“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Blake said. “For those prom pictures alone, I oughta throttle you.”
Nash held up his hands in surrender. “Before you start pounding me, I’m here with a peace offering.”
Blake frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “What could you possibly offer me aside from some time as a human punching bag?”
“Hear me out. I have some pictures I thought you might be interested in.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve got pictures you’re not interested in blasting all over the Web?”
Nash smiled. “This isn’t really my thing, but it might be yours.” He opened the envelope and let a few color photographs slip into his hands. He handed one to Blake and waited for his reaction.
Blake looked down at the photograph. It took him a minute to figure out what he was looking at, but when he realized what Nash had caught on film, he was stunned. It was a photograph of Lydia at the parade. The shot was focused on Ivy on her horse, but it was easy to see that Lydia was holding something in her hand.
“I didn’t like the way that day went down,” he said. “Spooking that horse wasn’t cool. Someone could’ve gotten hurt. And if Ivy had been that person, I would’ve lost my meal ticket. I can always find another starlet to chase, but Ivy’s grown on me.” Nash handed over a second photograph.
This picture clearly showed Lydia throwing something into the street. Blake had been certain before, but now he had the proof he needed. Maybe. He didn’t know what this Nash guy really wanted. Money? Access to Ivy? Insider information? “These are some nice pictures,” he said, noncommittally. He wasn’t going to act too interested or the price would likely go up. “If I was interested in having copies of my own, what would we be talking about here?”
Nash shrugged. “Normally, I would ask for a couple of bills. But in this case, I’m more interested in a little revenge.”
Blake’s brow went up. “Revenge on whom?”
“Lydia Whittaker. She screwed me out of some money and it pissed me off. I don’t like the broads that think they’re better than everyone else. I wanna take her down a peg.”
“So were you trying to sell her the pictures or were you blackmailing her?”
Nash shuffled around. “Details. Point is, I’ve decided to give them to you in the hopes you can put them to . . . good use.”
“For free?”
“Essentially, although I could use your help if you’re willing.”
Blake narrowed his gaze at the reporter. This would be interesting. “Go on.”
“I’ve got to stay in town through the concert. Most of the town has figured out who I am, and I’m persona non grata nearly everywhere. Miss Twila booted me out of the B and B, so I’ve been sleeping in my car. I’ve been blacklisted from every restaurant. Hell, I can’t even get ice cream since the dance. What I’d really love is a hot meal that didn’t involve someone scowling at me.”
“And that’s it? You just want me to put in a good word with folks?”
“And Ivy. I think she’s still torqued about those prom pictures. It would help if you put in a good word for me with her, too.”
“Torqued is one way to put it. Ready to string you up is another. How the hell did you get Cheryl to go with you to that dance? And how is it that her daddy hasn’t killed you yet?”
Nash smiled. “It might be hard to believe, but I do have a way with the ladies, especially the lonely kind. What’s this about her daddy?”
“Let’s just say he’s a good shot.”
Nash swallowed hard. “Well then, can you put in a good word with him, too?”
Blake handed the pictures back to Nash and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure that would help. But I’ll see what I can do about the rest. You planning to take any more prying pictures while you’re here?”
At that Nash shrugged, proving he wasn’t entirely reformed. “I’m just an observer. If nothing happens, I won’t take pictures. If something does, I will. Don’t wave red in front of a bull, you know? But generally, I’m going to cover the concert and get the hell out of Alabama.”
Blake knew he couldn’t trust Nash, but he noted a ring of sincerity in his words. He wanted out of Rosewood. They finally had something in common. Blake wanted Nash out of Rosewood, too.
“Okay, how about this,” Blake said. “I’ll take you over to Ellen’s Diner. I’ll make sure Ruth treats you nice and gets you set up with a hot meal and a friendly crowd. If anyone gives you trouble, you send them to me.”
Nash nodded. “That sounds great.” He slipped the pictures back into the envelope and handed them over to Blake. “And even better if you make that Whittaker bitch choke on these.”
Blake chuckled and walked around him to his side of the truck. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll put them to good use. Hop in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride over to Ellen’s now, if you’re hungry.”
“I sure am. I’ve been eating nothing but ham sandwiches and granola bars from the Piggly Wiggly since your brother ran me off.”
They both climbed into the truck and Blake started the engine. “Which brother? The fireman or the cop?”
“The fireman. I haven’t met the cop yet. How many Chamberlain boys are there?”
“Four, but one’s out of state.”
They pulled to a stop outside Ellen’s. Blake walked Nash inside and had a chat with Ruth. That was all it took. Reporter or no, once he had the endorsement of a Chamberlain, he was golden. He gave Nash a stern warning not to abuse what he’d been given and headed back to his truck. He was tempted to confront Lydia immediately, but he decided to wait. She’d been quiet since the prom. He hoped she had finally gotten the hint and backed off.
But if not . . . now he had the leverage to shut her down for good.
“This song is amazing, Ivy.”
Ivy was surprised to hear Kevin’s lush praise when she answered the phone. Thursday morning, she had emailed him the arsenal of songs she’d written while she was down here, including her latest, inspired by her recent revelations about her feelings for Blake. The moment she was able to, she’d put her pen to paper and written some new songs. She had to admit that Blake was a powerful muse.
Perhaps she’d been going about inspiring songs the wrong way. She’d thought that her bad breakup with Blake had made for good songs, but the truth was that her connection to him was more important. This new song was one of the best she’d written. At least she thought so.
She’d sent the songs figuring Kevin would listen to them on his flight to Alabama on Friday, but apparently he’d gotten to them sooner.
“Which song?”
“Which song?” he said, his voice sharp with incredulity. “The one that’s like nothing else you’ve ever written before—‘I’ve Never Stopped Loving You.’ ”
That’s what she had hoped, but she was never sure what he’d like. Kevin wasn’t one to mess around, so if he said it was amazing, he meant it. But even so, she had to ask. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I daresay this might be the best song you’ve ever written. The lyrics are poignant and relatable; the chorus is beautiful and hard to forget. It’s different from your usual stuff, and yet I know when I hear it I’ll still be able to say with certainty that this is an Ivy Hudson song. This will be the first single on your new album, no question.”
He hadn’t even heard it set to music yet, just her rough computer recording of the melody. “Are you sure it should be the first single?”
“Yes. I’ve got the boys working on the accompaniment right now. We’ll work out the kinks before we get there, but I think you need to perform this at the concert on Saturday.”
“B-b-but . . .” Ivy stuttered. “It’s not done. We haven’t rehearsed it or anything. Even if it’s the first release, performing it Saturday seems kind of risky.”
“I�
��ve got it handled, Ivy. There’s rehearsal time on Saturday to get this all nailed down. Don’t worry. I’ll send you a demo track when the music is done so you can listen and make sure you’re happy. I’m going to call the recording team and see if we can’t tape the performance and release it as an exclusive live track.”
This was no joke. He really did like it. He had never so much as suggested doing something like that before. While he understood live performances were important to a musical career, he liked the recordings to be polished, flawless. A live concert opened him up to so many potential problems. Kevin didn’t tolerate problems.
“I’d like to try shooting a live video, too.”
Ivy nearly dropped the phone. She’d never filmed a live video. “Have you fallen and hit your head, Kevin?”
He chuckled low on the phone. “No, I just think this is the best move. Your numbers are going up with the good press from the Rosewood events. If we follow up the charity concert with a live song and video—maybe even donate a portion of every download to the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund—I think that will seal the deal. We’ll finally be able to put all that unpleasantness with Sterling behind us.”
Ivy breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a tense few months waiting to ride out the tsunami that scandal had caused. If Kevin seemed to think the worst was over, it probably was. Her only concern was singing the song itself. It was so . . . personal. All her songs were personal in one way or another, but this one left her vulnerable in a way she didn’t entirely like. She was emotionally invested, which was something she never did—hadn’t done—since Blake the first time.
The thought of performing it live, with Blake in the audience, was enough to make her want to throw up with nerves. What if he didn’t like a song about them being made public again? What if he thought she was crazy throwing the L-word out there before it was time? What if he just plain hated the song? So many things could go wrong—or right—in just a few moments’ time.
“Ivy?”
She realized she’d missed something Kevin said while she worried herself to death. “Sorry, yes?”
“This song is exactly what I asked you for, so thank you for listening and taking this seriously. I’m excited to debut the new, improved Ivy Hudson to the world.”
“Me too, Kevin.”
“The gossip bloggers have been pretty quiet about you the past few days. Everything okay down there?”
Things were very okay. They were just private. If Nash published photos of what she’d been doing the last day or so, she’d sue the socks off him. “Yes. Malcolm was here and we went to Birmingham to do those promotional spots. Since then, Blake and I have been lying low. Trying not to cause a stir with my relationships, as you requested.”
Kevin laughed again. “You know, I was certain your romance with Blake was doomed. I already had some contingency plans outlined for when it ended with the blast zone of a nuclear warhead. But I was wrong, and this song is the proof of it. You seem to really be . . . happy.”
Ivy felt tears start to well in her eyes. She almost never cried—her persona was too bad-ass for that—but Kevin’s words had struck a chord with her. She was happy. And she hadn’t really been happy in a long time. “I think I am. I don’t want to jinx it, but I am.”
Chapter Eighteen
If given the choice, Blake would never choose an away game for their annual confrontation with their biggest rivals, the Ashville Hawks. But, since the football field had been taken over to set up for the concert, there wasn’t really another option. Besides, until Rosewood High got more bleachers, there just wasn’t room. The Panthers always had good attendance at the games, but the Ashville game was a big deal.
Blake looked into the crowd and couldn’t see an empty seat. One side was a sea of red and white, with the Rosewood band, led by Ivy’s father, right in the middle. They were currently playing the Rosewood fight song while the crowd shook their red-and-white pom-poms. The other side of the stadium was filled with green and white, the Ashville colors.
The sound of the crowd had been deafening since kickoff. He tried to zone out the chaos and focus on the game—that was one of the first things he taught his boys—but this was the first game as a coach that had challenged him. Not only was it a big game, but it was the first game Ivy had watched him coach.
She was sitting a few rows back, near the band. Her mother was on one side of her and Pepper was on the other. At first, he’d had a touch of nerves knowing she was there. He realized soon that no matter when he turned to look up at her, she was cheering for him. It felt good to know that she believed in him and was engaged in his work. He decided to channel that faith into encouragement for his team.
Blake looked up at the scoreboard. It was the fourth quarter and they were down by two points. The boys had been slow to score tonight, and the kicker had been on the verge of throwing up the whole time, he was so nervous. Josh Baldwin was a good player, but the poor kid had psyched himself out. He’d botched an easy field goal in the first quarter, and two extra point kicks. His last kick had been good for three points, putting them within range to win, but all he could think about was the ones he’d missed.
Time was winding down. Blake’s defensive line was out there now, trying to keep the Hawks from scoring again. The Hawks were trying to run down the clock and had just called another time-out. At best, the Panthers would have just enough time to move down the field and put Josh in range to kick a final field goal.
Blake went over to the bench and sat down beside Josh. The boy was holding his helmet in his hands, staring down into it instead of watching the game.
“Baldwin,” Blake said.
The kicker’s head snapped up, his face pale and coated in a sheen of nervous sweat. “Yes, Coach.”
“You’re a great kicker, Baldwin. I’ve seen you make field goals that would be hard for an NFL kicker to pull off. But you’ve got to get out of your head. You’re so worried about screwing up that you’re screwing up.”
“I know,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Coach.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be focused. We’re going out on the field in a minute, and if it goes well, you’ll be kicking again. I need you to think about what we’ve been practicing. Tell me,” Blake demanded.
“Plant my foot beside the ball. Keep my head down and make contact with the bottom third. Follow through and aim straight between the goalposts. Consistency is the key.”
Blake beamed with pride as he listened to his player recite what he’d taught him. “Excellent. Now go warm up and keep thinking about what you’ve learned. You’ll do fine.” He slapped Josh on the back and sent him downfield to practice.
The game resumed a moment later and Blake returned to his spot on the sidelines, shouting until he was nearly hoarse. Finally, the Hawks turned over the ball. He ushered out his offensive line, holding his breath as each play moved them farther downfield to the goal. He really did live for this game. The rush, the excitement, the roar of the crowds and the heart-pounding moments when you won or lost the whole thing in half a second’s time . . .
With their third down, his team perfectly executed the play he called, moving forward and centering the ball so Josh would be in the perfect position to score. He took the time to smile at his guys and give each of them an encouraging slap on the helmet as they came off the field.
While Blake loved to play, he realized in the moment that he also loved to teach. It didn’t matter whether Josh made that kick tonight or not. He’d make the next one because Blake would work with all of them to make sure they were better every time they played. He would teach them everything he knew about football and give them the tools to be successful in the sport and in life.
Grant was right. It had been a painful journey to get to this place, but he wouldn’t change it. He was exactly where he needed to be.
Springing into action, he d
irected the field goal unit out onto the field and gave Josh a supportive slap on the back. He praised each player as they came in, then joined them all as they stood, hoping and praying that they made that kick.
They had four seconds to pull off the play. Blake watched every step in the process like a hawk. A good snap, a good placement. Then Josh rushed forward, planted, and kicked.
The whole stadium went silent for the three seconds it took the ball to fly through the air and sail between the goalposts. By the time the referee signaled a goal and the clock hit zero, the roar was deafening.
The whole place went berserk. In the chaos that followed, Blake gave Josh a huge hug, then led the team out onto the field to shake the hand of the Hawks’ coach. Moments later, a surge of people surrounded them as the Rosewood fans rushed the field. He turned back to see that the only ones left in the stands were the marching band playing the soundtrack to their victory.
“Blake!”
He turned and saw Ivy fighting through the crowd to get to him. Meeting her halfway, he scooped her into his arms and gave her a big celebratory kiss. This moment was wonderful, but it was that much better for her being there. He wished they could end every game just like this, but he knew that was about as likely as him being at every concert. They could find a balance, though, he was certain of it.
“You were awesome, baby. The boys did great.”
“Yeah, they did,” he agreed. “That was an excellent win. I’m glad you were here to share it with me.”
Ivy smiled and looked into his eyes. The hundreds of people around them disappeared for a moment as he held her in his arms.
“Me too,” she said, kissing him again.
In preparation for tonight’s show, Ivy had to make a quick trip to the Chamberlain mansion. Since Kevin had this big song reveal planned for the finale, he wanted that special touch. She was virtually announcing to the world, and Blake, how she felt about him. He was certain that Miss Adelia would have just the thing they needed.
Facing the Music Page 23
