Jace, page 27
“Except for our show.”
“You have been nothing but kind to me, Molly.” She nodded. “It means a lot. Especially you coming here this morning.”
“After what you’ve been through, you shouldn’t be traveling.” Her attention wandered to Emmy Lou’s modest cover-up job. “When you say confirmation of what happened.” Molly eyed the diary. “You are referring to encounters with Tig Whitman?”
Krystal nodded. “I got this from my sister on my fifteenth birthday. Our birthday. It was the first time Tig ever touched me in a way that I knew was wrong.”
Molly was dabbing her eyes again. “Why didn’t you tell anyone, Krystal?” She paused. “I think I understand, but for viewers out there who might be in your situation or have a similar past, maybe hearing from you can help them. Or give them comfort?”
Which was a mantle she wasn’t ready to wear. She was broken and messed up—not in a position to help anyone. Still, she tried. “He said I was his special girl. It was natural to show the people you cared about, he said. And since there are different types of love, there are different ways to show it. To prove it.” She shrugged. “I did love him. He was more or less my uncle. There was this disconnect between what he was saying, which made me feel loved, and what he did, which made me ashamed and dirty.” She paused. “If I told, he’d stop—but my family would know and be sad and ashamed, too, maybe even embarrassed. I’d lose and hurt my family and I’d lose the praise and support he gave me—inappropriate behavior aside. Abuse like that isn’t simple. Especially for the victim.”
“What would you like to tell your fans?” Molly paused. “I know this is hard for you.”
Krystal nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “My fans kept me going.” She shook her head. Screw it. The tears weren’t stopping. “Their love made me feel less…broken. And alone. I’ve had some dark days, a lot of them recorded, but it’s hard to live with. This ‘what I did’ thing that has gnawed and gnawed at me until there’s this hole inside.”
“But it’s a ‘what was done to you’ thing, Krystal.” Molly was close to more tears. “Do you think your experience has impacted your ability to foster healthy relationships?”
Krystal stared at her lap. Her hands were shaking. “Definitely. I admit to being guarded. For me, love is another word for making okay things that aren’t right. The great manipulator. Men—people—in my life have used that word right before they did something that had nothing to do with the emotion.” She swallowed. “Or used me in the hopes of advancing their career.”
“Has that been a worry with you and Jace?” Molly asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “He is the real deal.” He was everything.
Molly nodded. “Last question, then. What are you hoping to accomplish with this statement?”
“It’s been ten years. I have reason to believe I wasn’t the only one victimized. My hope is, by sharing what happened, others will find the courage to come forward to stop him. He’s in a place of power, working with other powerful people. It’s likely they know or suspect what he’s done but, like me, they have somehow come to terms with his behavior for whatever reason makes it bearable for them. No one wants to hear about this stuff. No wants to believe someone liked and respected is capable of this. They need to look a certain way, act a certain way—not be the guy you have at family picnics or teaching your kid to drive. Victims know this. That’s where the shame comes in. ‘How could a normal person do something like this? Maybe it’s me? I must have done something to make them act this way.’” She was staring at her hands but forced herself to look at Molly. “But that’s the lie. It’s not you. Me. The victim’s fault. Don’t fall into that trap. Don’t believe. Trust your instincts. Parents, listen to your kids. If they’re telling you something is happening to them, something is. Listen and do something about it.”
“Krystal, I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your home. I am saddened by what’s happened to you. And, like so many fans, I hope this long and likely complicated journey will lead to the closure and justice you deserve. You have support. We’re with you. And we all wish you a quick recovery.” She smiled. “And cut.”
Krystal and Molly sat, staring at each. The sun was pouring into the music room, casting shadows on all the framed gold and platinum records lining the walls. Molly said it offered the sort of ironic contrast that would add a punch to the setting. Even the most successful can be affected by sexual abuse—anyone could be. “You did really well.”
Krystal stood, still hooked up to her mic. “Thank you, Molly. Really.”
But Molly was hugging her. “My cousin. He was older than me.”
And then Krystal was hugging her back, tight, a wave of compassion and understanding almost drowning her. This woman, sunny and together, was broken inside, too. It hit her then…had she said enough? Not just for herself, but for Molly—others? “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. For you. You are awesome.” She stepped back, all smiles. “I’d really like to continue to cover this, if you’re okay with it? Do some investigative work? You know, reporting?”
“Yes.” Krystal nodded. She’d only find truth. How could that be a bad thing?
The tech was unhooking them when the door opened and her mother walked in.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Molly turned. “I’m guessing this is the parent who didn’t listen?”
Krystal wasn’t going to throw her parents under the bus. This wasn’t about them. This was about Tig. Her father was truly haunted by his actions; she didn’t have it in her to hold his mistakes against him. But her mother? Tempting as it was, she wouldn’t out her mother for the queen manipulator she was.
“Molly,” her mother gushed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”
“Mrs. King.” Molly shook her hand. “It was so incredibly kind of you to open your amazing home to me and my crew.”
“I only wish it were under less horrific circumstances.” Her mother’s sympathy was almost as good as her surprise. Krystal often wondered how much time her mother spent in front of her mirror practicing her emotional repertoire. Knowing her mother, a lot. She was a perfectionist when it came to delivery. If she was going for sympathy, Krystal wasn’t buying it. Then again, she knew her mother all too well.
“Yes.” Molly nodded. “Still, you have to be proud of your daughter for taking a stand. It’s sad that there’s still such a stigma attached to sexual abuse.”
“Hank and I were just discussing that.” Her mother nodded. “Please say you’ll stay for some iced tea and a walk around the house and grounds?”
“Tea sounds lovely.” Molly nodded. “Unfortunately, we have to head to ACMF soon.”
“Of course.” Her mother smiled. “Duty calls. Us career girls have to keep our eye on the prize always.”
Over the years, Krystal had come to terms with her mother’s career choice. Keeping the Three Kings on top, her family together, and her father relevant on the music charts was, apparently, a full-time job—with lots of overtime. How did CiCi King manage it all? Through whatever means were necessary. She was ruthless in her efficiency.
“They’re all waiting for us in the kitchen,” her mother said. “Feel free to bring a camera, of course.”
Of course.
“Are you sure?” Molly asked, excited.
“Certainly.”
The three of them, cameraman in tow, strolled from the music room and down the hall to the large family kitchen. Her family was gathered around the massive farm table in the kitchen, Jace and Heather included. From the looks on their faces, her mother’s invitation had not been a family decision.
“Let’s show our guest some Texas hospitality.” Her mother smiled.
Travis hopped up. “Miss Harper.” He pulled the chair back, smiling what he thought of as his smolder face.
Krystal sighed, her gaze instinctively bouncing to Jace.
He winked. And her heart thumped. Dammit. This, being a couple in front of Molly and her camera, was going to be a challenge.
Emmy and Krystal made sure everyone, cameraman included, had a tall glass of sweet iced tea. Homemade ginger, oatmeal raisin, and pecan sandy cookies were put on the table and, slowly, the strain of the whole surprise eased. Molly shared some of her favorite assignments while Travis hung on every word. Her father, still not quite himself, tried to engage. While Heather was too nervous to do more than give one-word responses about college and her brother’s career.
Krystal was fully aware of Jace’s arm draped along the back of her chair. Since they had an audience, it made sense to lean against him. She could breathe now. The interview was over, her nightmare ready to be shared with the world. It was horrible and real and done. She could breathe. For now.
But the minute the cameraman was done with his cookies and he’d begun filming, her mother was on.
“I wanted to thank you for coming out, Molly.” Her mother assumed her concerned expression. Not too much of a furrow—her Botox wouldn’t allow that. “We are just heartsick over this whole ordeal.”
Jace’s arm tightened, his other hand taking Krystal’s. She held on. That’s what you did. Held hands, sat close…
“You have to understand, that was a trying time in our lives.” Her mother paused for dramatic effect. “I’d had a terrible accident and was taking those horrible pills—the ones they’ve taken off the market now—for pain?” She looked at Hank. “What were they called?”
No one answered.
She vaguely remembered her parents having an accident on the way back from an awards show. Her parents had only suffered mild injuries—but they were Hank and CiCi King so it had made front-page news. Was that what she was talking about?
What was she saying? What accident? What pills?
“Anyway.” Her mother shook her head, appearing confused. “It was all a haze. All of it. Poor Hank had his hands full with my health, his mother’s passing, his career, the kids and their career, and then Krystal.” She shook her head. “We thought it was all over and done with. How were we supposed to know? She had come home from camp and said it was all made up for attention.”
Krystal stared at her mother, stunned. Her mother was going to undermine her? Poke holes in her story instead of offering her support? Even now. What was her goal? Or was this true? Her daddy seemed to think so. It was easier to accept… But was this the truth? That was the question. Her mother always—always—had a master plan at work.
“No, she didn’t.” Hank patted his wife’s hand. “You were still taking those pills then, sugar. Krystal never said that. I didn’t know about the pills, you see. CiCi here, she likes to take care of all of us—she didn’t want to worry me. If I had, things would have played out differently. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I couldn’t go back and fix this all.”
He smiled at Molly. “When Krystal came home, she wouldn’t talk about it anymore. At all.” He sighed. “CiCi is right about my mama passing.”
“I’m so sorry,” Molly murmured. “It sounds like a tough time all around.”
“She and Krystal were real close. Bet you didn’t know, but Krystal loves to bake. She’s wanted to do a cookbook for years.” He smiled at her. “But losing her gramma was hard on her, I think. That, on top of everything… It’s no wonder she stopped talking, with no one to listen. I can’t imagine what you went through, baby girl. Tears my heart out.”
Krystal stared at her father in absolute shock. He’d defended her. Publicly. He’d taken away any doubt her mother’s story might have caused.
Jace was rubbing her upper arm. “She’s strong.”
“She’s awesome.” Heather grinned at her. “A real-life hero.”
“I agree.” Molly nodded.
* * *
Backstage at the Austin Country Music Festival Awards was chaos. From the sheer number of acts rotating in and out of the Austin Opry to the mass of fans crowded in front and behind the venue, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite performers.
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.” Jace sat on a stool, tuning his guitar. He and Krystal were supposed to perform their duet soon. Krystal, who’d been avoiding him since Molly Harper left the Kings’ place. Krystal, who would barely look at him. They were supposed to sing their duet?
“Get out of your head.” Travis clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s fine.”
Jace shot him a look. “What sort of reception is she going to get here tonight? She could get booed off the stage, Travis. You think she’ll be fine if that happens?” He waited. The interview with Molly was going to air that night, but the sound bites and commercials removed any doubt what they were going to talk about.
“You two have your first single dropping next week. This scandal sucks, but timing wise, it’s not a bad thing.”
Jace’s fingers paused on the tuning peg. “I can’t believe you said that.”
“C’mon, man. It’s called trying to find a silver lining in this pile of shit thundercloud, okay?” Travis threw his water bottle on the stage. “You think I want to be here?” He turned, his narrowed gaze searching. “I can’t shake the feeling he’s here. Restraining order or not.”
“Not if he wants to live,” Jace said. He wasn’t one for violence, but he’d had some pretty vivid daydreams about pummeling the shit out of Tig Whitman. And they brought him great joy.
Travis chuckled. “Right?” He sighed. “She’s putting you through hell, isn’t she?”
He didn’t answer.
“You really love her, don’t you?” Travis’s disbelief was irritating.
“Yes, I love her.” He slid the guitar strap over his neck and stood, looking down the hall toward the side entrance. Krystal and her father had decided to stay in the bus until their performance. After that, they’d slip out. Jace would have gone, too, if Heather weren’t in the audience with Brenna, her college roommate. No matter how many times Heather insisted she didn’t need a babysitter, he didn’t want the press getting to her like they were trying to get to him.
“This is hitting her hard,” Travis said.
“I know.” He nodded. “It kills me that she has to go through this. I just, you know, want to be there for her.”
“You ready?” Travis asked, nodding behind him.
Jace turned to find Krystal headed his way. Seeing her tilted chin and defiant posture made him ache. He knew why she did that tonight—why she always did that. Better to keep everyone at arm’s length than risk letting someone close again. After the hurt she’d suffered, it made sense.
But treating him like the rest of the world hurt like a son of a bitch.
With her body-hugging suede dress, fringes swinging around her thighs, her long blond hair hanging free, and boots reflecting the backstage floor lights, she was Krystal King—music icon. But when she was close enough for him to see her, the brutal reminder of her attack dark on her face, she was simply the woman he loved. Fierce and defiant. Strong and smart. Fragile and damaged. Outspoken and timid. All scrambled up inside.
“You’re staring.” She smiled up at him, uneasy.
“Have you seen how incredible you look?” He leaned forward, brushing her cheek with his lips. Maybe the crowds and the chaos would work in his favor. When they were “pretending” she seemed happier than when they were alone—like she needed the audience to let herself have this connection with him. “Beautiful.”
“You look pretty good yourself. This is better.” She reached up and unsnapped another button. “Give them a tease.”
Sawyer, Krystal’s constant shadow, sighed loudly. But they both ignored him.
He glanced down at the amount of skin and tattoo showing and shot her a look. “I’m not sure I want to be eyed like a piece of meat.”
“Oh, you do, trust me.” Travis nodded.
Krystal’s smile faded, her gaze on the dip in his shirt.
He reached up to snap it closed, but she stopped him.
“Enjoy it.” She pointed up and down his body. “Travis would be more than happy to introduce you around.” Her gaze locked with his. “Until then, remember, this is a big night, Jace. You want to make the biggest impression you can. Wheelhouse isn’t the only record label out there, you know. Options are good.”
“She’s got you there.” Travis shook his head. “Play it safe, and lose the shirt. But wear the hat.”
Krystal was laughing.
Emmy poked her head around one of the curtains. “Are you coming?” she called to Travis. “Come on.” She smiled. “Break a leg, you two.”
Travis trotted toward Emmy, dodging a sound tech and a tangle of cords as he went.
They walked onto the stage, but their rehearsed banter was loud enough to hear backstage.
“Hey, Trav, any idea who’s up next?” Emmy started their introduction. “I think the name sounds familiar.”
The audience laughed.
“I’m not going out with Travis.” Jace leaned in. “Wouldn’t that go against the whole committed relationship thing?”
Krystal rolled her eyes. “Fine. Work on your discretion.”
Travis was up now. “Yeah. You’re right. Very familiar.” Pause.
Jace shook his head. Now wasn’t the time or place for this conversation but, dammit, there were things that needed to be said.
“Right. I remember now.” Travis snapped his fingers. “He won that television show. Jace Black.”
A couple of whistles and a few screams.
Krystal looked up at him, then the dip in his shirt.
Emmy continued. “Um, Travis.” She waited until the laughing died down. “I was talking about our sister? My twin? Krystal King?”
