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“Clingers are hard,” Travis said, signing and talking and not missing a step. “One woman jumped over the tape and into my arms. She was no lightweight, either. Pulled a muscle in my back and had to get one of them to help her back onto the other side of the tape.”
Jace looked in the direction of Travis’s nod. Three men and one woman wearing “King’s Guard” shirts. Clever. “Security?” he asked, smiling in spite of himself.
“Always,” he said. “I hear my sister roped you into sticking around?”
“Not sure how it happened,” Jace confessed.
“Krystal has a way of getting what she wants.” Travis laughed. “Come on, take a break in the greenroom. Then it’s time for group pics and hanging with the money.” He led Jace down the hall, all the while smiling and waving.
Krystal joined them, no sign of her earlier tension present. She sort of…glowed, happy and excited. “You two stand together too long and we might have a riot on our hands.”
Was that a compliment? It sure as hell sounded like one.
“Just own it, man. Own it and enjoy every minute.” Travis grinned. “You’ll never have to sleep alone again.”
“Travis, there are times I’m ashamed to call you my brother.” Clearly, she didn’t appreciate her brother’s attitude. By the time they entered what resembled a small conference room, Krystal was back to being tense and quiet.
One wall was lined with mirrors and floor-to-ceiling folding screens. Jace was blindsided by the photographs hanging on the wall just inside. He wandered, reading autographs and shaking his head at the impressive display of talent that had visited the Chesapeake Energy Arena before him. Willie Nelson. John Connelly. Loretta Lynn. And a smiling, younger Hank King. Here he was, a west Texas roughneck, surrounded by reminders of everything he wasn’t. Sooner or later, the rest of the world would snap out of it and he’d be back on the grasshoppers, drilling for oil from dawn till dusk.
Might as well enjoy it.
On the opposite wall, a long table was covered with trays of pastries, fruit, and cheese. He almost took pictures for Heather—almost. She’d love to see this—the fancy sparkling water bottles in large glass bowls full of ice. Above that, three large televisions played, muted. The room and its occupants seemed to be on fast-forward, while he was stuck in slow motion.
He shook his hands out and did his best not to stand out.
His manager, Luke, was waiting with Mr. Zamora, looking almost as nervous as he felt. Jace had taken a gamble hiring him, but Luke had grown up in the business and knew all the right people. Like CiCi King. He had no idea Luke’s mother and Hank King’s wife played bunco together, but he suspected that was how he’d ended up here. His voice was only part of it—having the right connections sealed the deal. Still, standing against the wall as the room filled with the chart-breaking, award-winning King family and the entourage that cared for them had his insecurities kicking in. Sure he sang some, for himself—or at the bar in town. But he had nothing, nothing, like the talent in this room.
Sure, they talked and laughed just like normal folk—but there was nothing normal about the
se people. He didn’t belong here. This was not his life. This wasn’t real; it couldn’t be.
It didn’t help that Krystal kept glancing his way. Even standing there, talking to her brother, she radiated a sort of defiance that was hard to ignore. Hell, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to ignore her. He’d prop himself up right here, against the wall, and look his fill if he could. No woman should look this beautiful in real life. But she was.
Her eyes narrowed, the slight tilt of her chin baiting him. Damn it all, he couldn’t help it—he winked at her. And saw vibrant color bloom in her cheeks.
“Jace?” Luke waved him over.
Probably a better idea than staring at Krystal. With a sigh, he joined Luke. “What happens now?” His ears were buzzing from the noise of the crowd and the concert earlier.
“Hydrate, snack, relax until the Kings say it’s go time,” Steve Zamora said, tossing him a water bottle. “Through those doors, the big spenders are waiting. The kids mingle, rub elbows with the power-players or their die-hard fans, take pictures, then make their getaway. Thirty minutes, more if you’re having a good time. Just waiting on Emmy.”
“As always,” Travis sounded off.
“I’m here, Travis, be nice.” Emmy Lou King made her entrance. There was no other word for it. She sort of glided into the room, drawing every eye her way.
“You shake everyone’s hand, Sis?” Travis asked, making a show of checking his nonexistent watch.
“Course you did, darlin’.” Hank King draped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and steered her his way. “Emmy, this is Jace. Jace, Emmy. He’ll be singing a duet on the next album.”
Just when he thought he was getting a handle on things, he was knocked for another loop. First, he was standing in the room with a man he’d grown up idolizing—he’d stomped around in his daddy’s boots and hat singing Hank King songs until his parents had hollered for him to stop. Now he was shaking hands with the man. Meeting Krystal. Then Travis. And now the enormity of what was happening hit him. He was singing a duet with Emmy Lou King.
Hell no, this wasn’t his life.
“He’s new, so try not to dazzle him too much,” Travis said.
Jace chuckled. “Good to meet you, Miss King. Tonight has been…unreal.” He broke off, shaking his head. They’d grown up in the public eye, so they had no idea how surreal this all was.
“Daddy has that effect on people.” Emmy Lou did have an incredible smile.
