Chapter 7
“Thank you, Denver!”
The roar of the crowd followed Luke as he left the stage. He glanced at the front row seats he’d made note of before the concert had started—the seats where Rowan should be but wasn’t. He’d tried to search every face in the front of the crowd looking for her but hadn’t had any luck.
Maybe Marla had been wrong about the seats that she’d been sent.
“Thanks.” He took the bottle of water from the stagehand and guzzled half of it before Brett reached him.
“Great show. We’ve got about fifty VIPs for the meet and greet. You wanna change shirts?”
“Yeah. Real quick. I don’t want to be here all night.” He closed the door to the ready room and rummaged through his bag, pulling out a clean t-shirt. Pulling his soaked shirt over his head, he used a towel to wipe off the sweat, applied more deodorant, and put on the new shirt. A quick sniff test to make sure he didn’t reek too badly and he was ready.
Ten minutes into the after-show, his cheeks hurt from forcing a smile for all the selfies. It’d gotten to the point where he didn’t even flinch when a woman grabbed his butt or slipped something into his back pocket. He’d pull a dozen or more names and numbers out of his pockets at the end of the show. At least they weren’t trying to grope his tonsils with their tongues anymore.
The two women who were in the seats Marla said had been sent to Rowan were next and he forced his smile even more.
“I love your music,” the Hispanic woman said. “I know you hear that from everyone, but I would feel bad if I didn’t tell you.”
Her excitement was palpable whereas her companion seemed less than thrilled. She reminded him of the tolerant boyfriends who glared at him when their girlfriends gushed over him.
“Thanks. I always like to hear fans love the music.” He picked up one of the headshots he signed during the VIP sessions. “Who should I make it out to?”
“Maria.”
He wrote his standard statement and signed it. Handing it to her, he punished himself just a little bit more. “I noticed you two in the front row. You got engaged tonight, right?”
She beamed even more. “You saw? I was planning on doing it next week, something low-key, but when our friend gave us these tickets it seemed like the perfect moment.”
“That’s a really good friend—I don’t think those seats are cheap.”
“I didn’t even think about that.” She turned to her girlfriend. “Claudia, how much did Rowan pay for the tickets?”
The blonde socked her on the arm.
“Ow! What? If she paid a lot of money for the tickets, I want to pay her back.”
He stepped closer and asked in a low voice, “Rowan gave you the tickets?”
The girlfriend glowered at him and pulled on Maria’s arm. “Come on, we’re holding up the line.”
“Wait.” Luke held out his arm. He didn’t give a damn about the line. “How is she?”
“You know Rowan?” Maria asked.
“We were high school sweethearts.” That was the easiest, least complicated explanation.
“Really?” She looked at her girlfriend. “How do I not know that?”
“I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”
They walked away, heads close together. There was nothing he could do to keep them from leaving, short of siccing one of the security guys on them.
That was the closest he’d been to Rowan in years and he wasn’t any closer to her than he’d been before. Frustrated, he turned back to the fans in line.
A few autographs and selfies later, he felt a tap on his arm.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry.” Maria looked at the family next in line. “I’m so sorry. My friend wasn’t feeling well and I wasn’t able to get a picture. Do you mind? Real quick, I promise.”
The woman looked annoyed, but said, “Sure. Go ahead.”
Maria slid her hand around his waist and held up her cellphone. “Take the piece of paper that’s in my hand on your waist,” she said.
He looked at her. “What?”
“Look at the phone. Claudia’s in the bathroom. I told her I was getting a selfie. I’ve only got a few minutes, but I don’t want to risk her coming out and seeing me hand you anything. So, take the piece of paper that’s in my other hand and smile.”
She took three quick photos while he fumbled for the piece of paper.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Rowan’s number.” She lowered the phone and glanced over her side toward the exit.
“Why?”
She shrugged and shook her head. “I have absolutely no idea. It’s a feeling I have and I always listen to my feelings. Don’t tell her where you got it and don’t make me regret it.”
Luke stared at the ten-digits he’d typed into his phone. All he had to do was press the green call button.
Shit.
He lowered the phone between his knees and rested his forehead in the palm of his other hand, elbow resting on his knee. What was he doing? It was almost midnight. What would he even say?
Tomorrow.
But if he waited, he knew he’d chicken out again. Better to do it now. Fast—like ripping off a bandage. Or in this case, tearing off the scab and hoping it didn’t open up a vein.
He raised the phone, pressed the green button, and brought it to his ear.
Restless, he stood and paced from one end of the narrow corridor of the bus to the other. Four rings or voice mail and I’ll hang up.
“Hello?”
He squeezed his eyes closed. It was the first time he’d heard her voice in years. There’d been a time when he hadn’t gone more than half a day without talking to her.
“Hello?” Her voice was stronger the second time.
“Rowan?” His voice broke in the middle and he tried again. “Rowan.”
The few seconds of silence stretched out into an eternity. “Luke?”
“Yeah. Hey.” Heat flushed his body and sweat beaded along his hairline. He wiped the palm of his free hand on his jeans and swallowed back the emotion clogging his throat.
“How did you get this number?” she asked quietly.
He heard rustling as if she were getting out of bed. “My, uh, assistant tracked it down for me. How are you?” he asked in a rush.
“Luke…why are you calling?”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately,” he said. “I miss you, Rowan. You were the only person in my life I ever trusted completely outside my family. I—miss you.”
“Luke—”
“Can I see you? I’m still in Denver. I’ll come to wherever you are. Or I’ll meet you somewhere. I just—I want to see you.”
“I’m engaged, Luke.”
His heart thumped violently in his chest. “What?”
“I’m getting married in three weeks.”
He couldn’t have formed words if his life depended on it.
“Luke?”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes. I’m happy. Are—Congratulations. On your awards. It’s everything you ever wanted.”
“I used to think that.” Why hadn’t she asked if he was happy? Did she just assume he was because he’d always dreamed of being a country singer? It killed him that she was congratulating him on the thing that ended up tearing them apart.
“Your fiancé—is he a good guy?” The cut kept bleeding because he kept digging in it. What he wanted to do was tell her she was supposed to be marrying him. It was always supposed to be them—Luke and Rowan. Rowan and Luke. How had everything gone so sideways?
“He is,” she said.
“Would I like him?” Did it matter? He planned on hating him on principle.
“I don’t know. The old Luke would have. I don’t know about this Luke.”
Fuuuuck. It killed him that she didn’t think he was the same person he’d been before.
“I’m the same person I always was.”
“I wish that were true.”
“Row—�
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“I have to go. Take care of yourself, Luke.”
The line went dead. He stared at the blank screen before tossing it on the nightstand and falling back on the bed.
Maria had to know Rowan was getting married, so why had she given him Rowan’s number? How could he even find her? Yeah, he had her address, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate him showing up at her door.
He’d fooled himself for years, pretending it didn’t hurt. That he was fine. That the fame and glory were worth losing the best thing in his life. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even realized she’d been the best thing in his life until it’d been too late. He could blame it on bad advice and bad management, but the truth was he let his ego and his pride drive her away because he’d been too scared to admit he needed her more than he needed the music.
Having that moment with her again, even at a distance, and having that door slammed was like losing her all over again.
Chapter 8
I miss you. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about those words? Three days later and that call was pretty much the only thing on her mind. His voice invaded her dreams and those words woke her from a dead sleep as if he’d whispered them in her ear while she lay in her bed.
If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he’d made a deal with every radio station in the country because every single one of them seemed to be playing his songs on repeat. She’d switched over to the news station to get away from it and she hated listening to the news.
“Rowan?”
She stopped and walked backward to the reception area where Rosie, their receptionist, stood with her hand over the phone receiver.
“Cancellation or last-minute appointment?” she asked.
“Neither. It’s your dad. He said he tried your cell phone, but you weren’t answering,” Rosie said.
Her dad? He never called her at work. “It’s in my locker,” she explained, taking the phone. “Dad? What’s wrong?”
“Rowan…your mom’s in the hospital.”
She blinked and groped blindly for Rosie’s chair, sitting heavily when she finally found it. “Is she okay? What happened?”
“She’d been having some stomach pain the past week or so. You know how she is…she’s worse about going to the doctor than I am.” He laughed softly.
“Dad—what’s wrong?”
“They, uh….” She heard him swallow hard. “They found a mass. On one of her ovaries. She’s scheduled for a biopsy in the morning, but they think—they think it might be cancer.” He barely managed to say the last word.
“Shit,” she whispered harshly. So many thoughts rushed through her head. Her work schedule. The wedding. She needed to call Michael. How quickly could she get a flight out? Did she have time to go home and pack a bag first? She had some gym clothes in her locker—she could always take those with her and borrow clothes from Adalynn when she got home.
Joyce Hill, the owner of the clinic, knelt beside her chair and rested a hand on her knee. Rosie must have gotten her.
“Let me make some arrangements and I’ll be home as soon as I can,” she told her dad. Joyce nodded her head.
“No, honey. I only called so you would know. You don’t need to come home. I’m sure you’re knee-deep in wedding prep—”
“Dad. I’m coming home. Send me the information for the hospital, okay?”
“Okay. If—Okay. I’ll have Adalynn send it to you. Let us know when your flight arrives.”
“I will. I need to go so I can make reservations. I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, pumpkin.”
Rowan replaced the handset in the cradle and exhaled harshly.
“What do you need?” Joyce asked.
“They found a mass. My mom—” She broke off and blew out another breath, futilely blinking back tears. They might not always see eye-to-eye, but this was her mom.
“Cancer?” Joyce asked.
She shook her head. “They don’t know. They’re doing a biopsy tomorrow. I’d like to be there.”
“Of course.” Joyce stood. “Rosie, reschedule Rowan’s appointments for the rest of the week. Book them over lunch or after hours if you have to. I’ll open my schedule and tell Johnathan to do the same to make sure everyone is taken care of.”
Rowan’s stomach dropped. “Dr. J, I don’t have any more leave—I scheduled it for my honeymoon.”
Her boss turned around, setting her hands on her hips, and looked down her nose. Rowan squirmed, feeling as if she’d been caught doing something that would get her grounded. Fighting the urge to confess to something—anything—she clasped her hands together.
“Rowan—this is a family dentistry. Which means we take care of family. Go do what you need to do and take care of yours. We’ll figure out your hours when you get back.”
Grateful to have an understanding boss, even if she was scolding Rowan, tears welled up again. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now go home and pack and check flights.”
Rushing to grab her things out of her locker, she called Michael as she pushed out of the clinic with a wave to Rosie. It went to voice mail.
Damn it. “Michael, Mom’s in the hospital. She’s having a biopsy tomorrow. I know it’s not the best timing, but I need to go home. I need to be there. Please call me when you get this.”
She hit the red light leaving the shopping center and pulled up the internet app on her phone to search for flights. There was a five-thirty direct flight that would get her to Knoxville at ten-thirty with the time difference. Taking advantage of every red light, to the point of slowing down if she thought the light would turn, Rowan had her tickets booked by the time she reached her apartment. She had enough time to pack and call an Uber to take her to the airport.
Michael hadn’t returned her call by the time she boarded the flight and had to turn off her phone.
It was the longest three hours of her life, or so it seemed. She tried to read, watch an in-flight movie, and sleep, but all she could think about was the possibility that her mom might have cancer.
As soon as the plane landed, she turned her phone back on and was rewarded with several texts from her dad and sister with information on her mom’s surgery in the morning, and a voice mail from Michael.
“Hey, Row. Sorry to hear about your mom. I wish you’d had time to wait until I could call back, but I understand why you didn’t. Call me when you land.”
Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, she pulled her carry-on from the overhead bin. As soon as she reached the gate area, she called Michael.
“Hey,” he answered on the first ring.
“Hey. I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t apologize—I understand. I’ll call Stephanie and the minister in the morning and let them know we’re postponing the wedding.”
She lurched to a stop in the middle of the concourse. “What? Why?”
“Your mom’s sick. I just assumed we’d postpone?”
“Shouldn’t we wait to see what the prognosis is before we cancel?” That hadn’t even occurred to her as an option.
“Not cancel. Postpone.”
“Whatever—it’s changing the date. Our wedding is less than two weeks away.” She started walking again. “Let me talk to my parents and the doctor before we make that decision. Even if it’s”—she inhaled deeply—“cancer, I know my mom won’t want us to change the date.”
“All right,” he said.
She stepped onto the escalator to take her down to the rental cars and worried at the cuticle of her thumb. “Do you…? Do you want to cancel the wedding?” she asked softly.
“No. No!” He said it more forcefully the second time. “Of course not. I was only trying to help make this situation less stressful. You’re absolutely right—we’ll wait until you talk to your parents and the doctor.”
Chapter 9
“Rowan!”
Rowan sighed and dropped her head forward. Setting her book down on the end table
in the den, she called, “Yes, Mama?”
“I need you to do something.”
Rolling her eyes, she pushed out of the chair, grateful her flight was tomorrow.
The tumor had been benign, but her mother was milking the doctor’s orders to “take it easy” for everything it was worth. She’d only gotten out of bed to go to the bathroom and move to the couch, so finding her in the kitchen was a surprise.
“You’re up,” she said.
“Don’t be sassy. Of course, I’m up. I can’t stay in bed forever. Not all of us are on vacation.”
Rowan raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together. Yup. Her mom was definitely feeling better.
“What do you need?”
“Your father forgot his lunch. Again. I need you to take it to him.”
“Sure.” It would give her a chance to get out of the house. She’d agreed to help take care of her mom for a few days after she’d been released from the hospital, but being home had reminded her there was a reason she’d gone away to college.
Nostalgia set in on the drive to her old high school. Even being away for so long, the muscle memory took her past the dilapidated barn a mile from her parent’s house, then down Main Street with its two stop lights to the high school, which was directly across the street from the combined elementary and middle school. The school’s mascot, the Hollerin’ Hillbilly, still boldly painted on the side of the gymnasium.
She rolled her eyes as she pulled into the visitors’ parking lot, the uneasy embarrassment of being a Hollerin’ Hillbilly making her neck flush. She grabbed the insulated lunch bag from the passenger seat and made her way to the front door of the school, surprised that she had to wait to be buzzed in.
The receptionist was new—at least it wasn’t the same woman that had been in the position the entire time she attended Flat Holler Junior and Senior High School. She looked up from her computer with a polite smile. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m here to see my dad.” She held up the lunch box. “He forgot his lunch.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh! You’re Rowan! I recognize you from all the pictures on his desk. Hang on a minute and I’ll see if he’s free.” She stood and walked to the last door on the left behind her, knocked, and poked her head in. On the way back, she spoke to a young girl waiting in one of the chairs outside the office door.
Make Me Believe: Jilted: The Bride Page 4
