Chapter 10
Caspian
“Hi, Sammie.”
Alex hugs the rising star as she steps out of her tour bus. At just twenty-one, her breakout hit “The Summer Before” was a social media sensation. With three recent back-to-back hits under her belt, she was the last artist added to the festival line-up and will be a big draw.
I talk with the singer’s road manager, pointing him in the direction of Cal, who’s the artist liaison, and check these three tour buses off the list.
Alex’s assistant, Bree, leans over. “Thanks for the save. She was only supposed to have one tour bus.”
“I planned extra spaces just in case. It was an easy fix.”
You’d never know how irritated Alex was to see Sammie pull in with her entourage. If professionalism could kill, Sammie’s rhinestone boots would be smoking right now.
Alexandra Tate, Vice President of Magnum Records, is kick-ass.
She greets each headlining artist personally, briefing them on schedule changes and local media opportunities.
She also spots potential brand partnerships with local vendors and has Cal collect contact information to set things up.
She creates contingency plans for radio station pull-outs, sponsor conflicts, and artist no-shows in real-time.
She’s fire in sneakers, and I respect the hell out of her.
As the morning flies by, each time I see her give a directive or solve a problem, all I can think about his how she’d look stripped of that control.
I’d lean her against my living room wall, her back to my front, her careful composure finally undone. My hands would wrap around her front, her breath hitching, that sharp mind of hers going quiet for once.
I’d scoop her brown waves off her neck before edging my lips over the shell of her ear, and she’d reach her arms around my neck, trusting me enough to stop being the person that everyone needs and to just be herself.
I’d pin her wrists together with one hand, edging her skirt up with the other. “You like letting go, Boots, don’t you?”
My mouth is hanging open like some starstruck teenager when Nash elbows me in the ribs, jerking my thoughts to the present.
“Get it together, man. There’s plenty of time for whatever is going through your head later.
” He slaps my back and moves forward to talk with his fellow artist, Taryn, who’s back in town with her full band.
But as Alex looks over at me, her pretty lips part in a smile, I know I won’t be getting it together any time soon.
It’s three hours, several artists, and fifteen tour buses later, and I’m damn near starving, thankful that Hank and Lulu’s dropped off sandwich trays for lunch.
We’re eating in shifts to ensure someone’s always at the check-in table to deal with problems. Right now, I’m eating a meatball sub in the practice barn with Alex and Zane and his wife, Capri.
“What do you consider high maintenance, Hot Guy?” Capri shoots a look at her husband, her tone mock-sweet, like honey that’s hiding cayenne.
Zane holds up both hands. “There is no way I can answer this without sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Name one day when you’ve had to do that.”
“There’s always a first time.” We all laugh as Capri throws a chip at her husband.
They remind me of my sister and Eli. They pretend to argue, but their love for each other is obvious. I think if Zane lost everything tomorrow, Capri would stand right beside him and find a way.
That’s how love is supposed to be. Life throws curveballs all the time. It’s the respect that keeps your partner afloat during the rough times.
Thinking back, my ex Jade didn’t respect me. Like, whenever we went out with our friends, she downplayed my job. It’s as if my working on an oil derrick was beneath her somehow. Didn’t matter that I made good money. I even worked a side hustle to buy her a luxury SUV, but she still wasn’t happy.
I thought her leaving me was my fault. Like I didn’t do enough for her or work hard enough for us.
I even went back to school part time to get a degree in land management, thinking it would make her respect me more.
But after my buddy’s accident, she couldn’t handle my guilt.
She left with all our things and never looked back. That’s why I’m in the Hill Country now.
Loud laughter pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see Alex watching me. She kicks my foot, her eyes widening. I nod, thankful for the reprieve from my past. Her smile softens, just for a second, before she turns back to her sandwich.
With a sharp creak, the barn door opens and in walks Sammie Clarke.
She’s changed into a tight white tank, denim shorts, and bright pink boots, with rhinestones of course, her brand signature.
She’s wearing a turquoise bandana around her wrist, her hair newly curled like she’s ready for a meet-and-greet.
“Hey, y’all!” She sashays toward us, hands in her back pockets, hips working. “The setup is so great here. I’m a festival headlining virgin.” Her chocolate brown eyes catch mine, the innuendo obvious.
We all laugh perfunctorily although Alex’s business smile has a sharp edge.
“Glad you could be here, Sammie.” Her words don’t quite reach her eyes, and a surge of pride bursts in my gut to know that Alex is jealous. Again.
The woman struts over to the couch where I’m sitting, plops down next to me, and snatches the cowboy hat right off my head.
“How do I look, Caspian?” Her long, fake eyelashes blink as she bites her lip.
Damn. A meatball gets stuck in my throat, forcing me to cough several times to clear it. I opt for drinking my sweet tea instead of answering when Sammie places a long-nailed hand on my arm.
“Are you okay?” The way she chirps, her drawl so syrupy and pitched up, I wonder if she practices in front of a mirror.
Alex and I are on the same page because her eyebrow quirks up. I opt for silence because Zane was right. There’s nothing I can say here that won’t get me into trouble with somebody.
“Sammie,” Capri starts in a sunny voice, “what can we help you with?”
The singer immediately turns toward Zane’s wife, an experienced social media personality with a strong brand and a loyal following. “I wanna snap some social media pics.”
Capri looks around the space and points to the opposite wall. “Over by that window is some great light.”
Sammie hops up and walks over to the window still wearing my hat. She snaps several photos with and without it, and I can see the appeal. The girl is hot. Too young for me, but she won’t have any trouble hooking up this weekend if that’s on her to-do list.
Alex steals glances at me over her turkey club, her tongue darting out to catch a drop of mayo at the corner of her mouth. It’s so fucking endearing. This is the side to Alex that I like the best. The one who lets down her guard and isn’t afraid to get a little dirty.
Her eyes flick over to where Sammie’s posing by the window, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly before she takes another deliberate bite. I should probably get my hat back, but watching Alex’s reaction is too entertaining.
Capri leans over and whispers, “Why is Sammie bouncing on the ladder?”
The sound of splintering wood cracks throughout the barn as Sammie lets out a shrill scream.
I’m already moving, Zane right behind me. As we rush over, Sammie’s boots slip, and the ladder rung gives way beneath her. She’s gripping the top rung, but barely hanging on, her feet dangling as she struggles to catch her footing.
We hold out our arms just as she falls, her curls smacking my face as she crashes into us. I take her weight as Zane tilts her feet toward the ground. She stands, a little stunned, rubbing her palms on her back denim pockets.
“You hurt anywhere?” Zane asks, concern shrouding his features.
“No. I’m alright. I grew up climbing trees and chasing my brothers.” Her voice is a little shaky, and for a second, she sounds exactly her age, twenty-one and far from home.
Alex checks Sammie for any bumps or scrapes, her no-nonsense work demeanor calming the young star immediately.
After we make sure that Sammie’s really okay, Capri takes her by the hand and ushers her out of the barn in search of other Insta-worthy shots.
The fact that she follows immediately puts everyone’s mind at ease.
I grab my radio and call one of the ranch hands to come grab the ladder as Zane sets it low against the wall.
An image of the accident flashes through my mind, and I immediately stiffen.
“This is not on you, man.” Zane’s words are sharp and direct. “I should have listened to you about not using that damn ladder.”
“Don’t.” I wave my hand to cut him off. “It’s ultimately my responsibility.”
Zane claps me on the back, the gesture letting me know he doesn’t agree, before he heads out the door. He’s not one to argue, which I respect and appreciate about working with him.
My jaw clenches tight as I nod. I’m so fucking pissed off, and now that the adrenaline is subsiding, a deep stab of guilt overwhelms me.
She could have landed on her back, she could have broken something, or worse.
Speckles dot in front of my eyes, so I head to the nearby table and sit, elbows on the table, my forehead on my clasped hands.
I inhale and exhale deeply, the technique my therapist taught me when my anxiety threatens to take over.
Having Alex witness this is the last fucking thing I need.
“Is it okay if I sit next to you?”
I nod, incapable of speaking right now, and feel her shift right next to me. Outside the practice barn, muffled voices and equipment sounds become a distant hum. She remains quiet, breathing in rhythm with me. Eventually, the spots disappear, and I sit up in the chair to find Alex watching me.
Her expression is neutral, comforting. “Mind if I give you a hug?”
I manage a tight nod, so she slides toward me, her soft vanilla-caramel scent filling my senses as she straddles my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and places her head on my shoulder, anchoring me with her weight. I grab onto her like a lifeline.
Each exhale is deliberate and slow, her breath warming the hollow of my throat. The tension in my body starts to melt as her pulse beats steady against my collarbone.
Finally, I pull back, brushing her hair away from her face. “Thank you, Boots.”
Dust motes dance in the afternoon light filtering through the barn's weathered boards around us. She cups both cheeks, her bright blue eyes looking directly into mine. “It’s my honor.”
“You’ve had experience with panic attacks before.” It’s obvious.
Her fingertips trace my eyebrows, then my cheeks and jaw.
“My grandpa is a retired Marine. He has some PTSD from his last tour that was triggered by cars backfiring and things like that. My grandmother was the best at showing all of us how to support him through it.” She smooths her hands down my arms. “It doesn’t happen so much anymore. ”
“I saw one of my buddies fall from an oil derrick. He broke his back and couldn’t walk for a long time.
” I trace circles on her back through her soft gauzy blouse.
“He’d been scaling the ladder leading to the hydraulic safe lift.
I was right behind him and had just turned to say something to my boss.
If I had just waited until Brandon reached the lift, he wouldn’t have broken his back or spent months in rehab learning to walk again. ”
I will never forget the look on his pregnant wife’s face when I showed up at her house to take her to the hospital. That one hurt. And I will never forget the look on my own wife’s face after my first panic attack the day I returned to work. Embarrassment. Disdain.
A grim twist pulls at my mouth. “Turns out, my wife only signed up for the good times, not the grit.”
Alex’s hand slides down to cover mine, her delicate fingers intertwining my own. “You don't have to carry that alone, Caspian. When it gets heavy, give some of it to me.”
The weight of her words settles over me.
Why do I get the feeling she's not only talking about the rest of the festival run?