Chapter 24
Raine had been on cloud nine all day, feeling pampered for and cared about—and she was about to give her fans what they wanted.
Despite the label and Mal pushing her constantly, what she loved most about this song was that it exposed the industry in a way that was either acceptable to the assholes in charge—or maybe they just didn’t get it.
And singing that song somehow made her feel freer.
Feeling like she was in their good graces again, she was beginning to think that everything that had happened, whether good or bad, had happened for a reason, because it had all led her here.
But the vibes she’d been getting from Quentin—earlier today and later when she called…
they hadn’t been good. Although he’d said he was okay and that he’d be there, as the clock ticked toward seven and he was nowhere to be found, she began getting a little nervous.
Maybe traffic was heavy or maybe there was some problem with his suit or something.
Now she sat in her dressing room, getting last-minute touchups.
The room wasn’t large but it was functional—white walls, a bank of lights above a counter to hold makeup and hair equipment.
A woman was dabbing her cheeks with a powder brush when a stage manager popped his head in the door. “Has your producer arrived?”
Raine felt a jolt of panic that hit her breastbone like a kick, but she kept her voice steady. “He should be here. His driver was supposed to pick him up at six-thirty.”
“Okay. I’ll see if we can find him wandering around. He might have gotten lost.”
But that wasn’t like Quentin. If he were here, he would have found her.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself it was all right. Being a few minutes late would be okay.
But when she heard the swell of the orchestral music coming from the stage, followed by applause, she realized that the show was going on, regardless of where Quentin might be.
Grabbing her phone, she saw that there were no message notifications—so she sent him a quick text: Where are you?
After sending it, she typed another. The show’s just started.
Why couldn’t she make her heart stop thumping? It would be fine.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Raine invited, her heart feeling instantly lighter, hoping it was Quentin with a ready explanation.
But it wasn’t him. Instead, a woman dressed in black said, “You’re on in less than thirty.”
Raine’s stomach knotted but she just gave the woman a tight smile and nodded her head. As soon as she was alone again, she called Quentin’s phone.
It rang and rang and rang until she got his voicemail.
So she hung up.
Another knock at the door was followed by it opening. Mal. Of course. “Is Russo here yet?”
“No.”
Two people walked by her open door laughing and joking when another person, a man close to her age, entered behind Mal. “I’ve got some water for you.”
It was a bottle, and Raine knew she’d need it to sing, especially with her mouth as dry as wood chips. “Thank you.”
After the young man left, Mal said, “Is he running late?”
“I don’t know. He’s not returning my phone calls.”
“Of all nights. Irresponsible. Now we know why his career’s in the toilet.” Seeing the expression on Raine’s face, Mal said, “Okay. Let me see what I can do. I’ll be back.”
After Mal left, Raine looked at her phone again, but there was nothing. She started to tap out another message but then realized it wouldn’t do any good. If Quentin had decided not to come, sending more texts wouldn’t help a damn bit.
He knew.
From where she sat, she could hear the show progressing.
A woman who had released her debut album earlier in the year was singing her number-one hit, “Without You,” a song Raine had listened to many times.
It seemed so apropos to her own situation.
So she stared at her reflection in the mirror: You are not going to cry.
The stage manager reappeared at her open door. “Have you heard from your producer?”
Her voice was steady when she answered. “No.” But the tightness in her chest refused to subside.
Before he left the room, Mal reached the door and the two of them began whispering. The stage manager said, “We can adjust if need be.”
A chill darted down her spine as she realized…they weren’t going to cancel the act.
When the two of them completely entered her room, Mal closed the door. Facing her, her said, “You’ll go on without him.”
The stage manager nodded. “Ten minutes. We need to get you upstairs.”
She didn’t have a choice?
Of course, she didn’t. How much control had she ever really had over her own career?
Well…there was one thing she did have. She had that song, that truth. Quentin might have coaxed it out of her, but it was hers and hers alone. And the world had already told her they loved it, so she could and would do it.
Mal stepped out of the dressing room, and she could hear him on the phone. Based on what he was saying, she was certain he was talking to someone at the label. When the stage manager came back and asked her to follow him, she did, and Mal’s voice became a silent echo behind her.
It wasn’t until they were upstairs that the full force of the sound hit her. No longer muffled, she was right there, just barely behind the stage. The stage manager led her to a small room in the wings and whispered, “When they call your name, you’ll go out.”
“Am I singing it a capella?”
“Your manager gave us the music track so you can lip sync.”
“No. I won’t do it that way. That’s not how I’ve been practicing it. Where’s the acoustic guitar?”
“We still have it,” the stage manager said quietly, his face neutral, telling Raine he’d done this hundreds of times before.
“Then I’ll play it.”
“Okay. We’ll get the stage set up for that. When they call your name, go through the divide in the curtains there and walk to the mics. We’ll have the guitar there for you.”
Raine nodded, swallowing to force the lump in her throat to go down.
Quentin was no longer on her mind. Finally, she was able to draw on what she always did right before a live performance—an energy, an excitement from deep inside her, one that gave her what she needed to be the very best she could be. Being completely sober helped with that.
During the commercial break, the audience chattered but it was hard to hear any actual words from her location. Instead, she heard people backstage whispering not far from her. “Quentin must have dumped her.”
“Oh, that’s harsh. But maybe she dumped him.”
No, the first person had had it right. Raine couldn’t see the people talking and forced their words out of her head. I can do this. I’m a professional. This audience wants to see me perform anyway.
It would be okay.
When the commercial break ended, it wasn’t long before the announcer, a stand-up comedian hosting the show that year, started talking again, and Raine knew it was almost time.
“Our next performer is one you likely know well—but you’ll be glad to know that we gave her a breathalyzer test a few minutes ago just to make sure she was up for the task. ”
How rude. The audience burst into laughter but Raine wasn’t going to let his crass, stupid joke stop her. It was typical for this type of show, and she hoped those jokes would stop when she proved to everyone that she was more than her scandal.
“Her new album comes out early next year, but her first single has been getting a lot of buzz, and she’s here to perform it live for you tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Raine Dennison.”
Swallowing again, Raine walked down the path the stage manager had told her to take.
She knew she looked the part in a designer gown, a simple black strapless dress with a barely noticeable split up to her thighs.
Unlike her usual footwear, she had on low black heels, and her hair was softly styled, her makeup also gentle, accompanied by simple hoop earrings.
Nothing flashy, nothing excessive, and it had been what she’d requested.
She didn’t want anything to detract from tonight.
Unfortunately, Quentin’s absence would do that just fine.
But the applause as she crossed the stage to where the acoustic guitar leaned against a chair gave her the strength to go on.
As she pulled it over her head, she noticed how her hands were shaking—but she knew as soon as she started plucking the strings, she’d be okay.
She pulled the pick from where it rested between a few strings, praying that someone had tuned it.
As soon as she played the first chord, she felt a slight wave of relief because they had at least done that much.
The stage was dark now, except for a spotlight on her, and she tried not to think about Quentin abandoning her in the moment when she’d needed him the most. Her throat felt dry, so she moved her tongue around and licked her lips.
Then she began singing “Ripped Away.”
I trusted you because you promised me the world…
And you saw the vulnerable girl that I was inside.
Those words could apply to Quentin now just as much as they’d applied to Mal when she’d written it, and so she sang from her heart—and she knew the words were coming out raw and emotional, just as they should have been, without the polish from the recorded version.
What told her the audience was rapt was there wasn’t a single sound except for what was coming from her mouth and the guitar.
And as she sang every single phrase, she knew she couldn’t be ignored.
She was back.
When she finally sang the last line in the final chorus—“A shadow where my heart used to be”—in almost a whisper, there was a brief few seconds of silence, and then the audience erupted with applause.
Raine kept her cool and said thank you softly into the mic, even though they couldn’t hear it over their roars.
As she walked off stage, she felt so many things inside. This was her moment of salvation.
But it was also her moment of grief.
Quentin absolutely had abandoned her. It didn’t matter why.
His promises were now lies. As she passed one of the stagehands, the woman nodded and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Raine forced a smile—but as soon as she was back downstairs, she couldn’t maintain it anymore, and the tears began to flow.
When Mal found her, she wiped the tears away, putting on a stone face. “That was brilliant, love—and I think it turned out way better than if that dumb ass had been here.”
She tried to be grateful that Mal was sticking up for her, but it felt like he was trying to erase Quentin and, perhaps, regain his former control over her and her shoulders suddenly felt heavy.
If she needed to, she’d deal with that later.
“If he winds up getting the Best Producer award, I’m not going to accept it.
You or somebody at the label can do it, but I’m done. ”
Mal’s eyes widened but he nodded. Was he finally beginning to take her seriously? “We’ll figure it out,” he said, pulling out his phone and leaving her outside her dressing room door.
Stepping inside, she closed the door and let the tears fall.
She saw her phone on the counter and walked over to it.
She had all but begged Quentin to do the right thing, to be a good man and be there for her, because she’d known something wasn’t quite right.
And he’d just ghosted her in the most public way imaginable.
This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed her, but it would be the last.
No more. Never again. She wouldn’t beg him or anyone else for shit.
Her jaw firm, she picked up her phone. Of course, there were no messages from Quentin and she hadn’t expected any. Still, she opened up their text thread to type him one final message.
I believed you.