Risky Replay (Country Stars Forever #1)

Chapter 4

Four

EMILY

Derek’s husky vocals croon lyrics of lovers desperate for more time in bed. The raw emotion in his voice awakens the butterflies inside me. Shooing them back into their cave is impossible because it only takes one to rile up the rest.

Three songs. I fulfill my part of the challenge so he’ll have to show up tomorrow.

Derek finishes the first verse. I join at the chorus. My voice wavers as I struggle to hold the range required for one of my favorite love songs. We covered the song hundreds of times. I’m not out of practice. I blame the damn butterflies.

And I blame the lyrics about lovers, tangled in the sheets, wishing for their time together to never end. But they never find a way for their relationship to work outside the bedroom. A love song about everything Derek and I could never figure out. Yet, it’s everything I found with Ryan and everything I lost.

Attempting to shoo the pesky butterflies aside, I pivot toward Derek. His eyes are closed while he builds up to the gravel-like notes. As soon as my part restarts, his eyes open, and our voices flow into the crescendo. My breath stutters, and I reach for a higher note.

He tilts his head and stays with me until I recover .

Gripping the microphone with both hands, I step back and bravely aim for another, higher note. When the song finishes, the satisfied smile on Derek’s lips is the only sign I impressed him, like I passed a test. Hope sprouts he’ll be at the diner tomorrow. Our performance for the next two songs flows and ends faster than I imagined.

Mark embraces me once I walk off the stage. “Like I’ve said, you were born for this.”

The butterflies unleash a storm. Breathing becomes a challenge. Placing my hands on my hips, I walk toward the front doors in search of fresh air. I’m turned around. Where is the damn exit?

I’ve stepped off bar stages, even karaoke stages before, but this place far surpasses those and what teenage me, singing with the guys, ever dreamt of. But this isn’t real life. Not for me.

I stayed. I sang. Derek Anderson has to show up. The possibility he won’t anchors me to the floor.

People approach us. They talk to me wearing smiles and talk to Mark. Their faces are a blur, and their words come at me as if we were underwater. I nod. I smile. I don’t know how long they stay.

“I’m sorry if this means he won’t hire you,” I sputter at Mark.

Mark’s warm hands land on my shoulders, and his confident grin appears in front of me. “He’ll hire me.” When I don’t answer, he adds, “I’ve never seen you this anxious after a performance. Are you okay?”

I hug myself. “He’s going to hate me.”

Mark studies me as if he’s looking for any cracks in my armor. There are plenty. No one can help me patch them up. “Better to rip off the band aid.”

“Doesn’t matter what he thinks of me. What will he think of…” I can’t say it out loud. Our son, the one he doesn’t know about, doesn’t know about him either. If Derek wants to meet him, to be in his life and then decides he can’t, I will have failed to pr otect my baby. Like I’ve always done. My son already lost one parent. He can’t lose another.

The knot in my stomach tightens.

Mark pulls me into a comforting embrace. “You’re tougher than you think you are. You can handle whatever happens.”

I hang on as long as he lets me. Unshed tears burn behind my eyes. He’s right. I’m tough, and I will handle whatever comes our way. But my son is only six and still learning to navigate life without Ryan.

Ryan promised he’d be here for this moment. Where is he now? Gone. Not around to help carry the weight of my past like he promised. I’m the fool putting my faith in what others say they will do for me.

Feeling sorry for myself won’t help. I wipe the trickle of moisture under my lashes. “I can control how this happens.”

Whatever happens, I have to focus on what’s at stake and maintain my composure. Who is most important? My kids. I have to see them, but they are already asleep. I carry thousands of pictures of them on my phone. Their sweet smiles are my strength.

I reach into the back pocket of my jeans.

Where’s my phone? I shove a hand in my front and back pockets. Shit. I check my bra. Where is my phone? I called home. Then I came back inside. I texted Mark I couldn’t get back upstairs. I talked to Ricardo while I waited.

I bolt for the bottom of the stairs where Ricardo keeps watch and search the floor.

“Whoa,” Mark catches up to me. “Where’s the fire?”

“My phone.” I say to Mark and Ricardo who stop me from dropping onto my hands and knees. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Ricardo hands me a small flashlight and I point it at the floor. Mark uses the one on his phone. Too many people walk around. Someone could have kicked it. I thread my fingers through my scalp. I trace our path to the stage.

The longer it takes to find it, the harder my heart thumps against my chest. What if my grandmother calls with an emergency? What if the kids wake up and can’t go back to sleep without hearing my voice? What if Robbins needs something from me back home? What if…

The uproar of the crowd drowns out my paranoid string of what ifs.

Derek thanks them for coming. The band bows and vanishes through a stage door.

“Maybe it’s upstairs,” I say to Mark rushing toward the bottom of the staircase, and Ricardo allows us upstairs. The area is less crowded now. I search the floor, the tables, the crevices of the chairs. I pick up the cushions of the sofa we were sitting on. Nothing. I slump into a chair.

“Hey,” Mark sits down next to me. “You have everything backed up on your phone?”

“Of course.” My shoulders slump with defeat. “What a wild night. Not what you expected? I’m sorry this wasn’t as fun as you wanted.”

“Never a dull moment with you, my friend.” He bumps my elbow.

“I’m so ready to go home and call it a night. I’ll buy a new phone tomorrow. At least you got your dream job.”

“Heck yeah,” Mark stands, and extends a hand to me. “You know I’ll help you find some time to talk with him.”

I take his offered hand, and pull myself to standing. “You’re a good friend. I’ll miss you.”

“Then don’t leave.” Although his tone is light, he’s said before how much he’ll miss me.

“I’ll miss you too.” I hip bump him.

“You’re still here.” Derek’s deep baritone has us both turning our heads. Derek runs his eyes from my head to my hips, then back up sparking a sweet tremble through my core. “Ricardo said something about your phone.”

I wave my hand around. “Impossible to find. Probably destroyed by now.”

Derek shoves his hands in his front pockets. “I can ask if anyone turned it in.”

“Don’t bother. We were leaving.” I pause. Should I ask him if he’ll show tomorrow? I fulfilled my end of the deal. Will he?

“Emily, let me help,” Derek says, a slight crease on his forehead.

I shake my head. “We have to go. I have to check on—” Damn. I almost gave it all away. “My kids.”

Derek takes a step forward. “Wait right here.”

He moves fast, like he’s afraid I’ll dart as soon as he turns his back. He ducks behind the bar, causing excitement, and his friends rib him asking if he’s serving drinks. He maneuvers around the bartenders as he asks them if they’ve seen a phone. One nods at the cash register and my heart thumps in my chest the second I recognize the pink glitter case.

I hold my breath as Derek grabs the phone and flips it screen side up.

Please don’t turn on.

Please don’t turn on.

Please don’t turn on.

He doesn’t look at the phone, but sends me a toothy smile making his eyes shine, reminding me of nights in his garage writing songs and practicing cords. I blink his approaching body into focus.

“What a great set.” Mark tells Charlie who’s joined us and they chat next to me, but I don’t pay attention to more. I stare at Derek begging the higher powers to keep the screen off.

“This it?” Derek holds the phone out for me.

“Uh huh.” My face heats for no other reason than Derek’s still looking at me like, well, like I’m ice-cold whiskey after a long hard day.

He stretches his hand toward me. I wrap mine around the phone, and his fingertips curl into my touch. An electric current travels up my arm, releasing an ache I hadn’t felt in a long time .

“Get it,” Charlie says bringing me out of my stupor. What’s wrong with me? I’m distracted.

“Happy to help,” Derek says, and his hand covers mine.

I’m still holding onto him? I snatch the phone as quickly as I can to break the connection. The phone sputters out of my hand, flies across our group of four, and slides to a stop at the crease of the floor and the railing.

Charlie’s the closest, and moves to retrieve it when the screen lights up. I rush forward, praying to get there first, but he’s taller with longer legs.

“Hey, are those your kids?” he asks before bending down to pick it up.

The screen turns off, but he presses a button to turn it back on.

I reach him and cover the screen with my hand. “Thank you, I better get home before I cause another disaster.”

Charlie grips the phone, and I’m unable to get a grasp on it.

“Let me see. Why so secretive?” he says, his playful grin on full display. He moves the phone away from me. “You have two girls? What are their names? Oh, the little one is your mini—” He glances at me, then Derek, and back to the screen.

He sees the truth. He knows my secret.

And it’s not two girls. A girl and a boy.

The warm welcome and the familiar joy Charlie gifts everyone disappears from his features, replaced with an icy, hard stare.

“Charlie, please,” I whisper.

“You do it, or I do it.” His eyes narrow into slits.

“Not tonight,” I beg. From the scowl on his handsome face, that’s not good enough. “Please, not here, not now.”

It’s futile. He’ll do it. Those three run thicker than mud.

“I won’t keep this from him.” Charlie waits a beat.

My breathing shallows, and it’s like I have a vice around my throat.

He shakes his head and marches to Derek, placing the phone in Derek’s hand, turning on the screen .

The second the phone lands in Derek’s hand, the photo appears. He glances at it, then at me. His expression is soft and casual and as if time slows, the phone draws his attention. I memorized the picture, yet I’ve never looked at my two babies through Derek’s eyes. My three-year-old, Victoria, wears a bright yellow and blue Easter dress while she hugs her brother’s waist. Our son, six—the one Charlie thinks is a girl— wears pink bunny ears, a pink taffeta tutu with a turquoise unicorn print tee, and nails painted in different pastels. He holds the basket with the eggs he and his sister collected.

The furrow on Derek’s brow deepens as his eyes focus on the screen.

I take a deep breath as I’m about to jump off a cliff.

“Who is this?” Derek hisses.

The only gene our son inherited from me is the tan skin he shares with his sister. Every part of him is an Anderson.

When I don’t answer, Derek barks my name.

The sweat on my skin turns to ice. I wrap my arms around myself as my muscles quiver. I avert my gaze, yet still sense his escalating anger the longer I remain silent.

“Take this someplace private.” I jump at Mark’s firm tone. Derek shifts his attention to the other two around us.

With his lips pressed together, Derek tucks my phone in his back pocket.

There’s movement. A warm hand grips my elbow, leading me away from Mark. I keep my eyes on the stairs hoping they’ll open up and swallow me.

Words jumble in my brain. I list what he needs to know. Birth control fails. I didn’t trick him. He has an out. James experienced the love of a father. Thanks to Ryan, he’ll always have beautiful, loving memories.

Weighted with the guilt I’ve carried for years, I allow security and Derek to escort me through the crowd, a hallway, and into a small room with a folding table and chair, and wire shelves stacked with papers, folded tee shirts, and white cardboard boxes .

Derek shuts the door and pauses, then turns to me. I step back until I hit the wall. His angry gaze carries enough heat to incinerate me.

Will he believe anything I say or do? How do I explain getting pregnant and never telling him? Will he hate me? How will we co-parent if he never forgives me?

Buried under an avalanche of questions, I wrap my arms around my waist, preparing for the inquisition.