Shit.
Too distracted by Jamie’s allure that morning, she’d stupidly left her laptop at the guest house. Was she being punished for daring to have it all—namely, being with someone who actually wanted that for her?
Brinton shakily texted Michael to come pick her up.
It was noon; she could transcribe Emma Lou’s interview, update her draft, and get back to the stadium with plenty of time before Jamie went on at nine. Couldn’t she?
She just needed to hold it together. Jamie’s words echoed through her mind.
Everything is gonna be fine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Hours later, on Saturday night, Jamie enjoyed some much-deserved silence on the couch in his greenroom. He had eaten dinner—brown rice and grilled chicken, though he would’ve preferred a cheeseburger—and showered in the luxurious owners’ suite.
He’d even changed into an exorbitantly expensive navy tee and dark-wash jeans Sammi had a stylist pull for the occasion, topped off with his University of Tennessee hat and his own scotch-brown cowhide boots.
After that morning with Brinton, they were hisnewfavorite boots.
Pre-show, he usually prayed, journaled, had a whiskey, or let his mind go blank. But that was before he met Brinton. He hadn’t seen her since that morning, and she hadn’t responded to his texts. It worried him.
Had something happened? Should he try to find her? Unfortunately, he knew that was impossible. In a few minutes, he was due to rock the shit out of that stadium. Still, his whirring thoughts refused to settle.
A knock at the door snatched him back into the present.
“It’s open.”
A petite brunette with a clipboard and headset ducked her head in. “Mr. Crawford, they’re ready for you.”
He drained the last of his whiskey and followed her out.
A few minutes later, when Jamie stepped on stage, it felt like nothing he had experienced before. Not the Grammys or the other sizable shows he’d played over the years. This was, hands-down, the biggest crowd he’d ever seen.
The stadium lights and flashing phone screens looked more like oval diamonds strewn across a midnight sky. A sea of fervent faces in the crowd. He briefly took out his in-ear monitors—it was worth the residual buzzing he’d experience—and let the roar rip through every cell in his body. He was nervous, as always, but he was also exhilarated. Strapping on his guitar, he waved to the crowd. They went nuts.
When he glanced side-stage, Brinton was sandwiched between Tex and Sammi. She looked a little frazzled, eyes wide and darting around her. But she also looked beautiful in a flowy white dress. Under the lights, she glowed like an angel. He’d have to tell her that later.
He waved, but she stared at the ground, oblivious to everyone around her. Was she all right? There wasn’t space to unpack that, because now, it was go time.
He nodded to his drummer, Lee, who counted the band off as they blasted into his latest single, “One More Heartbreak.”
By the time Jamie rolled through the first two songs, his adrenaline had smoothed out. His voice was strong, despite missing soundcheck, and the crowd ate up every second. He reciprocated that love. Because connecting with his fans—bringing them a reprieve from their troubles, even for three minutes at a time—made every late night, every tough decision, and every crushing moment he’d experienced in his life worthwhile.
As he strummed the opening chords of his father’s hit, “The Long Road,” Brinton caught his eye again. She looked wobbly, crouched low to the ground in a shadowy corner.
Something was wrong.
His team didn’t seem to notice. They were watchinghim. Jamie focused on singing the right words at the right time, praying somebody would step in. Yet, each time he stole a glance her way, nobody did.
Brinton’s head bobbed between her knees.
Through the first chorus, his mother’s smiling face, on the last morning she was alive, flashed in his mind. Nobody hadseenher pain either. Jamie was a helpless kid then.
Now, he was a man.
His father would be pissed. The bad press from what Jamie was about to do may even put Brinton’s article at risk. Could he survive the fallout? Would Brinton think he went rogue again?
Fuck it.
