Page 20 of Can’t Say No

Caroline nods slowly, taking a sip of her drink. “I’ve definitely read some interesting articles. But sabotaging another performer’s set doesn’t really seem like you.”

It’s oddly comforting to hear that out loud. One week around Caroline and she’s already seeing through the bullshit. But the opinion of one person in the middle of nowhere Tennessee doesn’t hold a candle to the version of me created by the media. Who I am gets decided by everyone but me.

I shrug. “Maybe I stayed onstage a little longer than I was supposed to because I knew Molly Jo was having a meltdown and didn’t want anyone to know.” I take a long sip of my beer before continuing. “Or maybe I’m just a brat like everyone thinks, and I wanted to sing some of my back catalogue even though my managers think those songs are shit.”

Connor sets his drink down, his brows pulling together. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

Connor scrubs his hand over his face. “Feed into the bullshit narrative. Why take the fall and get yanked off the tour? Why put yourself through all this?” He gestures around the crowded bar. “If that’s not actually who you are?”

I bristle, arms crossing on instinct. “Since when are you the expert on who I am? Maybe the fame went to my head and I really am an egomaniac who loves making everyone around her miserable.” I quote a headline from a gossip site I was scrolling before Connor picked me up.

I know I’m being ridiculous. But fuck it, that’s my default mode at this point.

“God, Delaney,” Connor sighs, exasperated, “why are you being so obtuse? I’m trying to stick up for you. If you hate what your management is making you do, who they’re making you be, then why are you playing into their hands?”

That familiar anger starts to build just beneath the surface. Angry that he doesn’t get it. Angry that I even care. And angry that I’m the one who created this mess to begin with.

My phone ringing pulls me from my thoughts, but the name glowing on the screen doesn’t do anything to quell the anger threatening to erupt.

“I gotta take this.” I push away from the table, swiping to answer the call.

One steady exhale, and I’m as ready as I can be.

“Hey, Dad. What’d I do wrong now?”

8

CONNOR

Eddy’s is packed, like always. There’s a steady hum of chatter, the occasional crash of pool balls, and shrill laughter slicing through the air. I’ve spent many a Friday night here with Caroline, Wells, and a beer, shooting the shit and people-watching. Eddy’s is a vibrant, living thing that usually captures all my attention.

But only one thing has my attention tonight.

Delaney leans against the wall by the back door, turned just enough so all I can see is her profile, brow furrowed, lips drawn in a hard line. Even with a sour expression, she’s so beautiful it hurts.

And that damn slinky little black dress. Somehow both completely out of place and exactly right at the same time.

The perfect explanation of her.

Whoever she’s talking to is clearly pissing her off, though that doesn’t narrow the list. She wears her anger like a badge of honor, but, contrary to what she thinks, I know her well enough to see it for what it is.

Armor.

As if a thick layer of ire will keep her safe from whatever the world throws her way.

She shifts, and I can see her temper flare. I bite back a laugh at the thought of whatever poor sucker is on the other end of the line.

“Earth to Connor.” Caroline’s wild waving brings me back to the booth. “I asked about the choir trip. Does Delaney know that you’re going?”

Wells grunts beside me, taking a long sip of his water. “Why would you volunteer to chaperone one of Mrs. Crane’s trips?”

Before I can answer, Caroline shoots Wells a look, glancing from me to the back wall, where Delaney is still deep in conversation.

“Hmm, yes. Why indeed, Wells? Definitely has nothing to do with a certain neighbor-turned-pop-star-turned-coworker who will most certainly be going on the trip.”

I hold my hands up innocently. “Hey, I went last year, too. It has nothing to do with Lanie.”