Slater and giggled. “Da da.”

  “Okay, tell you what.” Slater stood with three kids clinging to him as if he were a jungle gym. “I gotta broker a deal with my kids here, but you need some tunes, right? Let me see what I can do about that.” He turned to the side of the stage, where Gigi and Grant had just appeared. “Ah. Here we go. Just in the nick of time. Guys, you’re in for a real treat. We’ve got Grant Banner and Gigi Cavanaugh here, and they’re gonna rock your world.”

  Gigi reached the stage, just as a roadie handed her the Fender.

  Oh, my God, I can’t believe this is happening.

  She threw the strap over her head and settled on a stool. As she strummed, she reached for the mic, ready to introduce herself.

  This is insane.

  A couple of hours ago I was in my pajama pants, and now I’m performing in front of twenty thousand people.

  When the first boo hit her ears, she froze. A few people clapped, but more boos followed. Soon, the stadium was filled with chaos.

  “Aw, give a girl a chance.” She said it with a smile, but she wanted to melt into a puddle and dribble down a drain. Lollipop shows were huge performances, complete with a full set of dancers and crazy pyrotechnics. On every tour in every city, the audience went wild for her.

  Blue Fire’s alternative rock fans weren’t having it.

  And she didn’t blame them.

  But I’m not playing Lollipop songs. I’m playing my song.

  This is my chance to show the world what I’ve got, and I’m taking it.

  Grant gave her a confident smile, as he set the mic in the stand. “Is that any way to welcome a Texas boy?” His voice settled the crowd down. “Gigi wrote the song. I’m just here to be her eye candy. Come on and give us a chance to knock your socks off.” He mouthed, A one, a two, a one two three four.

  And then they began strumming. Gigi blocked out the boos, closed her eyes to the haters, and filled the screen of her mind with her inspiration for this song. Cassian.

  She loved him with all her heart and missed him in a way she knew would never go away. She poured that love, that loss, the constant ache of wanting someone she couldn’t have, into the song.

  Grant leaned in and harmonized with her, and she knew in her bones they had a hit. It didn’t happen all that often, but sometimes all the elements lined up.

  Sometimes, you make magic.

  With the last line, she grinned at him. Because, whether this crowd liked it or not, they’d knocked it out of the park.

  She leaned back and gazed out over the audience. With the blaring lights, it was impossible to make out faces. Is Cassian out there? But, no, Grant had told her he’d started training camp.

  And then someone clapped. A few more people joined in. And before she knew it, the stadium lit up with applause.

  Gigi laughed. Looked like Blue Fire’s massive audience liked her music.

  * * *

  Gigi’s demo burned a hole in her purse.

  The green room was crowded with reporters and friends of the band. She got a little thrill seeing some of the musicians she’d admired over the years—Lilly Raven was in the corner, chumming it up with Dash. Jimmy Blue had just tossed his head back in laughter.

  And she, the former Lollipop, was still buzzing from her well-received performance in front of a sold-out audience at the Staples Center.

  Because of Cassian.

  The loss got a grip on her so fierce, she didn’t think she could stand it. What was she going to do about him? Could she really live half a life?

  “You just gonna stand here?” Grant gestured across the room with a water bottle. “That man over there? He’d love to hear the demo you’ve got in
your hot little hands.”

  Irwin Ledger, tall and lean, with a mess of salt-and-pepper hair, was in deep conversation with Emmie Valencia Vaughn, Blue Fire’s manager. His brow creased as he listened to the naturally beautiful woman who didn’t look like she fit in with all these hard-partying rockers.

  Her pulse quickened. “I can’t interrupt them.”

  “Pretty sure he talks to Slater Vaughn’s wife every day. Don’t think she’d mind if you introduced yourself.”

  Reaching into her purse, she slid her hand into the side pocket and pulled out the USB stick. “I’ll let them finish talking.”

  Oh, right. Good strategy. Wait until Irwin leaves. His elusiveness was a big joke in the industry. It was almost impossible to see him, let alone get time with him.

  “Cassian opened the door for you. Walk on in, girl.”

  “You’re a good friend, Grant, you know that?”

  He nudged her. “Go on.”

  Why was she hesitating? She knew she had good material. And Irwin had seen the response she’d gotten tonight.

  But, even though she’d dyed her hair, she was still a Lollipop in everyone’s eyes. Her reputation had been tarnished. Irwin only worked with the finest artists in the world.

  And he didn’t work with troublemakers, no matter how talented. He was notorious for dropping bands who messed with drugs or didn’t take the work seriously enough.

  I’m talented, I don’t do drugs, and I take my work seriously.

  Sounds like a damn good fit.

  Anticipation churned in her stomach.

  Okay, what’s the worst that can happen? He calls you out for being a vapid pop singer? A puppet for Clean Beatz?

  Energy rolled in. And if he did, she’d tell him to listen to her songs. Because she was so much more than Dale had ever let her be.

  And not signing her was Dale’s loss.

  She set off across the room, eyes on her target. He was such an intimidating man—so closed off and guarded. He’d reached a level in this industry where he could do anything. No one questioned or challenged him. They just let him do his thing—because every band he worked with went platinum many times over.