“Yeah?”
I nod, letting myself remember what a wonderful day that had been. “By that point, she couldn’t walk very well, and it took a lot of courage for her to step down into that water. Watching her and singing the words to that song at the same time made me understand what it really meant. I was so proud to have been a part of that day.”
“Don’t you think she’d be proud of you now?” he asks in a low voice.
I let my gaze meet his. “I do,” I say softly.
“Then think about that tonight when you’re out there singing. Nothing else but that.”
“Thanks, Holden,” I say, and for a moment, just a moment, I let myself remember why I fell in love with him so quickly. This way he has of anchoring me in the middle of a storm I am sure is big enough to overtake me. I trust him to know the way, to lead me out. I can’t explain the why of it. I just know it’s true.
“Welcome to the San Francisco Bayside Coliseum and the Case Phillips’ Brand New Me Tour!”
The announcer’s shout-out is loud enough to soften the roar of the crowd.
“This is one ticket you’re going to be so glad you bought. First out tonight, a new group Case has been talking up all over Nashville, and when you hear them, you’ll understand why! Folks, let’s give a big California welcome to Barefoot Outlook!”
“Yee-haw!” Thomas whoops. “Here we go, y’all!”
He leads me across the stage, one fist pounding the air, the other hand clasped in mine as if he knows there’s a good chance I’ll run. From the corner of my eye, I see Beck and Holden taking their places, picking up their guitars.
Thomas and I reach for our microphones, and he dips into the first song of our set – “What We Feel.” I wrote this song and I know it like I know my own face in the mirror. I’m supposed to come in on the chorus but my mind has gone completely blank. I know what Thomas is going to sing before I hear the words but I can’t think of how the first line of the chorus begins. He’s into the pre-chorus now. I feel the impending arrival of my turn to join in like a roller coaster about to reach the top of the first hill, aware that the bottom is going to fall out at any second.
My face feels frozen and I can’t make myself smile. Thomas glances over at me, his eyes questioning. I know he wants to help. There’s nothing he can do.
Someone steps up behind me just then, puts an arm around my shoulders, and I realize it’s Case. I’m sure he’s going to signal me off the stage, take my place, but he starts into the chorus with Thomas, still holding onto me.
The crowd erupts at the sound of his voice, screaming and whooping their surprise at his appearance.
And suddenly the words are coming back to me. Case must feel my relief because he shouts out, “CeCe McKenzie, folks, this girl’s got couuuuntry!”
And as if he’s just handed me the baton in a relay race, I swoop into the second verse with the same level of confidence I had reached during our rehearsals of this song.
The audience begins to clap and stomp out the rhythm as I go, and all of a sudden, I’m having more fun than I’ve ever had on stage. My heart feels like it might burst with gratitude for Case’s generosity.
He joins us on the chorus again.
It’s what we feel
That makes the memories
It’s what we feel
That gives us history
The part that’s real
It’s what we feel
Thomas and I take the bridge, and then all three of us finish it out. At the end, Case kisses my cheek and heads off the stage. The audience is cheering so loudly, I’m not sure they can even hear the beginning of our next song. But it doesn’t matter, I know every word. I sing like I’ve never sung before, giving it heart, mind, soul, me.
♪
AFTER THE SHOW, we sign autographs for fans who received back stage passes through Case’s fan club. It’s a little shocking to see the line of people extending down the hallway outside the room where we’re having a buffet supper set up by a catering company.
The crowd is mostly made up of girls, a few guys here and there who are most likely boyfriends forced to come along. Thomas, Holden, Beck and I are at the start of the line. Case is at the other end so that the fans get to him last.
A young girl who looks to be about thirteen holds out a t-shirt for me to sign. The front says Brand New Me Tour. The back reads Case Phillips and Barefoot Outlook. Every time I see that, my stomach drops as if released from elevator cables.
How we got here, I am still not sure.
“Your voice is amazing,” the girl says, looking up at me with an awe I don’t see myself ever getting used to. “I could listen to you all night.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, smiling at her.
“I sing too,” she says.
“That’s wonderful. What do you like to sing?”
“Anything I can get anybody to listen to,” she admits with a shy smile. “My daddy says I could sing the stripes off a zebra.”
I laugh. “That’s some awfully good singing.”
“Not as good as you though. How long did it take you to sound like you do?”
“I started when I was really young, like you,” I say. “If it’s what you love to do, it’s not even work. For me, I was just always happy to be doing it. Anytime. Anywhere.”
Thomas elbows me. “Hey, how about saving a fan or two for me?”
The girl giggles and says to Thomas, “You’re really good too, you know.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, bestowing a smile on her that lights her cheeks up to apple red. He signs her shirt as well and when she’s moved on to where Beck is standing next to his dad, I shake my head at him.
“What?” he asks, grinning.
“You’re a natural at this,” I say.
“I like making people smile.”
“You sure can do that.” I glance around the room, not for the first time since we’ve been standing here, and add, “Where is Holden?”
“Said he was going to take a shower.”
“He should be signing too.”
“He’s not much on this part,” Thomas says. “Never has been.”
I’m not surprised by this but it still doesn’t seem right that he’s not out here taking some of the credit.
A very tall guy with white-blonde hair stops in front of me and holds out a ticket stub. He looks to be in his late twenties or so. “Could you sign this please?” he asks, his voice smooth, polite.
Smiling, I look up at him. His eyes are the lightest blue I’ve ever seen. He’s smiling back at me but something in his expression makes me instantly want to take a step back. I have to force myself not to. He’s looking at me as if he can see right through me. I actually feel goose bumps shiver across my arms.
“I . . . sure,” I say, taking the ticket and writing, “Happiness is a Barefoot Outlook. CeCe.”
He reads it and smiles again. I can’t explain what it is about him, some weird energy or maybe just my imagination. The way he’s staring at me feels off somehow.
“Looks like you’re living the dream. Touring with Case Phillips. That’s big stuff.”
I feel my heart thump an inexplicable note of alarm. “We’re all grateful to be here,” I say.
“You’re out of Nashville, right?”
I nod. “Yes.” I try to make eye contact with Thomas but he’s talking with someone and not looking my way. Neither is Beck or Case.
“How long before you got your break?”
I start to ask what he means but I don’t want to lengthen the conversation so I say, “I’ve been there almost two years.”
“Two years? Is that all?” He laughs. “I’d like to get your recipe for success.”
Panic flutters through me now and I am certain I need to move away from him. A hand grasps my arm and I jump before I realize it’s Holden. He steps halfway in front of me. The adrenaline of instant relief pumps outward from my chest.
“Hey,” the guy says with
a sarcastic lilt.
Holden now turns fully toward him, standing in between us. “You should move on.”
“Should I?”
“You should.”
“What happens if I don’t?”
“I happen.” Holden’s voice is steel.
The guy raises both hands in concession, still holding the ticket I signed. “Chill, dude. You go ballistic every time somebody chats up your chick?”
Holden steps forward, forcing him to move back. Case’s two bodyguards, John and Miles, are now walking toward us, both hulking weightlifters whose muscle is not for show.
“Everything okay here?” John asks, looking directly at the guy.
“I was just leaving,” he says, the words now as neutral as his expression.
“Why don’t we walk you out?” Miles says in a voice that makes it clear his offer isn’t a suggestion.
He gives me one last look, his eyes lit with amusement, before turning to walk toward the door with them.
I turn and head for the dressing room, my pace fast and uneven, my knees so shaky I think they might actually collapse beneath me. I am aware of Holden following me but I don’t stop until I reach the room with my name on it.
He walks in behind me. “Are you okay, CeCe?”
“Will you close it? And lock it? Please.”
He does as I ask, concern on his face. “Hey. You’re okay.”
I sit on the small sofa against one wall, managing a nod, shivering.
“What did he say?”
I shake my head. “It was more like the way he said it.”
Holden sits down beside me and slowly pulls me into the curve of his arm. “He’s gone. Everything is all right.”
I nod, forcing myself to focus on those two words and their ability to melt my panic.
“He really freaked you out,” Holden says, smoothing the back of his hand across my hair. “I admit he was a little creepy, but is there something else going on?”
I want to tell him, except it’s been so long since I’ve let myself think about any of it that I’m not sure I can bring it to life again with words. “I . . . had a bad experience a few years ago. I guess he reminded me of it.”
Holden studies me for a moment and then says, “What happened, CeCe?”
I look down and rub my thumb against the back of one hand. “It was right after I first started going on the road. Weekend stuff. I began noticing this man showing up in the audience, even when the shows were in different places, hours apart. At first, he just watched me and never approached me. But then he began sitting at a front table, and throughout the entire show, he wouldn’t take his eyes off me.”
“Did you call the police?”
“At that point, I didn’t have anything to report. I started to see him in other places. At the grocery store. Parked outside my high school when I got there in the mornings. He even came to my house one night when Mama was at church. I heard a knock and opened the door before I realized-”
I break off there because my voice is shaking and I can’t get the rest of the words out.
Holden puts his arm around me and pulls me into the curve of his shoulder. I hold myself rigid for a few moments but then I close my eyes and sink against him, remembering how safe I feel there.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice low and laced with anger.
I shake my head. “I was able to slam the door and call the police. There was nothing to arrest him for at that point.”
“What else did he do?”
“Punctured the tires on Mama’s car when I borrowed it one night to go to a show in Raleigh. Surveillance cameras proved that he did it.”
“Did he go to jail?”
“For ninety days.”
“That’s it?” he asks, sounding disgusted.
I nod.
“Has he bothered you since?”
“While he was in jail, someone would call our house and hang up. Eventually, that stopped, and I haven’t heard from him again.”
“You’re sure this isn’t the same guy?”
“I’m sure.”
We sit, quiet for a good while before he says, “I don’t want you to go anywhere by yourself, okay?”
“I won’t.”
“He’s probably some jokester with a bad sense of humor, but there’s no reason to take a chance.”
I pull back a bit and look up at him. “Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
“Being there.”
“I’m glad I was.”
He brushes his hand across my cheek, and just that light touch snags something low inside me that responds to him in a way I’ve never responded to anyone else. My breathing goes instantly shallow.
“You’re beautiful, CeCe.”
The words are like the lick of a flame along my skin, and I hear in his voice that he knows he shouldn’t have said them.
“I really want you to kiss me,” I say softly, deliberately.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says, equally soft, equally deliberate.
I lean in a little closer. There’s a moment of hesitation in us both. He answers my invitation so suddenly and with such intensity that I forget to breathe, forget everything except the instant memory of how his lips feel against mine. Heated and knowing, familiar and skilled.
I slide my palms up the expanse of his hard-muscled abs and chest, the ripples and contours clearly defined beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Touching him, molding myself to him, it’s almost impossible to believe I’m not dreaming. Because I’ve dreamed this dream so many times, only to wake up to daylight and the fact that I would never be held by him like this again, kissed by him like this again.
I feel the tears seeping from beneath my closed lids. I will them to stop, but they don’t, they won’t.
Holden pulls back and brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Do you want me to quit?” he asks, instantly remorseful.
I shake my head, looking down because I can’t make myself meet his gaze.
“But you’re crying.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Baby, why?” he says, the question sounding as if it has been torn from him.
I do let myself look at him now, and I answer as honestly as I can. “Because I’ve missed you so much. Because I thought we would never be together like this-”
I don’t finish. He is suddenly kissing me into silence. And I am kissing him back. His hands slide under the skirt of my dress and around my bottom to lift me onto his lap so that I am straddling him, my arms winding around his neck and holding him tight. There is no space between us, one heart pounding into the other. And I think if I could melt myself into him, I would. I don’t ever want to feel again what it’s like to know this and lose it.
Call it weakness. Call it acceptance of something I can’t change, but whatever I call it, I can’t deny it.
I run my hands through his hair, kiss one eyelid and then the other, nip his chin with my teeth before sinking my mouth onto his again.
And we kiss without thought of time or any other measuring stick of the world outside this room. I don’t want to think past the next moment, the next sensation spiraling through me, lifting me up and out of myself to a place where there is only this, only us.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, dropping his head against the back of the sofa, his eyes hazed with the same need I feel.
“I know what you do to me,” I say. “I know that I’ve never felt this way with anyone but you.”
“CeCe. I promised myself I wouldn’t get between you and Beck,” he says, the words infused with apology. “Tell me to get up and leave, and I will.”
“I wish I could,” I say, hearing the broken note in my admission. “I don’t want to hurt him. I never wanted-”
“Me? Is that about right?”
I go completely still at the sound of Beck’s voice, closing my eyes in the hope that I imagined it.
Holden gently slides me off his
lap, stands, and pulls me to my feet. We both face Beck with solemn expressions.
“Beck . . . man, we didn’t mean for this to happen,” Holden says. “It wasn’t planned.”
Beck shoves a hand through his hair and laughs, a harsh sound that I don’t recognize in him. “There’s fool and then there’s Fool with a capital F. I guess that’s me.”
“Beck,” I say. “Don’t. It’s not like that.”
“What is it like, CeCe?” he asks, and I see the tears shining in his eyes.
My heart twists. I really hate myself for hurting him this way. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Maybe like this,” he says with an edge in his voice. “Girl likes boy. Boy dumps girl. Girl tries to get over him with sucker boy. But that didn’t work, did it?”
“Beck-”
“Don’t bother, CeCe,” he says. “I already know the ending to this story.” He turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him so that the thin walls rattle with the force.
I sink onto the sofa, wondering exactly what I’ve just done.
Holden sits down next to me. “Do you want me to go after him?”
“No. It should be me. I need to talk to him.”
“I don’t want you alone with him when he’s angry at you.”
“It’s okay. That’s not Beck.”
“How do you know?” he asks.
“I just do,” I say, and then because the guilt is starting to choke me, I add, “You should go.”
He watches me while weighing his decision. “I’m not leaving you alone right now.”
“I’m fine. I . . . I need some time to think.”
I can see that he wants to disagree but he finally relents with, “I’ll check in on you in a little while. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
I nod.
He stands then without touching me again. He walks to the door, turns, and looks at me. His eyes are solemn and serious. “Do you want me to go back to pretending that I don’t love you, CeCe?”
The question echoes from my head to my heart. I am at once joyful and stricken.
He loves me.
Oh.
He loves me.
“No,” I say. “I don’t.”
♪
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