by Cari Quinn
“Well, if you were to act all friendly-like toward me, and I did the same, maybe Chase would see the error of his ways.” He tugged on a loose thread on her sleeve and her sense snapped back into place.
“No. I’m not playing games. If he can’t decide that he wants me on his own, it’s better we’re not together.” She drew her shoulders back. See, her resolve was already strengthening. “I’m fine being single. With my career—both of my careers—I don’t have time for silly entanglements.” Or wild, sheetrock-cracking sex.
“Glad to hear it. But if you change your mind, you know where I am.” He strolled out, whistling.
It was only after he’d left that Summer realized he’d never mentioned how his grand plan could benefit him.
The same day Chase lost—okay, gave away—his first client, he gained his second, a spoiled heiress with a tendency toward rampant paranoia. She’d found the ad Chase had placed online the week before and insisted she needed his assistance 24/7. He’d swiftly negotiated down from that, but he still found himself spending way too many hours standing around Macy’s and toting shopping bags. Toting freaking bags, like some well-paid bellhop.
“Chase,” Anastasia whined the following week when she caught Chase fixating on a poster tacked to a tree in Queens. The Palladio was hosting a New Faces Talent night, and who was the first one listed on the sheet? Sunny Z. Looking more beautiful and happy than any woman had a right to.
That would be her first show with Jax at her side instead of him. He shouldn’t think about it. He was the one who’d shuffled her off to Jax’s care.
Damn, he missed her.
She hadn’t called since that day at Triple Scoop. Since the morning she’d rolled out of his bed and strolled out of his life, though he’d given her a nudge. Maybe more than one.
This was the best thing for both of them, especially her. Now if only he could stop thinking about that frigging dressing room table, and the way she’d asked—no, told—him to go down on her. The way she’d smelled and tasted…
Chase’s groin tightened in concert with his grip on the shopping bag in his left fist. Right on cue, pain lanced through his elbow. If he hadn’t grabbed the bag with his other hand, he would’ve dropped it.
“Chase. Are you listening?”
“Dammit,” he muttered, turning toward Anastasia. “What now?”
She pressed her ample cleavage against his biceps and pointed up the street toward the pet shop. “I saw him,” she said in a stage whisper, shivering so violently that her wild blonde hair brushed his skin.
“Saw who?”
“The man who’s been following me.” She gripped Chase’s arm way too close to the elbow and he had to smother a grimace. “Please, can we go now?”
He didn’t think for a moment that someone was following her, but she was a nice, mostly lucid woman who’d been spooked by an attempted burglary in her upscale apartment the previous year. His hope was that if she started to feel safer while in his presence, then maybe that feeling would extend to the rest of her life. He didn’t know if that would actually happen. It wasn’t as if he was a shrink.
Hell, he needed a shrink himself, probably. But at least he’d begun regularly attending AA meetings again, to the tune of four times a week. Whatever got him through the night.
Without Summer.
He had another doctor’s appointment this afternoon, again with Dr. Jensen. The doctor had returned from his trip and Chase had scheduled the appointment not to discuss a new medication and therapy regime, but to start the path to surgery. Every time he wavered he thought of the weakness he’d felt that night holding Summer in the dressing room. Somehow that seemed like the cruelest blow of all, that in the midst of what should’ve been one of the best moments of his life—and still had been anyway—he’d had to face how fallible he’d become. Accepting he probably wouldn’t get better without the operation felt like failure.
But he was facing the situation. And this time, he wouldn’t chicken out.
He reached up and grabbed the flyer, stuffing down the momentary guilt at taking an advertisement for Summer’s show. She deserved something fancier than colored paper tacked up on a tree and crowds of drunk, screaming lechers who all wanted a piece of her for the price of a cover charge.
She would get there, of that he had no doubt. And he’d see it, one way or the other.
“Let’s go,” he said to Anastasia, shoving the folded flyer in his back pocket carefully, making sure it didn’t tear.
Later he’d take it out and study her face when he didn’t have witnesses. So he could remember, and wallow with his ice cold…water. Then, when he couldn’t take any more, he’d come back to the Palladio and creep in the back door to watch her from the shadows.
He’d become a bodyguard and a stalker in one month. Pretty damn impressive.
Chapter Nine
“You can do this. You can do it.” Summer chanted the words to herself backstage at the Palladio, her fingers going numb on the strings of her guitar. She’d played so much the past week that she was afraid she’d develop carpal tunnel. But she’d wanted to make sure she was ready.
Voices buzzed around her, the hive of pre-concert activity creating a low hum under her skin. This show would be the beginning. Tonight was the debut for a lot of things. A new Summer, one who wasn’t hampered by the past or by futile lustful impulses toward an unreachable man. Her new bodyguard, whom she most thankfully did not want to ride like a mustang every time she saw him. Maybe even a new manager, who would open the door for her to a life of travel and fresh faces and music. So much music and the people who loved it, coming to see and hear her. She’d finally be on her own, living life on her terms.
If she nailed it tonight.
She’d been on a half-hearted manager search for a while, sending out letters to the most reputable talent agencies in the city. Most of the nibbles she’d received hadn’t panned out, except this one. Frank Tedoro from the prestigious Tedoro and Thompson agency was interested in her music. Tonight he’d decide if he wanted to represent the whole package.
If he did, things would move quickly from there. He wanted her to get on the road and start busting her ass by playing venues all over the northeast, not only New York. The key to her success, he’d told her, was being seen. She was no longer just a person, she was a product. That freaked her out sometimes, but she figured it was one more thing she had to learn to deal with to get where she wanted to go.
God, she wanted to go. To leave the memories behind. To run from the arms she sometimes imagined constricting her when she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
Remembering the night she’d spent in Chase’s bed that way—as being smothered rather than being comforted—helped her shuffle it into the proper box in her head. He would hold her, yes, for a while. And it would be lovely until he started holding her back—and then he would take off, like her mom. Because that’s what Chase did. He roamed from town to town with his team, like a perennially sour-faced Peter Pan. This was another pit stop for him. Even if he got out of baseball, she figured he’d do the security thing until it bored him. Then he’d be on the road again, forever wandering.
She frowned. So why couldn’t they wander together?
“You ready?” Jax appeared at her side, his warm smile easing her nerves. Some of them. “The natives are getting restless.”
Summer swallowed and looked over her shoulder, peeking through the curtain that fronted the stage. “Yeah. I’m good. Hell of a week for Kyle to get pneumonia.”
“You don’t need him.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead the same way Chase had that morning in his bed, which felt like a lifetime ago. So why didn’t her heart flutter and her breath speed up? Why did she feel nothing at all except momentary comfort? “You’re going to kick ass tonight. And I’ll be watching.”
Jax’s smile flashed while her mind unwittingly replayed the scene she’d tried to block since yesterday. What she’d watched outside The Palladi
o, between Chase and a blonde woman with tits like watermelons. She’d draped herself all over him, and he hadn’t exactly fought her off. And then, if that wasn’t enough, he’d ripped down the flyer for her show. So much for thinking he supported her.
She’d come to The Palladio to take advantage of a free hour onstage during the afternoon lull to test the acoustics for her show, but after seeing Chase and his blonde, she hadn’t cared anymore. Chase Dixon was the only person who had the power to crush her desire for her dream, and that meant he had to go. He was out of her life, now he needed to get the hell out of her head.
And heart.
“If my presence isn’t enough to rock your world, you have another friend in the audience tonight.”
Summer tugged at her short, fringed, dark skirt. Then her hands fell still as Jax’s words pinged around in her brain. “Chase?” she asked hoarsely.
“Not that I know of, though it wouldn’t surprise me.” He didn’t give her time to puzzle over that before he continued. “Don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind on that score?”
He’d asked her several times if she wanted to reconsider making a more concerted effort to…wrangle Chase, for lack of a better term. Actually she’d begun to wonder if Jax had a vested interest in her agreeing, though she couldn’t figure out what. He didn’t seem too forthcoming either.
She looked away, saying nothing. She constantly feared she’d buckle and beg him to help her, no matter what crazy scheme he concocted. And she couldn’t go there.
Blowing out a breath, Jax forged ahead. “Well then. Moving on. Cass accompanied me. She’s already fortified herself with a drink since apparently she doesn’t like country.” He shook his head. “She disappoints me.”
“A drink? She never drinks.”
Jax circled her wrist to steady her still busy hands. She couldn’t stop fussing. “I’ll take care of her,” he said with an edge that had Summer’s gaze jerking up to meet his.
Whoa, hello there. Jax’s typically placid hazel eyes glowed with a ferocity Summer hadn’t expected, and it was all for her best friend. Perhaps Cass’s luck in the men department was improving?
The thought caused an unbidden pang in Summer’s chest. At least maybe one of them could be happily coupled up. If anyone deserved love, it was Cass. God knows she’d endured enough crap in her life.
She didn’t need love. She had her voice, and her guitar, and a few people to enjoy her music. That was all she wanted.
“Okay,” Summer murmured, trying to use her tone and her expression to convey that she trusted him to take care of Cass. She didn’t know him all that well, but he’d always struck her as a stand-up kind of guy. He’d refused to get into specifics about what had originally ended his and Chase’s friendship, but that really wasn’t her business. Relationships began and ended for all sorts of reasons. Some were resurrected in time. And some stayed dead.
“I’ll take care of you too.”
For once she didn’t argue. This was just a job to him. Nothing personal. “Thanks, Jax.” She smiled. “Tell Cass I really appreciate her coming. I’ll throw in a couple rock songs for her. Maybe even some Stones.”
“Unless you can get Sir Mick himself here to sing ‘Gimme Shelter’, don’t bother. She’s a tough crowd to please.” Grinning, Jax pushed his tattooed hand through his cropped dark hair. “Knock ’em dead, Sunny Z.” After giving her a paternal tap on the nose that made her smile rather than growl, Jax strolled away.
Summer hauled in a breath and glanced back at that suddenly menacing curtain. Any second now it would come up and she would be exposed to the noisy crowd. They would love her or hate her, but either way, she was living her dream.
She was finally living.
The sparse backup band she’d put together on the fly in Kyle’s absence began to play, and she stepped into the center of the stage to grab her microphone.
Showtime.
She sang “I Love Rock and Roll”.
In the dark corner where Chase stood, the music rolled over him like a tidal wave, dragging him under so deep that even breathing became a feat. This far back, he couldn’t see her smile, but good God, he could hear it, and that joyful sound spread over his heated skin like foam from the surf. As warm and light as a caress she wouldn’t give, grounding him in this moment. Making damn well sure he would never forget it.
He’d heard most of her other songs, but tonight they tasted new on his tongue when he caught himself singing along. He wasn’t the type to go nuts at a concert, and this wasn’t a rager in any case. Still, singing with her felt natural. If she could get up there and belt her fucking heart out to a writhing throng of strangers, he could follow along from the back. All the while imagining she was singing to him. For him. While they were in bed, and he was fisting his hands in all that glorious dark hair and sliding inside her, inch by inch.
He shifted and cursed under his breath. Great. Now he had an erection. At least he didn’t have to worry about not being able to move fast enough to keep her safe tonight. She had someone to handle that.
Someone named Jax Wilder.
Even considering all the years of bad blood—and then dormant blood—between them, there was no one else Chase would’ve entrusted her to. He still hadn’t acknowledged to Jax that he wanted him as a partner or even that he intended to put his name, of sorts, on the agency itself. But they were moving toward that conversation, as they were moving toward rebuilding their friendship. It wouldn’t happen overnight.
Nothing worth having ever did.
Except falling for Summer. That had happened in an instant, when he’d stood in a club much like this one and her silken voice had washed over him for the first time. He’d been playing catch up ever since. It was a hell of a thing to want what you’d almost had. A special kind of hell he had no desire to ever repeat.
A couple of new numbers rounded out the set. Her new band contributed to the richness of her sound, but he wondered where Kyle had disappeared to. As great as Summer’s vocals were, he missed their harmonies. Perhaps she was moving up in the world and expanding as she’d mentioned she thought she needed to. He couldn’t argue with the results. The crowd seemed positively feral for her tonight, screaming at an ear-splitting decibel. They sang along and held up iPhones with flickering lighter apps.
Chase snorted at that. Damn, what he wouldn’t give for the good old concert days where people used actual lighters and didn’t shove each other like maniacs whenever they had a moment’s downtime between songs. Well, okay, at least they’d used lighters.
She finished up with the first song he’d ever heard her sing, the one about missing her lover. The emotion in her voice tonight seemed particularly poignant, and when she grabbed the microphone and bent at the waist to belt out the words, he had to fight the instinct to push his way through the crowd to get closer. She wasn’t singing about him. Miss him? Ha. Why would she think about him when she had so much else in her life?
The instant the show ended, Jax bounded onstage, followed by a woman sporting a bright shock of red hair. Cass. They surrounded her and even at that distance, Chase could see their excited movements. Eventually a guy in a dark suit joined them and led Summer backstage. The dark curtain that swallowed the two of them up closed Chase’s throat and he caught himself pressing his fist to his thigh. The pain that streaked along the inside of his elbow barely reached his consciousness.
No reason to be jealous that Jax got to hold her and damn near dance around with her, or that some slick dude in a fancy suit so easily commanded her attention. She was free and unencumbered, just as he was. And no matter how much Chase wished things were different, or how eager his agent was for Chase to hurry up his surgery so they could work on getting him rehabilitated and his rep “cleaned up” for next season, the fact was being a free agent meant you kept your own counsel and did your own thing. That applied to baseball and life.
But Chase didn’t have to like it.
He stood there in the center
of the crowd still cheering for an encore that obviously wasn’t coming and debated his next move. Saturday night meant he was free tomorrow, not counting the two meetings he’d scheduled. One with Jax to finalize their business plans—in his case, to finally admit in actual words that he wanted and needed Jax on board permanently—and another with David, the promising pitcher who’d never returned to the game after his elbow operation. He wanted to be informed when he walked into surgery.
Because he was walking into it. Running was no longer an option. If he didn’t return to baseball, at least maybe he wouldn’t be chained to a bottle of pills. Or his own negativity about the process.
The outpatient procedure was scheduled for three weeks away, something he still hadn’t told his agent. Let him stew a day or two longer. In the meantime, Chase was mighty sick of stewing himself. He used to be a man of action, not one who hung around with his thumb up his ass, bemoaning fate.
He strode through the crowd toward the stage. Fuck that crap. If he wanted to say hello to Summer like a rational human being, then he would. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t be civil and polite enough to compliment her on her great show, despite his bitterness over not being the right guy to actually be with her. He had manners, for shit’s sake.
People milled around backstage in a thick throng, everyone talking and laughing. The next act was getting ready to go on and the band was already doing warm-ups, so every few minutes a discordant sound, usually of the guitar variety, arose from the stage. Often accompanied by a few colorful swear words.
Despite how many people were backstage, he couldn’t find Summer or her suited dude. Who he did find? His sister, who brushed past him with Jax hot on her heels. Neither of them looked his way.
What the hell? Jax was supposed to be sticking close to his client—not too close, but within reason—not chasing after Cass, especially since his sister’s pained expression had indicated she didn’t want to be caught. At least not by Jax.
