Jace, page 23
“If you think this makes him lucky, I’d love to know what last night made him.” She kissed him.
“Worn out. Sore.” He chuckled. “With no complaints.”
“You two going to sing?” Luke called from one of the wooden seats in the amphitheater. “Or is this a new act?”
The audience laughed.
“Is that why we’re here?” he asked, still nuzzling her.
She teased. “I guess we should sing then.”
“If you say so.” With a sigh and a kiss on the nose, they ran a quick sound check and Jace tuned his guitar.
Krystal turned, bending for her water bottle, when she saw Becca. The girl was standing in the shadows, watching. Krystal waved and she waved back.
“Who are you waving to?” Jace asked.
“Becca.” She took a sip. “She said you two met last night?”
He nodded, a crease forming between his brows.
But questions would have to wait until they were done here. They weren’t the only ones lined up for some rehearsal time. After tonight, the stage would be in constant use for the next seventy-two hours. Two smaller stages had been set up in the fields behind the Opry building. These weren’t the headliners, but they were the perfect place for new bands to get heard and seen. And ACMF was all about that. Nonstop, round-the-clock music with nonstop, round-the-clock food and beverages and a whole hell of a lot of merchandise tents set up.
“Ready?” he asked, his fingers strumming their song from his guitar.
She loved watching him play. Loved watching him sing. And loved Heather for entering him in the reality show that landed him right here, with her, singing their song. Each performance was different somehow, channeling their dynamics—fueling their hunger and sharing it with their audience. Singing with him was personal, intimate, and freeing.
Jace didn’t hold back. Whether he was singing or making sweet love, he did it with one hundred percent of his focus and energy. Which was why singing—or making love—made him unforgettable. The song ended and she and Jace wound up tangled up, breathless, so close it would be easy to wind her arms around him and—
“Get a room,” Travis yelled from the audience. “No one wants to see that.”
Jace laughed. “Everyone is a critic.”
“They’re jealous because of all the sex you’re getting,” she teased.
“How do they know?” His brow cocked. “It’s not like I posted a scorecard on that Insta-thing.”
She was laughing then. “That would be awesome.”
He took her hand as they walked offstage, to find Becca there, pacing, a mic in her hand. She wore what looked like an extra-long men’s western shirt. Her braided leather and silver belt was clasped with a massive belt buckle. Her boots had a fringe of silver running down the back. And the only makeup she wore was too-bright pink lipstick.
“You up?” Krystal asked.
Becca nodded, looking more anxious than excited. “I’ve never sung in a place this big.”
Krystal couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t performing for a crowd. Even before they’d officially become the Three Kings, she and her siblings were singing. County fairs and craft shows. A few local rodeos, then a few worth noticing. She’d only been fourteen when Three Kings was born.
“Helps if you can focus on something,” Jace offered. “Or someone. When I was on Next Top American Voice, I’d find my sister and if I got jittery, seeing her would calm me down. Same with singing with Krystal. One look at her, and I know we’re good.”
Becca blinked. “I don’t have anyone.”
Krystal hurt. As much as she hated to, she asked, “Where’s Tig?”
“A meeting? I think.” She shrugged. “It’s just a rehearsal.” But it wasn’t just a rehearsal—not to Becca. Beads of sweat lined her upper lip and forehead. Her face was so white, her lipstick was almost clown-like.
“I’ll stay.” Krystal smiled, squeezing Jace’s hand. “I’ve been wanting to hear you sing.”
Becca shook her head. “No. No, you really don’t have to.”
“I know.” She shrugged. Pressuring the poor girl wasn’t going to help. “But I’d like to?”
Becca shifted from one booted foot to the other, undecided. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Krystal asked. “Try closing your eyes. People think you’re lost in the music, but it gives your mind a break from the noise. Or stare over everyone, not at them.”
Becca nodded, sniffing. “Okay. I can try that.” Her smile was wobbly. “See you two later.”
They weren’t down the steps of the stage before Jace asked, “I’m guessing we’re staying?”
“Oh really?” She was a fan of the cap thing. He could pull it off. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”
He reached the wood-chip-covered ground and turned to face her. “Hell no. Not in the least.” The corner of his mouth curved up. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.”
“But we are staying.” She paused. “Or y’all can go on and I’ll catch up. It shouldn’t take long.”
He rubbed his cap back and forth on his head, his eyes warm on her face. “I’m where I want to be.”
They headed into the amphitheater seating. Jace headed toward his sister and her family, but Krystal sat up front, where Becca could see her.
Becca was a wreck, staring wildly around, her hands shaking so hard around the mic that it picked up the noise. Krystal sat, willing the girl to look at her, so she’d know someone was rooting for her. When Becca’s dark gaze bounced right over her, Krystal worried the girl was too worked up to notice. But she had. And when Becca looked at her, all surprise and relief, Krystal knew she’d made the right choice.
The band counted to five and Becca started singing, eyes closed.
“Momma said don’t waste your wishes on flowers and coins…” Her voice was deeper than expected. Deep but smooth. “Four-leaf clovers wilt and shooting stars burn out…” It was a sing-along kind of song. A song that would get stuck in folks’ head, to hum along to. Becca kept on singing, her eyes opened and she blinked, searching, then smiling at Krystal.
Krystal winked.
“But I’d plant clover and dandelions, collect every coin, and buy a telescope so I could wish every wish on you-oo-hoo-oo. All for you-oo-hoo-oo.” Her posture was easing, one foot tapping along.
The girl could sing. And this song was radio gold.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Tig Whitman said.
She hadn’t heard him sit behind her; she’d been too focused on Becca. Becca—who needed her to stay put.
“She reminds me a lot of you. A lot of heart. Eager to please.” He chuckled. “Damn talented.”
She leaned forward, not wanting his voice in her ear or his breath on her skin.
The song ended and Krystal was up, running toward the stage. “You did great, Becca.”
Becca cradled the mic to her chest, beaming. “I know I said you didn’t have to stay but thank you, so much. It meant a lot. So much.”
Krystal nodded. “Like I said, I wanted to hear you sing. I’d heard good things—they were all right.”
“Course they were.” Tig was back, not in the least deterred. “I know talent when I hear it.”
“I’ll see you later?” Pretending he didn’t exist was Krystal’s only option. Otherwise, she’d have to talk to him or look at him and neither of those seemed like productive options at this point. She was holding it together, no point pushing it. “See ya.” With a wave Becca’s way, she walked—not speed-walked or ran—away from Tig and toward the seats where her family and Jace had been sitting.
“Emmy and Heather went to look at T-shirts.” Jace smiled. “If she buys a shirt for all the bands she likes, you might not have to take her shopping after all.”
She forced a smile, taking Jace’s hand in both of hers. It helped. It always did. But a quick survey left her chilled to the bone. “Where’s Daddy?”
Travis nodded toward the stage. She’d run up the far aisle, away from Tig. Her father had headed down the other aisle, to get to her.
“Shit,” she whispered.
“I’m guessing this is bad?” Travis asked, pushing up out of his chair. “I’ll go.” He trotted along, smiling,making sure the whole world knew there was nothing worth noticing up front. Not one tiny little thing.
She watched—in slow motion—as Tiger Whitman turned to lock eyes with her father. Her easygoing father was strung tighter than a guitar string about to snap. Even from this distance, she could see the muscle clenched tight in his jaw.
“Don’t do it.” She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. “Don’t.”
Jace’s hand tightened around hers.
Tig Whitman was fearless. Or clueless. Or both. He was heading for her father, smiling his best smile like they were still the friends they’d once been.
“He’s got him.” Jace’s hands held her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arms. “Travis is there.”
She nodded, breathing easier when her brother nudged her father. Even aisles away, she could hear Travis carrying on about them being late to a meeting and how the car was waiting out front. For a split second, she saw her daddy’s face and it scared her. Not of her father, but of what the twisted, raw fury on his face could lead to.
Because of her.
Head down, Hank walked back up the aisle and out of the amphitheater, Travis wise enough to trail a few feet behind.
Jace didn’t say a word until they were out of the amphitheater. Even then, he seemed to be considering all the possible explanations for what the hell he’d just witnessed.
“Heather and I think we need food before we do more shopping.” Emmy Lou held out a large plastic bag.
“What did you buy?” Travis asked. “What’s even open yet?”
The festival wouldn’t officially kick off until that night.
“I guess vendors see Emmy and are like, ‘Oh my gosh, I’m going to sell a shirt to Emmy Lou King,’ so they open. And wind up selling a shirt to Jace Black’s sister.” Heather giggled. “It was pretty awesome.”
“Food?” Her daddy sounded gruff. “I could eat.”
“Me too.” Travis nodded. “Someplace with cake.”
“Donuts for breakfast and cake for lunch? Well, okay.” Heather nodded.
“Eat like a King.” Travis winked.
Heather thought it was hilarious, but the rest of them groaned. Except their father—he surprised everyone by chuckling.
“I could go for some cake, too,” he agreed, casting a glance her way. “What do you think, Krystal?”
She nodded, leaving Jace to slip her arm around her father’s waist. “That sounds perfect.”
“I know a place.” Sawyer nodded.
“Of course you do.” Travis grinned.
“You two are spending too much time together—you’re doing the same thing.” She pointed between them. The posture. The eyebrow. The slightly condescending half grin. “All of it.” They were even starting to look alike.
They loaded up into the big black SUV with Sawyer behind the wheel. It was a tight fit, but no one complained.
“I left my purse.” Emmy Lou squealed from the back seat.
“We’ll go around,” Sawyer offered, driving around to the back of the amphitheater to the lot behind the row of trailers set up as temporary dressing rooms. Since their bus, the Kings’ Coach II, hadn’t been fully detailed this afternoon, Krystal and Emmy had used the dressing rooms. She didn’t mind the whole communal dressing room thing, but it did get crowded. And, for whatever reason, women tended to overshare a lot when they were getting their hair and makeup done. She’d been all too relieved to see their bus parked and ready, their own personal oasis from the enthusiastic chaos that was the Austin Country Music Festival.
“I’ll get it,” Krystal offered, closest to the door. “Five minutes. Then cake.” She was still smiling when she ran into the dressing room.
The empty boxes, used tissues, makeup wipes, powders, and every sort of hair implement and torture device had been tidied and stored away. Which meant Krystal had to dig through cabinets and shelves before finding Emmy’s large multicolor fringed purse. It was tucked under a box of hot curlers on the far corner of the counter. A bright pink sticky note with Emmy Lou’s name on it hung from the designer label. She was headed back to the front door when something made her stop. A noise. Something bumping into a wall? A slap. Something muffled and shuffling and—another slap?
Noises. A man. Definitely sex noises.
“Gross.” She spun, hoping to sneak out undiscovered, only to trip on the metal foot of a makeup chair. She fell, landing on her knees and dumping Emmy’s bag all over the linoleum floor. She was on her knees, shoving everything back into the purse when the restroom door opened.
Becca.
Crying hard.
Makeup smudged down her face. Her too-bright pink lipstick smeared.
Behind her stood Tig. Eyes closed. Leaning against the wall. Panting hard.
His pants around his ankles.
Krystal was frozen, processing, fighting what she saw. Fighting the truth. She wound up sitting, staring at Becca, so many words clogging her throat. “Becca?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”
“Oh.” Becca floundered, wiping at the tears streaming down her face. “I…um…”
Of course she wasn’t okay. Krystal knew that—knew exactly what this girl was feeling. Fear. Confusion. Shame. And no one to tell, no one to turn to—no one to believe her.
She has me. Krystal stood slowly, sliding Emmy’s bag to her shoulder. “We’re going to get something to eat. You should come.” There wasn’t a thing she could do about the tremor in her voice.
Becca shook her head.
“Please, Becca.”
“I can’t,” she whispered, glancing toward the open bathroom door. She was terrified.
“Yes. You can.” Krystal held her hand out. “Believe me, you can.”
Tig chose that moment to push the bathroom door wide. He was buckling his belt, breathing hard and sweaty and completely oblivious to Krystal’s presence. “That was good. Real good.”
For the first time, she wasn’t afraid. Inside, she was raging. Ears roaring, eyes stinging, lungs aching to scream—long and loud and in his face.
But Becca was crying softly, her gaze falling to her feet. She wouldn’t thank Krystal for becoming her avenging angel, not yet. Right now, she was too caught in it. Trapped in her fear.
“No more of that now, Becca, honey.” He sighed. “You know you’re my—”
“Special girl?” Krystal finished, the words all too familiar. “Come on, Becca. Let’s go.”
His shock was more than a little empowering. Mouth gaping, eyes searching, looking beyond her… To see if she was alone? His gaze locked with hers, his surprise and panic fading as his brows scrunched together. “She’s not going anywhere with you. She’s right where she wants to be.”
Bastard. “Yes, she is.” Krystal stepped forward, still holding out her hand. “Becca?”
“Becca? We talked about this, remember?” Tig whispered. She knew that sweet, cajoling voice all too well. Damn him, climbing into her head—Becca’s head—and making her doubt that what he’d done was wrong. After all, how could someone so sweet, so caring do something so bad? Those words had run through her head long before her mother dared to say them out loud.
Because he is a monster. “You don’t have to listen to him.”
“I’m fine, Krystal.” Becca sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I’m just…emotional. So…so excited about tonight. And the rehearsal.” She was shaking all over.
“Don’t lie.” She pleaded. “It won’t—”
“I’m good.” Becca cut her off, pressing her eyes shut. “You don’t understand.”
“I do.” She’d meant to yell. To scream. But her voice, her words, were flat and hollow.
Becca was staring at her.
“I do,” she repeated, harder this time.
“Your momma said you were spiraling. Might spend more time on getting your head straight than things that don’t concern you.” Tig sighed. “Becca knows all about you, Krystal. How unbalanced you are. The accusations you made. All your mistakes. You go on now.” His smile was almost sympathetic.
“The only mistake I made was staying quiet.” She faced Becca. “I won’t make that mistake again.” Her words hung in the quiet. Tig Whitman could bluster and stare and insult her; he didn’t matter. Becca did. She stared at Becca, willing her to listen—to hear her.
“I appreciate the concern.” Becca’s gaze darted from her to Tig and back. “But I’m fine.”
“Because she knows I’ll always take care of her.” He nodded, looking every bit the doting uncle and nothing like the predator he was.
“You know this is wrong. You have to know that.” Becca wasn’t a kid but that didn’t make this okay. Regardless of age, this was never okay. Never. “Becca—”
Becca pressed her hands over her ears. “Go, Krystal.” She headed back to the restroom and slammed the door behind her.
The look on Tig’s face was straight out of her nightmare. That smug fucking smile. Gloating. He’d won and he knew it. Score one for the monster. The monster she was now alone with.
She was out the door, stumbling down the metal steps of the trailer and hurrying across the lawn—away from him. Away from the memories and fear and helplessness. Not for herself—not this time. But for Becca. There had to be something she could do. Some way to get through to Becca.
But first, she had to calm down. Alone. No cake or questions or well-intended hugs or smiles of encouragement. It would make it that much worse.
She pulled her phone out and texted. Have purse. Met up with Becca. Send Sawyer back to get me in a few minutes.
