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“Your mother and father are having a shouting match in the hotel lobby,” he said. “We’re not in Vegas anymore. And I’m guessing from your manager’s panicked tone, this isn’t the norm for the middle of the day in a Colorado hotel.”
“No.” She gasped, turning to the door. “I need to get down there.”
“We do.” He stepped in front of her and led the way into the hall. “If your parents’ fight turns physical, I have a feeling your manager will run for cover.”
“Physical.” He’d headed for the elevator bank, but she couldn’t get past that word. Her parents, the same mom and dad who had once shared long kisses in the kitchen when they thought their kids weren’t looking, were close to hand-to-hand combat in the lobby?
“Chrissie,” Dante called. “Now would be a good time to haul ass.”
She jogged down the hall to the elevators. Once inside, Dante hit the L button.
“You don’t need to come with me,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Thank goodness she hadn’t worn a costume. “I can handle my parents.”
“I’m paid to keep you away from volatile situations. I’m tempted to tell Mason to defuse this mess while I take you back to your room. There was never a question about you going down by yourself.”
“Mason can’t manage this,” she said as the elevator dinged and opened to the lobby. Compared to Vegas, the Colorado hotel’s reception area was like a ghost town at two in the afternoon. But there were a few people, and plenty of staff. Most of them were watching the show unfolding by the sofas.
“What was the point of flying out here if you refuse to attend the concerts?” her mother demanded. She was wearing her tour uniform—designer jeans and a Chrissie Tate T-shirt. Mason was probably wishing her mom didn’t have her daughter’s name written across her chest while she screamed at her father.
“Lori, you asked me to come,” her father said. He sounded tired and looked worn down compared to the last time she’d seen him. “So I’m here. I want to see the girls. I’ll take Melissa tomorrow and give you a break.”
“Who’s with your sister now?” Dante demanded. He moved at her side and surveyed the scene. And she had no doubt that the man who delivered her to orgasm heaven in plain, old, boring missionary would jump in front of her and protect her from two of the people she loved most in the world—her parents—if the need arose.
“With one of the backup singers,” she said, stepping closer. Her parents still hadn’t spotted her. And they appeared oblivious to her manager. “Miranda has a little girl about the same age. She joined us in Portland.”
“I don’t need a sitter for Melissa!” her mother screamed. And Chrissie tensed. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard her mother yell before Joe’s death, before Chrissie had played her now hit song at a local fair and walked away with a record deal, before her success had become a matter of staying at the top instead of reaching for the peak.
“You should be at the concert,” her mother continued in the same enraged tone. “Standing backstage watching Chrissie sing and smiling for cameras before and after the show. How do you think it looks to the media? I’m here, supporting Chrissie, but you’re never there. Never.”
“I’m sorry, Lori.” Her dad glanced around the room and saw her. He tried to force a smile, but his face just crumbled further. “Hey Chris—”
“You’re sorry?” her mother seethed. “Your daughter is out there night after night, earning the money that supports our family. And you can’t even show up to stand on the sidelines? Or smile for a picture? She’s still alive, and she needs you in her life. And Joe’s gone. He’s dead and—and—you have to let go. You have to. We can’t go on like this. I can’t do this anymore.”
“I can’t.” Her father closed his eyes and lowered his chin to his chest. And Chrissie swore she saw a tear escape.
“Mom—” Chrissie called, stepping forward. But Dante’s hand closed around her upper arm.
“You can’t hide behind grief forever,” her mother said, raising the hand holding her clutch. Pain, sadness, and frustration vied for control. But in the end, her mother’s anger won.
Chrissie gasped as her mom sent the purse hurling through the air at her dad. “No!” she screamed.
“Stay back.” Dante growled, drawing her behind him as the bag hit her dad’s shoulder and fell to the floor. She struggled to get around the SEAL’s muscular frame. Her parents needed her. Someone had to control her mother. And her dad…
“They won’t hurt me,” she said. “I have to help them.”
“No,” her bodyguard said.
Across the lobby, her mother gasped, and her eyes widened. “Oh God. I’m sorry.” She scrambled forward and picked up her purse. There were tears in her eyes now. And she looked just as broken. “It’s the stress from the tour, baby. There’s so much riding on this…”
Mason approached looking as if he’d summoned his courage and decided enough was enough. If anyone had their camera phone out, a video of her parents’ fight would hit the internet soon. Her manager knew that as well as she did. And she doubted her manager wanted his country starlet linked to a domestic dispute in a hotel lobby.
Chrissie scanned the space, but she didn’t see anyone recording. They were all pretending to look somewhere else now. No one looked back at the scene, and she understood why. Mason was leading her mother away. But her father just stood there, tears running down his face.
“I wish I could, Lori,” her dad said. “But I can’t let go of our boy. I visit his grave. And it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I think about him out there, in…in Afghanistan, so far from home… I just want my boy to come home.”
A domestic dispute between a country star’s parents might draw interest.
But there was nothing tawdry about a man weeping for his son who’d been killed in action. Of course the press might not see it that way. And what had happened here, what she’d witnessed—it was a private, family matter.
