Anne reared back slightly and frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t get me wrong. He’s a wonderful guy.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“Annie, he sparked for you, didn’t he?”
Anne’s eyes went wide, but all she did was shrug. Next, she delivered a thoroughly unconvincing head shake. But then, typical to her character, a strong will rose and she met Pyper’s probing inquisition head-on. “Kind of like Chase has sparked for you.”
With that, another truth pushed its way into the open. Pyper propped her head against the doorjamb. She released a groan. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Annie. On paper, in theory, Darren is everything I should ever want in a man. He’s a lifelong Christian. He’s steady and gentle and loving. He’s always treated me like a treasure; he believes in my mission, and he sure is easy on the eyes.”
“Agreed on that count—on all counts, actually.”
Pyper didn’t miss the wistful tenor of her best friend’s observation. She smiled at Anne and allowed a punctuating nod, but she was mixed up, eager to confront herself as directly as possible. “Here’s the thing, though. Even with all that, as good as it is, something’s missing. What’s wrong with me? Why would a simple equation, a good and logical pathway, leave me feeling cold?”
“Only you can answer that, Pyp. If the pull isn’t there with Darren, then maybe you’re meant for something different…”
The sentence dangled into the rapidly materializing image of Chase Bradington. It felt so good to be with him, to share time, to reveal herself, to share their battle scars. Sure, to a degree they formed a wonderful equation, but talk about trouble on two long, lean legs.
Reformation. Passion. That whipcord intensity. Those were just a few aspects of the man she found completely irresistible. Maybe she continued to bristle due to issues beyond his control. Maybe she prickled because of her history with men and alcohol abuse. Her own reformation had been neatly skirted in public, even repressed in some ways, but Pyper had beaten the odds via the love of her family. Digging deep, she realized that she battled Chase’s entrance to her life out of self-preservation and a supreme need to avoid being shattered. Again.
But life and love were never about playing it safe, right?
Maybe his image drifted to life for a whole different reason—connection. A connection that stirred nerve tingles, awareness, a molasses-style spread of warm want, a gravitation toward tasting something rich and flavorful.
Pyper paced to her bed. Could she possibly be this galvanized, this quickly…by Chase? By a man the likes of which she’d normally avoid without a second thought?
“We’re wrong for each other, Annie. Seriously. Like, no. We’re the wrong recipe by miles and miles.”
Anne’s perfectly shaped brow arched upward a notch. “Would that be panic I hear in your voice, or poorly repressed attraction? Both, perhaps?”
Pyper folded her arms across her chest, tried to scare her friend with a glower. Anne was unfazed, naturally.
“He’s intriguing, sure,” Pyper admitted. “He’s strong and he’s driven to make a comeback. That’s an inspiring combination, but he’s not someone I can take on.”
“Why not? What are you afraid of?”
“Pain.”
The answer to Anne’s challenge dawned at once, with clarity and conviction.
Relaxing at the shoulders, Anne snagged Pyper by the forearm and tugged her to the edge of the bed where they folded into place cross-legged, face-to-face and eye-to-eye. “Leave everything else out of this conversation. Talk to me about what’s happening right here”—Anne tapped an index finger against Pyper’s chest—“and don’t hold back. Not with me. I know precisely where you come from, and you’ve emerged. You’re strong. The Pyper Brock of here-and-now would never deny herself happiness out of fear. Did Darren ever inspire you like this? Did he ever make you think things through the way you are right now?”
Such a direct set of questions. Taken aback by their similarity to Chase’s challenge, Pyper tried to find honest answers. In the interim, she had no choice but to fight back. “Let me turn those questions around and give them to you, Anne.”
“We’re talking about Chase here. Don’t evade, and don’t even try to tell me that one look into that man’s eyes doesn’t make you smolder and turn into a pile of mush.”
Indeed, Pyper thought, remembering the end note of their party encounter. “Annie, you’re a bad influence.”
“I think there’s something captivating about a man like that. A man who can have any woman he wants, a man who’s so attractive, and even a bit dangerous, but decides with single-minded fervor that he wants you. That’s what’s going on, Pyper. He’s choosing you, and you can’t deny the fact that you’re awakened by his focus and attention. It’s written all over your face and your body language.”
“And all over my busted up, battered slice of history.” Oh, great. Now her angel of inspiration decided to show up with some song lyrics. Wonderful. Pyper groaned, snapping up her journal, scribbling the words. “Have you ever come across a guy that you knew was every color of wrong imaginable, but you just couldn’t help but be…I dunno…pulled toward him?” Of course she did, Pyper thought. Darren.
“Let me plead the fifth on that question for now. All I’m saying is, I have eyes, Pyp. I know you well. I see what’s going on beneath the surface.”
“So, then, stop me! Tell me what a fool I am to even look at a package full of explosives.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because he makes your spirit dance.” Gentle conviction rode through Anne’s tone.
Pyper went still and gaped, taken under by the memories she shared with Anne. “Spirit dance. Remember when we’d talk about whatever guys we were crushing on at school? That’s exactly how we’d describe what we felt.”
“When we got older, we became a bit more risqué and said ‘He makes my toes curl.’”
“That from a pastor’s daughter.”
They shared grins, but Anne went serious in a hurry. She took hold of Pyper’s trembling hands and tugged her forward a bit. “I know what you’ve battled. I know where you come from.” She shrugged broadly. “Who knows? Maybe his danger and his ties to turbulence are part of what draws you in and creates that pull you’re talking about. Thing is, you’re rattled by the guy. Tough not to be, all in all. He’s definitely got a fascinating edge. You need to figure out what to do with the reaction that’s going on inside of you.”
Precisely what Chase had said. Pyper stared ahead blindly, shook her head. “I swear. Am I looking for trouble? Am I looking for ways to get my heart broken? Maybe I have some kind of defect, some strand of self-destructive DNA in my system that makes me crave stupidity and obliterates common sense. I’m sure that bit of inner chemistry comes straight from my dad. What a mixed up mess of a heart.”
“Mixed up mess of a heart? That sounds to me like a country song just aching to be written.”
Pyper rolled her eyes. “Figures, right? I mean, when it comes to men, I’ve been messed up since I was a kid. You lived it with me. I’ve never known the right guy from the wrong guy, so I steer clear of all guys. It’s been kind of fun to play the role of unattainable, and being unattached never bothered me much at all. That’s not the case anymore.”
“Because of…?”
Chase. Immediately the answer reverberated through her head without any filter or dilution. Anne waited in a silence that stretched; most likely she already knew what Pyper attempted to hide from plain view.
“Pyp, you’re incredible. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re searching for the ultra-safe and perfectly prescribed, like Darren, but you also have this powerful spirit, a passion, that draws…well…”
The bad boy on a comeback trail.
But was he a bad boy any longer? Was she not giving him his fair due: an honest attempt at redemption?
Annie smiled, gave Pyper’s shoulder a playful sho
ve. “You’re looking for fulfillment. We all are. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“But I’ll never find fulfillment in a man. Fulfillment has got to come from God. I only wish He’d let me know if I’m on the right path. I don’t want to get my heart chopped.”
A telling silence followed, but Anne persisted. “Pyp, no matter what, I just want you to be true to your heart. No matter where it’s meant to go. I saw something happen between the two of you. I sense it in the way you talk about him. I want you to be happy. Period. No matter what.”
Pyper hugged her friend tight. “Annie…for real…no matter what…I want the same thing for you, too. I’m happy for you. I think you and Darren could be great together, and I promise you this—I’m not jealous or even…” She shrugged broadly, exhilarated. “To be honest, I’m happy. Relieved. What does that mean? What does that say?”
“That he’s not the one. But I’d never… ever…ever…”
Pyper reached out fast. “I know that. From the bottom of my heart, I want you to find out if he’s the one. Keep spending time with him while you’re in town. Enjoy his companionship and see where it goes.”
A silence beat by, pulsing with a sense of joy Anne couldn’t hide. “Then I have one last question, best friend to best friend.”
Pyper felt a tingle skirt the nerves along her spine. “Yeah?”
“Would you have reacted this way if I had told you I was attracted to Chase Bradington?”
A shocked jaw-drop followed. Pyper stared. A red-hot lance struck home propelled by the emotion, the jealousy, the passion she should have been channeling toward Darren. Instead, that swirl of emotions resided with one man alone. Chase Bradington.
In the meantime, Annie’s expression melted into lines of understanding and the kind of affection that could only come from a true and trusted confidante. “With that, I think I have my answer. And don’t you worry. I’m not. Besides which, I can already tell he’s totally off limits.”
10
Chase swung his pickup truck into a wide left turn and entered the parking lot of Almedia Court Apartments. Spotting an empty space close to Building Four, he slowed the vehicle to a stop then settled comfortably to wait, keeping an eye out for Mark Samuels’s time-worn silver Honda. It was move-in day and Chase had offered to help his mentor and sponsor get settled in Nashville.
He opened the driver-side window to catch a breeze and gave a slight jump when his cellphone issued an incoming call alert. Kellen Rossiter’s name lit the screen and Chase engaged receipt with a finger tap. “Kellen. How are you?”
“I’m good, but I think you’re about to be even better.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Not this weekend, but next, I want you and Pyper to be ready to hit The Stage.”
Chase kept from trembling. How, he didn’t quite know. This was answered prayer, on multiple levels. He sank against dark gray leather and pressed unsteady fingertips against his eyes. “Me. And Pyper. Center stage at The Stage.”
“That’s the offer I’m extending. Management is billing it as a single-set, three-song, special event next Saturday night. In other words, they stepped up with prime-time visibility.”
Prime time, meaning a weekend gig, during the height of summer, at a historic performance venue in The District. As far as Chase was concerned, that glitter equaled nothing when weighed against the fact that he’d be making music with Pyper. They’d prepare, they’d sing, they’d sass and share and create and…
He breathed hard, trying to regroup as fast as he could. This wasn’t just any woman, or any performance. This was different—and Pyper was different in a way that called to life all the chambers of his existence he had once surrendered to darkness and futility.
“Kellen, I can’t begin to express how much—”
“Hey, this is my job. You don’t have to say a thing. Just crush it, hear me?”
His heart took off like a jackhammer. “I do, and we’re going to own this opportunity. I promise you that.”
“I have no doubt.”
Chase concluded the call just as Mark’s car glided into view. Buoyed—wrapped in optimism—Chase pocketed his phone. Mark nodded in passing; Chase answered with a smile and a wave. While Mark unlatched the trunk and started to haul out plastic bags stuffed with groceries and household items, Chase unfolded from the truck and joined his friend.
Mark gave a teasing smirk. “Hey there, big-shot.”
“Whatever.” Chase delivered an affectionate thump to Mark’s back and arched a brow when he saw the number of sacks still tucked inside. “Cripe, Samuels, did you leave anything for the rest of us?”
“Not much. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Come on in and see the place. It’s great.”
Chase hefted a load of bags. “Lead the way.” Mark’s dark jeans seemed store fresh as did his dark green shirt. “You’re polished. Did you stop at the new Reach branch before your shopping spree?”
“Yeah. Had to drop off files and such then set up meetings with the staff before I could call it a day on the job.”
Chase admired Mark’s professional aptitude, but found greater comfort in the reality of where this man had been, and the demons he had conquered. Mark’s edge remained visible; remnants of a rough life had carved grooves against the corners of his mouth and his eyes. A longish fall of sandy brown hair was threaded by silver. A layer of dark stubble covered his jaw. At a glance, Mark’s overall impression might be off-putting to a carefully styled or buttoned-down individual, but Mark was just the kind of person Chase could relate to and respect.
A short walk down an open corridor led them to unit 2-D. Mark shifted his baggage so he could insert the key and twist the doorknob. “I’ll give you the two-second tour in a little bit. If we don’t store the frozen food quick, it’s gonna be running to meet us.”
Chase’s chuckle rumbled. “Moving is big-time fun. Said no one. Ever.”
They packed away refrigerated and frozen items straight off. After that, before attempting to make a dent in canned goods and sundry, Mark initiated the two-second tour he had joked about—which took about that long. There wasn’t much to the space, really, just a living room split by a kitchen divider that featured a pair of tall chrome stools. Beyond that, separated by pocket doors, was a fair sized bedroom. Tidy and efficient, with nothing left to waste, just like the man who’d be occupying the space.
When they resumed their attack against a sea of plastic grocery sacks, Chase extracted an item that took him by surprise, the latest edition of the tabloid gossip magazine Nashville from the Inside. Plastered across the front was a big color photograph of him with Pyper. Her arm was linked through his; their gazes were connected exclusively, and they shared smiles that had been freeze-framed by the magazine’s photographer. Chase took in the headline.
Check Out the Angel and the Bad Boy…
His throat went dry when he continued on to the brief summary that followed:
Has Christian music sweetheart Pyper Brock taken up with Nashville superstar and supposedly reformed bad boy, Chase Bradington? The pair unveiled some cozy behavior at a recent party hosted by record exec Alex Monroe at his Brentwood home. Attendees looked on as the couple tried to play it cool, but they kept close tabs on one another during the duration of Monroe’s 20-year anniversary celebration with the Imperion label.
The blurb went on to detail Pyper’s upcoming plans to release a second album and included a timeline of Chase’s future career plans and recovery efforts
“Hey…Mark…seriously? Gossip rags?”
Mark turned when Chase called, and then went unnaturally still as he spied Chase holding the magazine. Chase watched, perplexed as Mark filled his chest with a deep breath.
A second later, Mark shrugged. “Oh, you know how irresistible those tabloid offerings that stand guard at the end of the checkout lanes are. No doubt guaranteed to both horrify and entertain the folks waiting in line. I told you I was keeping up on you. Quite th
e cover story to catch my eye. Care to talk about this development?”
Chase looked at the cover once more and wanted to snarl as he took note of the byline. Petra Goode. Naturally. “The only development is a friend of mine has a barracuda on her tail with an axe to grind.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Pyper Brock is upstanding and decent. Therefore, media-types like this Petra woman are determined to find a way to bring her down and sell papers. She wants to find chinks in the armor, if you know what I mean.”
“I do at that.” Mark took custody of the magazine and tossed it aside, face down. “So, tell me what’s going on beneath the slick headlines and black ink.”
“Nothing much, really.” Chase turned away, returning to storing soup cans, spices, and other dry goods in Mark’s pantry—a deflection that he hoped wasn’t as transparent as it felt.
“Yeah, it sure seems that way.”
Busted—about as expected. All the same, Chase’s world teetered. He had just shelved a couple cans of tuna and his hand rested against the edge of the shelf. He stared ahead then he smiled. Pictures didn’t lie, and that photo on the cover of Nashville from the Inside revealed the romantic spark that followed Chase straight into his dreams at night. He rejoiced, even as a contradictory flood of dread doused his bloodstream with ice. Evidently things were going to get complicated in a big hurry now that the media had sunk their teeth into personal matters…
“What's she like?”
Mark’s question—posed almost like a counselor, as in their days of therapy—helped push Chase out of hiding. He shook his head, yet the all over smile that curved his lips came straight from the heart.
“You want me to describe Pyper Brock?” Chase released a quiet huff of sound. “I’d never be able to do her justice. She’s soft and sweet, but she’s got this fantastic core of strength and sass, too. Mark, God’s in the process of helping me resurrect my life, there’s no doubt there. But to be happy like this? For a man like me to come upon a woman like her? It’s nothing short of a miracle. She’s everything I want. Spirited, faith-filled, loving and true. When I’m around her, I feel like I’m home. Like I’m where I belong…black-marked soul or not.”
Forgiveness Page 9
