Saturday night in LA, and the Greek was jumping. From her spot in the wings, Jacinda watched Eli Tyler blast through one hit song, and then another, filling the cool night air with music. Every one of the red seats was occupied by an enthusiastic fan, all of them now on their feet. In the hills behind, the scrappy trees were awash with colored lights, and the audience was lit with screens and camera flashes. For Eli’s fans, this one-off night was an event to capture and share, something they could brag about and sigh over for a long time to come.
There were bigger venues he could have chosen—probably three times as many people would fit at the Hollywood Bowl—but she knew it wasn’t about that. With its storied past, the Greek was the perfect place for an exclusive showcase. Drawing on the Greek’s history, and becoming part of it, was worth more than any head count.
Although she still had mixed feelings about signing on for the tour, she’d met with Eli and his team that first time determined to follow through. Until she heard otherwise from Mitchell or Greg, she’d just have to assume she still had a label.
Eli had raised an eyebrow at her new look, then grinned. “Notoriety suits you.”
She’d scanned her brain for a smart come-back, then decided to go with gracious instead. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t know you had such a racy past, Cin Scott,” he said. “Then again, maybe the name should have given it away.”
“I’m going back to Jacinda now,” she said. “And you didn’t know a lot of things about me.” She gave him a level stare that held the weight of their own past. “Just like I didn’t know things about you.”
He tipped his worn cowboy hat. “Touché.”
For a few moments, they’d looked at each other, measuring the challenge of what might lie ahead. Being on the road condensed everything into an intensity greater than everyday life, and they had more baggage than the road cases and guitar bags they’d be traveling with. Then he shook his head.
“I have the feeling I missed out on something, not getting to know you properly,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I was a jackass.”
She cupped one ear. “I’m sorry, you were what?”
“A jackass,” he repeated. “Totally.”
She smothered a smile. “Yeah, you were.”
He held out his hand. “Looking forward to working with you, Jacinda Prescott.”
“You too, Eli Tyler.” She took his hand, and they shook on it. And with her hand in his, she felt no remnant of their history. No anger or resentment, no attraction—just the possibilities of what lay ahead.
“Even if you should be opening for me,” she added.
He laughed. “One day, I bet.”
But she didn’t care. She was starting over, in her own way, and whatever happened would happen. She’d shocked Hannah by saying that maybe this would be her last tour, before backtracking—the last thing her friend needed was to think she might lose her job as well as her marriage. And Jacinda could only wait and see what would happen with Altitude, too. But she knew that nothing was guaranteed, and she’d do what her heart told her was right.
Since then, she’d done one thing she knew was right—she’d left Todd, and Hannah had stepped in to look after things in the meantime. And despite Mitchell’s request, she hadn’t done any press—especially not that postponed interview with Lainey Kingsley. She was waiting until after this show, and Eli’s announcement, so there was something other than her Sweet Breeze Bay scandal to talk about.
She’d successfully avoided talking about it, even if she couldn’t stop thinking about it. But…if she kept on keeping busy, those thoughts might start to fade away.
That was the plan, anyway. No luck so far.
Now, as the lead guitarist launched into a solo, Eli glanced Jacinda’s way, and gave her a wink. She had to smile. His charm hadn’t lessened at all—if anything, it was increasing as he matured, the years (and his growing collection of ink) adding a rugged, knowing edge to his looks that only made him more attractive. His screaming fans obviously thought so too.
Mitchell came up behind her. “He’s a showman,” he said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans.
She watched as Eli tipped back his signature cowboy hat with a cavalier grin, and kicked into the chorus again. “Yeah, he is.”
They stood side by side for a couple of minutes, watching the performance. Then Mitchell spoke, keeping his eyes on the stage.
“So, Greg has decided to take a job in a different part of the organization.”
She felt her eyes widen, but didn’t look away from the stage. “Really?”
He nodded. “He and I agreed that a more behind-the-scenes opportunity would suit him better. Something less…hands-on.”
After their meeting, she’d fully expected Mitchell to do absolutely nothing about Greg. But he’d gone ahead and assigned her a different A&R person, who hadn’t pushed back when she’d stood firm about not taking things sexier. She’d been waiting to hear what, if anything, would be done about Greg, and had talked to Hannah about what to do next herself. She hadn’t expected this.
“I had a word with our legal team,” Mitchell continued. “You were right. He’s been pushing it. Putting us in a potentially untenable situation. Something had to be done.”
Translation: Mitchell was avoiding a law suit. She glanced sideways at him, but his face was impassive. She might wish he’d taken action for nobler reasons, but at least something had been done.
“Well, I hope he can make a success of his new role,” she said.
As Mitchell nodded in agreement, she resolved to keep her ear to the ground.
Then Eli gave her a nod, and they heard him introduce her to the crowd. Feeling the familiar butterflies in her stomach, and the adrenaline start to race in her blood, she adjusted the strap on her old Gibson. It was a bit battered now, a few of the edges knocked off…but the heart of it was the same, the sound still true.
Kind of like her.
“Break a leg,” Mitchell told her.
Then she walked out onto the stage…with no idea how she’d be received.
Eli greeted her with a kiss on each cheek, sending a message to the audience, the cameras, the world—they were on the same stage, and everything was great. Then he took her hand and held it up, the gesture of a champion, imbuing her with a little of his own magic.
“Jacinda Prescott!” he announced, as though she’d already triumphed in some mighty challenge, and the audience roared with approval.
She waved to her mom, who was standing with Hannah in the front row, and then held her hand out to the crowd. So far, so good. Off stage, she’d always been quiet, diffident about attention (particularly the unwelcome sexual kind). But on stage, in front of people waiting to be entertained, she always felt transformed, revolutionized—and now she remembered that high all over again. Their anticipation was palpable, charging her with a buzz better than anything available over the counter or in a back alley. In a way, she was standing before them as someone completely different. New hair, a new look, and a new strength. And a new name. Cin Scott was no more—not forgotten, but put to rest along with the other parts of her past.
The things that had made her what she was, but couldn’t be part of her life now.
The people.
Liam.
For the briefest moment, she closed her eyes. Part of her brain was hardwired on New Zealand time now, and she knew without calculating that if it was nine at night here, it was just hitting evening there. A summer Sunday, the sand still warm, the tide on its way in or out, the ocean hiding one less secret now. She opened her eyes again and looked up to the winter sky, refusing to mourn the lack of stars…the lack of him.
She raised her chin. No one said moving on would be easy. She was different, but the music was always there. And the people were here, waiting, row after row of expectant faces, waiting to see what this new version of her would bring. She had no idea if they would go along with her on this new path, or if this path was even the one for her—but she was setting off anyway.
She nodded behind her to Eli’s band, and struck the first chord of Hourglass Reverb. She had a ton of other material to choose from, and after everything that had just happened, she’d intended to pick something else. But for this night, Eli had asked her to play that one. Now, at the sound of the familiar song, a cheer went up from the crowd, and she knew it had been the right choice.
Just as it always did once she started to sing, something cut loose. Some indefinable switch flipped in her mind, and she was herself again, set free, everything else forgotten under the stage lights. For a few minutes, the world narrowed to music and melody, the power and precision of the band behind her, the audience singing along with her heartfelt lyrics. Tonight, after everything that had happened in the bay this summer, the words had an extra, bittersweet resonance.
It was relief and bliss, satisfaction and emotion, rolled into one heady package.
But as she started into the last chorus, the band in full swing, a murmur of something rippled sharply through the audience. All at once, she knew she’d lost them somehow, their attention no longer on the music. Instead of moving as one in time to the beat, they were scattered, distracted, pointing...
She faltered, the Gibson suddenly heavy on its strap, and turned to see what they were looking at.
A man was standing on the stage, with Eli’s guitar. But although he was tall and handsome, like Eli, it wasn’t him.
Her breath caught in her chest, and she stopped singing.
It was Liam.