I'll See You Again: A Scottish rock star, standalone opposites-attract romance (Reigning Hearts Book 4)

by K. G. Fletcher

  Grabbing the remote, she clicked on the wall-mounted flat-screen television before heading into her bedroom to change, her favorite flannel pajamas and slippers at the forefront of her mind. Tossing her clothes into the hamper, she hesitated and stood in nothing but her panties in front of the full-length mirror in her closet, turning from side to side. With a nonexistent appetite as of late, she’d lost some weight – not that she needed to. Her tall frame seemed more gangly than lithe, her hipbones accentuated through her pale skin. Sighing, she fingered Mac’s pendant hanging around her neck, the triple spiral warm in her hand. When she asked Mac again what the Celtic symbol represented, he explained the meaning behind the triskelion was diverse and varied with many possibilities. He believed the swirls signified movement or motion, denoting the energies of action, growth, and evolution. As a shy, red-headed boy growing up without an immediate family to call his own, he felt lucky to have been raised by his uncle, who took him in, bringing him up alongside James as his own. With big dreams and an even bigger talent, the young Reid vowed he would actively pursue his love of music and get to a point in his life where he felt transformed into something extraordinary. Bringing the pendant up to her mouth, Nicky placed a chaste kiss on the swirls, knowing Reid Macpherson’s life was anything but ordinary. For him to give her something that meant so much to him brought her deep comfort during his absence, the token emitting love as it settled against her heart.

  With her comfy clothes on, a full bottle of champagne popped, and a single flute in her hand, she blankly stared at the TV screen and sipped for the next few hours. It was surreal watching famous entertainers preen, perform, and proudly accept their coveted awards on Radio City Music Hall's iconic stage. Memories of visiting the well-known venue in its austere Art Deco motif came to mind. When she was a young girl, her parents took her to see The Christmas Spectacular Starring the Radio City Rockettes. It was a generous Christmas present, and one she would never forget, dazzled at a tender age by the precision dancers and spectacle. As live TV cameras panned the lavishly decorated main auditorium, she could make out the mezzanine level where she and her parents sat and enjoyed the show that Christmas season long ago. Every holiday since, she’d often thought about surprising her folks with tickets again and reliving the fond memory. Maybe she could even take Mac over the extended holiday break, if he were in town…

  Mac.

  She choked on a sip of bubbly when his handsome face infiltrated her mind. Here she was making holiday plans for them when she really didn’t know what the future held. What if she never saw him again? What if he returned to Scotland and stayed there – forever? As the “what if’s” threatened to shut her down again, she watched as a famous diva-singer carefully crossed the dimly lit stage toward the center microphone. The tall goddess was wearing a fabulous white gown embellished with thousands of shimmering crystals, the high feathered collar, jaw-dropping. One of her long, toned legs peeked out from the side of the dress as she posed like a supermodel and began to speak, her voice low and focused.

  “Ladies and gentlemen…Reid Macpherson.”

  Nicky almost dropped her champagne glass as she clumsily set it on the coffee table. Sitting ramrod straight, she inhaled deeply and clutched her hands in her lap. This was it – this was the moment she’d been waiting for, to see her beloved in real-time. The silence was almost deafening, and you could have heard a pin drop as the live audience of over five thousand sitting in the theatre stilled and seemed to hold their breath like she did.

  Mac slowly sauntered out onto the proscenium stage with purpose into the warm glow of a single spotlight, his mouth slack, and his concentration aimed at his fingers as he started to strum the acoustic guitar slung over his broad shoulder. Nicky’s eyes welled with tears, and she pressed her lips together. The handsome Scot was wearing a kilt—the red, bottle green, black, and pale blue plaid Macpherson tartan emitting loyalty and honor in front of millions of viewers. Nicky knew it was his way of proudly paying tribute to his band family – his clan. His strong hands strummed a familiar, haunting melody, and when she realized it was her song, she could barely take in air. He had somehow found a way for her to be there in that moment –with him, floating freely in the melody.

  The fade-in of recently departed individuals from the music industry on the black screen behind him was a sobering montage, accompanied by Mac’s beautiful instrumental. Several famous faces appeared, all from different ages and ethnicities, the talent represented ranging from sound engineers and arrangers to country, rap, and rock musicians. When the larger than life photos segued to the individual, deceased members of the Reid Macpherson Band, Nicky openly wept, the devastating loss all too fresh and real.

  First, Liam was smiling from behind his drum kit. When they first met at the studio rehearsal, Nicky towered over his short stature packed with rhythmic talent, the young man quick-witted and full of silly jokes. Second, was Michael, “the hipster” as Mac affectionately called him, wearing his token shades and five-o-clock shadow like a boss. His beloved bass guitar hung from his shoulder, the shot exuding charisma and confidence. Mason’s photo was next, and the photographer had captured him mid-stroke during an electric guitar solo, his face twisted in musical ecstasy. The next picture was of Brody. The rhythm guitar and sometimes banjo player had his hand up, and his mega-watt smile was pure and energetic as the photographer caught him waving to a fan in the audience. Nicky recalled Brody asking her to repeat specific phrases over and over, charmed by her American accent. An image of Cole filled the screen, the only one in the band who had a kid, his young daughter a mere toddler back at his Scottish home. His expression from behind the keyboard held determined focus, his unruly hair hanging over one eye. Nicky wondered if the child knew her father was no longer on Earth, the very thought excruciating to her soul. But it was the last image of James that had Nicky wholly shattered. It was a photo from his wedding day, the joyful smile on his handsome face beaming as Shannon rested her veiled head upon his shoulder. James, who had welcomed her, and Mac for that matter, into his family with open arms. When Mac admitted it was James who encouraged him to stay behind and take a chance on love, Nicky was eternally grateful.

  Swiping her wet cheeks, her hiccup sobs continued, full of sorrow. Each member of the band was captured in their individual spirit, their memories never to be forgotten. Standing, she crossed the room to be closer to the television and looked up in awe at her Scottish love as he finished the song with his eyes pressed shut. The glimmer from the spotlight seemed to highlight his wet face, his grief evident for the entire world to see as his tears freely flowed. Nicky raised her hand to the screen and lightly ran her fingertips across his televised image, wishing she could crawl through the airwaves and hold him in her arms.

  When the last photo faded to black, Mac let the final note of his guitar reverberate through the massive space and bowed his head. The entire audience was on their feet in a heartfelt ovation, the cameras panning the room and capturing crying entertainers overcome with emotion. It was a defining moment in entertainment history.

  As the show went to a commercial break, Nicky inhaled large mouthfuls of air to control her emotional state, swiping the lingering tears from her face with her sleeve. Her phone lit up on the coffee table with instant messages from her mother, Amber, and Fiona.

  “Incredible. You should be very proud,” Marjorie texted.

  “OMG! Blown away! SUPERSTAR!” Fiona ended with three sobbing emoji faces.

  A slight cry escaped Nicky’s mouth when she read Amber’s. “He played your song! What a beautiful, fitting tribute. Are you okay?”

  Nicky nodded, quickly texting back a reply. “Yes. Thx for checking on me.”

  Placing her phone screen-side down, she picked up her champagne flute and took a lingering sip. Up soon was the coveted Best New Artist award, the one Mac’s band was nominated for. The minutes ticked slowly by as she watched yet another performance by an award-winning group who’d won earlier in
the evening for Best Country Album, the upbeat crooner way too energetic for the current mood in the theater. When the song ended, and the presenters finally ticked off the list of nominees in Mac’s award category, Nicky palmed her hands in a praying position at her lips.

  “And the award for Best New Artist goes to…,” The sound of the giant envelope ripping could be heard from the tuxedo-clad man, his face erupting into a huge smile as he read the winner from the card.

  “Reid Macpherson.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Standing in the backstage shadows near his manager, Ben Hightower, Mac could feel the thunderbolt of shock roll through him when his name was announced over the speakers. Caught in Ben’s fierce hug, the stunned Scot tried to keep his composure, his legs warbling from under his pleated kilt. A sea of people in the wings of the staging area seemed to lift him up and carry him through to the shimmering stage where a pair of presenters eagerly awaited him, ready to hand off the heavy statue.

  “They’re here, with you, Mac – looking down with pride. You did it! You really did it!” Ben was overcome with emotion, his eyes welled with tears as he kept patting Mac on the back, ushering him forward.

  The roar of the crowd was intense, Mac taken aback by the decibel level. The audience was on their feet, the dressed-up, eclectic crowd clapping and shouting his name over and over. He could barely hear the presenter congratulate him as he handed off the coveted award he and James often fantasized about, its significance weightier than they’d ever dreamed. The award escorts extended their hands toward the microphone, a clear invitation for him to speak his heart. When the stage cleared, he stood alone in the spotlight, wincing and blinking in the brightness. The crowd wouldn’t shut up, and he shifted his feet back and forth, trying to take it all in, yet feeling vulnerable and exposed for the entire world to see. His heart thundered in his chest as the audience remained on their feet, not a single person sitting down. When a calming hush rippled across the theater, the wave seemed to blanket him as well. The love in the room was palpable, and Ben was correct – he could feel his entire band right there with him, their spirit egging him on.

  Clearing his throat, Mac lifted his chin into the air and clenched his teeth, nodding at the statue in his hands. “I should like to thank all of ye, from the bottom of my heart.” Scanning the faceless sea in front of him, all he could make out were shadowy figures shifting with the current of his emotions. Taking in a deep breath, he stood a little taller.

  “These last few nights have been very dark. I have…experienced love and rage in the same breath. But I have never in my life felt this much support from my peers, from people I admire, and from complete strangers. This award means the world to me, and my band – my brothers – my clan.”

  Mac could feel his throat thicken with emotion and paused.

  “We cannot know for certain how long we have here on Earth. We cannot foresee the trials or calamities that will test us along the way. What we can do is live our lives as best we can with purpose, and with love, and with joy. We can use each day we are gifted to show those who are closest to us how much we care about them, and we must treat others with the kindness and respect that we wish for ourselves.” A wave of applause surged and settled through the multitude, lapping at the edge of the stage in a soul-cleansing tide.

  “Tonight is not about me, or the producers, or the record label,” he paused to take a swift intake of air. “…, or the incredible woman I love, or even the fans…tonight, is about… remembering.”

  His voice caught in his throat as he vocally attempted to pay tribute to each of his bandmates. “Please, never forget Mason, and Liam, Michael, and Brody, Cole, and my beloved cousin, James.” Lifting the statue up into the air, he shifted his focus toward the heavens and pumped his clutched fist holding the award. “Love lives on in the music…and in my heart.” Placing his free hand across his chest, he could barely utter his last broken words of appreciation. “Thank ye.”

  The stage went black, and the show went to a commercial break as Mac was quickly escorted into the wings, a throng of people surging closely to congratulate him. Several entertainment television correspondents were camped out in the massive green room and in several vacant dressing rooms designated for post-win interviews. They were anxious to get him on their show, commenting on camera about his win – and his loss. But Mac’s manager, Ben, quickly shuffled him through an “employees only” section backstage off-limits to the disappointed newscasters.

  The orchestra sounds and applause became muffled in the underground hallway, the musty scent and ancient tiled flooring stuck in a time warp of sorts. When Ben made it to the end of the hall, he forced an “exit only” door open with a hard shove, the access opening into a dank alley behind the theater. A black SUV was idling, the driver quickly emerging and opening the passenger door for Mac. Ben entered the other side, and when they were safely seat belted in the interior, the car sped off toward the airport.

  Fingering the coveted award in his lap, the cityscape lights whizzed by in a sort of strobe light effect, the vibrant colors streaking his vision. His mind was a blur of disjointed snapshots of the evening, his emotional state numbed by the recent events.

  Ben offered him a bottle of water and a small prescription container that held the medication he took before he flew on a plane. Mac took the water but waved off the meds.

  “Are you sure?” Ben asked as if puzzled by Mac’s rejection.

  “Aye,” he mumbled, twisting the cap off the water bottle and taking a hefty swig. He wanted to fly completely sober and uninhibited by medication. Never again would he complain about this mode of transportation, even though his worst fears were substantiated by the loss of his band family in the terrible airline accident. He wanted to feel every tremor, every paralyzing jolt of terror and anguish as he flew across the ocean to his homeland. If he could get through this flight and master his trepidation with a clear head, he could perhaps handle burying his brothers in the old kirkyard of the vacant Aberdeen church he and his cousin James, grew up singing in. Images of the eerie carved-stone Angels of Death, Celtic crosses, and other ghoulish figures adorning many of the ancient tombstones came to mind. As a child, they fascinated him – as a grieving adult, they were a haunting memory.

  “You’ll have a private waiting room near the tarmac where the jet is waiting. You can change in there. I’ve got your carryon in the back with everything you requested.”

  When Mac found out the owner of Mainstream Records, Donald Lamont covered the entire expense for a private jet to take him home, he was humbled. He assured the man he could fly commercial like he always had, but Don wouldn’t have it, especially after he agreed to perform at the awards show.

  “Let me do this for you, please,” he had urged. “The paparazzi will be all over you at the main terminal. Travel in peace and comfort. We want to get you home – so you can be there for your boys…”

  Leaning on the door rest of the car, Mac fingered his lips contemplatively while blankly staring out the window at the hard lines of the city. In around eight hours, his vision would be transfixed by his beautiful country bursting with green spaces, lush forests, towering mountains, and vast lochs, the contrast from New York, poles apart. Turning toward Ben, he handed him the statue. “Can ye take care of this?” he asked.

  Ben’s eyes creased in a small smile. “Of course.” The man was gentle with the award, peering at the inscription among the flashes of light coming in through the windows. “They would have been proud, you know. Probably celebrating into the wee hours of the morning, wouldn’t you say?”

  Mac knew Ben was trying his best to be there for him, but he wasn’t in the mood for hypothetical assumptions about what his bandmates would or would not have done after such an incredible win. In fact, his thoughts angered him. Yes, he should have been celebrating with them into the wee hours of the morning, raising glass after glass of libations cheering one another on, cavalier about their extraordinary path to
stardom and the start of their first world tour. And Nicky should have been with him too, experiencing the joys of his success, basking in the spotlight on his arm dressed to kill in her designer dress, their first red carpet event together. But it wasn’t meant to be. He was alone again, the very thought of starting his career over completely annihilating his fragile system.

  “May I have my phone?” he mumbled, holding his hand out to Ben.

  “Absolutely.” The Englishman reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out Mac’s phone, handing it off.

  Pressing the home button, the phone lit up Mac’s face in the dark interior as he peered at the screen. There were several text messages from his uncle, Shannon, and Don. But the one text he needed the most beckoned him like a beautiful mirage to a parched desert traveler.

  Nicky.

  Dragging his thumb over her name, the simple text popped to life.

  I love you. I’m here for you – no matter what.

  His chest rose in a deep inhale of air. He was counting on it.

  ***

  Nicky waited a full two weeks before she showed her face in Cold Creek again. The news crews and paparazzi had cleared out by this time and were on to the next story with a gleam in their eye, intent on kicking people down with their barrage of inappropriate dirty laundry questioning. It was time for her to move on too – to get out and enjoy the small town she loved so much. It was also time for her to stop pining for a certain Scotsman, his lack of communication leaving her completely undone.

  During the week of the funerals, Nicky saw several news clips showing a stoic Reid Macpherson among the crowds paying their last respects. She had yet to witness him do an actual interview, glad he kept the media at bay, requesting privacy during this “painful time.” If only she could talk to him and hear for herself through the tone of his brogue if he really was okay. Rubbing his pendant between her fingers, she recalled some of his last words, promising he would do everything in his power to come back to her. She understood it might take some time before she would see him in person again, but to not speak or communicate at all was heartbreaking.