“Aw shit.” Krystal heard Travis about the same time she slammed into his back.
“Travis?” she asked, pushing against her brother’s back. “What’s wrong?”
He turned to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “I need you to keep it together. There are witnesses.” He shook his head. “Are you listening to me?”
“Not that you’re making a lick of sense.” She brushed his hands off her shoulders and walked around him, into the room of waiting VIPs. Now she needed to get her mind off Jace, his light brown eyes, and all the witty comebacks she should have tossed his way before leaving him tonight. Chances were she’d never see him again. She chewed on her lower lip, unexpectedly disappointed. No, it was good. Jace Black was bad news, period. She had no use for him.
Unless it was in the bedroom. She’d give him whatever he wanted there… Her body ached to do just that. Contrary to what the media said, she wasn’t the sort of girl to have a fling. Still—she blew out a slow breath—that man had kicked her long-dormant libido into overdrive. Every time his heavy-lidded gaze drifted her way, the temperature seemed a good ten degrees hotter, and it had nothing to do with the anger she’d hoped to hold on to.
Someone bumped into her, their murmured apology a reality check. Here she was, in the middle of a room full of people, imagining Jace Black in her bed? Talk about bad timing. As Emmy pointed out, these were the folks who shelled out a minimum of twenty-five hundred dollars for tickets and deserved their attention. For that low, low price, they got floor seats, free drinks and food, an autographed picture, a picture with the band, and a guaranteed thirty minutes of cocktails and socializing. Some were true fans, others were big-spending friends of their family or the record label.
Unfortunately, her mother was also there. Because her momma never missed an opportunity to collect information that might benefit her later. Krystal had no illusions when it came to her mother: CiCi King was not a nice person. The only thing her mother cared about was keeping Three Kings on the charts and the front page. If there was a way to get Three Kings more press, she was all for it. Her big eyes, bright smile, and charming laugh might have the rest of the world fooled—Krystal’s daddy included—but she knew the truth about the woman who’d birthed her.
That was one of the reasons she and her momma had a…strained relationship.
Travis hovered beside her. “You look way too calm. It’s freaking me out.”
What was wrong with him? Had her mother done something she didn’t know about yet? Worse than handing off her song, that is? Somehow, deep down, she knew her mother had had a hand in that.
If she were the one singing the song with Jace, she wouldn’t be upset. She paused then. Of course she’d be upset. Jace’s talent was unknown. What if he couldn’t sing? What if he butchered her song? No one knew what the song meant to her—but she did. Soulful eyes, glorious black hair, and a killer grin could only do so much on the charts.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Travis. Give me some room.” But then she saw exactly why Travis was freaking out.
Mickey Graham.
The son of a bitch was here. Laughing with her mother and her friends. Drinking beer and rubbing elbows with her VIPs.
“What the hell? Why is he here?” she hissed, grabbing onto her brother’s arm.
“There we go.” He covered her hand with his. “I don’t know why. But he is. And people are watching.” He patted her hand.
Krystal stared down at the concrete floor, fighting for composure. Nausea and fury clamped down on her lungs and heart and stomach until it was hard to breathe at all. The last time she’d seen him in person had been at the Awards for Country Music. He’d had the nerve to try to get a picture together. That hadn’t ended well—for her. Apparently stomping your heel so hard it punctured his boot and sent him to the ER for a few stitches in his foot was press-worthy.
Of course there was not a single picture of his hand on her ass. Or a sound bite of what he’d said about how he considered her voice her second-best asset and what, exactly, he wanted to do to what he considered her best asset. Not one. Instead, every radio show and entertainment magazine and TV show said Krystal King was out of control with bitterness over their breakup. And she was, but not the way they thought. He’d used her, publicly, mercilessly, and managed to turn her into the bad guy.
But it was her fault. She’d let him in. Believed him. Trusted him. Let her hunger for acceptance, for love, blind her. If she’d kept her guard up, he’d never have been in a position to launch the campaign that made him and almost destroyed her. She knew better. She’d been a fool. Again.
Now he was here, invading her world again. And it made her blood boil. Travis was right to warn her. An audience might just prevent her from totally losing it. But it didn’t change the fact that he had no right to be here. How had he even gotten in without an invitation?
An invitation.
She knew. Damn it all, she knew. And the veins in her head began to throb so that she pressed her fingers to her temples. “Momma?” she asked, her throat so tight it hurt to say the word.
“She wouldn’t, Krystal.” But there was doubt in her brother’s voice. “No…she wouldn’t. Would she?” He glanced at her.
“She would. And you know it.” Krystal cleared her throat. “And we’re all going to find out why soon enough.” Because her momma knew doing things in public, with an audience of highly connected people, was much harder to undo.
“What are you two talking about?” Her daddy hugged her into his side. “Should I be worried?”
“I would, if I were you,” Travis said, nodding at their mother, her friends, and Mickey Graham.
“What the hell is that rat bastard doing here?” Her father’s whisper was lined with outrage.
That’s right. Her daddy loved her. He’d get offended on his little girl’s behalf. But what would he do if he found out his wife was the one who’d invited the rat bastard?
“Keep your distance, Krystal,” her daddy warned. “If you can’t hear him, he can’t say anything to set you off. And we both know the man lives to set you off.”
“Fine by me,” she replied.
And that’s when their mother spotted them. For a split second, her mother looked at her. In that blip of time, there was no doubting her mother’s excitement. Or her smug little smile of victory. Whatever CiCi King was up to, Krystal was at the center of it. And since Mickey Graham was smiling her way too, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it. Not one teeny tiny bit.
“Hank.” Her mother held out one perfectly manicured hand, diamonds sparkling. “You look good, honey.” She tipped her face so Daddy could give her the obligatory kiss on the cheek.
He did. “CiCi, ladies.” He was all smiles for the women circled around his wife. But he turned his back to Mickey.
And Krystal loved him for it. So, so much.
“Wanna drink?” Travis asked, steering her away from her parents and Mickey.
“No,” she said, arm tightening. “And don’t you dare leave me.”
He sighed. “Can we at least walk to the bar then, maybe talk to some people?”
“Sure.” She followed his lead and gave it her all. If Mickey knew she was ready to pounce, he’d love it. And she didn’t want to give him any more power over her. She was done with that. With him. At least, she thought she was. Until Momma dragged him back into the mix.
Forget about Mickey. She smiled and turned all her attention to the fans and their questions. No, she’d never been to Alaska, but she was sure it was mighty cold in the winter. Yes, she had seen the new Tom Cruise movie but thought it was overrated. She did still have her three-legged Chinese crested dog, Clementine—an Instagram star with a huge following. And she was excited about the tour and how well tickets were selling.
At the moment, she wished she were back home in the rolling Texas hill Country. She could use a little peace and quiet, a long ride on her blue mare, Maizy, and lots and lots of wide-open space.
“Bad news about Josephine and Frankie.” His name badge said John. “Did you see it?”
Krystal had no idea what he was talking about. “Did I see what?”
“The arrest?” name badge Irma added. “Backstage, right before you went on.”
She blinked. Arrest? Josephine and Frankie? They were the opening act, a sweet couple who played a unique blend of bluegrass, folk, and classic country. They were low drama, something that was a rarity in the music world. “No…no, I didn’t see a thing.”
“It was all over the news, livestreaming,” John said, launching into the drugs found on their tour bus. Lots of drugs apparently.
“Who will be opening for you now?” Irma asked.
“No idea,” she said, but as soon as the words were out, she knew. No. No. No. Her momma wouldn’t do that to her. Mickey? She couldn’t. She was her mother, for crying out loud. The blood drained from her cheeks. Daddy wouldn’t let it happen. Surely. Her gaze flew across the room, searching for him.
Mickey Graham winked at her. He winked. And he smiled that lopsided smile that used to turn her insides to goo. Now it made her want to throw up. Preferably on his favorite pair of calf-skin boots. He loved those damn boots.
“Pictures,” Emmy said, leading her to the step and repeat wall. A drape of royal blue fabric, their logo—a cowboy hat with a hatband covered in crowns—and “The Three Kings” repeating every few feet. She, Emmy Lou, and Travis took at least a dozen pics before she noticed her father. He was angry in his own way. He didn’t scowl and yell. No, his cheeks turned red, his blue eyes narrowed to slits, and the muscle in his jaw locked tight. Like now.
When the cameras stopped and people started saying their goodbyes, she made her way to her daddy’s side. “You okay?” she asked, smiling up at him.
“Krystal,” Mickey Graham said, sneaking up from behind. Like the snake he was.
Her daddy squeezed her hand in warning.
She nodded, then sucked in a sharp breath. “Mickey,” she said, refusing to look at him.
But her mother pulled him around, into her line of sight. “Oh, sugar, isn’t it nice that Mickey stopped by to see the show?” her mother asked, watching her closely.
Krystal didn’t say a word.
“I’ve always been a fan, you all know that.” Mickey’s aw-shucks twang was too much. How had she ever dated him? Thought she cared about him?
“Of course you have.” Her mother was still smiling, still watching. “It’s been quite a night. First the whole drug bust, then Jace Black, and now, you.”
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.
Jace
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