“I got a bettuh one!” Will exclaimed. “Why do a birdie fly? ’Cause it’s a poopy-face birdie!”
Piper groaned. “That’s a clear sign you kids need to run upstairs and find your helicopters so you can show them to Uncle Thad. He loves helicopters.”
The kids scrambled from the room, each trying to beat the other to the hallway. Coop raised an eyebrow at his wife. “You hid their helicopters, didn’t you?”
“Don’t act like you’ve never hidden them.” Piper turned to Olivia. “I’m down with anything that buys us a few minutes of peace and quiet. Turns out, my husband is only a man of honor when it comes to football. He promised me all I had to do was give birth and he’d take over raising them. I was so besotted I believed him.”
Coop grinned. “By the time she figured out I’d conned her, it was too late. She’d already fallen in love with the little hellions.”
Piper smiled.
“They’re both a couple of do-gooders,” Thad told Olivia. “Coop runs the largest urban gardening project in the city along with a training center to help disadvantaged kids get jobs.”
“My wife’s a lot more impressive,” Coop said. “She’s become an expert on putting child sex traffickers behind bars.”
Piper nodded. “Only because it’s illegal for me to kill them.”
Coop draped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Do you see why I have to sleep with one eye open?”
Olivia had never met a couple like these two, so obviously in love and so respectful of each other’s work.
“Thad told me over the phone that you’ve run into some trouble.” Piper gestured toward one of the room’s two couches. “He gave me a general idea but I’d like to hear the details from you. Why don’t you tell me about it while the men check on the children?”
“I’m staying here,” Thad said. “I love those two kids, but Liv tends to minimize the situation.”
“No, I don’t,” Olivia said. “All right, maybe I do. It keeps me sane.”
While Coop dealt with his children, Olivia and Thad filled Piper in on everything that had happened on the tour. Only at the end, when Thad finally went off to join Coop in the kitchen, did Olivia tell Piper about the dressing room incident.
“A lot doesn’t add up here,” Piper said.
“At first, the Las Vegas police thought the whole thing was a publicity stunt. Thankfully, they found the limo.”
“But not the driver.” Piper glanced at the notes she’d been making. “I’ll do some checking around. In the meantime, keep your eyes open, and call me right away if anything else happens.”
“I will.”
Piper tapped her ballpoint pen on the notepad. “You and Thad . . . Did you hit it off right away?”
“Not exactly.”
“What then?”
“Is this relevant?”
“Not a bit.” Piper grinned. “I’m nosy, and he’s obviously crazy about you.”
“Attraction of opposites,” Olivia said.
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s an interesting guy. Did he tell you that he does a lot of unpaid work for me?”
“What kind of work?”
“Investigative. Thad is a genius when it comes to finance, and human trafficking is a multibillion-dollar industry. Sex traffickers use banks to deposit money and launder it. Thad understands the banking and financial industry in a way I don’t, and when he looks at financial reports, he sees things that get past me.”
It all came together. This was what was behind his secretiveness when he was on his computer and the whispered phone calls she’d witnessed. “He never said a word to me.”
“He downplays his own do-gooder instincts. And, practically speaking, it’s better for him to keep a low profile. Jocks have access to people who won’t talk to investigators.”
As Olivia tried to absorb this new information, the twins charged back in, their helicopters in tow, and demanded their mother’s attention.
* * *
On their way back to Olivia’s new apartment, she confronted Thad with what he hadn’t told her. “Don’t you think you could have mentioned this to me?”
“It’s no big deal. Piper does the hard work.”
But it was a big deal and a testament to his character. “I know why you do it. You’re secretly one of the Avengers. Finance Man.”
He smiled. “It’s interesting work, and don’t tell your pal Garrett this, but I get as much satisfaction helping put those creeps behind bars as I do on the field.”
“Fascinating.”
* * *
Thad spent Sunday night at her new apartment. Since the final week of rehearsals took place in the evenings, she tried to sleep in on Monday morning, but she was up at seven after a fitful, nightmare-plagued night. In twelve hours, she would have to show up for sitzprobe. What was normally her favorite rehearsal was now a writhing snake pit.
When she emerged from the bedroom, she found Thad sitting with his laptop at her new kitchen counter, a mug of coffee in his hand—rumpled white T-shirt, sweatpants, bare feet. Her heart turned over in her chest. This was all she wanted. The two of them forever. She wanted to make his breakfast and have him make hers. She wanted to wash his socks and rub his shoulders when he got home from a long day. He would go into coaching. She’d sit on the sidelines and cheer on his team and maybe make lasagna for the squad. Did they even call it a squad?
She didn’t know how to make lasagna, and she didn’t want to learn, and he could wash his own socks. La Belle Tornade did not sacrifice her quest for immortality, not even for this man who was caressing her with his lazy smile and unending kindness.
She quickly turned away, a beautiful tornado whose heart was breaking with the knowledge that she couldn’t have both—the immortality she craved and a personal happily-ever-after.
* * *
In the old days, everyone had dressed up for sitzprobe, the men in suits, the women in beautiful gowns and their best jewelry. But those days were gone. Now the singers showed up in everything from athleisure to biker jackets. In an effort to boost her self-confidence, Olivia chose slim black trousers, a silky black tunic top, and a cashmere scarf in case the rehearsal hall was cold. She added her Spanish earrings, Egyptian cuff, imitation ruby necklace, poison rings, and a coin Yo-Yo Ma had given her that she tucked in her shoe. She was only missing Rachel’s silver star necklace, the one she’d lost in the Mojave Desert.
Thad drove her to rehearsal despite her protest that it could run late. He knew how nervous she was, and he let her brood in peace, without offering up one of his pep talks.
She’d had a new lock installed on her dressing room. As she opened it, she spotted something that had been slid under the door. She picked it up. An eight-by-ten copy of her engagement photo. There she was sitting at the keyboard of a grand piano with Adam standing close by, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes. She looked like a woman deeply in love, but she was an actress, and even then, she’d known it was wrong. If only she’d had the courage to send the photographer away and call it off before the shutter had snapped.
No note was scrawled across the photo. Her head hadn’t been cut out. Just the photo of the two of them, along with the memory of how Adam had loved her and how incomprehensible his suicide would have been on that day.
She curled the palm of her hand over her diaphragm, willing it to expand. “You’re going to be amazing,” Thad had whispered that morning.
But she wasn’t.
* * *
Everyone else in the company brought their best to sitzprobe. Sarah sang a “Ritorna vincitor” worthy of Leontyne Price. As the last notes faded away, the orchestra musicians tapped their bows on their music stands in the traditional sign of appreciation.
Pit . . . pit . . . pit . . . pit . . .
Arthur Baker might be an aging Radamès, but his “Celeste Aida” was thrilling.
Pit . . . pit . . . pit . . . pit . . .
After she sang, however, those same bows d
idn’t tap for her. They had expected more from La Belle Tornade. Much more.
Lena, in the meantime, sat offstage taking it all in.
Afterward, Olivia saw the maestro huddled with Mitchell Brooks, the Muni’s esteemed managing director. A sideways look from Mitchell told her exactly who they were talking about. They both looked so troubled she felt sorry for them. This was on her, not them, and she needed to do the right thing.
She forced herself to approach them. “I know I wasn’t at my best.” An understatement.
“The critics won’t be kind, mia cara,” the maestro said bluntly. “It is no longer enough for Olivia Shore to be competent. You must be exquisite.”
She knew that as well as he did. She turned to Mitchell Brooks. Ultimately it was up to him, the managing director, to make the final decision. “What do you want to do, Mitchell?”
He was a good man. He set his hand on her shoulder. “No, Olivia. What do you want to do?”
She wanted to push back time. To never have met Adam. To never have become so concerned about his needs that she forgot her own and let her voice be lost in a swamp of guilt. To never again forget that work formed the core of her life.
She must have looked as helpless as she felt because Mitchell spoke kindly. “You have two more rehearsals before we have to decide. We’ll reassess before final dress.”
She ticked off the days in her head. Today, Monday, a disastrous sitzprobe. Tuesday, piano tech, when she could mark. Wednesday, first dress rehearsal. Under different circumstances, she could have marked, but after what had just happened, she would have to perform at full voice, and if she didn’t deliver, Lena would take over, not just for final dress rehearsal, but for—
She couldn’t let herself think about opening night.
As she began packing up her things, Sarah approached, but at the last minute changed her mind and turned away.
* * *
Thad didn’t ask any questions as he drove her home. One look at her face seemed to have told him everything he needed to know.
“Drop me off at the front,” she said, as he drew close to the parking garage entrance. “Thanks for the transportation, but you don’t need to drive me any longer. I’ve made arrangements with one of the crew. He’s an old friend, and I’ll be perfectly safe.”
With an abrupt nod, he pulled up to the lobby door. She didn’t lean over to kiss him as she got out of the car, and that felt as reprehensible as the way she’d sung tonight.
* * *
Thad was done with The Diva and her complications. She couldn’t have dismissed him more clearly. He was a simple man. Maybe not simple-simple, but simple when it came to enjoying life and friends, sports, good jazz, good clothes, a great book, and great women. He enjoyed the hell out of great women. He enjoyed their smarts, their insights, their talent, and their ambition. He enjoyed their sense of humor, the way they could spar with him, make him laugh. And God knew, he liked looking at them. Then there was sex. Was anything better than sex with a woman who threw herself into every moment? A woman who could laugh and cry out, who could give as well as take. A woman who would sing “Habanera” naked just for him.
Yes, he cared about her. Cared a hell of a lot. She was his friend, his compadre, but she had a vision for her life that didn’t include him and too many issues he couldn’t help her solve. He was a fixer, a man who took care of problems. But he couldn’t do that with her.
He thought about the ultimatums she kept dishing out. From the day he’d stepped on that plane five weeks ago, his life had entangled with hers. It was time to put a stop to it, no matter how much he hated to erase the plans he’d made for the two of them—sailing together on the lake this summer, going to the beach, catching a Cubs game, hiking. Despite all they’d shared, despite the new interests she’d brought into his life, despite the sex—the most amazing sex—and the music—the incredible music . . . Despite the way she looked at him, as if she could see into his soul . . . Despite her caring, not just for him, but for everyone. It was time to break up with her.
He thought about those interminable dinners. Unlike him, she’d been genuinely interested in hearing about the clients’ lives, their kids’ lives. He’d watched her take their cell phones and FaceTime an elderly parent who loved opera or a student someone knew who was in music school. Despite her drama and her critiques of his wardrobe, she had a moral compass set to true north.
He had to break up with her.
He wouldn’t do it now. He’d wait until next week, after she got through opening night and the gala. As for the threats she continued to face . . . He’d hire Piper to watch out for his diva, to do what he no longer could.
The roller-coaster ride had reached its station. This time he was the one who’d set a deadline instead of her. Next week. Six days from now. Breaking up would tear him apart, but he’d move on. He always did.
* * *
He had to stop at her apartment the next morning to pick up his laptop. She answered the door. He’d seen her fresh-out-of-bed look—sexy, with tousled hair and a couple of pillow creases on her cheek. This wasn’t it. She looked like hell: dark shadows cratered under her eyes, pasty skin, hair hanging loose on one side and clumping on the other. And she was dressed all wrong. A pink T-shirt, pink sweatpants. What the hell? She dressed in black and white. Sometimes classic gray. Maybe a touch of deep purple now and then. He was the one who wore pink.
Her face softened with tenderness, and then the shutters went down. “Come in,” she said with a cool formality that made him wary.
Unlike the way the place had looked yesterday, it was now orderly—boxes unpacked, suitcases tucked away. She’d either put it to rights last night when she should have been sleeping or early this morning when she should have been sleeping. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the neat apartment or the way she looked. “I need to get my laptop,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Bad night.”
“I can see. Got any coffee?”
She tilted her head toward the kitchen, which was as tidy as the rest of the place. He grabbed a souvenir mug of the Sydney Opera House from the shelf, filled it, and took a sip while she stood in the doorway watching him.
The coffee was undrinkable. She’d forgotten something when she made it. Something important like coffee. He leaned his hips against the counter. “I take it sitzprobe didn’t go well last night. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I can’t see you anymore.”
It took a moment for her words to register, and when they did, something ripped open inside him. He slammed his mug on the counter, its undrinkable contents splashing over the rim onto his hand. “And here we go again.”
“It has to be over, Thad,” she pleaded. “It’s been wonderful. More than wonderful. But we’re breaking up now.”
He hardened his heart against the glint of tears in her eyes. “Uh-huh.”
“I can’t do this any longer. You’re too big a threat to me.”
That made him furious. “Threat?”
She waved her hand in a jerky, arbitrary motion. “I keep setting these deadlines and rolling right past them because I don’t want it to be over.”
“Yeah, you do have a thing for deadlines,” he said, as coldly as he could.
She tugged on the bottom of her pink T-shirt. “This one has expired.”
He’d had enough. “Great. I’ll see you around.” He stalked out of the kitchen and grabbed his laptop.
“The thing you have to know,” she said to his back, “is that I’ve fallen in love with you.”
That stopped him cold. As he turned, he saw a whole universe of emotions smeared all over her face. Helplessness, pain, resolution. “Jesus, Olivia, you’re not in love with me. You’re— We’re . . .” He stammered for the right word. “We’re teammates. We don’t love each other. We have goals. Ambitions. We think the same. We’re teammates, that’s all.”
She pressed her fingers to her throat as if she were choking. “It won’t d
o, Thad. Some part of me wants to give up everything for you. To refocus my life. Put music in second place. Give up my song! I can’t do that.”
“Nobody’s asking you to.”
“But I can feel it. Wanting to be in your world—to cut out on a rehearsal early to give us more time together. To trim my schedule so I can watch you play ball. To stop getting on planes. To cook dinner for you!”
“Goddammit, you can’t cook!”
A tear hung on her bottom lashes but refused to fall. “Don’t you see? I want to prioritize you over my career, just like I did with Adam. It’s a pattern. And that pattern is going to destroy who I am. What I live for!”
“You and your goddamn drama.” The words came spewing out, propelled by fear, by pain. “You create drama. You live for it. And I’ve had enough of it.”
He’d meant to hurt her, but what he’d just said wasn’t true. She didn’t love the drama that had been foisted on her any more than he did. He tried to think of a way to tell her that. To take it back. But she’d gone cold on him.
“Yes. Of course, you’re right. And now you understand why this is for the best.”
The words he didn’t mean to say spewed out. “Damn straight it is. We’re done.”
He stalked to the door and left her alone, just as she wanted to be.
* * *
None of Thad’s friends had ever seen him drunk, and as they looked at each other over their table at Spiral, Coop’s old nightclub, they weren’t exactly sure what to do about it. Thad wasn’t either a mean drunk or a happy drunk. He was a dead-silent drunk. In the end, Clint volunteered to take him home. “But if he throws up in my car, I’m making him buy me a new one,” he told Ritchie.
Clint knew Olivia was responsible for Thad’s current state because when he’d asked where she was, Thad had snarled, “How the hell would I know?”
Clint drove Thad out to his own house in suburban Burr Ridge and dumped him on one of the brocade couches in the living room. When he was sure he wouldn’t roll off, he headed for the kitchen to get a bag of chips. Right from the beginning, he’d liked Olivia, but now he wasn’t sure. Thad was his teammate, and no matter how big a pain in the ass he was, Clint loved the guy, and he’d always have his back.
When Stars Collide Page 23
