Summer Serenade

by Melissa McClone

  Discourage her.

  How awful was that? What idiot had thought he’d be a good judge?

  Because he sucked.

  He didn’t need to watch to remember what he said to Ivy, but he did—for punishment. So he could remind himself what a jerk he’d been to her and the others who auditioned.

  As she stood with her hands clasped, her hope-filled gaze had made him uncomfortable, so he’d looked away.

  He’d been a loser for not meeting her eyes.

  Mama Aimee had wanted him to issue a public apology after the auditions aired, but R.J. had said the singers knew that was part of the show so Nash didn’t have to do anything.

  “The other judges gave you constructive feedback. But you’re old enough to hear the truth.” Nash’s voice sounded harsh and critical. Almost cruel, which was probably why Ivy’s smile vanished and her face paled. “Only the strong survive in the music business. You’re not ready. You sang off-key for the first half of the song. Your voice was weak and pitchy. Some of that might be due to nerves, but you never gained control of your vocals. My advice is to go home. Not everyone has the talent to make it in this business. You don’t.”

  Ivy’s eyes gleamed. Her lower lip quivered.

  Watching this now—something he hadn’t done ten years ago because of his busy schedule and not being interested—was painful. He’d been cocky, arrogant, and downright mean that day, especially to Ivy. The singers shared the same dream as him, but he’d spoken to them as if he were king and they were…nothing.

  Nash swallowed. Maybe he deserved the bad boy title. Not for his recent mistakes, but for what he’d done on that show. His face burned with shame.

  The camera panned from Ivy to him. He sat silent, waiting for her to contradict him as some earlier contestants had.

  Ivy didn’t.

  She said nothing.

  Her shoulders hunched. She swayed to the right. It appeared as if she might collapse to the floor. Only she didn’t.

  “Thank you,” she muttered, so soft the microphone barely picked up the words, and then ran out of the room, leaving the judges with stunned expressions.

  “Guess she’s taking your advice, Nash,” the third judge joked.

  All three of them laughed.

  At Ivy’s expense.

  Nash slumped.

  Another camera cut showed Ivy leaving through the double doors to a waiting Lance, who touched her shoulder. Huge tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Nash swallowed around the lump in his throat. He’d made her cry. He doubted she was the first singer who had cried that day because of him.

  Why hadn’t one of the show’s producers or staff told him to dial back his critiques? Be nicer? Or given the judges information about the person auditioning?

  How many others were grieving like Ivy or had a sick relative at home or a difficult home situation? The viewers likely knew, but he’d been clueless.

  Would he have softened his critiques with that information?

  Definitely.

  Which was probably why they hadn’t provided it.

  Following a fade-to-black cut, the video showed Ivy standing in front of the show’s banner. She kept dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

  “How are you feeling right now?” a woman asked her.

  Nash didn’t recognize the voice. Must be an assistant.

  “Like my dad just died all over again.” Ivy’s voice cracked.

  Nash pressed his hands against his face, but he kept watching. He needed to see this through even though it was tearing him apart.

  More tears fell. Ivy wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I came to this audition for him. But I never thought I’d hear my favorite singer in the world tell me to go home.”

  “You’re a fan of Nash Bennett.”

  “Was.” Ivy appeared to be struggling to breathe. “Not any longer.”

  Nash’s vision blurred. He blinked and then rubbed his eyes.

  He didn’t blame her for saying that. No wonder she hated him. He hated himself.

  “What are you going to do next?” the woman asked.

  Ivy’s shoulders sagged. She appeared ready to crumple.

  Nash stiffened. She’d needed a hug. Why hadn’t anyone hugged that poor girl who was alone and struggling?

  She sniffled. “I’m going home where I belong.”

  “What about singing?”

  Ivy’s defeated expression stabbed his heart. He wanted to close his eyes, but he forced himself to keep watching. However painful this was to him, Ivy had been hurting worse.

  She shrugged a shoulder as if that took whatever energy she had left. “Maybe I’ll try again when I’m more ready.”

  The devastation in her voice told Nash “maybe” would never come. Knowing what she was doing now at the pub…

  The truth cut him to the core.

  He let the tears fall from his eyes.

  He’d crushed her dreams.

  Right there, during that audition, for all to see. Given the ratings then, that had to be over twenty million people. More, based on the view counter on the video.

  His chest tightened so much he could barely breathe.

  She didn’t have to listen to you. If she’d truly wanted a music career, she wouldn’t have let anyone or anything stop her.

  Logically, he knew that was true because he was proof.

  But…

  She’d been grieving the loss of her father and so young—so very young—she probably couldn’t take anything else. She’d had to be so overwhelmed by everything, especially Nash’s harsh criticism. He understood why she would have given up or put her music career on hold.

  The worst part?

  She’d sung better than others they’d heard. Similar singers had moved on to the next round earlier in the day. But he’d said those words as much for his sake as hers.

  Ivy had deserved better from him. As did all the contestants that day.

  What he’d done as a judge was wrong on so many levels.

  Nash couldn’t go back and make it better for all of them, but he could do something for Ivy. The one who was in the same town as him, working as a server and only occasionally performing when she could—should—be doing so much more.

  She didn’t want to see him, but that no longer mattered.

  Nash straightened.

  He had to make up for the damage he caused.

  And would, no matter what it took.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sunday morning, a knock sounded on Ivy’s door. Still in bed, she blinked open her eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the edges of the blinds, but she didn’t feel rested. On the pillow to her left, her cat, Pearl, slept soundly, her gray body stretched out and her front paws reaching toward Ivy.

  Ivy grabbed her cell phone off the dresser that also functioned as a nightstand. Ten o’clock. Not that late considering she’d been up off and on all night. A text from her uncle told her he’d be by later with a nondisclosure agreement from Nash Bennett.

  She sighed.

  Of course Nash would want her to sign one. Given the way he’d looked at her last night, he probably thought she was a manic fan or something. She would happily play that role if doing so meant she’d never see him again.

  Another knock.

  That had to be her uncle. She would sign the NDA and then forget about Nash once and for all.

  Ivy crawled out of bed and then shuffled a few feet across the carpeted floor of her studio apartment. At least she was decently dressed in a pair of shorts and an oversized T-shirt. She opened the door.

  Her jaw dropped.

  Nash Bennett.

  He wore a beanie instead of the cowboy hat he was known for but no sunglasses. She stared, not quite believing it was him. Her fingers tightened around the doorknob.

  The action snapped her out of being dazed. She didn’t want to talk to him. Now or ever.

  Ivy went to close the door except a booted foot stopped her. She tried pushing, but the door rem
ained half-open with him in the way. “Move your foot.”

  “I have to talk to you.” His gaze implored her. “Please, Ivy. Hear me out. A few minutes is all I’m asking.”

  A new neighbor who worked at the gas station exited his apartment. He glanced her way. “You okay, Ivy?”

  Was she? She had no idea but found herself nodding and waving to the guy whose name she’d blanked on. He headed toward his car.

  Ivy glanced around to see if anyone else was in listening range. “If I hear you out, will you leave me alone?”

  Nash exhaled. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.” She’d told him that last night.

  Hoping she didn’t regret this, Ivy motioned him into her apartment. That was as much of an invitation as she would extend.

  As he entered, he removed his beanie. “Thank you.”

  She closed the door behind him.

  Surveying the room, he fingered his beanie.

  Ivy could only imagine what he saw—a tiny apartment that needed to be cleaned. He probably lived in a mansion on a huge piece of property. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Nice place,” he said finally.

  Her bed was unmade. Dirty clothes lay in a pile on the floor next to her shoes. An electronic keyboard, guitars, notebooks, and pieces of paper covered the table next to the small kitchen and both chairs. But the rent was affordable and allowed her to save money each month. Pearl didn’t seem to mind the cozy quarters. Neither did Ivy.

  “It’s a mess.” No sense denying the obvious. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I didn’t think you’d take my call. Not that I have your number.” He stared at her bed. “You have a cat.”

  “Pearl.”

  Hearing her name woke the feline. She stretched more until she was on Ivy’s pillow, too.

  “Is she named after the gemstone?” he asked.

  Why was Nash asking? He wasn’t here to talk about her cat and drink coffee like Grams and her friends did each week. She and Nash would never be friends, not even frenemies. As far as she was concerned, he was a mortal enemy.

  “Minnie Pearl.” Ivy only answered so they could get on with whatever had brought him to her apartment. “My dad was a fan.”

  “Ever been to the Grand Ole Opry?” Nash’s charming smile sent her pulse sprinting.

  The reaction annoyed her. Enemy, remember? “How did you find me?”

  “A website. All I needed was your name and city,” he admitted. “Scary easy to be honest."

  Scary was right since she had no social media accounts and stayed offline. It had been almost ten years since she’d deleted all her profiles and pages. Still, she didn’t know why he bothered to look her up. “I doubt you’re here to chitchat about tourist spots in Nashville. What do you want?”

  His gaze met Ivy’s, giving her a closer look at his face. Lines creased his forehead, emphasizing his tired eyes ringed with dark circles. He appeared as if he slept little.

  A muscle ticked at his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t hide her frustration with him. “For?”

  “What I said during your audition. You didn’t deserve that.”

  Talk about an unexpected apology. What strength Ivy had left she exhaled. Deflated, she plopped onto the bed. “I didn’t think you remembered.”

  “I didn’t. Not until last night.” He shifted his weight between his booted feet. “It took an internet search to figure out what you’d been talking about. I… What I said to you was wrong. So was the scrutiny you faced afterward. I’m sorry I hurt you so badly. I wanted to tell you why…”

  Ivy listened to him explain about what had caused his bad day and how he’d tried to discourage her because of how young and innocent she appeared. He admitted no one had told them anything about the contestants so he’d had no idea she was grieving the death of her father. The show had wanted drama and conflict for the ratings. That had turned both judges and contestants into pawns, and he’d played right into their hands.

  “None of those things excuse my behavior,” he said to her surprise. “My harsh critique was undeserved, considering you were more talented than others we let through to the next round. But I was selfish. I hadn’t considered nor cared who I hurt. All I wanted was to be in the spotlight. Some of that has changed in the last ten years, but not all.” His remorse over his actions appeared genuine. Nash clutched his beanie. “I was doing better. Until things went downhill a few months ago. That’s why I’m in Quinn Valley. So a high-priced PR firm can repair the damage I’ve done to my reputation and my injured muscle can heal.”

  His honesty caught her off guard. Had her uncle told Nash she would sign the NDA so he felt free opening up?

  “I apologize,” Nash added. “I’m ashamed after seeing myself on that show. I only watched your audition, but it was enough to know I should have never been a judge. I hope you can forgive me for hurting you.”

  Could she? Hard to say when the past was steamrolling through her head. But before she gave him her answer, she had a few things to say first.

  Ivy straightened. “First, you didn’t hurt me. You devastated me. I’d heard what you said to others earlier that day, we all did in the waiting area, and as ugly as you were to them, you didn’t crush their dreams and then ground your foot on top of them for added effect as you did with me.”

  Nash’s chin dipped to his chest.

  “Look at me.” Her voice was hard. She didn’t care. “You had no qualms spouting words that slashed me to bits, but you wouldn’t look at me as you said them, so you can do it now.”

  He raised his chin. His cheeks were red.

  “You destroyed me. I didn’t have enough money to stay in Seattle another night so I had to make the drive home sobbing my heart out. I made it halfway before I almost got in a wreck.”

  Nash sucked in a breath. The color drained from his face.

  “I called home. My brothers Carter and David came to get me, but they didn’t arrive for hours. Hours I spent on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere alone and crying.”

  Nash’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “If I’d known—”

  “What would you have done differently?” she challenged.

  He took a slow breath, closing his eyes, before opening them.

  “Not been so brutal. Pointed out the good points to your audition instead of only focusing on the problems. Explained how the music business is tough. It can chew people like you up and spit them out. I would have also offered my condolences on your dad’s passing.” Nothing but sincerity sounded in Nash’s voice and shone in his eyes. “I probably would have voted you through to the next round, too.”

  Something in her chest loosened. The lump in her throat disappeared. It wasn’t what he said, per se, or that he would live with the guilt of his actions no matter what she said next. But she believed he was sorry, and the one thing her grandparents, parents, and Pastor Dahl had taught her was the importance of forgiveness. Otherwise, bitterness crept in.

  And hadn’t that already happened in some ways?

  It needed to stop.

  Even though nightmares still cropped up, the audition had been ten years ago. Thankfully, her family had made her perform at Quinn’s right away or confidence and performing issues might have plagued her. Forgiving Nash would give her the closure to put what happened behind her once and for all.

  She needed that as much as he did. “I forgive you.”

  His relief was palpable. “Thank you.”

  “You mentioned how you shouldn’t have been a judge. I should have never auditioned.”

  It was her one regret. Which, in twenty-eight years, wasn’t bad. If only hers hadn’t been such a public disaster.

  He took a step toward her. “Why do you say that?”

  She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant when her insides twisted and her skin itched. “You were right about me not being ready. I wasn’t. My dad—God rest his soul—was biased. Of course he told me I
’d make it big. That’s what fathers do.”

  Nash’s face pinched. “Not all fathers.”

  Curiosity flared, but his personal life was none of her business. Back when she’d been a fan of his, she remembered reading about him being raised in the foster system. His experience, however, had sounded positive.

  “Well, mine did.” Her dad had been the best. “He supported me moving to Nashville after I graduated high school when my mom wasn’t sure. Then he died, and I couldn’t leave my family.”

  “But you still planned on moving there at some point.”

  Ivy nodded. She nearly laughed at the plans she’d made. “Until…”

  “The audition.” Regret dripped from Nash’s words and matched the expression on his face.

  Ivy wasn’t about to deny the truth. She rubbed the edge of her blanket. “Yes. I had to face some hard truths. The most difficult one was the realization that making music for a living was a pipe dream. No matter. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

  His gaze narrowing, he stiffened. “You don’t believe that.”

  “I do.” The determination in her voice reaffirmed her words. Part of her had wanted to show the judges—Nash especially—how wrong they were about her singing. But the social media attacks sent her wavering confidence on a downward spiral. “Music is a hobby. I’m fortunate to be able to perform occasionally.”

  “And write songs?”

  She forced herself not to glance at the table where she worked for hours, sometimes falling asleep when she stayed up too late trying to get a lyric or the notes right. “Yes.”

  “I have no right to ask you for anything, but…” He stepped closer to her. His larger-than-life presence made her apartment feel even smaller than it was. “Would you play another song you wrote?”

  Ivy had accepted his apology. He should leave not stay. “Why?”

  “I want to hear one. Your favorite.”

  That would be “Broken Dreams,” an extremely personal song to her. One she’d never performed in public. No one but her knew it existed.