He could have sworn he’d taken it into the dressing room with him. Of course he did. He always did.
“Come on, kid, what’s eating you?” Will slapped him on the back as if Brock were a champion boxer about to go out into the ring. Brock didn’t feel like the champion. Instead, it was as if someone had punched his lights out and the world around him was counting to ten as he struggled to pull himself up.
“I told you I’d make you a star and tonight is your night to shine.”
The walls of his chest constricted, his muscles squeezing tighter. He had to force his mind to think about his breathing. Just breathe, he told himself. He knew the feeling because he had been plagued with it before. He’d felt it the first night he’d performed in Houston, the night he’d met Will. Somehow he’d managed to move past it enough to get himself on stage that night. He’d done it before. He could do again. He’d be okay if he could make it that far.
His eyes sought out the door. Breathe steady, clear your mind, he told himself.
“They’re waiting for you, kid. Tonight, it’s all going to be yours,” Will said, oblivious to Brock’s distress.
“I know. Just give me a few minutes.”
Brock was vaguely aware of the door closing. He searched the room and realized Will had left. He glanced at his reflection in the dressing room mirror. Lights twinkled all around the perimeter, blinding him so all he could see was the reflection in the center of the glass, a stranger staring back at him. For the first time in his life, he honestly didn’t know who he’d become.
He remembered the words of his mother. At times like this, he always thought back to how she’d encouraged him to be who he was. And in a few short weeks, he’d let Will paint a new picture of him until he’d become completely unrecognizable.
After fastening the top button of his shirt, he smoothed down the royal blue satin, watching the lights reflect off the fabric. His heart pounded ferociously. He wasn’t this man he saw in the mirror. He didn’t think he’d ever be.
Breathe steady.
Sweat bubbled on his forehead. With the back of a shaky hand, Brock wiped it clean. Someone had taken his guitar.
Breathe, he continued his mantra.
His heart rate quickened as a knock on the door pulled him from his musings.
“Everyone’s wondering what’s keeping you, Brock,” Josie said, stepping into the room.
He wanted to weep as emotion surged through him, threatening to break the surface of his composure. Josie. Thank God, it was Josie. The woman calmed his fears and gladdened his heart like no one else had ever done before in his life. Life made sense with Josie around. His little gypsy. He needed her tonight more than he’d ever needed anything.
“I can’t… do this,” he said, scared to say the words out loud. Closing his eyes, he turned away from Josie’s bright smile.
With a few slow strides, she was by his side, smiling at him. “Sure you can.”
Her voice was smooth and comforting. God, he loved the sound of it, what it did to him. The gentle hand she placed on his shoulder seemed to anchor the room as it spun.
“You’ve done this same show here every night for nearly a week now. In the last six weeks the band has become so tight. With the crowd that’s out there, it’s going to be a fabulous show.”
He shook his head and turned to her, taking her by the hand. As he swallowed hard, his heart pounded like the wheels of a freight train racing down a track.
“You don’t understand. I can’t do this. I really can’t.”
She’d been as excited as the rest of the band about tonight’s performance. But the light in her eyes instantly darkened when she saw his drawn expression. Her smile faded, slowly at first, and then the excitement that had lit her face was gone.
“What is it, Brock? Did something happen?”
He shook his head. “My guitar’s gone,” he said quietly, sinking lower as he heard himself voice his fears. Shame shook him to the core. If he’d been with anyone else, he’d have rather crawled into a hole than admit his fear. But this was Josie. He held her hand tight, his eyes fixed on hers.
She chuckled softly, cocking her head to one side. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“It’s gone, Josie.”
“No, it’s not. It was on stage. I saw it. One of the crew must have taken it for you. Just relax.”
“I can’t. I usually sit with my guitar and play before a show.” He closed his eyes, the walls of the room closing in on him. He looked past her toward the door. He needed air, needed to get out of there. Humiliation washed over him. He hated that Josie was seeing him this way. Dear God, anything but this.
Her frown was back. “Brock, what’s wrong?”
“This is different.” He took a quick breath. “This is huge.” He peered into her blue eyes as she fixed her gaze on his face.
Settling into the chair next to him, she sighed. “It’s just a little stage fright, Brock. You can work through it. It’ll go away as soon as you start to play.”
He swallowed, keeping his eyes steady on Josie. Thank God she was here. “I can’t be what they want. I don’t even know what they want.”
Her smooth voice was low when she spoke. “You’re thinking too much. Just be who you are. That’s all they want, Brock. That’s all you can be.”
“That wasn’t good enough in Galveston. That reporter tore me to shreds.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was a clown. How could he be anything but a clown wearing this getup? Shame leveled him as he closed his eyes. “I can’t say I blame him.”
Her gaze dropped to his shirt and then back at him again. Her face didn’t register any emotion, but he knew what she must be thinking.
With a quick sigh, she said, “Who cares what the critics think, Brock? Did you see that crowd out there? Do you hear them?”
Panic slammed into him, leaving his heart beating wildly in his chest until he thought it would burst. “Yeah, I can hear them.”
“Good. Because when you look out at that crowd, there’ll be a lot of faces you recognize. Some of those people caught buses from Galveston and Houston and they came all the way here to see you.”
He drew in a deep breath and bolted to his feet.
Josie was quick to come to his side, placing a tender hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy. You’re going to hyperventilate if you don’t slow down.”
“I can’t,” he said, his voice in a whisper.
“You have a choice, you know. You don’t have to do this,” she said, her delicate brows furrowing with concern.
With her words, relief bowled him over like a tidal wave. He didn’t have to do this. He turned to the door. Running away sounded really good right now. He could walk out that door, away from the stage and away from the panic, and he’d be okay.
But he did have to do this. What kind of person just walked away from all these people when they expected to see a show? His show. They came to see him. What kind of man would he be to just go back on his word?
Closing his eyes, he sighed. He felt his hand tremble and his throat constrict, choking him. Breathe.
“How long have you been having panic attacks?” Josie said, taking his hand.
She knew. Of course she did. How could she not? He was practically wetting his pants in fear.
Brock dragged his hand across his face. “My whole life.”
He hated admitting it. He hated that it always made him feel so weak. No amount of muscle could move him when the feeling of panic hit him square in the chest.
His brother Beau could face a wild bronc hell-bent on stomping all over him, but Brock couldn’t even walk out on stage.
When he’d been a kid, his brothers had razzed him like only brothers could do. His father had called him a coward for letting panic get the best of him. His mother had blamed his father’s heavy hand and tough cowboy ways for breaking Brock’s spirit and causing the panic attacks in the first place.
But Brock knew none of that was the
cause. There were times he could climb up on stage and be fine. He could face a group of people and feel alive. Other times the walls closed in on him without any warning, offering no rational explanation for what brought on the attack. He couldn’t predict when he’d feel the panic; he could only use the tools he’d learned over the years to help get through it.
His solution was playing his guitar. But now his guitar was gone.
Josie stood behind him and eased him into the chair by the dressing mirror. Her hands gently kneaded his tight shoulder muscles. He loved her hands. The way they seemed to glide gently over his shoulders pulled the tension away, and pushed his anxiety off. “What do you do when you feel the panic?”
“I play my music. But I can’t get up on that stage and let everyone see me this way.”
He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his throbbing temples. He didn’t know if he was hiding from his attacks or from Josie’s probing gaze.
After a few minutes, he turned his head around to look up at her. God, she was beautiful. Her dark hair fell slightly forward, framing her face as she bent her head and worked his muscles.
“That feels good,” he said, concentrating on the magic her fingers were making instead of on all the thoughts racing through his mind.
“I’m glad.”
He closed his eyes, letting her energy build inside him. His breathing was getting easier, steadier. “You saw my guitar on stage?”
“Someone must have taken it out without thinking. Everyone is so excited tonight. I’m sure someone did it just to be helpful.”
He nodded his head, wishing the situation was different. Someone took what was his, what he needed. But it hadn’t been out of malice.
“I need my guitar right now. That must sound so pathetic for a grown man to say.”
She chuckled softly. “No, it doesn’t. Don’t beat yourself up about this. You think you’re the only one in the world who carries around a security blanket of sorts?”
When he didn’t answer, she went on.
“Why do you think I insisted Dexter come on this road trip? You have your guitar, and I have my cat. Whether Miles and Roy would agree or not, I think they have each other and without the arguing they’d be lost.”
Brock chuckled for the first time since the attack hit.
“I always play by myself before a performance. It calms me down when I get nervous. It helps channel my thoughts.”
“I haven’t seen you like this at all. How have you been hiding this?”
“I haven’t had an attack in a long time. That first day in Galveston I thought the walls were closing in on me when I was on the bus alone. I took a walk right out to the water’s edge. No one knew who I was there. No one expected anything out of Brock Gentry and for the most part, they didn’t pay me any mind at all. It helped.”
“I’d wondered where you went that day.”
“I was alone, Josie. Even though there was a flood of people around that beach, I was by myself with my guitar. It always helps. I don’t know if I can get on that stage. There’s so much riding on tonight. So many people are expecting something of me, and if I don’t deliver…”
“You had your guitar in Galveston. Have you ever had an attack before a performance and just gone on stage without the guitar?”
Brock thought back to the night he’d met Will. He’d nearly lost his dinner that night alongside the drummer of the other band. The weight of his feet had him thinking he was dragging steel across the stage. But when he finally made it to the center of the stage, had the guitar in his hands and the lights hitting his face, he could hardly see the people beyond the border of the stage and he’d convinced himself they weren’t even there.
He’d worked through his panic that night because he hated the feeling of being controlled. He’d wanted to impress Will Harlen. He’d wanted it so badly, he faced his fears and just walked on stage.
“Just once in Houston. Back in Steerage Rock, I knew everyone at the dance hall. It was like a big party every night I played. It felt comfortable. This is different.”
His chest tightened just thinking about it and he had to force a deep breath to get air.
“How about we do it differently tonight then? Do it like you did that one night in Houston.”
“I was by myself that night. I didn’t have the band.”
“Okay. You could start on the stage alone instead of with the rest of the band. Do an acoustic number and then the band could join you after you feel comfortable again.”
Brock shook his head. “That’s just it. I don’t think I can do it at all.”
Josie continued to rub his shoulders and play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sure you can. Just pre tend you’re back in the studio when you sang that night we were alone. Don’t think about what’s beyond the lights. Pretend it’s just you and me again trying to lay down some tracks. That’s all. I’ll be right beyond the lights looking back at you, just like I was there beyond the glass in the control room that night. It’ll be just you and me, Brock. Don’t think about anyone else.”
Just him and Josie. He liked the idea of that. It was easy for him to be with her, easy to admit his fears and relax.
“Will doesn’t know,” he said.
“I don’t doubt it. He’s too wrapped up in trying to promote you right now. But he’s going to know if you don’t go on that stage in the next five minutes.”
Just him and Josie. He could do that.
Josie stopped her massage and rested her hand on his shoulder, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head. Their eyes met and locked in their reflections in the mirror. He couldn’t imagine going through this without her. Having Josie in his life, in this room right now, made all the difference in the world.
Five minutes ago, his mind was searching for a way to escape. In just a short time, she’d calmed his nerves and steadied his breathing. Although some of the panic remained, it had ebbed considerably and that allconsuming fear was fading.
“Like I said, you don’t have to go out there, Brock. No one, not even Will, can make you. But just think for a minute about what you’ll be missing. These people are just regular people like you and me who’ve come to share a moment with you. That’s all. Just a moment in time. You can share it with them or you can walk away. That’s your choice. But if you walk away, the moment is lost forever. You can’t get it back.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.”
Her crooked smile was bittersweet, but her eyes twinkled from the moisture filling them. “I made a promise to myself when I boarded the bus for this trip-no regrets. Do you think you can walk away and not regret this? That’s what you have to ask yourself.”
Brock stared at the mirror. He didn’t see a man he recognized there and that scared him to death.
“Give me a minute. Tell Will I just need a minute.”
“Brock?” she started.
He looked directly in her eyes so she would know he was speaking the truth. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
Josie bent her head and kissed his forehead, then his lips. The sweet kisses magically did wonders to calm his nerves. He wanted more though. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her by his side, and be as close as they’d been earlier at the hotel. He wanted everything that was good and wonderful about this woman to envelope him and wash away the rest of his fears. Having her on the other side of the auditorium was too far.
“No regrets,” she whispered as she slipped out of the dressing room. He heard her shoes on the floor as she made her way down the hallway toward the stage.
Brock took a long hard look at himself in the mirror again and quickly unbuttoned the royal blue satin shirt.
The stage was empty except for equipment that had been carefully placed there during the sound check. Brock’s guitar sat in a stand by the drums. It looked out of place now that Josie knew the significance of why Brock always carried it on stage with him.
She listened to the announc
ement about an upcoming event for the fifth time. The announcer had been playing it over again to keep the crowd interested, but even Josie could see they were growing restless as they waited for their star performer.
“I thought you said he’d be out in a minute.” Will said, bending toward her ear so she could hear him above the crowd. He was frantic. She couldn’t say she blamed him. She should have never left Brock alone.
He’d managed to hide his panic attacks from everyone, including her, until tonight. And he’d truly been alone that day in Galveston. He’d said as much the night they’d made the sandcastle on the beach. It shamed her that in her heart, she hadn’t believed him. And it pained her more that he’d lived alone with this secret for so long.
“That’s what the man said,” she replied, forcing a smile.
Will eyed her. “What did you say to him backstage to make him jumpy? The kid’s been fine. This is what we’ve been working up to and now he’s alljumpy.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “Brock said he needed a moment. He’s not going to skip out on you … or his fans.”
“He’d better not. There’s a lot riding on tonight.”
Don’t we all know it? She sighed and folded her hands across her chest. Panic attacks could be controlled if a person worked through them. She only hoped Brock had reached the point where he could do that on his own.
The lights started to dim, signaling the show was about to begin. A lone spotlight bent to the left corner of the stage and within seconds Brock appeared alone. He walked over to the center of the stage and reached for his acoustic guitar.
A grin split Josie’s face. He’d changed out of that awful royal blue shirt and into a black T-shirt and black jeans. Perched on his head was the black suede cowboy hat she’d bought for him in Memphis. He walked up to the microphone, wrapped the guitar strap around his neck, and began to fiddle with the strings.
This was the Brock she’d met over a month ago at the studio. This was the man she knew and feared she’d fallen hopelessly in love with. To look at him, no one would know he’d been quaking in his boots back in the dressing room. He was alive with energy, strong and commanding.
Gypsy Hearts Page 10
