Hearts on Fire (12 page)

Unable to hold back her
tears any longer, Jessie bit back a sob and crumpled against Wally’s
chest. He smelled of the peppermint candy he loved; the familiar
scent comforted her, as did the strong arms he wrapped around her. He
made her feel safe, and until Drew, he was the only person, other
than her grandmother, who ever had. “I don’t know what to do,”
she murmured against his shirt. “I just want to forget that part of
my life.”

Wally leaned back and
slipped a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. His
eyes were kind, just as they had been the first day she’d met him.
“If you want to put it behind you, then I suggest you face it
head-on. It’s the only way you’ll ever be free of it.”

Jessie sighed. “You
want me to do the interview, don’t you?”

“I think it’s your
best option.” He frowned, causing the crooked lines on his forehead
to deepen. “Surprised the shit out of me, but CMT is still on board
with the concert tomorrow night.”

“Then they must
believe they’ll get ratings.”

“That’s my guess.
People will be curious. The story is on all the entertainment news
show as well as on CNN and Fox.”

Jessie let out a hollow
laugh. “Must be a slow news day.”

Wally chuckled, then
quickly sobered. “Clark’s flying out for the concert. He’ll be
at the CMT after-party.”

“The head suit is
making an appearance? I guess the label is doing damage control. Did
you tell him about the interview?”

“No. That’s your
call. I’ll support you no matter what decision you make.”

“Thank you, Wally.”
Fresh tears swam in her eyes. “Thank you for always having my
back.”

Moisture glistened in
his eyes, and for a second, she thought he might cry. “That’s
enough of this mushy stuff.” His voice was gruff as he released her
and sniffled hard. “There’s something we need to figure out.”
He studied her with a thoughtful expression. “You and I are the
only two people who know about your past. How in the devil did it get
leaked?”

Jessie spread her hands
in a helpless gesture. “I don’t know.” She moved to the
mini-bar and retrieved a bottle of water. “Honestly, I don’t even
remember the last time we talked about it.” She twisted the cap off
the bottle. “What about John? Maybe he found out somehow. Or Dr.
Yancy?”

“Nah.” Wally shook
his head. “I don’t think it’s them. John’s as loyal as they
come. If he did overhear us talking about it, he’d never breathe a
word of it to anyone. He’d never say or do anything to hurt you.
And Doc Yancy would never talk about his patients. Hell, half of them
are celebrities. It’s in his best interest to keep his mouth shut.”

“What about his
staff?” She sipped her water. It didn’t go down easy; her throat
was tight with emotion. “Maybe it was one of them?”

“I doubt it, but I
guess it’s a possibility.”

“I can’t think of
anyone else.” She crossed the room and sank down on the sofa. “My
face is so different now. It couldn’t be one of the foster families
I was placed with.” Long simmering anger burned inside of her at
the thought of one particular family. “And Grammy hasn’t had a
lucid memory since I was thirteen years old. It can’t be her.”

Wally pulled his phone
out of his back pocket. “We’ll figure it out, but not right now.
I’m gonna call Annabeth.” He paused to look at her, one bushy
brow arched. “Are you going to do the interview?”

Her stomach lurched.
Sitting down with Annabeth and answering her probing questions was
the last thing she wanted to do. But Wally—and Drew—were right.
At this point the truth was her only option.

“I’ll do it.”

Wally nodded with
approval. “I’m proud of you, Jessie. Not because you’re doing
the interview, but because of how hard you fought to pull yourself
out of a bad situation. You’ve got a lot of grit.”

Her chest tightened at
the paternal admiration she saw shining in his eyes. “Now who’s
getting mushy?” she said, with a tremulous smile. “Call Annabeth
and set it up before I change my mind.” She stood up and headed
toward the bedroom. A long, hot bath sounded like heaven right now.

“What about Drew?”

“What about him?”
She stopped and turned to look at Wally.

“If you love him, and
don’t want to lose him, then you know what you need to do.”

Jessie’s heart
started to pound. “Who says I love him?”

Wally’s smile was
gentle. “
You
do.
Every time you look at him.”

Not long after, Wally
left her suite to work out the details for the interview, while
Jessie sat in the large rectangular bathtub trying in vain to relax.
Unfortunately, the warm water and vanilla scented bath salts she
loved weren’t doing their job. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts
of the interview and her feelings for Drew.

At this moment, she had
no clue how she was going to talk about her not-so-happy past to a
woman she’d met only once before. She hadn’t spoken about it to
anyone but Wally for years. The only link to her life back then was
her grandmother. But the Alzheimer’s that had rendered her
grandmother incapable of taking care of her when Jessie was thirteen,
was now in its late stages. Alma Dickson sat in a wheelchair all day
at the nursing home where Jessie had moved her to as soon as she’d
earned enough money to pay for it.

Although Jessie visited
her often when she wasn’t on tour, the woman she loved so much no
longer recognized or remembered her. Of course, the staff recognized
her, but they didn’t know that Alma Dickson was her grandmother.
All they knew was that Jessie Grant was a major benefactor who took a
personal interest in the nursing home and all of its patients.

She supposed that’s
where she should start. With the horrible disease that had robbed her
of her grandmother, and had set in motion the chain of events now
being reported on and discussed like an afternoon soap-opera. The
media’s version was sketchy. Understandable, since they didn’t
have all the facts. Tomorrow she’d supply those facts to Annabeth,
and afterwards, the public and her fans could judge her as they saw
fit.

With a sigh, she leaned
forward and pulled the lever to drain the bathtub. The water gurgled
as she got out of the tub and then dried herself with one of the
large plush towels stacked on the marble vanity. A few minutes later,
wrapped in her favorite robe, she wandered into the main room and was
drawn to the window where outside, the brilliant neon lights of the
strip lit up the night sky.

Would her fans have
compassion for the girl she’d once been? Would they understand that
she’d done what she had to do to survive, and it was only by the
grace of her God-given voice that she’d managed to make something
of herself? She hoped so, but if they didn’t, there wasn’t much
she could do about it.

Turning from the
window, she looked around the spacious suite, and for the first time
since she’d become famous, she didn’t feel like its luxury was
something undeserved. She’d worked hard for everything she had, and
maybe, instead of being ashamed, she should be proud of what she’d
accomplished. And maybe, instead of begging people to understand her
actions, she should own her decisions—every single one of them—and
offer no apologies. She wasn’t a scared little girl anymore, she
was a grown-ass woman; it was time to start acting like one.

As for her feelings for
Drew, well, that was even more complicated. Hindsight was 20/20, and
now that she’d calmed down and had a chance to think about Wally’s
wise words, it was easy to see she’d hurt him by not confiding in
him when she’d had the chance to in her dressing room. Just like
always, she’d deflected his questions by throwing his own past back
in his face. She was good at that. Really good.

And now, it may have cost her the
man she’d fallen in love with.

Drew downed the last
of his Sam Adams and wished he hadn’t had the misfortune to run
into Trista Cantrell’s manager in the casino. While in search of
the nearest bar, where he planned to get stinking drunk, he’d
barreled into the guy so hard that he’d knocked him flat on his
ass. Literally. Of course, he’d felt like a jerk. So when Barry had
asked Drew to join him and a few of Trista’s band mates for
Trista’s birthday dinner, Drew had accepted the invitation.

Big mistake.

He’d only spoken to
Trista a handful of times, but she hadn’t made much of an
impression on him. She could sing better than some, but there was
something off about her. His mother loved to watch the TV talent show
Trista had won, but she hadn’t been as awestruck as the millions of
viewers who voted for the girl with the angelic voice. According to
his mother, Trista had shifty eyes, and anyone with shifty eyes was
someone who should be given a wide berth.

Across the table,
Trista’s shifty eyes were honed on him as she waited for him to
answer the question she’d just asked. But if she was looking for
gossip, he wasn’t going to give it to her.

“No. I haven’t
talked to Jessie.” The lie slipped easily from his mouth. “I
don’t know anything more about her past than what’s been on the
news.”

That last part wasn’t
a lie and it was the reason he’d been looking to get his drink on.
Obviously their friendship and what’d happened between them
yesterday and this morning didn’t mean anything to her.

“I feel so bad for
her,” Trista said, then looked at Barry. “Have you heard anything
about the concert tomorrow?”

Barry set his fork on
his plate and nodded. With his dark tan and expensive suit, the guy
reminded Drew of one of those shady-looking lawyers who advertised
their accident litigation services on television. “Wally called me
before dinner. The concert is a go and CMT is still going to televise
it. But I’m sorry to say they still aren’t including the opening
act.” Barry reached for the salt shaker, and the thick gold link
bracelet on his wrist caught the light. “Don’t take it
personally, Trista. I tried to get them to reconsider their decision,
but they only want the headliner.” He frowned as he poised the
clear glass shaker over his plate. “Actually, I’m surprised
they’re going ahead and airing the concert at all. I would have
thought that Jessie’s past actions would have them worried. But I
guess they believe the scandal will draw more viewers.”

“Oh, I’m not taking
it personally,” Trista said quickly. “I know it’ll take a while
before I’m a headliner like Jessie.” She flashed a smile, then
picked up her iced tea and took a sip.

Drew studied her and
wondered what it was about her that bugged him. She seemed to get
along with Barry and the three guys from her band, and she’d given
the appearance of being truly concerned for Jessie’s situation.
Maybe it was her voice. The girl was a Yankee, but the fake-ass
accent coming out of her mouth was more Southern than Jessie’s.

He settled back into
his chair, half-listening to the conversation at the table, as he
tried to figure out how soon he could leave without being rude. While
he was still contemplating an excuse, their server came by and asked
if he wanted another beer. He nodded. The way his evening was going,
another beer was exactly what the doctor ordered.

By the time Barry
refused his money and paid the check, Drew was more than ready to get
away from Trista and her endless chatter. He thought back to when he
was eighteen. Had he been that full of himself? God, he hoped not.

He parted ways with
Trista and her entourage outside the steakhouse, pushed his way
through the throng of tourists and gamblers milling about in the
casino, and headed in the direction of the hotel elevators. While
he’d been pretending to listen to the conversation at dinner, all
he could think about was Jessie and her stubborn refusal to trust
anyone. Every single time he’d tried to get her to open up, she
expertly turned the tables on him. And each time he’d backed off.
This only proved one thing; he was a first-class hypocrite. How could
he expect her trust him when he was keeping his own secret from her
and everyone else he’d grown close to in Nashville?

Drew wasn’t sure if
it was the three beers he’d downed or if he wanted to prove
something to Jessie, but instead of taking the elevator to his floor,
he punched the button for hers.

“Hey, John,” he
said, approaching Jessie’s ever-present bodyguard who was stationed
in his usual position in the corridor near the entrance to her suite.

“Evenin’ Drew.”
John, who looked like he could bench press a Mack truck, tipped his
shaved head and gave him an amiable smile.

“She didn’t go out,
did she?”

“No. Wally left a
while ago. She usually tells me if she doesn’t want visitors but
she hasn’t said anything so I think it’s safe to knock.”

Drew grinned as he
moved past him and knocked on the door.

A few seconds later
Jessie opened the door and her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. I
thought it was Wally,” she said softly.

For about three seconds
Drew was incapable of speech. Judging by the faint scent of vanilla
that invaded his nostrils, her freshly scrubbed face, and the wet
tendrils of hair that spilled out from a loose knot at the top of her
head and clung to her neck, he knew that she’d just taken a bath or
shower. The blue terry-cloth robe she wore shouldn’t be sexy, but
on her, it was sexy as hell. Maybe because he knew exactly what was
under that robe?

“I need to talk to
you,” he finally said. “Can I come in?”

She nodded and pulled
the door open wider, allowing him to enter. He moved past her into
the room and noticed her guitar case leaned up against the far end of
the sofa. “Are you working on a new song?” he asked, and turned
around to look at her.

“I have a melody in
my head and I thought I’d try to get it down before I lose it.”
She closed the door, then lifted her hand to her hair and smoothed
back a few loose strands from her temple. “I’m surprised to see
you.”