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Why was one of her mother’s friends taking pictures? Holding up her cell phone. Was she recording this? Whatever. If she ever fully understood the way her mother’s mind worked, then she’d have reason to worry.
“You know, that Jace Black is all over the place right now. Have you heard him sing?” her mother asked.
Mickey stiffened at the mention of Jace’s name. Maybe she’d find a way to like Jace after all. He was sure as hell easy on the eyes. And, when he’d looked at her, there’d been nothing but warmth in his light brown gaze. Nothing like the way Mickey was looking at her now.
“Never heard of this Jace Black till tonight,” Mickey said to her mother, his posture defensive. “My manager didn’t mention anything about him when he said you’d called.”
“Me call?” Her mother rested her hand on her surgically enhanced chest. “Sugar, I never make phone calls. I have people for that.”
“Well, someone called,” Mickey said, glancing her way. “I thought it was too good to be true—me opening for you all. Especially after what happened between us, Krystal.” He stepped closer, his hand reaching for hers. “But at least I can say what I’ve wanted to say for a while now.”
Krystal stared at her hand, caught in his clammy hold, and fought for control. Mickey couldn’t be their opening act. And her mother—what was she thinking? The urge to scream at them, to yank her hands away, almost choked her. But she wouldn’t cause a scene—no matter how perfectly her mother had laid her trap. Instead, she bit into her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Everyone was staring at her, waiting. Even Emmy Lou looked nervous. So she managed to say, “There’s nothing to be said.”
“Maybe not for you, Krystal, but I have a lot to say.” His gaze bounced between her, her mother, and the camera.
She had to leave. Now. She gently but firmly withdrew her hand from his. “You’ll have to find someone who wants to hear it.” And she left the room as quickly and calmly as possible.
* * *
“Whoa,” Luke said for the fiftieth time. “I just keep saying it, man.”
Jace nodded. They’d left the VIP room, walked out of the stadium, and stopped in the parking lot, talking strategy and schedules. He couldn’t help but worry that, once he got into his truck and drove away, this would all disappear. He’d wake up tomorrow morning at five, head to the factory, punch his time card, and singing would only be his hobby again.
“It doesn’t feel real,” he confessed. Tonight had been weird…and a whole hell of a lot of awesome. He couldn’t wait to tell his sister all about it. Heather would want details, too—down to what they were wearing, who was there, and any gossip.
“It’s real, all right. We’re just getting started,” Luke said, glancing at his ever-present cell phone. “I’ll pick you up around seven thirty? We can get coffee on the way.”
The side door to the stadium opened, slamming loudly into the side of the building, and Krystal pushed out, her leather fringed skirt swaying. Seconds later, a man followed her. Even from this distance, he could tell Krystal was upset. Her hands clenched, arm held out, keeping distance between them. What was going on and who was giving Krystal trouble? When the two of them paused under one of the massive parking lot lights, he knew.
Mickey Graham?
Where was Krystal’s bodyguard?
From all the tabloids, headlines, and talk show interviews Heather kept up with, he knew their relationship hadn’t ended well. Krystal King, country royalty, fell for an up-and-comer on the circuit. Once they’d broken up, Mickey spilled his guts to the world. Krystal had ended it, cheated on him. And she was mean to Emmy Lou and Travis, fought with her mother and father, and was spoiled rotten.
Krystal had never said a word about any of it—not Mickey’s accusations, their relationship, or their breakup.
Jace had never believed it. Ever. Her music told him all he needed to know. She’d been hurt, deserted, and betrayed.
Still, Mickey’s song “Lie to Me” had released not too long after their split and shot to the top of the charts. He said it was about losing Krystal. But Jace couldn’t shake the feeling that Mickey was milking his short-lived romance for all it was worth—and it had been worth a lot. The single had gone gold regardless of the fact that Mickey Graham had no real musical talent. He ran around in sleeveless shirts and spray-painted-on jeans, his voice was nasally, and he had no range—he was all flash and no substance.
None of that mattered right now. Not when Mickey was up in Krystal’s personal space—so much so that Krystal was backing away.
When he’d started heading her way, he didn’t know. But she was upset and on her own and he wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing. He wasn’t wired that way.
“This could get ugly,” Luke said, following.
“Why won’t you go away and stay away?” Krystal’s voice rose. “I don’t want to see you. Get it through your thick head—I don’t like you.”
“You used to,” Mickey replied.
“I was an idiot.” She shook her head. “Why are you really here? Why?” The pain in her voice had Jace moving faster.
“You think I’d pass up an opportunity to open for the Three Kings? Hell no.” Mickey sighed, shaking his head. “Then your dad goes and screws it up. What the hell is he thinking? Bringing in that wannabe?”
“Talk to him about it,” she snapped. “Go on.” She pointed behind him. “Now.”
