Chapter 25 #2
This forced Dancy to endure a conversation she prayed would be her last with her ex-husband, telling him Bisa needed to get
to the hospital; and no, it wasn’t possible for Bisa to fly to LA now; and yes, Dancy knew all about the suite at Cedars–Sinai;
and no, she didn’t know that included room service. She sent him a pin marking the local hospital and told him to meet them
there.
“He’s an asshole!” Bisa exclaimed when Dancy got off the phone with him.
“Told you,” Dancy retorted.
On the way to the hospital, Bisa was hit with an especially strong contraction. Dancy reached over to hold her hand. A wayward
tear trickled down Bisa’s cheek. “I knew we were going to be friends,” she said. “We understand each other.”
“Apparently we do,” Dancy said, not really believing it. “But that doesn’t mean I’m staying with you at the hospital.”
“Bitch.” Bisa groaned.
“And don’t forget it.”
At the emergency room entrance, Dancy transferred Bisa—still moaning about Cedars–Sinai—to Roth, who was already signing autographs.
Right before they wheeled Bisa away, Roth came over to her, looking miserable. “I wouldn’t really have released that video.
I was just frustrated.”
“Good to know. And I hope you enjoyed your high colonic.”
She had the satisfaction of watching him go pale.
On the way back to the caboose, she felt herself smile. Bisa was going to be a far less malleable wife than Dancy had ever
been.
She reached the house in time to see a delivery van pulling away and Clint standing by the front steps, Watch at his side.
She got out of her car. It was barely eleven o’clock, and she felt as if she’d already lived through an entire day. Clint
looked different from last night, scruffier, but no longer so tightly wound. “I figured you’d sleep in this morning,” he said.
“Bisa decided to go into labor, and I had to get her to the hospital.” After she’d given him the details, she had to ask.
“How are you?”
“I’m still standing.”
“Meaning what?”
“I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about everything you said. This morning, after a few false starts, I ran out of excuses.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I called Brett.”
“Really? You called your brother-in-law?”
“And former agent.” His shoulders relaxed. “You know what’s weird? It was like once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. I
can’t explain exactly what happened, but it all came out.”
“Oh, Clint. I’m so glad.”
He gave her a wry grin, which was surprising considering how difficult this must have been. “Brett said I was no different
from a couple dozen other high-performance pros, except they were smart enough to get help, and it was just like my sister
always said, I still thought of myself as the golden child who didn’t need anything from anyone. Basically, he reamed me a
new one and gave me the name of a guy who’s supposed to be the best sports psychologist in the business.”
She frowned. “He should have been more sensitive.”
“It was exactly what I needed to hear. He didn’t even seem surprised by what I told him.” Clint paused. “So I called Thad
next.”
“Thad Owens? Your backup when you started playing for the Stars?”
“The same. After I unloaded on him, he got pissed and basically said the same thing as Brett and wanted to know why the hell
I waited so long to talk to him.”
She didn’t like this at all. “You need more compassionate friends.”
Instead of agreeing with her, he smiled. “It gets better. Thad put his wife Olivia on the phone, the opera star, and told
me to tell her exactly what I’d told him, and since this was the third time around, it got easier. When I finished, Olivia
gave me a lecture about toxic masculinity and jocks thinking they were smarter than everyone, and you don’t need to know the
rest.”
Dancy was outraged. “None of them should have been so tactless! It’s the last time I’ll play amateur shrink.”
He touched her shoulder. “Hold on. They were pissed at me, but not one of them was surprised. They all know how much pressure
I’ve been under, and they acted as if was normal to flip out, and the only thing not normal was being so secretive about it.
Basically everything you told me, but more bluntly.”
“I’ll say!” she exclaimed.
“It’s not going to be easy, but I’m going to get as much help as I need to work through this.”
“That’s wonderful.” But she wasn’t ready to give up her grudge. “I still think they should have been a little softer with
you.”
He laughed. “Soft doesn’t get the job done. Hard, on the other hand . . .”
Just like that, the mood shifted between them. His gaze softened; her pulse kicked. But as she reached up to loop her hands
around his neck and kiss him, she spotted something over his shoulder that shouldn’t have been there. She broke away and hurried
up the steps through the open front door of his house.
The dress box she’d last seen onstage sat in his foyer, along with all her props and the tote bag she’d rescued from the theater
last night. A tote bag that should still be in the caboose. “Clint?”
He held up both hands. “Now before you get yourself worked up, Erin and I are taking care of everything. All you have to do is show up.”
“For what?”
“The city inspector let me into the theater last night. I loaded up your costumes and props. Everything’s here.”
A prickle of unease needled at her. “Clint, what did you do?”
“I owe you,” he said, “and it’s been a busy morning. We rescheduled your show for eight o’clock tonight. Erin’s called everyone.”
Dread curled in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t understand.”
He spoke slowly, as if she were hard of hearing. “Nobody’s getting back into the theater for a few days, so you’re doing your
show here at the house. Tonight.”
Her heart tripped with alarm. “Here?”
He shrugged. “It was the best I could come up with. Remember that you’re smarter than I am.”
“I’m not doing the show!”
“The guy who just left delivered the chairs and helped me move things around. But all the son of a bitch wanted to talk about
was the Packers. It kind of traumatized me.”
His attempt at distraction wouldn’t work. “No. Absolutely not. The show is over.”
He ignored that. “Somebody’s arriving in an hour or so to set up a platform.” He gestured toward the area in front of the
windows. “This’ll be a smaller stage than the Shore, but I figure you can work with it. I’ll make sure all the lights in the
back are turned off so there won’t be any glare behind you when you’re performing.”
“Stop right there. No show. Last night was a sign from God.”
“Signs come in different ways.” He crossed the room toward the staircase. “Something I finally figured out thanks to our conversation.”
She rushed after him. “No, Clint!”
“Great. We’re good to go.” He mounted the steps.
She wasn’t doing it. She was not going to do it. No way. Never. Absolutely not. “This house is your retreat!” she cried up at him. “You barely let your friends
in here, let alone a bunch of strangers!”
He stopped at the stair landing and looked down at her. “It’s only twenty-five people. Maybe thirty. I invited Mom. She’s
coming with her husband. And my sister and Brett might drive up. No kids, though.”
That tipped her right over the edge. “Your mother!”
“I told her how great you are. You’d better not embarrass me.”
Flabbergasted, she watched him disappear along the catwalk. She’d been backed into a corner, and she wanted to scream. How
could she live with herself if Kristin found out she’d run away?
She rushed to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up at him. “This is going to spoil everything for you! Even if you make
people hand over their phones, someone will sneak photos. You and your private kingdom will be all over the internet.”
He reappeared and leaned over the catwalk. “It’s interesting the kinds of sacrifices a man is willing to make for the woman
he loves.” With that, he disappeared again.
She sagged onto the arm of the couch he’d pushed to the side of the room. All the other larger furniture was gone, and thirty-six
chairs were lined up in six rows on the bare floor. Her clothing rack sat in front of the window wall, along with the desk
and armchair, not the one she’d used at the theater, but another, slightly smaller one.
She took it all in—the room, the chairs.
She needed coffee.
Through the kitchen windows, the lake sparkled, and the trees on the bluff across the water looked as though they’d been painted
in bronze and saffron. She loved this kitchen she’d originally hated, this house, this lake, this man. What she didn’t love
was herself.
She carried her coffee back into the great room. She was sick of her fears. Sick of her insecurities. Sick of worrying about
the future. She’d been afraid she’d lose herself in Clint’s shadow, yet he’d been doing everything he could to push her out
of the shadow she’d cast over herself.
She thought of the courage it had taken for him to make those phone calls, and something cracked open inside her. She made
herself study the space. No wings. No backdrop. If she did this, she’d need to make her entrance down the staircase behind
the audience. But then she’d have to walk through them wearing practically nothing. The bodysuit was perfect for the stage,
but at close range, much of the audience would be uncomfortable. She could keep her robe on, but the robe said nothing about
who she was and the themes she wanted to explore.
She had a better idea. She made her way upstairs to Clint’s bedroom.
He was coming out of his bathroom with wet hair and a towel wrapped low on his hips. She gazed at him, this man she loved
with all her heart. Her body hummed with desire as everything else faded away, including the reason she’d come upstairs to
begin with.
He hooked his thumb into the top of his towel, making it drop another few inches down the flat plane of his abdomen until
it stopped at the very edge of the danger zone, which was growing in size as she watched. “You need something?”