Forgiveness

by Marianne Evans

  Where was this piece of repartee headed? Pyper’s cheeks flushed scarlet beneath a blush. Where should she take this? “Yeah, we did, because Opry staff landed you in the It Takes Two dressing room. A spot at the Opry created to honor such legendary romantic pairs as Johnny Cash and June Carter, George Jones and Tammy Wynette.” Applause and whistles broke out in the midst of their country music fans. Pyper’s pulse thrummed. “Your point is?”

  “My point is, since it seems we’re going to be singing together every now and again, why not pay them homage? How about we launch into a cover of Johnny and June’s classic, ‘It Ain’t Me, Babe’ before we introduce the new song we’ve been working on?”

  “It Ain’t Me, Babe.” They had horsed around with the song a time or two in recent days. The lyrics formed a spirited ode to the push and pull of relationships that, on one level, should never happen, but on another were as destined as the sunrise. Was he trying to build a bit of romantic connection to their performance?

  Pyper’s eyes went narrow, but playful. “I’m game. It’s a great song.” More applause rushed in while she accepted a tambourine from one of their backup musicians. Prompted by Chase’s intro, Pyper returned to front stage center and whispered, “I’m so not afraid of you.”

  “And that just might be your first mistake.” His quick retort and wolfish grin played havoc against her senses as the intensity of his gaze stroked her as sure as a caress.

  The band lit up. Subtle percussion built followed by a harmonica intro that was joined by a thumping bass and the build of Chase’s guitar.

  Pyper threw herself into the song as she would any other, but this rendition was special, and she knew it. Judging by the flare of pleasure in Chase’s eyes, the same held true for him.

  They were a dynamic team—no mistake. The cover and their debut of “Forgiveness” and “Burning Bridges” brought down the house...

  

  Relieved to take in some cool, sweet air outside the bar, Pyper paused for a moment and closed her eyes, replenishing her body and soul for a moment following the conclusion of her set with Chase. Restored, she ambled comfortably along the still busy street, drawn as always to the corner turn off Broadway that led toward the timeless edifice of the Ryman Auditorium.

  There, she came upon Chase, back propped against a nearby brick wall. An incline in the road led directly past the historic church turned iconic performance venue and he seemed to drink in the flavor of the night as well. Although he was tucked into shadow, he was in no way obscure. No man with his level of magnetism could remain invisible for long.

  Pyper moved to join him, but a pair of middle-aged ladies beat her to the punch. “Mr. Bradington. Good show tonight.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that. Glad you came out.”

  Surprisingly, they didn’t stop, or ask for an autograph. They continued to walk on by. The one closest to Chase cast a sneer over her shoulder. “Too bad you fell so hard and so far. After the way you’ve lived your life? Sorry, I just can’t remain a fan. Goes against my good conscience.”

  Pyper’s heart broke—for, with that cavalier, uninformed judgment, they were gone, traipsing into a land of self-righteousness and up a hill that would lead them away. They never paid heed to the fact that Chase watched their retreat, or that he sank against the wall at his back. Unaware of Pyper’s approach, he shook his head and focused on the ground.

  Defeat rolled off him in waves she could taste.

  An easy stride in place, she stepped forward, intent on pushing him away from the bleak storm clouds those women had left behind. “So…you took me by surprise with the whole June and Johnny reference, and that unexpected duet.”

  Chase looked up; the smile he extended was fake—she recognized the fact only because she was getting to know him better…and better.

  “Hope you didn’t mind. It felt good, and it segued well into ‘Burning Bridges.’ The audience seemed to love it.”

  “They did. Even those two.” Lifting her chin, Pyper indicated the two women who had already vanished into the night.

  His shoulders sagged just a trace. “You heard that?”

  “Didn’t like it, or agree with it, but, yeah, I heard that.”

  In a startling move, Chase bashed a booted heel against the wall where he stood. Other than that, his focus remained straight ahead, his arms folded against his chest. When she moved closer, she noticed the tight set of his jaw, the sharp flash of those coal eyes.

  “It makes me sick.”

  “What? Them? Don’t give ‘em the time of—”

  “It’s not just them, Pyper.” He ground out an angry sound. “Truth to tell, I don’t know who and what I am anymore.” He spoke in a harsh tone.

  She felt the quaking roll of his temper unfurling, which caused her to rear back slightly. “What do you mean?”

  Giving a snort, Chase shook his head as he watched the passing car traffic. “If I try to live by Christian values, folks shoot me down because of my past. On the other side of the coin, if I try to remain true to my old roots in country music, I’m labeled as a newborn, self-righteous holy roller. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.”

  Pyper studied him, sank into his words, and the emotion that gave them fuel. “You’re supposed to be who and what you are, Chase. You’re supposed to be who and what God created you to be. Nothing more, nothing less.” She moved a bit closer. “Honey, don’t buy into their disdain.”

  Chase delivered a long, pained look. “Tough proposition when people refuse to trust me. I brought it on myself. I know that. Still, when you work hard to reform, when you hope for a clean slate, rejection stings. I’d like to be the good guy.”

  “Seems to me you’re winning that battle. Keep it up.”

  More silence passed. “You and I had some fun playing around with ‘It Ain’t Me, Babe.’ I sprang it on you for two reasons. First, I knew you’d handle it like the spirited ball of fire you are.”

  Pyper didn’t even have time to react to that revelation before he continued.

  “Second? June and Johnny had it right when it comes to the kind of feelings that run between me and you. I’d like to be the one, but I’m probably all wrong. Doesn’t seem to stem the tide, though. Right or wrong, I think you’re…”

  The sentence dangled, but Pyper filled in the blanks with ease. He saw—he felt—that she was someone worth a heart-risk, no matter what the equation. She felt the same way about him.

  “Just remember, no matter what the world ever tries to say or do, I always want to be the kind of man who’s worthy of a woman like you.”

  “It’s not about worth, Chase. You’re worthy and then some, but you need to tune out all the static. Listen in here”—she settled a hand against his heart—“instead of out there. You’re doing just fine.”

  “Fine enough for you?”

  So, he wanted to push on the topic. Pyper’s throat went dry. So did her lips. She decided at once to respond with nothing less than that same level of honesty and revelation he had granted. “More than fine enough. We’re taking the leap, right? Finding the answers, like we talked about?”

  He pulled her close and held on tight. Pyper absorbed the welcome warmth of his body, the feel of his heartbeat quickening against her cheek.

  “Thanks, crash.” The breath from his murmured words skimmed along her hairline, igniting heat and a tingle of happiness. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

  That night, not even thoughts of a morning breakfast interview with the one and only Petra Goode could keep her mood from lifting high. While a spectacular night in the District transformed from reality to precious memory, while stardust and sparkles followed her to sleep, so did the image of a rugged man with soulful dark eyes and a plaintive voice full of deep, raw longing that begged for bad bridges to burn and disappear into the promise of hope.

  14

  Between Franklin and downtown Nashville, right off the Old Natchez Trace on Highway 100 stood a Tennessee icon, a class
ic restaurant catering to enthusiasts of southern comfort food. When Pyper pulled open the doorway of the Loveless Café, she spotted Petra Goode right away. The reporter was already seated, and it was tough to miss a bleached blonde dressed in a vivid red suit. Smile wide, Petra lifted her hand high to issue a fingertip wave.

  Bite the bullet and get it over with, Pyper thought, answering the summons with a smile that was in no way real. The traditional air kiss ensued, along with an over solicitous gesture from the reporter inviting Pyper to claim the wooden chair opposite.

  A round of idle chit chat followed while they placed breakfast orders—Pyper opted for biscuits and gravy. Their orders arrived soon after and with a mini-recorder, notebook and pen at her elbow, Petra launched the interview while she nibbled at her batch of bacon and some scrambled eggs.

  “Pyper, your debut album from last year, Anchor, launched the single by the same name and it won you fast fan loyalty and critical acclaim as well as a Dove nomination for best debut album. Talk to me about anchors. Who and what would you define as the anchors in your life?”

  “Most definitely my family and my faith in Christ help keep me anchored. My mom and dad, my brother, they’re the most important people to me; they absolutely constitute anchors in my life.”

  “Um…yes…Tyler and Amy…Zach. You come from a family that can be best described as Christian music royalty these days, what with your dad’s induction into the Opry.”

  “Thanks for that, yes. Absolutely.” Pyper knew her smile, and the warm glow that spread through her system, revealed authentic joy in both tone and attitude. So far, so good.

  “I have a confession to make. When you and Chase entered the Monroe anniversary party together, I just had to do some nosing around. I’m such a reporter, and y’all make such an intriguing couple. I just couldn’t help myself!”

  Although they shared a mild laugh, Pyper’s sense of ease instantly bit the dust. Petra munched on a triangle of toast, drawing out the moment. Pyper gritted her teeth.

  Following a swig of coffee, Petra continued. “Come to find out, I discovered a little something about Chase’s mentor, the man who helped him recover while he was at Reach.”

  Confused by the direction of the conversation, Pyper openly puzzled. “Oh?”

  “Oh, yes. In fact, the connection might be of interest to you. Of course, as close as you and Chase have become, you might already know…”

  “Know what?” Pyper was about to down a final serving of the grits that had accompanied her meal but stopped short.

  “We’ll get there. First off, though, does the name Mark Samuels mean anything to you?”

  Pyper froze, caught in a spider’s web that had been spun to perfection. “Ah…”

  “Let me explain.” Petra leaned in. Pyper leaned back, dizzy, hot, head suddenly pounding, an instant fever building to a rage. “Mark Samuels is Chase’s sponsor. His mentor to this day. Furthermore, he’s going to be heading up Reach North right here in Nashville. I’m so sorry…didn’t you know? Didn’t Chase tell you?”

  “Ah…” Curse it all, she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t dance far enough away from this double-fisted bombshell to find even ground. A queasy stomach turned the world green. Mark Samuels…her biological father…was Chase’s recovery sponsor? Mark Samuels was in town? Permanently? Heading up a rehab facility at which she would be performing as it opened its doors?

  Questions, emotions, hurtled through Pyper’s head like the ricochet of gunfire.

  Relentless, Petra pushed on. “I hear you and Chase will be singing at the benefit opening of the facility next week. Did you have any idea at all the event would lead to a reunion with your natural daddy? It’s fascinating to me that he’s come home to Nashville, all set to emerge on the stage of your life in what seems to be a pretty big way. You must be thrilled. After all, according to his bio on the main Reach website, he’s found the Lord. He’s battled and defeated alcohol addiction, much like Chase. From there, of course, I was fascinated. Once I did some serious digging, I discovered he had some gambling issues as well. Is that right?” She didn’t allow Pyper time to answer, or recover from shock. “After that, I came across some interesting reading material from the St. Clair Shores police department back in Michigan. Seems there are reports on file from your mama that indicate domestic abuse. Mmm, mmm, mmm. To think of the badness he’s overcome.” Petra’s eyes narrowed to cunning, wicked slits. “You must be so very proud.”

  In spite of flaming heat and an overwhelming sensation of dissolving, then spinning outside of her body, Pyper found her way to a response and a purely false smile. “Yes, Mark Samuels is my father by blood, but beyond that, I don’t know the man. At all. I haven’t seen or heard from him since my mother divorced him some twenty years ago.” How on earth did she keep the biting hatred she felt for the man packaged deep down inside and away from plain view? “I wasn’t even five the last time I saw him, so my memories are hazy at best, and inconsequential. I’m afraid I can’t be much help with your probing.”

  Was Petra Goode keen enough to register the understated barbs and pin-pokes of her reply? Lord have mercy, Pyper hoped so.

  “That’s so true. I’ve come at you by surprise, and I do apologize for that. See, I couldn’t help myself. When I uncovered the truth, I knew it would make for a great story so I’ve been real eager to chat with you. Maybe it would be best if I give your mama a call. She’ll certainly know more about the history here, and I’m sure it’ll be in her best interest—and Tyler’s, too—to help fill in some information before I go to print. And I am going to print on this, Pyper. No way is this story staying under wraps. From my perspective, it shouldn’t.”

  Pyper experienced a fierce internal scrabble as she fought to claw her way out of a hole made of quick sand. What could she do? What were her options? Petra held every card, and she knew it.

  “If you would be so kind, Petra, I’d ask that you give my family the benefit of some dignity and grace.”

  Her eyes went wide. Her lashes fluttered. “Oh, but I think I already am. You see, it’s the perfect platform and life situation for the Brock family to demonstrate what it’s made of. I can see it now—so heart-warming and touching—watchin’ y’all stand up for the Christian beliefs you hold so dear. The very idea gives me goose bumps. You, welcoming home your hard-working, reformed biological father. A man who’s found redemption, who lives to help troubled souls? What’s not to love?”

  Pyper fought to keep steady, prayed for the power to remain seated when all she wanted to do was run away screaming.

  Indulgent smile in place, Petra claimed their breakfast check with a smooth swipe of her hand against the linen covered table. “It’s truly my pleasure to treat you today, Pyp. Out of my respect for you and your family, I’ll hold off on publication until after the opening. Besides, I’m sure that event will give me even more to include in the story. I can’t wait to see y’all at Reach in a few.”

  

  Chase spent the morning completing another dynamite recording session. “Burning Bridges” and “Forgiveness” were going to be the star entries on his next album once the songs were completely finessed; but the eight subsequent tracks weren’t shabby either. In addition, Zach Brock possessed mad guitar skills, which Chase loved being able to cultivate and encourage. The kid had really clicked with the other members of the band. His passion mirrored theirs, and although they were older, they took him in. Take today for example. Chase enjoyed the way they included him in an after-session lunch at Gabby’s—the very spot of his first meal with Pyper.

  All in all, he left the studios of Imperion feeling like tethers around his spirit were breaking free, allowing him to be uplifted…and by more than just music.

  He pressed the power button for the window of his truck and breathed deep of the air that rushed in and galvanized his entire soul. His evening at the Brock farm had clinched it. The performance at The Stage had set matters in stone. He was in love—big time, and l
ike no other instance in his life. In fact, he was in love for the first, and the last, time in his life. Pyper was that precious. That meaningful.

  His fingertips danced against the steering wheel; in came the memory of laying a soft caress against her cheek—silk was nothing more than a pathetic imitation—followed by the memory of kissing her, of tasting the sweetness of soft, full lips that took, and gave, and danced in perfect time to his.

  Like they were meant to be.

  This was real. This was end-song. The Grand Finale. Happiness washed through him in a flood so potent it couldn’t be contained. Laughing aloud, banging a fist against the steering wheel, he let out a whoop of happiness he knew carried straight to heaven, to the ears of Christ and Shayne Williams.

  Traffic piled up as Chase entered downtown, so he tempered his mood, paying close attention to the road even as a commercial aired on the radio advertising jewelry. His heart skipped a few beats. Soon enough he intended to present her with a diamond ring along with a lifelong commitment encompassing the whole of his heart. It’d be a ring as breathtaking as the woman to whom it would belong, as big and fantastic as the emotion he battled to control right here and right now.

  He laughed once more, spying the merge up ahead that would lead to his condo. His phone came to life. At the first stop light, he glanced at an incoming text message from Kellen Rossiter and his smile fell when he read: Need to c u. ASAP. It’s about Pyper. Can u stop by? I’m at the office. KR

  Chase had just enough time before the light went green, to type: Just left the studio n I’m not far away—b there in ten. An ominous shiver skirted against the fine, tickly hairs along the back of his neck.

  

  “Gossip mongers are the double-edged sword of the entertainment industry.” Kellen paced the floor of his office. In an agitated motion, he raked back his hair. Seated on a couch that lined the far wall, Chase propped forward against his knees, watching and listening. “Petra Goode is hot on the trail of a story about Pyper.”