Chapter 18
THE SONG FOR THE SOUND check rumbled out of Keely, low and husky and reverberating through the speaker like a storm, powerful yet mysterious.
Perfect. Or she hoped so.
Please let this not be a flop.
The venue felt right. Formerly a community playhouse, with a balcony, the music lounge, despite the name, possessed the exact vibe she’d hoped for—the place seated over a thousand, good acoustics, and a low stage, close enough to the audience to make it feel intimate.
Industrial lighting cast an inviting glow upon the curved reclaimed wood bar that held forty or more stools.
Another bar ran along the opposite wall.
The worn dance floor in the middle suggested a place where people knew how to unwind and have fun.
She’d mingle. And then she’d sing. Hopefully.
Please. They’d had to adjust the mic for her breathy tones, but the songs—all three of them—were brand new.
Starting with “Hear My Name.” The second, called “The Whisper,” she’d written on her flight to Alaska.
She’d remixed “Forever Found” for the last, turning it into a slow, sultry ballad, just her and her guitar.
In fact, the entire three-song set would simply be Bliss—or rather, Keely, as she’d introduce herself—dressed in a pair of Farrah skinny jeans, a plain white Gucci blouse, and a pair of Dolce & Gabbana boots.
Goldie had picked out the ensemble, along with a few other choices, and had them sent to her suites at Hotel Captain Cook ahead of her arrival. Her agent had also sent clothes for Zoey, along with a new panda and some toys, but Zoey seemed . . .
“I don’t know what’s wrong with her,” she’d said to General Goldie after she’d arrived this morning.
“She’ll be fine,” Goldie had said. Early fifties, the Nashville agent wore her dyed-blond hair in a bob, all one length behind her ears, a deep blue velvet blazer over her white blouse, a pair of dark denim jeans, black boots, and a chunky turquoise necklace.
Keely hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been until General Goldie arrived and took over the arrangements.
She’d spent most of the day wielding her phone like a weapon as she barked at stage techs trying to get the sound right.
Now, she sat in a leather high-top next to one of the long bars in the Frostbite Music Lounge, listening to the sound check.
Keely wasn’t under any illusions that Goldie had flown up to support her. No—pure babysitting, to make sure she only did the three songs, signed the autographs, and didn’t run off again into them thar mountains.
Not a chance.
Well, maybe not.
Aw, who was Keely kidding. In her wildest, angsty-song dreams, Dawson showed up, forgave her for her words, and . . .
What? Asked her to stay?
She couldn’t stay, could she? She had a life in New York City. And Zoey . . .
Zoey.
She put the mic back on the stand and came off the stage. “How does it sound?”
Goldie’s eyes narrowed, then she sighed. “You sound very Janis Joplin.”
“So not terrible.”
“Not terrible. Just don’t hold any high Cs.” She slid off the bar stool. “Your voice is . . . so husky.”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. And maybe this is the new me.”
Goldie’s lips pursed.
So, clearly not happy. “I’m going to check on Zoey. You sure you’re okay to keep an eye on her during the show?”
“Apparently it’s what I do.”
“You’re a gem, Goldie.”
“I know, I know. You’re breakin’ my heart here with this sabbatical.”
“Yeah, you’ll be crying all the way to the bank when I release these new singles.” She winked.
Goldie wrinkled her nose. “I’m going to check on the security. There’s already a line at the door. Good thing your Blissfuls know how to get the word out.”
Keely had released a soft version of the first two lines of “Hear My Name” recorded on her phone, sent out a video about the charity performance, and her rabid fans took it from there.
The venue, even with the high price tag, sold out in four hours, and the GoFundMe account for Donald and Wren had six figures, on the way to seven.
So, the money would help. But Wren . . . please God, save her.
Goldie headed for the front door, and Keely slipped behind the stage to the dressing room.
Just a large room with a wall of mirrors and a dressing table, a couple sofas and overstuffed chairs around a wooden coffee table, and a flat-screen.
She’d left Zoey coloring at the coffee table with Goldie’s assistant, Kaya, an intern and wannabe musician.
Petite, early twenties, with her dark hair pulled back, Kaya was sitting on the sofa, curled up, watching her phone when Keely came in.
Zoey’s crayons lay on the table, along with her coloring page. But no Zoey. “Um, Kaya . . . where’s Zoey?”
Kaya searched the room, sat up, looked at Keely again. “She was right here.”
“Oh my—she’s four. Four. Kids who are four wander off—for the love!” Keely turned and went back out into the darkened backstage area. “Zoey?” Shoot. “I need lights!”
Don’t shout. But still . . . she rounded back to the room and nearly mowed over Kaya. “Get lights on in the backstage area—”
Kaya took off, her expression stricken. Yeah, well—
Keely headed past the stage into the hallway behind the stage that led out to the back entrance, a loading dock, and . . .
The night.
Danger.
Aw—She hit the door to the back entrance and stopped.
Zoey stood, a black dog barring her exit, just still as the little girl’s arms clutched his neck.
And standing with Caspian, of course—Dawson.
He looked good. The kind of good that made her stop short, catch her breath. He wore a leather jacket, jeans, a brace on his knee, but he’d shaved, his dark hair short, almost windblown, but this was Alaska, so . . .
“Hey,” he said quietly.
“Hey.” Her voice emerged barely a whisper.
He looked at the little girl. Back to her. “Is this—”
“Yes.”
He crouched then and held out his hand. “Hi. My name is Dawson.”
Zoey gripped her panda around the neck, shied back. He just smiled at her.
After a moment, she met his grip.
“I’m a friend of your—”
“Friend,” Keely said, making sure. They hadn’t crossed over into the Mom terminology yet.
He looked at her, nodded. “Your friend Keely.”
He got up. “We were just coming in . . . I mean, I saw you were in concert, so . . . and . . .” He blew out a breath. “How’s the voice?”
“How’s the knee?”
He looked at his brace. “Getting better.”
“Me too.”
She looked at him, and he met her eyes. Then, he swallowed and—
“I’m—”
“Sorry—”
He smiled then, so much warmth in his eyes, it blew through her like a storm. Wow, she missed him. He was the calm to her torrid world and the voice that said she’d be safe. He was protection and so much more than a friend.
“I missed you,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “And I shouldn’t have said what I said. I . . . I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.” He stepped closer. Oh, he smelled good. Aftershave, cedarwood with hints of birch and musk.
And now her eyes blurred. Oh no—She looked away, blinking. Not before a performance!
“Keely.”
She turned back to him.
He’d taken another step toward her. And he wore such longing in his eyes—or maybe she just thought he did, but it was . . . intoxicating. Hypnotizing and—
She kissed him. Just stepped up, her hands cupping his face, and planted a kiss right on his lips, the kind that she should have given him back at the cabin after he’d rescued her, again. The kind of kiss that said hello and thank you and never leave and I’m yours . . . especially I’m yours.
And he made the most glorious hum in the back of his throat, wrapped one arm around her, and kissed her back. Sweetly, maybe because her daughter was watching, but lingering, as if saying the same thing.
Hello. Thank you. Never leave. I’m yours.
He tasted salty, as if he’d had pizza, and maybe even a little like desperation, but she was right there with him. Desperate that this couldn’t be the end.
Please let this not be the end.
A nudge at her leg, and Dawson nearly tripped away from her. Caspian, leaning against his leg.
“No, buddy. I’m not in trouble.” He looked at her. “Although . . . um . . .” He sighed.
Oh no.
“I’m actually here because . . . you are. I think.”
She stepped back from him. Oh . . .
“No, no—don’t get the wrong idea. I’d be here even if you weren’t in trouble.” He put his arm around her again, but not without glancing down to find Zoey.
She’d already located her and grabbed her hand. Zoey clutched her panda but kept trying to reach out to Caspian.
“I’m here because I missed you. I missed your ridiculous ability to drive me nuts, and to beat me at Battleship, and—I’m sorry I didn’t stop you from leaving Alaska.”
She cut her voice low. “I had to go. Zoey’s dad, Bryce . . . he um . . . passed.”
“Oh. So . . .”
“I’m adopting her back.” She looked down at her daughter. Daughter. “For now, I have full legal and physical custody.”
“So what’s this? Tonight?”
“It’s a fundraiser. One last concert.”
“But your voice—”
“I can still sing. It’s just . . . different.”
He smiled, and it just lit up his blue eyes. Not a storm in sight. “I can get on board with different.”
She met his gaze. Debated. “Can you get on board with Bliss?”
He blew out a breath but looked down at Zoey, back at her. “Yeah. I can get on board with Bliss.”
She smiled then, waggled her eyebrows.
“What?”
“Bliss is going bye-bye. At least for a while. I think maybe Zoey and I . . . and . . . Caspian need some time to get to know each other.”
“I could do that.”
“Mm-hmm.” She put her hands on his chest. “Maybe even . . . at the community?”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I talked to Donald. They’ll let me buy land and build a house and . . . I probably need personal security.” She leaned in—
He jerked back. Held up his hand. “Okay, see. This is what happens. I completely lose my train of thought.” He put her away from him. “Conan Sorros broke out of custody.”
She had nothing.
“Thornwood. The brothers are still out there.”
She went cold, right to her bones. “What?”