Love on the Run (Pine Harbour Book 5) Page 2

  She pressed her lips together and nodded, even though they both knew he’d stopped in for a social call of another kind. She turned toward the house. “Well, I’m going inside. If you want a glass of iced tea or something, just let me know.”

  He didn’t say anything else, even as he watched her shoulders roll in and her head duck down, just a fraction, as she pulled open the glass sliding door and disappear into the shadows of the kitchen.

  He shook his head, either at his own confusion or maybe to clear the cobwebs, he wasn’t sure. But either way, his afternoon had just gotten a bit weirder. And he had the sinking feeling that somehow he’d missed something important.

  * * *

  — —

  * * *

  Late the next morning, Liana lay in bed after trying and failing to sleep in. She told herself that today was the day she figured shit out and made a plan. Like going to the Canada Day BBQ with Hope and pretending that was her reason for visiting all along.

  But then she got up and caught sight of herself in the mirror over the dresser.

  Nope. No selfies or public appearances today.

  Shit, she looked like she’d been wrung through her Meemaw’s ringer washer.

  Well, it was just Hope and her family who would need to see the horror, she thought, and then did a double take at herself. “Who are you and what have you done with the real me?” she whispered, horrified. She grabbed her brush and smoothed out her hair, then dabbed on a bit of lip gloss. Her hand shook as she hovered over the mascara, though. You’re just going to give yourself raccoon eyes.

  With a deep breath, she backed away from her makeup bag and pulled open the bedroom door.

  Hope was standing on the other side, her face twisted in worry. “You want to come with us?”

  Out in public? Not a chance. “No. You go. I need to have the world’s longest nap. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her dreams had been filled by an oversized cop with a decided lack of interest in her. Didn’t sleep well was an understatement.

  “I could stay.”

  No, God no. “Really, that would be boring. And creepy, watching me sleep.”

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about why you’re here?” Hope softened her voice. “Even in broad strokes, Li. I’m a good listener.”

  “I know. But no. Thank you.” On the bedside table, her phone vibrated. Again. She pointed to it. “I need to respond to some messages.”

  She followed Hope downstairs. The kids were all dressed in red and white t-shirts, the two boys wearing cargo shorts that matched their dad’s and the youngest, Maya, wearing a white tutu with hers. Hope and Ryan had matching t-shirts, too, and Liana’s chest ached as she watched the new family bustle about, getting ready.

  She loved the Howard family, because they loved Hope. And Hope was so good for them, too, Liana could tell.

  She had no right to be jealous, and she wasn’t exactly. But she was something.

  It was bittersweet, maybe. Probably something to do with her thirtieth birthday coming up and her being painfully alone.

  Jeez, if this entire anxiety episode was just about that, she’d slap herself silly. She settled on the couch, then, fingers shaking, and sent a faux-breezy text message to her tour manager. Sorry about the radio silence, I lost my phone charger. I’m fine.

  Brad Harrison fired back an immediate response. Anything I need to know?

  A careful question. She appreciated that he wasn’t asking any of the other questions he could have: Where the hell are you, are you coming back, will you be at our next stop in Washington, are you in breech of contract?

  She didn’t know the answers to any of those. But this one she could handle. Nope. I’m up in Canadian cottage country visiting my best friend. A little gimme of truth so he wouldn’t think she was hiding anything.

  Okay. Let me know what time your flight will get in to Washington.

  She didn’t respond to that one, because she didn’t know what the answer was, and she felt more than a little guilt that he trusted that of course she’d show up.

  But would she? She didn’t have a flight booked, and the way her heart started racing at the mere thought of it…she wasn’t sure she’d make it to Washington.

  You have to go. This is your career. Be a professional. She knew all the things to tell herself, but none of them were ringing true.

  She had the entire house to herself. And she just wanted to go back upstairs to the guest room, climb under the covers, and cry for reasons she couldn’t even name.

  Big, dark, ugly feelings loomed over her. So big they were like storm clouds or monsters, terrifying in their enormity.

  She’d never felt like this before. Like her heart might rip out of her chest and flee just to get away from her.

  In a desperate attempt to ground herself, she scanned the room, settling her attention on the bookshelves around the fireplace. She ran her fingers over the spines, most of them broken. Books that people actually read.

  A weird mix, as she made her way down the shelves. Proof of the happy, odd family that had blended together under this roof. Some she recognized as series that Hope had raved about, with demons and vampires and female protagonists that kicked ass. Others she was pretty sure her best friend would never read—dry historicals about military generals and man-against-the-elements type of adventure books. Ryan’s, probably. And then the bottom four shelves were all children’s books. Chapter books and Lego reference volumes. Skinny picture books about bright pink ponies and chunky board books that had been chewed on.

  She’d fallen to her knees as she made her way down the shelf. Now she rose roughly, her legs shaking, and she grabbed a thick novel with a woman on the front, surrounded by swirling mist. She had a giant dagger in her hand.

  Maybe if she imagined herself a fantasy heroine she wouldn’t be scared of the boogyman her ex-fiancé represented.

  Washington wasn’t just another stop on her tour. She’d been invited to perform on the nationally televised A Capitol Fourth concert, with many other performers—including Track Gantley.

  Why had she said yes to the concert?

  And now that she’d admitted to herself that she was freaked out, how was she going to get back onstage after what happened in Savannah?

  Chapter Two

  three nights earlier

  Savannah, Georgia

  * * *

  SHE tugged her signature black t-shirt over her head and settled the snug, soft cotton over her curves. The v-neck showed just enough cleavage to be sexy, but the cut stayed on the conservative side, guaranteeing there would be no wardrobe malfunction while she was on stage.

  “Ten minutes, Ms. Hansen!” the tour manager called out after knocking on her dressing room door.

  She reached for her water bottle and took a small sip, careful not to mess up her makeup.

  When he knocked again, she frowned at the door. He knew she wouldn’t holler back. Top of her short list of concert day requests was not talking too much before the show. Limes instead of lemons with her water and cucumbers on the veggie tray—she really wasn’t that demanding.

  So seriously, W.T.F.?

  She pulled the door open, about to snap at Brad that she’d heard him the first time, and the smart remark died on her lips.

  It had been a few years since Track had stopped coming by her dressing room to play his little mindfuck games before a show. A chill rippled through her body and she struggled not to show her long-ago ex-fiancé any glimpse of fear.

  It was entirely ridiculous, because he wasn’t going to say anything that bad. She knew that without a doubt.

  Track was smart enough to stay on the subtle side of manipulation. To stay in the grey zone of “wow, that felt super weird and gross, even though the individual words weren’t far from appropriate.”

  She stepped aside, letting him into her dressing room. He left the door open, and she could just imagine how that would be spun in the gossip blogs.

  Track is well kn
own for mentoring other performers on his label. That’s a little awkward because one of them is Liana Hansen, the hussy who broke his heart and selfishly put her career ahead of the family he wanted. Of course, Track still selflessly reaches out to her, but he’s careful not to let her get her claws into him. Even when she invites him into her dressing room, he leaves the door open…

  Or maybe that was just her own fear of how it would look.

  “Track,” she said smoothly. “I didn’t realize you were here tonight.”

  “Thought we could get together for drinks after the show and talk about the album,” he said, sitting on the edge of the counter that ran along one wall. He stretched his long, denim-clad legs out in front of him, and crossed his ankles. He was wearing his brown cowboy boots tonight, the ones with the extra half-inch heel.

  Someone feeling small, Track? Need to bully me to make yourself feel like more of a man? But she didn’t say that. She just smiled coolly and shook her head. “I can’t talk about the album without my agent, unfortunately. I’m sorry you came all this way.”

  “We’re visiting Amber’s parents. Not that far.” He hooked his thumbs into his jean pockets. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

  He didn’t need to spell out the reason for his visit. He didn’t like the songs she’d cut for the new album. And he’d shown up before her show to make sure she knew that as she went onstage. White hot anger slammed through her. “Definitely a conversation to have with my agent.”

  “I don’t want this to turn into a big thing just yet.”

  “Bless your heart for thinking of me, Track.” She slid past him, shaking now.

  He snapped his arm out and hooked his fingers around her elbow. “Hang on.”

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “I’m doing a cover of ‘Forget Me Not’ with Gina Bellingham. We’re going into the studio after the show in Washington on the fourth of July.”

  She physically recoiled, stumbling into the door. “What?”

  She hated that song. But it was still her song.

  “You took it off your set list for this tour. The label thinks we can revitalize it with a fresh sound.” He sighed and pushed himself upright, sliding his thumbs into his pockets. Pretending he was casual about this conversation.

  Neither of them were ever casual about a conversation between them. Ever. Eight years of tension and anger and resentment still simmered hard beneath the surface.

  “Then I suppose that’s your prerogative.” She shrugged, a quick jerk of her shoulders that she regretted because it revealed just how much he affected her. She hated that she’d let him get under her skin.

  “I took a look at your set list—”

  “Okay, we’re done here.”

  “‘Cravings’ isn’t the right tone for you, Liana.” He gave her a look that anyone else would read as concerned.

  She saw the judging sneer. Heard the censure in his voice. Don’t be slutty, he meant.

  “I have to get out there,” she said instead of all the things she wanted to say.

  “Have a good show.” He smiled, and the coldness of it hurt so much she wanted to cry.

  Good thing she was starting with a sad song. All the feels, delivered straight to the Savannah fans courtesy of Track Fucking Gantley.

  America’s favourite singer.

  Liana’s private enemy—and her boss for at least one more album.

  She grabbed her gargle bottle and swept out into the hall before Track could say anything else. Her band members were already milling around, and she gave them all a quick smile.

  Let’s do this.

  Jackie Billings, her lead guitar, narrowed her eyes as she glanced over Liana’s shoulder. Shit. She didn’t need her worrying. She gave Jackie a wink to say, it’s all good. It wasn’t. This tour had been a terrible idea. They were six weeks into it and each night she was getting progressively wound tighter.

  She was pretty sure Jackie was the only one who noticed or cared. The older woman didn’t have a lot of love for Track, either, but Liana’s drummer and bass player both did, so the women kept their opinions on the down low.

  The only thing worse than Liana being miserable on tour would be tensions flaring in other directions as well.

  Jackie might think that Track was a pig, but she was a professional. And it wasn’t like the rest of their industry was made up of sensitive feminists, either. Nashville was a hard town to be a woman in, which was ironic, because it was a town that celebrates female singers in a way that rock never had.

  But the hoops those vaunted stars needed to jump through…

  Liana had learned the hard way that sometimes it just wasn’t possible to please the kingmakers.

  Didn’t mean she didn’t have a career.

  Didn’t mean she wasn’t still blessed.

  Speaking of which… She set her gargle bottle down on a ledge and wiggled her fingers. Jackie took one hand, West Jackson took the other, and her bass player, Andrew Yoast stood across from her, completing the circle between Jackie and West.

  Liana let Andrew lead the prayer. He was most devout. It was enough that she pulled them together.

  With a whispered amen at the end, they broke apart, and as the lights fell, Andrew and West took their spots on stage.

  Liana swished her mouth rinse, vocalizing a bit in the back of her mouth as she did the secret, super gross routine that nobody wanted to see. Jackie snickered at her as she spit it out, and that little secret laugh pushed away the darkness Liana had been feeling.

  Fucking Track.

  But this? She loved performing. Loved connecting with a crowd, watching them sway back and forth as she brought tears to their eyes, or have them jumping for joy as she sang to the rafters about living in the moment, no matter what the cost.

  She’d belt that particular song out no problem today.

  But first she had to tear some hearts out.

  Jackie plugged in her electric guitar, and while they still stood in the dark of the side stage, she played the first three, slow notes of ‘River Bed Lullaby’.

  The crowd went wild, and warm, welcome relief poured into Liana’s heart.

  It would be a good show.

  Jackie walked onto the stage, the spotlight following her all the way across to the far side, then split into two, the second light tracking back to pick up Liana as she walked into view.

  The song, her first hit, when she was only eighteen, was about a young woman knowing that she was losing her mother to the bottle. A fearful prophesy that her mother might one day kill herself. A plea not to hurt them both. Begging her to let her daughter help.

  It was Liana’s favourite song, still, and Jackie played the part of the wounded mother well, pouring soulful agony into her guitar as Liana sang to her from the other end of the stage.

  It was an ugly song, and Savannah brought up a lot of ugly feelings for Liana.

  It was where Track had proposed.

  Where she caught him cheating on her a year later.

  America’s golden boy. Ha.

  No, every time she played here, she took the crowd to the dark, ugly parts of her soul first. It gave decent cover to the raw edge of her voice when she finally hit centre stage and held out her hands, offering the crowd a figurative circle of connection just like the one she’d shared with her band before they came on stage.

  “Hello, Savannah!” she called out. “You are looking beautiful tonight, I gotta say. Yes, you. Stunning.”

  She grinned, then pressed her hand to her chest. “Anyone feeling a little sad right now? I know. Me too. But there’s joy to be found in music, right?”

  That was West’s cue, and behind her, he started into the next song.

  And on they rolled, through some of her favourites, and all of her hits—and the two columns didn’t always match up, but there was enough to make her and the crowd and the band all happy, so by the time they hit the last song, “Craving”, she was flying.

&nb
sp; Until she glanced over at Jackie, whose head was bowed over the guitar, riffing hard, and behind her stood Track.

  The mocking look on his face was a punch to Liana’s guts, like he was laughing at her. She stumbled over the bridge, missing the beat where she should have started singing. Her band just looped a few lines again, and this time her voice took flight where it should.

  I’ve got cravings that

  Would shock you

  Desires I can’t

  Speak of

  She tore her gaze away from the wings because fuck him, but the damage was done. The heart of the song, her heart, had been squashed like a bug, and when her voice dropped low and slow at the end, she knew she didn’t have the crowd with her.

  They applauded when the lights went down, but it wasn’t deafening.

  She hated that she needed that roar to drown out her doubts.

  Jackie took one look at her face and made sure she was between Liana and Track as they exited the stage.

  “Liana!” he called out to her, but she was into the hallway that led to the dressing rooms, and Andrew and West were making enough noise behind her that she could pretend she didn’t hear.

  Jackie was talking to her, but her friend’s voice was coming from a distance. A dull roar thundered inside her head as she yanked out her in-ear monitor and handed it to one of the roadies.

  She shook her head. She just needed a minute alone.

  Somehow she made it to her dressing room and shut the door, sliding down it as the tears started to fall.

  What the hell was going on?

  When did she start losing her mind?

  She scrubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, cursing at herself under her breath. Her palms were covered in eye makeup and her face was almost definitely a mess.

  She shoved to her feet and found her makeup bag, fixing as much as she could as her heart rate sped up.

  It was time to go.

  She shoved a few things in a bag, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.