by Hanna Hart
The room stayed quiet, and it was the kind of silence that played with the tension like a puppeteer.
“Has she heard it?” Miranda asked with a sad, hopeful tone.
“Rachel?”
She raised a brow. “Who else?”
Phoenix sat on the edge of the bed and offered her nothing more than a one-shouldered shrug. “Bits and pieces from older songs, but none of the new ones.”
“Why don’t you send it to her? It’s obvious you want to please her with this record. You want to impress her, or something, though I’m not exactly sure why,” she scoffed.
Phoenix tensed and repeated, “You’re not exactly sure why?” in a way that was slow and deliberately displeased.
“She left you for your brother. Why would you even want her back?”
“She didn’t leave,” he said firmly. “I lost her.”
Miranda itched above her eyebrow and then ran her hand through her hair, pulling it to one side and seeming to give it volume as she did so. “I’m having trouble deciphering the difference here.”
“There were certain steps taken that led us to where we are now,” he said. “I was distant. I was consumed. Maybe I drove her away, or maybe we were doomed as soon as we lost that baby. But Rachel,” he paused. “She...is me. I don’t know how else to describe it. She’s a part of me. Without her, I am just this half without its other half, and I don’t understand how I’m supposed to keep moving forward.”
Miranda bit her lip, and her eyes darted toward her feet, considering something.
“Phoenix?” she finally said, raising her face to him. “Do you think that you’re going to get her back? With the record, I mean?”
And just like that, Miranda figured him out.
“This record is everything I couldn’t say to her,” he said, counting on his fingers as he continued, “I’m sorry. I messed up. I’m angry.”
Miranda nodded, and suddenly there seemed to be an impassable wall between them, tearing down everything they had built together thus far. “And you think it will bring you back together?” she asked, her words slow and full of realizations.
“I think it will open her eyes,” he said.
“Isn’t she engaged?
“She was engaged to me,” he snapped. “And look how well that turned out.”
“Right.” The blonde gave a slow nod and a delicate, almost imperceptible smile as she said, “Then I hope you get the outcome you’re hoping for.”
That had always been his plan, anyway. Let Rachel hear right from his heart all of the mistakes he made—how sorry he was.
During his conception of the record, he had hoped that she would change her mind about Hunter and come home, but now he didn’t know what he wanted. He was torn between a past love and a possible future with someone new.
Chapter Twelve
Miranda
Arguing with someone you had a huge crush on was the worst feeling in the world.
To make it worse, Miranda and Phoenix didn’t even argue. They had some strange, silent standoff.
Miranda had been so sure she was right about the story Phoenix’s album was telling, and his refusal to take anyone else’s opinion into account infuriated her. Then once she realized what the song was about, Miranda felt awful.
She should have just shut up and let it go. Phoenix could be stubborn when it came to his music. That was his right—he created it. Then she realized what was really bothering her.
It was Rachel.
Miranda knew Phoenix was grieving over the loss of his child. She couldn’t imagine what that pain felt like. She also knew Phoenix was still heartbroken over Rachel, but she hadn’t considered that he wasn’t just sad over the breakup. He actively wanted Rachel back.
His confirmation that his record was a love-letter or apology to his ex-fiancée made Miranda sick to her stomach.
She’d smiled and apologized. She told him she hoped he got exactly what he was looking for out of the record. Since then, the two had acted like nothing ever happened between them.
Phoenix warned her not to get her heart involved. They talked about it—it was their agreement! He told her that the time they spent together mixed with the kissing and the exciting lifestyle, which seemed to revolve around his music and their pretend love, would be confusing for her, but she hadn’t expected everything to feel so real.
As much as she tried to convince herself that it was just a silly crush and that it would go away with time or that she and Phoenix wouldn’t make a good couple in real life, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d found the person she was meant to be with.
Just as she was beginning to doubt herself, something started to shift between them. It was slight at first. The change was practically invisible to the untrained eye, but Miranda could feel a distinct need coming from Phoenix’s direction.
He seemed to want to be around her more than usual. He was spending more time with her at the ranch, spending more time holding her hand when no one was around and talking to her endlessly about life and music and shows and tones, and she couldn’t get enough.
The two had been living at the ranch together for two months and then spent another two months between Utah and Nashville for the writing and recording of Phoenix’s record.
Now the album, Terrible Beautiful Words, was out and sales were skyrocketing.
After spending the day together at Brookside Ranch, Phoenix and Miranda drove two hours north to Salt Lake City for a charity concert that was meant to be the official kickoff launch for the album.
The concert was taking place at a sports stadium that held nearly four-thousand seats, and rumor had it, the venue sold out within two hours of Phoenix’s tickets going live.
If he was nervous, Miranda would never know. Phoenix acted completely normal throughout the day at the ranch and during their drive to Salt Lake.
When they arrived at the stadium, one of Phoenix’s public relations agents suggested he talk to some of the reporters who were waiting outside to catch a glimpse of him.
He gave a few cordial interviews. They were friendly and short, and the two posed for pictures before going in the backdoor of the auditorium.
Once inside, the pair were escorted to the underground section of the arena where more reporters were lining the cement hallway.
Phoenix took Miranda’s hand into his and hurried her along the hall, surrounded by security. She saw flashes of camera lights and heard various reporters yelling out their questions.
“Miranda! Miranda!” one called out to her, stretching a microphone in her face. “When’s the wedding?”
“What’s it like to be engaged to a country superstar?” a woman asked, trying desperately to cut through everyone else’s questions.
“Miranda!” a man shouted. “How is Phoenix doing with his drinking?”
Miranda let out an audible scoff at the question and reacted visibly. She frowned with irritation and offered the reported a scolding look.
“Just don’t make eye contact,” Phoenix whispered to her with a perfect smile. “Once they see they don’t bug you, they’ll leave you alone.”
The two of them kept walking until they reached a cordoned-off area. From this point on, there were no paparazzi allowed. Phoenix let her go first, slipping his hand down the small of her back before following after her. The reporters pushed their way up to the security line and continued pelting their questions at him, some with cameras, others with cellphones.
She thought they were in the clear, but as a male reporter called, “Phoenix, tell us about your girl!” Phoenix stopped and turned around.
He turned to the crowd and put on his best front man charm. “She’s amazing,” he said, nodding toward Miranda.
“She’s certainly beautiful,” the reporter said.
“No arguments here,” Phoenix said, then tapped the side of his temple and said, “And she’s brilliant, so I’m lucky.”
“Are you guys thinking about a long engagement?”
Phoenix shrugged. “We’ll know when the time is right.”
“Your fans are so happy you’ve taken the time to recover over the last year,” the man said. “How has your break from the industry helped? We know you were writing an album last year and then suddenly announced that you would be taking a hiatus, put your record off for a year.”
Miranda was incensed. The personal questions these people were willing to impose upon a complete stranger infuriated her. Surely this man would never ask such questions to his own family member or colleague. It was like Phoenix wasn’t even a human to them, just someone to prod for clicks and ratings.
Unlike Miranda, Phoenix didn’t miss a beat. “It was a hard year, but fans stood by me, and I think they’re going to see that this record was worth waiting for,” he said with what sounded like genuine gratitude.
“You bet they will!” the reporter replied emphatically. “And what about Rachel? What does she think of the record?”
Phoenix let out an annoyed and completely endearing laugh. It was the kind of breathy, offended laugh that said, “I’m done.”
“I guess you’d have to ask Rachel,” Phoenix said.
He walked back to Miranda and put an arm around her just in time to hear the same reporter call out, “Do you guys keep in contact? What about your brother? What effect has this had on your family?”
Security held them back, and a separate set of guards guided Miranda and Phoenix far down the corridor into his private dressing room.
The show was a hit. Miranda watched from the side of the stage as Phoenix do what he did best: entertain.
It was so different from seeing him in the studio. During recording sessions, Phoenix was calm and cool. He was quiet and observant, even when he was belting out impossible vocals.
But on the stage, he came alive.
He suddenly had more energy than she’d ever seen in him before. He moved to his music, ran across the stage, laughed, interacted with his fans as much as possible, and at the end of the set, he took his cowboy hat off and threw it to one of the kids in the audience.
Miranda clapped, cheered, sang along, and felt overwhelmingly emotional during the set. She was so proud of him and so thankful to be a part of his journey, even if it was just for now.
Phoenix came backstage, drank down an entire water bottle, wiped the sweat off of his forehead with a towel, and got ready for the encore.
As the rest of the band began running back out on stage, Phoenix walked up to Miranda and said, “Come with me.”
“What?” she said in surprise. “No!”
“Please,” he smiled. “I want everyone to meet you, officially.”
Miranda inhaled a nervous breath and put her free hand over her mouth, nervous and excited and embarrassed as she followed him out onto the massive stage.
The crowd cheered wildly as he spoke into the microphone. “Before we play our last song for the night,” he said in his Texas twang, “I just wanted to let you guys meet someone very special to me.”
Phoenix held Miranda’s arm up and spun her around before wrapping an arm around her waist.
“There are some people in life who change it in a way you didn’t expect. I haven’t known this girl for that long, but she had changed everything for me. I don’t know how I would have gotten through this past year without her support, and I sure as heck wouldn’t have been able to put this record out.”
With that sentiment, the crowd went wild with cheers and applause.
“So I just wanted to say a little thank you to my girl here, Miranda Newton,” he said.
When he finished, he met her eyes and pulled the microphone away from them. “Thank you,” he said, leaning in close to her ear. “I mean it.”
Miranda smiled but couldn’t bring herself to say a thing. She was lost for words. The entire moment was surreal. There was the road of the crowd, the drummers and violinists on stage, the light show, and of course, being this close to Phoenix. She felt like now, and only, truly now, had she finally saw him in his entirety. She knew the shy, sweet Phoenix and she knew the performer—the handsome front man who knew how to entertain a crowd.
The band behind them began playing the intro to their closing song, but Phoenix wasn’t interested in singing, yet.
He cupped her cheek in his hand and pulled her into an unexpected kiss.
She felt breathless as his lips danced and moved against her like silk. The real surprise came when, unexpectedly, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. It was just a taste—a brief introduction of a real kiss.
Miranda felt her face explode with a blush. He had never done that before.
The only kisses they had shared thus far had been what her high-school drama teacher would have dubbed ‘stage kisses.’ No open mouths and no tongue.
But this was no stage kiss. This was real passion.
When the kiss broke, the crowd was so loud that Miranda had to shrink away backstage and put her earplugs back in.
He played a beautiful set. Almost as beautiful as his kiss.
When he came off stage, his eyes were fixed on hers. He set both hands on the sides of her face and pulled her back into a kiss, which she readily reciprocated.
His curiosity started as small flicks of his tongue against hers and escalated as he pulled her waist close to his.
As Miranda pulled away, she had expected to see management, the band, or some kind of reporter nearby watching, but it was just the two of them.
“What was that for?” she asked coyly.
With a wink in his tone, Phoenix said, “Just saying thanks.”
Two days later, they were back at the ranch, and neither of them had spoken of the kiss from the night before.
“Look at this,” Phoenix said excitedly, lifting an e-mail on his phone up to Miranda’s view.
“We already have forty-five shows throughout the next four months to promote the record.”
“Wow, that’s amazing!” she cheered.
Phoenix was laying across his living-room couch, and Miranda was standing behind him, still gazing down at the phone.
“Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles, Denver, Chicago, Toronto,” he said, twirling his finger in the air with each new city name. “Philadelphia, Nashville. This list is crazy! And guess what?”
“What?”
“They’re already saying we might be doing a world tour. Italy, Germany, the Netherlands, France, England, Japan,” he said.
Miranda’s eyes went wide. She tried to gum up an enthusiastic response, but all she could manage was, “Wow. That’s amazing.”
“Don’t sound too excited,” he laughed, sitting up to get a better look at her.
“No, I am! I’m so happy for you, and I’m so glad that they believe in this record. It’s just, uh, how long does a world tour take?” she laughed.
Phoenix ran a hand through his shaggy hair, pushing it back and off his face. He looked as if no one had ever asked him that question before.
“I think they’re hoping for a year, but it depends. There will be different legs of the tour with breaks in-between.” Then he narrowed his blue eyes and teased, “Why? Are you going to miss me?”
Her face flushed red, and she shrugged. “I don’t know,” she hummed. “Maybe.”
“Well, thankfully, you won’t have to worry about any of that.”
“Why’s that?” She clenched her teeth. She wouldn’t have to worry about it because she’d be out of his life by then?
“Because you’ll be right next to me.”
“What if it takes more than a year?” she asked, blinking in surprise. “What if our contract is up by then?”
He smirked, and something was up. His expression looked too silly and too mischievous like he’d just found her out.
“Okay, Miranda. Let’s talk,” he said.”
“No, let’s not,” she said simply, walking away from the couch.
“No,” he repeated, grabbing her hand and pulling her onto his lap. “What
’s up?”
“Okay,” she said with something between a giggle and a sigh. “I guess I’m just worried about how everything is supposed to go with us at the end of our agreement. I mean, we made this contract for you to get your album out and make nice with your record company, and we’ve done that. I was supposed to pay off the government, and you are very graciously helping me do that. But then what? Do we have a super public breakup? Is the media going to attack me?”
He narrowed his brows. “No,” he said with a breath. “We’re not going to stage-manage a breakup. We just won’t be seen together out in public anymore, and people will figure it out. Then we’ll go to a couple of events together, tell people we’re still friends,” he said, pantomiming dusting his hands off. “Done and done.”
“And I slink away into obscurity?”
Phoenix shrugged. “If that’s what you want, sure.”
“Right,” she said slowly.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, drawing out her words flirtatiously.
“But that isn’t what I want,” Phoenix said, catching her by surprise.
She smiled at him, taken aback by his comment. “And what is it that you want, Mr. Brooks?”
He wrapped his arms around her and shrugged. “I’d like to keep you around for a while.”
She swallowed nervously and asked, “In what capacity?”
“In an,” he said, drawing the words out before concluding, “official one.”
“And what does that mean?” she asked.
“Exactly what I said. I’d like to keep this going, this thing between you and me.” He paused. “The thing we shared backstage the other night.”
Her heart sped up. “Like, the contract?”
“No,” Phoenix shook his head and neared her face. He touched his nose against hers and maintained eye contact as he said, “Like, you and me. For real.” And then he kissed her again.
“I think I have some kind of crazy crush on you, Miranda,” he said when he pulled away. “And I meant what I said out there. You’ve changed me. I don’t know who I would be if I didn’t have you in my life right now, and as long as you feel the same way, I’d like you to be my official girlfriend.”
