Page 98 of Chasin’s Surrender

“You’re being real and I love that. I love that you’re not afraid to tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Viv!” Bobby called. “We need to get started.”

“Break a leg, or knock ‘em dead, or whatever it is I’m supposed to tell my beautiful, talented woman before she performs for her fans.”

“What you just said works.” She chuckled.

“Give me a kiss and go before Bobby has an aneurism.”

“Don’t pay attention to her, she’s always like this. Next, she’s gonna start using my full name,” Genevieve told him.

“Gen-e-vieve,” Bobby snapped, drawing out each syllable.

“Told ya.”

Then suddenly Bobby’s voice, the camera, the barn, and everything else around them melted away when Genevieve’s hands went to his face and she rolled up on the toes of her cowboy boots and jerked his face to hers. And with a hard, closed-mouth, all-too-short kiss, she walked away. Chasin snapped out of it just in time to watch her strut her fine ass to Bobby.

Same pair of faded jeans he’d seen her wear before, a tight, ribbed tank top with an unbuttoned plaid shirt over it, beat-up cowboy boots she’d worn to go pick berries in, and her hair piled on top of her head in one of those buns women wore.

Yeah, Vivi and his Evie were the same person, she just didn’t understand.

Genevieve sat down and Bobby said something he couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, made Evie smile. Then Bobby handed Genevieve her favorite guitar, which, it was worth noting, was badass. Vines and flowers were inlaid along the fretboard, giving it a feminine touch without making it girly. To Chasin, it looked rock n’ roll, but he figured Genevieve would argue it was country. Either way, it was wicked cool.

A few minutes later, Genevieve expertly addressed her fans. Chasin listened as excitement crept into her voice when she talked about writing new music, about being energized and inspired. Then to his absolute shock, she talked about falling in love. She prattled on like she was in a room full of her closest friends, telling a story about letting go and just living. She wove in the points Colleen had wanted but she did it while telling their story.

Chasin stood rooted with his heart in his throat as he listened to Genevieve talking about not allowing insecurities and old wounds stop you from taking chances, about how forgiveness frees the soul, about opening yourself up and being your true self and allowing the people you love to see every part of you. She went on to tell however many people were watching—tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands—how she’d recently gotten a new tattoo, and when she’d had the words inked into her skin, they’d meant one thing, but now they’d changed and morphed into something new.

“So you see, I wrote this song when my heart was shattered.” Genevieve stopped and smiled, her Tennessee accent thicker than he’d ever heard. “But then someone told me something that I couldn’t deny. He said, Evie—that’s what my guy calls me—sweet, right?” She winked at the camera and smiled huge.

“Anyway, he said, Evie, you got one life, baby, just one. Don’t let all the beauty you have to give go to waste by hiding. So I listened. We all got just one life. Don’t let the nay-sayers, the backstabbers, the jerks that are so unhappy they take it out on you, stop you from living your life. Don’t be afraid to forgive, because when an apology’s made with a pure heart, it’s worth forgiving. Now every time I look at these words I got inked on my skin, they remind me how fast life changes, and when it does, I gotta be brave, I gotta be open, I gotta be me.

“I’m gonna sing you the first song I wrote for my new album. It’s raw, so take pity on me. It’s the first time I’ve sang it and my guy’s here behind the camera and he is not a fan of country music.” Genevieve stopped and comically and dramatically made a shocked face before she shook her head. “Though I think we’ll be able to talk him around one of these days. So, he’s listenin’, y’all are listenin’, of course my girl Bobby’s here and she hasn’t heard it yet, either.

“So, here we go, it’s called “You Can’t See.””

Chasin hadn’t moved a single millimeter since Genevieve has started talking. His chest was so tight, it was a miracle he was breathing. His eyes were glued to his woman, and the shock of her announcement that she’d fallen in love hadn’t worn off. But it had settled something inside of him he hadn’t known was unconsciously making him uneasy—she’d put his worry about her fame, her fans, losing her to both, to rest.

Then for the next few minutes, he stood transfixed, listening to her sing. The beginning of the song tore his heart open, knowing she wrote those words about him.

Somebody’s gonna treat you right.

But it’s not me.

Chasin’s gut clenched at the sorrow in her voice.

She was feeling every word.

She got to the bridge and she strummed faster, louder, added volume.

I tried to love you.

But you won’t let it be.

I tried to show you.

But you can’t see.

It’s not me, it’s not me.