Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
LOU
N o one ever told me how exhilarating sitting in a green room after a concert with my closest friends and band would be.
No one told me Patty would be here, either.
My friends and their significant others are scattered around the room—eating (the guys), talking to my band (the Janes), and downing Diet Coke at a superhuman rate (Millie).
And somehow, there’s Patty.
Looking all brooding and mysterious as he talks to Rusty and the other guys—Tripp, Duke, and Sonny. I fight to keep the frown off my face. I know he and Rusty are tight, but I didn’t realize he knew all of them well enough for Tripp to be slapping him on the back and Sonny to be making him smirk.
No—is that a smile?
Get him out of your head , I tell myself as an interviewer approaches.
I had a press-junket-style interview with the major outlets right after the show, but Manny and my label agreed to let Cassie Jo, a huge country music journalist, stick around tonight for a major feature.
Unfortunately for me, rather than sitting down to ask all her questions at once, Cassie Jo has taken a different approach—asking one question, wandering off to talk to someone else, then swooping back in with another.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
I’ve been waiting all night to finally hang out with my friends—or even just check my phone, which has been blowing up with texts since I stepped off stage—but Cassie Jo is still here, so I have to be on. Fortunately, she’s only permitted another five minutes.
I can grin and bear it until then.
“Lucy Jane!” Cassie Jo says as her cameraman records, and I wonder if I can request the angle that makes me look the least like my mom. “What a show. Take me back to that moment on stage where it was just you and the piano. You had a moment where I was sure you were faltering. What happened?”
The memory of the stage lights burns in my eyes, along with the adrenaline spike when my IEM failed. The idea of not being able to hear—not being able to sing accurately—was intense. But I thought I’d kept it off my face.
“It was really nothing,” I say. “My in-ear died, but my monitor engineer replaced it quickly.”
“I wondered when I saw someone run across the stage to you. Masterfully done. I bet you’re congratulating yourself on not just a good show, but a good crew.”
I want to snort, thinking of how Patty would react to that description. “I’m very lucky, yes.”
“Since the news of your identity came out, you’ve been trying to prove you deserve a seat at the same table as your mom,” she says.
I grit my teeth.
Here we go.
“How did that play into your thoughts at that moment?”
I’ve been expecting a question like this. Dreading it, honestly.
So why does it land like a slap?
I stand straighter as a bead of sweat slips down my spine.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything except my audience—wanting to make sure they got the show they paid for. The show they deserve.”
“Right, right,” Cassie Jo says, nodding like she’s disappointed I dodged the question. But she isn’t done. “You know, when I watched your performance tonight, I couldn’t help but think of your mother. She left the industry at the height of her career. Does that ever weigh on your mind as you step into the spotlight?”
The air thickens, heavy and suffocating.
My mouth goes dry, and for a moment, the noise in the room fades. It’s just me and the drumbeat of panic in my head.
I stare at Cassie Jo, hoping the professional mask I’ve fought to perfect is holding.
“I mean, it’s a different time,” I say carefully. “Different circumstances.”
“She’s always claimed she was done, but do you believe the rumors that she was forced out because a pregnant star wasn’t the look music execs were going for? Or maybe the ones about your dad?—”
“I can’t say,” I blurt. Then I breathe slowly and smile. “What I can say is that my mother has had everything she’s wanted.”
Cassie Jo tilts her head, clearly not satisfied.
“Sure. But do you ever wonder if there’s a lesson there? That maybe some people can’t have it all? Maybe you can’t have it all?”
A tight laugh escapes before I can stop it. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
My voice sounds steady. But deep down, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
And Cassie Jo seems to know it.
“That’s all the time we have,” Manny says, coming to the rescue—twenty seconds too late. “Thanks for coming, Cassie Jo. Feel free to email any other questions you have.”
I give her and her cameraman a polite goodbye, then exhale in relief the second they’re gone.
I want to finally see my friends, but my buzzing phone is driving me nuts. I’m about to flip it to Do Not Disturb mode when I see a text from …
Connor Nash.
Connor Nash
LJ—my feed is full of you tonight! First show and you’re already crushing it, like I knew you would. Hate that I couldn’t be there. Save me a ticket next time. And maybe a dance. ;)
My inner seventeen-year-old screams at me to forget about that stupid interview question and start fangirling, already.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
My heart isn’t in it—yet—but I turn around and scramble to find my nearest friend. Ash sees me looking around and rushes over.
“What’s up?”
I shove my phone at her.
Her eyes go wide.
“Did Connor Nash just call you LJ and ask you to save him a dance?” she hisses, grabbing me by the arms and shaking me.
I let a secretive smile spread across my lips. I need this. I need to focus on being excited about something tonight—not worrying about whether I’m a hack.
The others flock around us as soon as they hear Ash.
“Shh,” I whisper, glancing around. “I don’t like airing my business.”
Jane narrows her dark blue eyes. “So there’s business, is there?”
My friends and I are all attractive, but Jane’s beauty stops people on the street and makes them ask for her autograph, even though she’s not famous.
Her husband, Tripp, is six-five and built like an army ranger. They make a striking pair. And because Jane is stupid in love with him, she’s eager for me to join the happily-wedded club she and Millie are both in.
Parker and Sonny’s wedding is scheduled for the break between the first and second legs of my tour, and I expect Ash and Rusty to get engaged anytime now.
They’re all so happy, and I know they want the same for me.
But this?
This is the best I intend to do: crush on an untouchable rockstar from afar and squeal about it with my friends.
“Not even close,” I say, rolling my eyes affectionately at Jane. “We’ve texted a few times, but there is no business of any kind happening with Connor Nash. Or anyone else.”
“Anyone else?” Parker says, a shrewd glint in her dark eyes.
She should not be able to use that shrewdness against me. We’re usually the ones doing that to the others.
“As if there’s anyone else,” Ash says. “You’ve had a crush on Nash since high school.”
“Who didn’t have a crush on him?” Millie sighs. “I wasn’t into Duncan and Nash the way you guys were, but that part-surfer, part-cowboy look Nash had going on? Hotter than hot.”
“I notice you don’t think he’s still attractive,” Parker says. She was never into Duncan and Nash. She’s firmly a girl-power-anthem rock fan, which is why the song I dedicated to her— It’s Always Sonny —is an anthem.
Millie eyes Duke like he’s the first Diet Coke she’s seen after a long fast. “Have you seen my husband?”
Parker smirks. “Sonny was ranked hottest athlete in the NFL. Duke was, what, number six?”
Millie drops her jaw, gasping dramatically—the signature move I already miss. “He was number four, and he was robbed.”
Parker’s wicked chuckle sets off the rest of us.
We take our laughter into the cozy armchairs and couch.
The venue’s green room has been given a rustic-chic makeover, tailored specifically to my concert. I never included decor in my rider; my list of “requirements” for the venues was pretty simple—minky blankets and cozy socks (I’m always freezing), fresh veggies and guacamole (something healthy), Excedrin and Dr Pepper Zero (in case of a migraine).
That’s it.
Manny had other ideas.
He insisted on things I’d never think to ask for but that would supposedly make a difference by show twelve.
Fresh flowers. Lip balm. Lotion. Even a color palette.
I protested.
“I don’t want to be seen as some diva.”
“Being comfortable doesn’t make you a diva,” Manny said. “It keeps you sane.”
I don’t know if he’s right, but the muted olive, soft cream, and dusty rose match the comfortable tour bus my mom designed.
And the vanilla-orange candle?
It smells like home.
Warm. Grounding.
Only, I’m not sure I want to feel grounded right now.
Not when adrenaline is still surging through my veins.
Not when my cells are vibrating at a frequency only other musicians can hear.
My friends keep joking and talking when the door opens, and the caterer brings in warm pecan pie and ice cream.
I get up and walk to the opposite end of the room to grab some water and electrolytes, while the others surround the food table.
And that’s when I run into Patty, reaching for water right next to me.
I give a tight-lipped smile and twist open a bottle.
“Hey, good work tonight.”
“You too,” he says. He clears his throat, like it’s dusty from disuse. “You sounded good.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip. “And thanks for the quick thinkin’ with that spare pack. You saved my butt out there.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
And just like that, I can’t keep the professional distance with him, because he’s so aloof, it drives me crazy. I’m supposed to be the aloof one. I’m the one who doesn’t engage in conversations with people who might see too deeply.
Why is he so much better at this than I am?
So I don’t say anything else. I stand at the table, opening a packet of electrolytes. I dump it in my water, screw the cap back on, and shake to blend.
And you know what else I do?
I don’t move.
He was four inches from me when he reached for his bottle, and I’m sure he expected me to back up.
I didn’t.
Course, neither did he, so looks like we’re back in that same staring contest we keep playing.
When my electrolyte mix is a hundred shakes past blended, I unscrew the cap and take a drink. And then the best thing happens.
Patty blinks first.