Risky Replay (Country Stars Forever #1)

Chapter 2

Two

EMILY

I fight to keep the tremor out of my voice as I hold my cell phone to my ear and plug the other with a finger so I can better hear my son. I promised he could call me at bedtime. “I’ll check on you and your sister when I’m home.”

“Where are you?” my son asks and doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s loud. Did you know a sperm whale is louder than a rocket launch? But whales live underwater. How do they know how loud it is? Can you hear them from the beach?”

I pinch my lips shut, but a snort escapes me. “We can research in the morning.”

Like magic, the stress of the night lessens. That’s my son, he sprinkles fairy dust into my life.

“Good night, mom, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” With my still shaking hands, I hang up, and weave my way back to the stairs.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration for my new job. The kind of job every single mom dreams of with flexible hours and decent pay. And best of all, we are going home. Back to our forever home in Maryland. There, the kids each have a room, we’re near the neighborhoods where our friends live, and we’ll never have to move again. Ryan and I planned to raise the kids there, and I keep my promises.

But when our lives were upended, the kids and I were forced to move to San Diego and live with my grandparents. I promised them we’d be back in a year, and it’s time.

Speaking of promises, I have one more to fulfill now that I have Derek within reach. Mr. Country Music’s Hottest Singer two years in a row.

And no. I don’t stalk much.

The only question is how do I give him the news? Because opening night of his honky-tonk isn’t the place for a life-altering conversation.

Mark and I have the night off from work, a rarity, and he mentioned his free passes to a club opening. I reluctantly agreed because I hate asking for my grandparents to watch my kids more than they have to. But he was persuasive, and he wanted me to have a night out to celebrate.

Unfortunately, instead of a night of adult fun with my friend, I’m crowded by a bunch of groupies, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I debate going back up there or leaving. If I leave, I’ll kill any chance of Derek speaking to me again.

“I just came from there, was talking to Derek and Amanda,” I say to the large and imposing security guard, wearing a name tag that reads Ricardo as I point up the steps.

He laughs, “I don’t think so,” and widens his stance, crossing his hands in front of him.

I text Mark that I’ll likely need help getting upstairs.

As I wait, I work through how to tell Derek. Nothing comes to mind. I lift the hair off my neck and fan it.

“You alright?” Ricardo asks.

Summoning as much confidence as I can, which is about a teaspoon of it, I nod. Instead of thinking of what I have to do, I introduce myself and we chat. He’s a former Marine, a dad to twin girls who terrorize him and his wife, and when he’s not protecting the Muddy Boots or playing with his kids, he crochets .

“God, he’s so hot. I would fuck him,” a woman near me says.

Ricardo rolls his eyes like he’s heard this before.

“Which Muddy Boot is she talking about? Because all three are a treat for the eyes,” I say with a wink.

He shakes his head.

It’s true. It’s only recently that I discovered the Muddy Boots have been blowing up the country music charts and winning all types of contests from their fans. Best lyrics. Best outfits. Songs with the most heartbreaking lyrics. Band I’d become a groupie for.

I’d stopped because when Ryan found me creeping on Derek online, we argued. Every time, he insisted we pull up his schedule and pay him a visit. What was the point? Derek would never talk to me. He made certain contacting him would never be an option for me.

But I made a promise to Ryan for what I’d do if I ever saw Derek again.

Wistful sighs and cheers draw my attention to the VIP area. Derek strolls down the stairs, giving me time to take in his perfectly-styled dark blond hair, penetrating brown eyes, and sexy six-foot two frame in a gray, fitted Saddles tee, jeans, and black cowboy boots more expensive than my car. He has more tattoos than I remember, scattered around the white skin of his biceps and forearms. He’s bulked out in the most perfect way. Damn, no doubting why he won those contests.

I force my eyes away from his solid build and narrow waist.

As the murmurs around us rise at Derek’s descent, Ricardo says, “Hey boss. She said she knew you, but every cutie has said so tonight.”

Derek’s eyes flash to me, then to the surrounding crowd. “This time, it’s true.”

“I don’t mind her staying here sharing war stories,” Ricardo says.

I wouldn’t either. Much easier than counting the volume of women swooning over Derek Anderson. I forget, they know him as Derek James .

“War stories?” Derek asks as his brow furrows.

“Wars we have with our kids,” Ricardo clarifies.

“Kids?” Derek tucks his hands in his front pockets, staring at me with way too many questions in his brown eyes.

If only he knew.

I’m not ready to answer questions about my children. But I can’t avoid the topic forever. “A boy, six, and a girl, three.”

I monitor his expression for a sign of which way this could go.

Nothing.

When he stays quiet, my shoulders slump. How would he know? “I didn't realize this was your place. I should say goodbye to Mark and...”

Life's cruel twists have brought me face-to-face with a man I never expected to see again. History cannot repeat itself. Besides, I have Ryan’s voice in my head, reminding me of duty, honor, and sacrifice.

"Don't." Derek nods at the rowdy crowd above us in the VIP section. “Let’s get back upstairs.”

I thank Ricardo. My boots clomp on every step because no matter how I ask, Derek won’t want to stay in touch with me. He hates me. Their first hit, Soldier On , is a fuck-you ode to the woman who left him. I could only point a finger at my chest. Me. I stop halfway up and turn around. Derek’s eyes lift suddenly, wearing a slight flush on his cheeks. Was he staring at my ass?

“I don’t want to jeopardize Mark’s chances. His talent is incomparable. Don't make a foolish mistake because of our history. You want the best? He’s the best.”

Derek’s brows shoot up into his forehead. “You think I wouldn’t hire him because of you? I’ve moved on. I’m certain you have.”

I cross my arms. “Of course.”

“Won’t be a problem. Stay and hang out with him like you planned.”

I shift my weight and stare over his head. I’m a rise before the sun, sneak in cardio before the kids wake up, plan every minute of their day, and prepare healthy meals kind of mom. This is a place to drink and party until dawn, to let go of the burden of responsibility even if it’s temporary. I can’t live like that. I never could. And that’s what Derek could never see. I’d been saddled with responsibility since I was eight years old. He dreamed of being famous.

“Stay for the show. Have fun, and whatever.” He shrugs, like spending time within a few feet of each other is as casual for me as it seems for him.

“Pretty lady!”

I turn, facing the top of the stairs. Charlie Gonzales stands with his arms spread out and a wide smile on his face. Where Derek’s reception was a polar vortex, Charlie’s is warmer than San Diego in July. I can’t help but rush up the last steps and land in his welcoming hug.

“I’ve missed you,” he says to the top of my head.

The back of my eyes sting. When Derek and I ended, I didn’t just lose him. I lost Charlie, Tyler, and Derek’s sister, Jesi, too.

I step back, look him over as if he weren’t real. “How do you still look the same?” He’s been called the Latin version of Adam Levine with his tan skin, full lips, and whiskey-colored eyes.

He leans forward. “Lots and lots of orgasms.”

I press my lips together to hold back my laughter.

Tyler appears behind Charlie. “Emily,” he says with much less enthusiasm than Charlie.

Tyler is the tallest of the three, with dark hair and a matching short beard contrasting with his white skin, smoldering blue eyes, and a series of dimples bracketing his wide smile. One he withholds from me.

“It’s good to see all of you,” I say, making a point of including Derek.

“You’re here for the show, ain’t ya?” Charlie asks.

Mark appears at my side and sets a hand on my arm. You okay? he mouths and I nod .

A woman, wearing a headset and holding a clipboard, breaks into our circle. “Five minutes.”

“We have to go.” Tyler walks past and starts down the stairs.

“I’m dedicating a song to you.” Charlie points finger guns at me and follows Tyler.

Derek glances at the crowd below. “It was nice to see you,” he says and joins his bandmates.

I exhale.

“ ?Mírenla! I never would have pictured you, always competing for mom of the year, getting it on with the hot country star,” Mark teases.

I roll my eyes at him. “I’m not competing for mom of the year.”

With one last glance in Derek’s direction, I shift my attention to Mark, who pinches his lips between his teeth.

“What? Spit it out,” I say.

He tilts his head to the side. He’s spent time with my son and daughter. And he’d have to be blind not to notice the truth about my oldest.

“He looks so much like him.” Mark states the obvious, proving my point.

“There’s no escaping the truth,” I say as my muscles sag with defeat. “I shouldn’t be here. This is his big night.”

Mark nods towards the stairs.

But I don’t move.

“Tonight isn’t a good night, right? Like I should invite him to a cafe, where there are less women hanging onto him, catch up a bit and then have an honest conversation. Tonight is the opening. You’re asking for a job. He has a show.” Mark keeps a stoic expression as I spit out excuses. “I’ll tell him. I will. I’ll give him time to decide. However long he needs to consider his options.”

“If you really want to go, I’ll take you home,” Mark says.

“Did you get his number?”

“I did, and I signed an NDA. I can’t give it to you. ”

I puff my cheeks with as much air I can and exhale through my mouth.

“Why don’t we stay and you can talk to him after it’s all over?” Mark says, sounding annoyingly reasonable.

The balcony has a direct view of the stage. Derek leans into a post in a darkened section, waiting for the crew to finish setting up a stubborn microphone stand. As my vision adjusts to the darkened background, I meet his watchful gaze, and I’m lured into the pool of questions swimming in his brown eyes.

I recall the boy who dreamt of an extraordinary life. Dreams too big for San Diego.

Applause breaks out.

Figures dressed in black move about the stage. I search for Derek, but he’s gone.

“Not tonight.” I walk toward the stairs, banking on having one more chance to tell Derek in a private, because now Mark will know how to find him.

Mark takes a step down. “I want this job, and you need to have a long conversation with lover boy.”

I do. The weight of what comes next keeps my feet from moving.

Mark takes another step down. “I’m not one to judge. You two have some serious shit to talk about.”

“Not talking to him here, not now.” I protest. Could I ask Derek to meet for coffee? Do country stars go out for coffee? I need a plan to ensure, no matter what Derek thinks of me, he’ll meet me. Hey Derek, want to hang out with the woman you hate?

“There’s always hate sex,” Mark says.

“You did not say that.” Did I say it out loud? I land on the same step as Mark, moving faster than I intend.

I halt when Derek starts up the stairs and stops two steps from us.

“You’re leaving.” Derek’s eyes narrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on stage?” I ask, and fuck, the suspicion on his face intensifies .

“We have to head out.” Mark clears his throat like he expects me to add something.

Awkward silence fills the space between Derek and me.

“It was nice to see you.” I hold out my fist. Derek’s eyes fixate on mine. He doesn’t return my gesture. I wait. His jaw ticks. My fist grows heavy, and I drop my proffered hand.

The crowd claps, drawing Derek’s attention to the stage. His eyes return to me. “Do you still sing?”

Why would he want to know?

“Does she?” Derek asks Mark.

My back straightens. “I can answer for myself, and yes, I practice.”

Mark chuckles.

The corner of Derek’s lips tilt up for a second, and as soon as I catch it, his mouth returns to the hard line of disapproval. “Are you still any good?” A spark ignites in his gaze.

Tension curls between my shoulder blades. Derek Anderson has dropped a hook. My chest puffs up, and I’m baited. My hands fan out to my sides. “Name a place and time, Anderson. You’re on.”

His eyes become slits when I use his real last name.

“Stay and prove it or leave and do what you always do,” he challenges.

The prickling starts at my neck, sliding down my spine, and I tangle myself in deeper. A bad habit around this man. “Do what?”

The smile women swoon over appears, he leans toward me and hisses, “Run.”

The gruffness of his voice releases a full body shiver along with a dangerous cocktail of fear and excitement.

The challenge pins me to the step I teeter on. If I leave, will he reject me like he did before? Will he deny me? If I have a slim chance of him forgiving me, I have to stay. But I need more. I need him to agree to meet me after tonight .

I’m caught in his game, dangling on a hook, waiting for him to reveal his plan. Whatever it is, it’s a risk. The real question is, am I willing?