The Song in My Heart (26 page)

Back in her room at the posh Pan Pacific Hotel, Erika anxiously showered and changed into jeans and a lavender tuxedo blouse. She was meeting Sloane for dinner downstairs in the hotel dining room. She was thrilled to be seeing her friend again. She hadn’t seen her in over a month, although they’d traded a few texts. After the Chicago Blues Festival, Dayna had announced that as her new manager, she was pulling Erika out of the rest of the summer’s Midwest festival tour because it was “beneath” her. She’d said it in the most insulting way possible, of course, as if Erika might catch leprosy or something equally despicable if she continued with the circuit. Sloane was cut loose, which wasn’t exactly a tragedy for the drummer, since she couldn’t stand to be within a mile of Dayna Williams and anyway had no shortage of other offers. Their paths were serendipitously crossing in Vancouver because Sloane was filling in for Nickelback’s absent drummer.

The butterflies in Erika’s stomach were not because Sloane was downstairs, but because Sloane was her only remaining connection to Dess. She wanted so badly to hear about Dess—any detail, no matter how infinitesimal. She missed Dess terribly, as though a vital organ had been cleaved from her body. Most days it was like being underwater, seeing the world through a blurry film. She felt slightly disengaged from every emotion. Anything joyful was not truly uplifting, and that which was painful had lost its sharp edges.

Sloane hugged her hard beside the table for two with a view of the ocean. “God, it’s good to see you, woman.”

“It’s good to see you too, Sloane. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, kid. Let me look at you.” Sloane’s brown eyes flicked over her, clinical in nature, like a big sister appraising her. “You’ve lost weight,” she said. “Wicked Witch of the West not feeding you?”

They sat down, Erika chuckling at Sloane’s reference to Dayna. “I’m eating, don’t worry. Just crazy busy.”

“Well, don’t let her treat you badly, because she’ll treat you like a dog if you let her.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Erika tried to smile but couldn’t. Dayna Williams wasn’t even a blip on the radar of what was making her feel like shit.

A waiter, his dark hair slicked back like that of a television mafioso, stopped to take their drink order.

“A bottle of Dom,” Sloane said indulgently. “We should celebrate how well you’re doing.”

Erika began to protest, but Sloane wasn’t listening. She’d never tasted champagne that expensive before, though, so what the hell. Maybe getting a little drunk was exactly what she needed. Because as glad as she was for their little reunion, it was also a painful reminder of what she’d lost.

“How are you doing?” Sloane asked, her voice low. “I mean, really?”

“Really?” Erika took a deep, sharp breath that bit her insides like a cold gust of wind. “I miss her, Sloane. Without her, it feels like…like…”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m just going through the motions. Like I don’t even give a shit if—”

“Don’t say that.” Sloane’s voice was like a slap. “Don’t ever say that. This is a sacrifice for her too, you know. If you give up, Dess is going to kick your ass and so am I.”

Erika had a vision of Dess doing exactly that. “Did she say that?”

“Yes. A few days ago, matter of fact.”

Erika’s heart skipped a beat. “You saw her?”

“Sure. I had a few days off and caught a plane to the island to stay with her and her mom.”

“How is her arm healing?” It was only one of many questions Erika wanted to ask about Dess, and the least agonizing.

“Beautifully. She’s even back to some light guitar playing now.”

The waiter delivered their bottle, popping the cork with maximum drama and pouring with a flourish. Erika silently prayed for him to hurry up, but he took his time, asking them next if they were ready to order. Erika hadn’t even glanced at the menu yet. Food was well down her priority list these days.

“Just get us a couple of medium steaks, baked potato and something salad-y,” Sloane told him, glancing at Erika for approval.

“Make mine salmon instead of the steak,” Erika said to the waiter, then turned back to Sloane. There was no use delaying the inevitable any longer. “How is she, Sloane?”

Sloane raised her glass and clinked it against Erika’s, the tiny bubbles shooting rapidly to the foamy top. “To you, my friend, and your success. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Erika raised her glass to her lips, her impatience matching the ascending bubbles. She forced herself to savor the crisp tingle in her mouth before swallowing. Damn, that stuff was good.

“Honestly?” Sloane said. “She’s dying inside. Like you.”

Erika’s gaze slid past Sloane and out to the ocean, layered in orange by the setting sun, darkened in spots by the low range mountains rising beyond. It was impossible to believe that Dess could be hurting as much as she was. She loved Dess. She ached for Dess. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Dess. But Dess couldn’t say the same, and that hurt a hundred times worse than any absence or banishment or breakup.

“She doesn’t love me,” Erika said, her voice shaking. “Not the way I love her.”

“Oh, please.” Sloane rolled her eyes. “Of course she does. More than she’s loved anyone before. She’s in love with you.”

“Bullshit.” Anger exploded through Erika like a match igniting white gas. “She’s never said it, Sloane. Not once has she said those words to me. Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Do you have any idea how much that makes me question what the fuck we were doing together? Besides having a mind-blowing time in the sack?”

Sloane sipped her champagne and regarded Erika carefully. “I’ve known Dess for a long, long time. Since you were barely out of diapers. I know what’s going on in her head, and I know she’s questioning every day whether she did the right thing in letting you go, okay? Trust me, she loves you. But she’s been burned before. And she’s one of the most practical people I know. Dess likes to be cautious. She likes to take her time with things, make sure they’re right.”

“She’s a control freak, more like. Or maybe cautious is just another word for coward?”

Sloane’s expression darkened. “She’s doing what she thinks is best right now. For both of you. And I know that’s hard to accept.”

Bile crept up Erika’s throat, and her voice came out high and pitched. “Don’t you dare lecture me, Sloane. I am not some fucking kid, and I’m tired of you and Dess acting like my goddamned mothers, professing to know what’s best for me!
She’s
what’s best for me. Period.”

Throwing her napkin on the table like a gauntlet, Erika nearly toppled her chair in her haste to get to the washroom. Locked in a stall, she clawed at the toilet paper roll as tears poured from her eyes, sobs racking her, doubling her over. It wasn’t fair. Dess wasn’t giving her an equal say in anything. Wasn’t giving her—them—even the tiniest chance to try to make it work. Dess hadn’t put a damned thing on the line for them. She held onto all the control, doled out her emotions as she saw fit, made all the decisions. Plain and simply, Dess didn’t trust her. And without trust, they had nothing.

Fine
, Erika decided, as her emotions coalesced into a hard knot. If this was what Dess wanted, then to hell with it. No more crying over the past. No more agonizing over something that wasn’t going to change. As of right now, she vowed to herself, she was moving forward with her life—something with which she was well acquainted. She knew how to shed the past like a layer of unwanted skin. She could do this, she reassured herself, wiping away her last tear and flushing the toilet.

Sloane stood as she returned to the table.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Erika said, clenching her jaw tightly. “I’m fine.”

“Look, about Dess. What I meant—”

“No.” Erika held up a hand for emphasis. “I don’t want to talk about Dess anymore tonight, okay? She wants me to move on, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” She replaced the napkin neatly in her lap, took another sip of her champagne. “Good, here comes our food.”

* * *

“She really rocked it last night, Dess. As in, she kicked major ass!”

Dess smiled into the phone. All morning she’d been dying to call Sloane for every last detail about Erika, but she’d chickened out. Sloane, bless her soul, must have read her mind.

“Even Chad Kroeger told me afterwards it might have been a mistake having her open for them. He said it was like when the Stones had to go onstage after James Brown opened for them back in the sixties. It was like she’d sucked all the air out of the room.”

That’s my girl
, Dess thought, doing a fist pump in the porch’s shadows at her island home. She had to swallow back tears of pride. “That’s a huge step for her. Bet she didn’t show an ounce of nerves, either.”

“Nope, not one. She’s solid, Dess. A real pro. And I know your influence had a lot to do with that.”

Dess had watched a YouTube clip of Erika’s performance first thing this morning, and while she shouldn’t have been surprised, Erika still managed to astound her with how fearlessly and commandingly she moved around the stage. She was sexier than ever, if that was possible—her thighs looking rock hard in their tight jeans, her tight leather vest hugging her fabulous breasts. Her face was as classically beautiful as ever—the generous mouth and luscious red lips, eyes the color of night that could swallow you whole. Dess had trembled at the sight of her.

“She was going places with or without any influence from me,” Dess finally said. “God, her voice sounds better than ever, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t even think she’s hit her stride yet with her voice.” Sloane whistled. “Imagine what the world’s in for when she matures into it? Oh, and she’s hitting the recording studio next week to get a couple of singles out.”

Dess smiled into the receiver. Hearing about Erika this way and seeing the clip of her latest performance gave her a dizzying sense of satisfaction. She’d been right to push Erika to pursue her career, no matter how painful the sacrifice.

“How is she doing otherwise, Sloane?” Dess was almost afraid of the answer.

Sloane hesitated. “She misses you. She’s hurting. But…”

An intake of breath stalled in Dess’s chest. “Tell me.”

“I think she finally understands that she has no choice but to keep moving forward, professionally…and personally.”

Dess leaned against the porch railing for support, closed her eyes against the fresh wave of pain.

“Good. That’s good.” She trembled, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep her voice from failing her. She didn’t want Sloane to hear how much she was hurting, even as her heart tumbled into her stomach.

Tonight, she thought, she’d look at the stars and hope that, wherever Erika was, she was doing the same.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hitting the recording studio was not nearly as much fun as Erika had anticipated. It sucked, actually. At least, compared to performing in front of a live audience. Recording was pure drudgery, she had quickly learned. It was tedious and repetitive and required long hours of standing around, waiting for others to do their part. It took three days to learn and record the song, called “Down Where You Belong,” which had been penned by a blues band from Tennessee that Dayna knew. A half-hearted attempt to convince Dayna to let her record one of her own songs was quickly dismissed. According to Dayna, Erika was nowhere near ready to record anything she’d written herself. She had a solid, proven formula, Dayna told her, and by God they were going to stick to it.

The latest tactic in Dayna’s so-called rock-solid plan was for Erika to attend
MTV
’s annual music video awards later this week in Inglewood, California. She wasn’t nominated for anything, hadn’t been selected to perform or to present. Hell, few people at this echelon of the industry even knew she existed. Next year by this time, they’ll be stepping on top of one another to get to you, Dayna had promised her. But for now, it was important to network, to be seen as though she belonged there with the likes of Beyoncé, Katy Perry, Imagine Dragons, OneRepublic.

Erika was skeptical. She would be an interloper, practically a nobody. “And exactly how am I supposed to make an impression?”

Dayna triumphantly retrieved a magazine from her briefcase. It was a copy of
Us Weekly
, featuring a photo and article of a twenty-six-year-old-up-and-coming actress who’d just filmed her second feature film—a romantic thriller with Bradley Cooper.

Erika crossed her arms over her chest at Dayna’s shit-eating grin. The woman had more tricks up her sleeve than a magician. “Okay, I’ll bite. What does Bethany Dunlop have to do with anything?”

“Lots, I hope,” Dayna said. “You’re going to be her date at the
MTV
awards.”

“Get serious.” Bethany Dunlop had been called one of the world’s top ten beautiful people, and last month she’d been crowned by
People
magazine as the country’s most eligible bachelorette. She was a lesbian, and she was out. But what the hell would she want with an unknown singer when she could be on the arm of someone in the same celebrity stratosphere? Someone who, like her, was a household name?

“I couldn’t be more serious,” Dayna said, growing animated. “Her manager owed me a favor. And after Bethany watched a YouTube clip of you, she happily agreed. Said you were incredibly hot and that she wanted to get to know you better.”

“Christ, Dayna. Anyone else you want to prostitute me out to? Do I have to fuck her too at the end of the night?”

Dayna leaned back in her chair and unceremoniously hoisted her Prada-sheathed feet onto her desk. Her laughter filled the large, pretentious office. “That’s rather a personal decision. But if it were me…” Dayna stared dreamily at the ceiling. “I’d fuck her like a cowboy.”

Erika rolled her eyes.
Whatever the fuck
that
means
. It occurred to her that Dayna had a second agenda with this little ploy. Parading her around on the arm of a hot young starlet would further sabotage any chance she might have of getting back with Dess. Not that that seemed like even a remote possibility. She hadn’t seen or heard from Dess in three months now, and she doubted she ever would again. Dess had made it abundantly clear that Erika was on her own, that chasing her dreams meant there was no chance for them.