Sawyer stood beside Travis in exactly the same pose, opening the bottle of Gatorade. Side by side, it was hard to miss the resemblance. Then again, the idea of some secret half brother somewhere out there had never crossed her mind. She smiled, taking a bite of banana.
“What?” Travis asked, frowning.
Sawyer frowned, too.
“You two… Never mind.” She laughed, taking another bite.
“If you’re still hungry, these arrived for you.” Melanie nodded at the two boxes sitting on the vanity counter. “I didn’t read the card, but I think we can all guess who it’s from.”
“Who?” Travis asked, then winked, elbowing Sawyer in the side. Sawyer glared back at him.
In the week since the charity ball, they’d exchanged a handful of texts. She sent Brock pics of her and Watson. Brock sent her updates on his dad, Aunt Mo, and the Bremmy updates his agent sent him for clarification. It felt like the start of something. She picked up the boxes, opening the card first. “‘I’ll bring the tags with me to tomorrow’s show. Please put your ankle up and eat something. But maybe save me one of these, too. Brock.’”
She finished the banana and opened the box. Inside was a pale green kitten collar covered in sparkly metallic music notes. “Look. It’s so cute.” She held it out for their inspection. “For Watson.”
“Really? It’s not for you?” But Travis was smiling.
She shot him a look and opened the other box. A dozen carrot cake cupcakes.
“Your favorite.” Melanie smiled. “That’s so thoughtful of him.”
“Maybe.” Travis nodded, eyeing the cupcakes. “Or maybe he’s just buying her gifts and buttering her up so she’ll lose the nun’s habit for a night of s—”
She launched the cupcake without thought. But the look on Travis’s face when it smacked him square in the middle of his forehead was more than worth it. Sawyer’s laughter was the cherry on top.
* * *
Brock wasn’t sure where Emmy’s energy came from. He’d been mingling and shaking hands for over an hour now, and the constant chatter was wearing on him. He couldn’t imagine how Emmy Lou did it. Yes, he worked out for hours a day, but he didn’t have to do it wearing a smile and shoes that couldn’t be good for her ankle—after singing and dancing for two hours straight. There were over fifty thousand people in attendance, and somehow, they’d made the audience part of the show.
As they’d sung their last song, all he could think about was getting to Emmy Lou. Now she was in the same room, her gaze searching him out again and again, and it was hell not doing what he wanted to. But kissing her breathless couldn’t happen. Not yet, anyway.
“You keep staring at my sister that way and the whole Bremmy thing will never go away.” Krystal’s brows rose, her eyes assessing.
That obvious? He didn’t bother denying it. “I thought hashtags and Twitter and crap were good?”
Krystal laughed, then shrugged. “Crap, huh? Yeah, I don’t get it, either. But it’s the measuring stick for stardom these days.” Her eyes narrowed. In all the time he’d known the Kings, he’d never once thought Krystal and Emmy Lou looked like identical twins. The difference was in the way they moved, their posture, and their facial expressions. Krystal had the “fuck you” thing down. She was only as approachable as her smile. Emmy Lou had her own gravitational pull, welcoming everyone with one look. With one smile, she’d steal your heart.
“Now you’re staring.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what she was thinking. But he had a feeling he was going to find out soon enough, whether he liked it or not.
Her gaze sharpened as her smile faded. “I’m also trying to figure out why you’re here.”
“You could ask.” He shrugged. “Straight talk, straight answers.”
Her sigh was all exasperation. “You broke her once in a way that made me hate you. Now I see her light up over you again and I can’t help but remember that.” She glanced at Emmy. “I want you to leave her alone, Brock. I want you to go away and stay gone.” A deep V formed between her brows as her gaze searched his. “But Emmy’s cared more about making other people happy than being happy herself for too long. She deserves to be happy. And if you’ll stay and make her happy, that’s what I want for her… How’s that for straight talk?”
Every one of Krystal’s words made an impact. Was she saying Emmy Lou was unhappy? But this, all of this, was the life she’d wanted. All she wanted. And how the hell had he broken her? That was a punch to the throat. “You might want to check your facts. Most of what you just said isn’t true.” He didn’t want to open old wounds, but he had to set Krystal straight. His gaze met hers. “Krystal, you have to know I would never—”
“You two look far too serious.” Emmy Lou’s gaze bounced between the two of them, lingering on his mouth just long enough to make him smile. Her gaze fell away, her cheeks flushed pink.
All he could do was stare.
“What sort of reunion is this?” Krystal asked, nudging her sister. “You know everyone in the room is expecting more. Like you, Brock, say, ‘Hi, Emmy, you’re beautiful.’ Then Emmy, you’d say, ‘Thanks, Brock, hug me in your tree-trunk arms.’”
Brock had to laugh. Emmy did, too.
“She has a point,” Emmy said, breathless.
“My arms are tree trunks?” He teased.
She laughed. “Maybe we should…hug.” She swallowed, her cheeks more red than pink now. “If people are expecting—”
“Don’t want to let the fans down.” He took her hand. But once he’d pulled her into his arms, he almost groaned from the feel of her against him. He got lost in the slide of her arms around his neck, the way she rested her head against his chest…and the sweetest sigh he’d ever heard slipping from her mouth. Like maybe this was what she’d been waiting for, too.
“That should cover it,” Krystal said. “Really. Probably good now. Anytime.”
His arms fell away and Emmy stepped back, but her green eyes had a hold on him, so he stood there staring for the whole damn room to see.
“Well, shit.” Krystal was focused on something over Emmy’s shoulder. “Momma’s headed this way.” She grabbed Emmy’s hand. “That’s my cue to leave. Sorry, but you’ll have to face her alone.” She squeezed her sister’s arm and walked off.
Even though they walked past one another, close enough to touch, Krystal and CiCi avoided making eye contact. “Problem?” he asked, glancing Emmy’s way.
“Family stuff.” Emmy’s smile wavered. “What did you think?” She’d gone back to nibbling the inside of her lip, staring at his arm—his chest.
“Of the concert? Or the reunion?” He chuckled. “You need to ask?”
She glanced his way. “I’m glad you came.” There was the smile he loved.
His pulse picked up. “Me, too.” There was no place else he’d rather be.
Until CiCi King joined them. “You two lovebirds over here telling secrets?” Her voice was high enough to be heard by anyone listening. From where he stood, a good portion of the room did seem to be listening. Not that he cared. He did care about the warning bells that CiCi King’s grin triggered. “Do I want to know what the two of you are talking about?”
“The concert.” He nodded. “It was something.”
“Something?” CiCi’s brows rose. “I’m glad you think so.” She draped an arm around Emmy’s waist, lowering her voice. “After we get a few pictures of you two, go mingle, Emmy. You know how this works. If we’re going to keep this #Bremmy hashtag trending, we need to keep everyone guessing about you two.”
How this works? He swallowed. We? He risked a look Emmy’s way, but she was staring at a basketball photo on the far wall, her smile flat. Something hard and cold settled in the pit of his stomach.
“Your agent is sharp as a tack and full of ideas,” CiCi kept going. “You’d almost think that whole k
itten business was a setup from it working out so well,” she whispered, patting his arm. “Don’t worry, Connie told me all about your big plans, Brock. On and off the field. And if all of this will fast-track your comeback, you know we’re happy to help.” She hugged Emmy. “Hank and Emmy have always had a soft spot for you.”
A buzzing started in his ears. What the fuck is she saying? That she and Connie had cooked up this whole Bremmy thing? That this was all for PR? For headlines? That’s bullshit. Connie would never reach out to this woman. For one thing, his agent was a control freak. Trying to imagine her and CiCi working together… No way. The rest of it? Was all of this a media stunt? Emmy’s smile? That was real… The cold was bone deep now. At least it helped numb the painful throb of his heart.
“Hank, sugar.” CiCi waved Hank over about the same time a photographer showed up. “Big smiles, y’all.”
He was pretty sure he didn’t smile. Not with CiCi’s words cycling through, over and over. She was a liar. But was it all a lie? He and Emmy… The only truth between them was attraction. Him hoping for anything more was only setting himself up for hurt—like this right here. After everything he’d been through, he knew better. He knew to keep Emmy Lou and the rest of the Kings at arm’s distance. But all it took was one look from her, one damn smile, and he willingly headed into a guaranteed clusterfuck of heartache.
Aunt Mo’s start fresh advice? A joke. Worse? He was the joke.
“Weren’t there some people Emmy needed to talk to, Hank?” CiCi was all softness and smiles for her husband. “Guitar people?”
“Fender.” Hank King nodded, smiling with excitement. “What do you think about a King Limited Edition Fender, baby girl?”
“Wow.” Emmy’s monotone delivery was off. She was white as a sheet, hands shaking, and green eyes huge in her pale face. Something was wrong.
“Em?” He reached for her hand.
She recoiled, startling all of them. “I mean it.” She blinked, turning to her father. “Really, Daddy, that’s amazing.” But her excitement was forced.
“Emmy?” Hank tilted her face back. “You feeling okay? You… eat the dinner the nutritionist recommended for you?”
Her parents knew about Emmy’s eating disorder? That was a relief. Or was it? If they’d known about it, shouldn’t they be doing more to help? As beautiful as she was, she’d lost more weight since the last time he’d seen her—weight she couldn’t afford to lose.
“Hank.” CiCi’s voice was a hiss. “People might hear you.”
“I don’t give a damn.” Hank hooked his arm through Emmy’s.
The snap in Hank’s voice was a shock. So was the resentment on CiCi’s face. And Krystal earlier… Was the Kings’ close-knit family just one more illusion?
Emmy leaned into her father and nodded. “I ate it, Daddy. Every bite.” Her smile returned, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “A promise is a promise. Now, let’s go see what this King Limited Edition guitar will look like. Better hurry before Krystal has it covered in crystals.” Emmy was already trying to tug her father away.
Hank chuckled. “After, how about we go get ice cream?”
“What’s wrong with carrot sticks?” CiCi sighed.
And just like that, Emmy seemed to withdraw. “Carrots sound good.”
“Not to me.” Hank ignored his wife’s frustrated sigh. “Brock, glad you came to the show.” Hank shook his hand. “Join us for ice cream?”
For ice cream? Or more publicity? He and Emmy sharing an ice cream sundae would be Bremmy gold. It took effort, but he managed to swallow his bitterness and disappointment.
“I’m sure he has more important things to do, Hank.” CiCi regarded her husband with what appeared to be genuine affection. “Though you are welcome to stay, of course.”
“But thanks for coming, Brock.” Emmy’s gaze looked right through him. “Take care.”
Her quick dismissal emptied his lungs—a balloon with a slow leak. “You too.”
With a parting nod, Hank led Emmy Lou back into the crowd of fans.
“Well, Bremmy lives to trend another day. Job well done.” CiCi waved at someone walking by. “You’ve learned how to play the game.”
A game. It made sense. Everything about CiCi King was calculated. Like tonight. Everything she’d said, true or not, was deliberate. This wasn’t about Emmy, what she felt or wanted. This was about CiCi keeping all her pieces on her chessboard, making the moves she wanted them to make.
“This isn’t a game to me, CiCi. It never was.” He searched the room for Emmy but wound up locking eyes with Krystal. She was watching him, watching her mother, like a hawk. “I’d never use Emmy to boost my career.” Just saying it stuck in his throat.
“You can’t say that anymore, Brock. You’re here, aren’t you? Why else would you be here?” Her eyes went wide, shocked. It was the first authentic reaction she’d given since she’d come crashing in on his evening. “Oh, honey, no. Not again. Now you know—none of this is real.” She patted his arm. “It’s done with anyway. After tonight. It’s not like the two of you will be seeing each other much now. You take care of yourself, Brock.” With a toss of platinum hair and the shimmer of red beads, she crossed the room to join her family.
She wanted him gone, he got that. And soon. For reasons he didn’t understand, she was determined to keep him and Emmy apart. She was right about one thing, none of tonight was real. Something was off. More than that. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something. Nothing else made sense. Something about him. And Emmy. Something that might threaten the hold CiCi had on her daughter. He just wished he knew what it was.
Chapter 13
“Maybe a cup of tea will help?” Emmy asked Watson, who meowed in response. After tossing and turning most of the night, she’d need more than one cup of tea to get through the day. But she’d manage it; she always did. While Watson scampered off, Emmy cradled her teacup and slipped into the leather-upholstered café booth, custom designed for the Kings’ Coach II. Her and Krystal’s tour bus had all the bells and whistles, a fact Travis reminded everyone of whenever he had the chance. Chances were, he’d show up soon so she’d laid out all the makings for coffee—complete with his favorite USA Good Morning anchor Molly Harper coffee mug.
Watson came running across the room, leapt high, and pounced on her slippered feet. “Are you defeating the evil pom-poms?” She turned her phone over, ignoring the constant alerts. Hashtag #Bremmy was still going strong. She’d turned it off last night, hoping a little peace and quiet would let her sleep. Since she’d turned it on, it hadn’t stopped pinging and vibrating. Instagram. Snapchat. TikTok. She and Brock. Last night had only added to the speculation. Their hug. Her staring at his chest. His face when he hugged her. Them smiling at each other. Momma was right. “About everything?” she asked Watson, blowing out a shaky breath.
Watson jumped onto the table, sniffing her cup.
“That’s mine.” She smiled, tapping Watson’s nose. His instant purr made her smile. “At least you love me. Don’t you?” Watson meowed, then leapt off the table and darted beneath a couch.
Was she too trusting? Stupid might be more appropriate.
She’d written, deleted, and rewritten more than a dozen texts to him but hadn’t been able to hit send.
Brock had always protected his privacy. Aunt Mo had said as much at the hospital.
But that was before his ACL tear and Ricky Ames.
For all of Krystal’s and Travis’s teasing, she respected the power of social media—of a devoted fandom. Momma said his agent had big plans for him. Plans on and off the field, Momma had said.
It wasn’t that long ago that her family had watched the rise of Mickey Graham. He had no talent or class or creativity, but he’d dated Krystal for one hot minute. Mickey Graham and his manager had milked his heartbreak long and hard enough to earn him a platinum alb
um.
Was she really just a part of his career plan? It hurt to think that was what this was about.
“Morning,” Travis said. “Food?”
“Tea.” She held up her mug. “And coffee. Help yourself to food.”
He flopped down onto one of the leather couches and sighed. “My head is killing me.”
“Sorry, Trav.” Her phone vibrated.
He peered at her with bloodshot eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” He held up a finger. “Wait.” He pushed himself up, made a cup of coffee, shuffled to the table, and collapsed onto the bench again. “You look like shit.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up, it’s working.” She blew on her tea.
“Was that sarcasm?” He rubbed his eyes. “You? You are Emmy, right?”
“Good morning?” Krystal came down the hall, holding hands with Jace.
Clementine trailed behind, looking all over until she spied Watson. Watson ran to her, meowed once, and the two of them began their morning ritual of racing back and forth down the hallway.
“That’s not helping my hangover.” Travis groaned.
“Go back to your own bus.” Krystal rolled her eyes. “Want some coffee, babe?”
Jace nodded, kissing her cheek.
“Babe?” Travis rested his head on the seat. “Krys, come on. Knock that shit off. Focus. We have a problem. Look at Emmy. Just look at her.”
Jace and Krystal both turned to look at her.
“What’s up, Em?” Krystal asked, her brow furrowing. “You’re all…frowny?”
Emmy shook her head, ignoring yet another ping from her phone. “Tired.”
Travis grabbed it, turned it over, and swiped through the screen. “Does it have something to do with this?” He handed the phone to Krystal. “I’d be upset over having Bremmy as my hashtag, too.” He shuddered. “As a man, that’s painful to say.”
“I didn’t start it. Why would I?” Emmy Lou hadn’t meant to snap, but she did.
And everyone noticed.
Song for a Cowboy Page 18
