11

 

Following the concert series in Westerville, Drew reported to Ganneton headquarters. He needed to finalize tour schedules for a comedy team and an acoustic-style folk talent named Toby Glide. Toby had emerged fast and strong, attaining platinum status in only his second set of recordings.

Chances looked good that Toby would be Drew’s next professional challenge, which filled him with a mix of sadness and dread rather than anticipation.

He didn’t want the Sister’s tour to end. A while back, Kassidy had asked him what would claim his focus once the tour closed. He hated the idea and pushed it aside as best he could, focusing instead on the fact that he needed to get to his apartment, pack, and join the team in Detroit for a pair of shows at the Fox Theatre. His flight departed LaGuardia at way-too-early o’clock tomorrow morning, so he needed to call it a day.

He was about to log off the network when an icon flashed to life at the bottom of his monitor, indicating the receipt of an instant message. Evidently a missive had come in from his boss, Cameron Franklin.

Drew-–I need to see you in my office before you leave. Let me know when you can make it.

Scooting his chair closer to his desk, tuning out the hubbub of folks who surrounded his space, Drew typed.

I’ve got time right now. Are you available?

Yes. Stop by.

He didn’t waste time making his way to Cameron’s corner suite; an ill vibe stirred the hairs along the back of his neck. When he arrived, Cameron delivered a nod and a succinct, “Close the door, please.”

Taken aback by the clip of his boss’s voice, Drew complied then decided to try and lighten the mood. “This sounds serious. Everything OK?”

“I hope so.” Once a resounding click filled the air, Cameron frowned, and began. “I’ve asked you to close the door because I think we need to have a frank and open discussion.”

Trickles of cold dread tracked against Drew’s nerve endings. Confused, he lowered to the chair across from Cameron’s desk and assumed a business-like posture and attitude. “What seems to be the issue?”

“I need to know the answer to a somewhat indelicate question.”

“Which is?”

“Are you sleeping with Kassidy Cartwright?”

Drew blanched then snapped his gaze upward until it was aligned with that of his boss. “What did you just ask me?” He spoke in a whisper and drew out each word.

“You heard.”

“Cam, I warn you right now. Don’t.” He fired off a warning shot with nothing more than the words he spoke and the ice in his voice.

Unaffected, Cameron shook his head, his features brimming with disappointment. “Well, if this isn’t a piece of history repeating itself.” The snide comment reeked of exasperation, like the mood of a long-tolerant but disappointed parent. Drew struggled to maintain control. He forced back a powerful urge to upend Elliot’s gleaming desk—or send a tightly clenched fist into his jaw. What a smug excuse for a human being.

“Come on, out with it.” Cameron continued. “This is a private meeting; you might as well come clean, especially given your background.”

Drew’s astonishment reached critical mass. “I don’t even know how to respond to you, or if I even want to dignify your comment with a reply.”

“Reply or not, the evidence doesn’t lie. Paul Moreland, saw the two of you together at a morning rehearsal over the weekend. Says he saw Kassidy return your wristwatch. If that isn’t a clear message of indictment, what is? Then, he claims he saw you holding her.” Cameron stretched back in his leather chair. A brief series of squeaks sounded through the air like screeching fingernails across a chalk board. Drew felt sick to his stomach. “After what happened with Roxy Mitchell—”

An explosion burst through Drew’s system. “I never, ever slept with Roxy, and our parting had nothing at all to do with—”

“Drew, enough. Stop. I said then, and I say now, I found no blame, no cause to take matters beyond a simple change of course with regard to her tour. Neither of you made outright accusations of anything inappropriate, but the fact remains she excused you from her tour, citing personal differences and an inability for the two of you to work together. It happens. What’s important is something happened that remains unspoken yet keenly identified. How could it not revolve around sex?”

Drew was struck momentarily speechless. Was this even his world any longer? By increasing degrees, his professional base at Ganneton felt as foreign as outer space.

“Cam, we parted ways, no harm, and no foul. Leave it!” Hands clenched, Drew steadied his breathing, which had gone sharp and shallow.

Cameron remained heedless of Drew’s continuing struggle to remain composed. “I thought the opportunity with Sisters in Spirit would be the perfect platform for you to reassert your talents. Liam Douglas has a moral compass that always points true north, and these women are Christian artists. Or so I thought.”

Control lines snapped. Drew slammed a fist on Elliot’s desk. “Don’t ever—ever disparage any of those women. And as it pertains to Kassidy Cartwright, if you even think of demeaning her like that again, I’ll quit. Do not insult her or cast any kind of shadow on the life she’s led. Furthermore, not that it’s any of your business, I have not slept with her, nor do I intend to until and unless my wedding band is on her finger. That’s how much she’s to be revered and respected. Do I make myself clear?”

Cameron reared back. Stared.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get home and pack for my flight to Detroit.” Drew didn’t wait for permission. He wanted nothing but out. He strode to the door and exited the office. He burned to slam the door closed, but professionalism kept him in line. He closed the door behind him at an appropriate decibel though heat filled his face and an angry cloud followed him down the corridor leading to his desk.

Paul Moreland. What a position-seeking snake in the grass. A level of professional jealousy toward Drew had always been evident in the man, but the entertainment industry was overrun with such people. Paul had never been more than a blip on the radar screen as far as Drew was concerned—until he went after Kassidy’s virtue.

Drew cursed himself for not paying closer attention to his surroundings when he had greeted her the morning after their dinner date. Never had he needed to see her as much as he did at this moment. He couldn’t wait to hold her close and wrap himself in her light. If he didn’t, he was going to explode with anger. But she was already in Detroit, settling in at her hotel, most likely.

That’s when a second, even more powerful call swept through his body, his mind, and his spirit.

Come to Me, My son. Rest in Me.

The call prompted him somewhere else entirely.

 

****

 

Drew didn’t so much cross the threshold of Church of Our Saviour as storm its gates.

He had passed the majestic, soaring edifice at Park Avenue and Thirty-seventh Street too many times to count on his travels through the city. Head spinning, he entered the sanctuary and, despite his turmoil, was instantly blanketed by silence, peace, and a stillness that ran soul-deep.

Almost.

An inner battle continued to brew; his pulse rocketed as he walked to the front of the church and sank onto a pew.

OK, God. It’s You and me. Right here—right now. I need answers. I need to feel You. Do You want me? Do You love me like Kassidy says? If so, then I need to know it. This is more than I can handle, and I need things to be right. I can’t—I won’t—let Kassidy be hurt by the kind of innuendo that defined my downfall with Roxanne. Please protect her.

Without even realizing it, he had folded his hands; he had slumped forward against the next pew, eyes closed, spirit sealed shut to everything except the longing of his heart.

And that longing wasn’t just for Kassidy. He wanted the relationship. He wanted the grace, the absolute truth of God’s love. The world tossed injustice, tainted accusations, and unfounded gossip at his feet. Not once, but twice. What was the lesson here? What was the point?

I’ve been there.

Words rolled, vibrated. Drew lifted his head, and he took in the shimmering brass figure of Christ on the cross that hung above the altar.

That’s when a word came to mind, solitary, yet overpowering.

Deliverance.

Hadn’t God delivered him into the fold of Sisters in Spirit? Hadn’t God delivered him into the life and heart of Kassidy Cartwright? Hadn’t God delivered pathways leading away from the power and wealth-driven aspects of the entertainment industry and into a world more satisfying and energizing?

The sanctuary was dark and empty but in a room to his left stood a large, golden receptacle. Three padded kneelers were placed before it. Something about the dim, recessed light, the stillness that enveloped the space, pulled Drew.

Could he do this? Could he—should he—crawl this close to Christ? What right did he have, really?

His muscles clenched. His jaw firmed as the battle continued—his will against the will of a God in hot pursuit. Drew pushed through doubts and entered the room. He felt discomfort at first, uncertain about being in such a sacred place when he struggled to figure out if he even believed. Soon, though, he knelt. Soft light glimmered against the surface of the beautiful holder.

Weak, undone, he whispered from his depths the only supplication he knew by heart.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name…”