10

Chase swung his pickup truck into a wide left turn and entered the parking lot of Almedia Court Apartments. Spotting an empty space close to Building Four, he slowed the vehicle to a stop then settled comfortably to wait, keeping an eye out for Mark Samuels’s time-worn silver Honda. It was move-in day and Chase had offered to help his mentor and sponsor get settled in Nashville.

He opened the driver-side window to catch a breeze and gave a slight jump when his cellphone issued an incoming call alert. Kellen Rossiter’s name lit the screen and Chase engaged receipt with a finger tap. “Kellen. How are you?”

“I’m good, but I think you’re about to be even better.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Not this weekend, but next, I want you and Pyper to be ready to hit The Stage.”

Chase kept from trembling. How, he didn’t quite know. This was answered prayer, on multiple levels. He sank against dark gray leather and pressed unsteady fingertips against his eyes. “Me. And Pyper. Center stage at The Stage.”

“That’s the offer I’m extending. Management is billing it as a single-set, three-song, special event next Saturday night. In other words, they stepped up with prime-time visibility.”

Prime time, meaning a weekend gig, during the height of summer, at a historic performance venue in The District. As far as Chase was concerned, that glitter equaled nothing when weighed against the fact that he’d be making music with Pyper. They’d prepare, they’d sing, they’d sass and share and create and…

He breathed hard, trying to regroup as fast as he could. This wasn’t just any woman, or any performance. This was different—and Pyper was different in a way that called to life all the chambers of his existence he had once surrendered to darkness and futility.

“Kellen, I can’t begin to express how much—”

“Hey, this is my job. You don’t have to say a thing. Just crush it, hear me?”

His heart took off like a jackhammer. “I do, and we’re going to own this opportunity. I promise you that.”

“I have no doubt.”

Chase concluded the call just as Mark’s car glided into view. Buoyed—wrapped in optimism—Chase pocketed his phone. Mark nodded in passing; Chase answered with a smile and a wave. While Mark unlatched the trunk and started to haul out plastic bags stuffed with groceries and household items, Chase unfolded from the truck and joined his friend.

Mark gave a teasing smirk. “Hey there, big-shot.”

“Whatever.” Chase delivered an affectionate thump to Mark’s back and arched a brow when he saw the number of sacks still tucked inside. “Cripe, Samuels, did you leave anything for the rest of us?”

“Not much. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Come on in and see the place. It’s great.”

Chase hefted a load of bags. “Lead the way.” Mark’s dark jeans seemed store fresh as did his dark green shirt. “You’re polished. Did you stop at the new Reach branch before your shopping spree?”

“Yeah. Had to drop off files and such then set up meetings with the staff before I could call it a day on the job.”

Chase admired Mark’s professional aptitude, but found greater comfort in the reality of where this man had been, and the demons he had conquered. Mark’s edge remained visible; remnants of a rough life had carved grooves against the corners of his mouth and his eyes. A longish fall of sandy brown hair was threaded by silver. A layer of dark stubble covered his jaw. At a glance, Mark’s overall impression might be off-putting to a carefully styled or buttoned-down individual, but Mark was just the kind of person Chase could relate to and respect.

A short walk down an open corridor led them to unit 2-D. Mark shifted his baggage so he could insert the key and twist the doorknob. “I’ll give you the two-second tour in a little bit. If we don’t store the frozen food quick, it’s gonna be running to meet us.”

Chase’s chuckle rumbled. “Moving is big-time fun. Said no one. Ever.”

They packed away refrigerated and frozen items straight off. After that, before attempting to make a dent in canned goods and sundry, Mark initiated the two-second tour he had joked about—which took about that long. There wasn’t much to the space, really, just a living room split by a kitchen divider that featured a pair of tall chrome stools. Beyond that, separated by pocket doors, was a fair sized bedroom. Tidy and efficient, with nothing left to waste, just like the man who’d be occupying the space.

When they resumed their attack against a sea of plastic grocery sacks, Chase extracted an item that took him by surprise, the latest edition of the tabloid gossip magazine Nashville from the Inside. Plastered across the front was a big color photograph of him with Pyper. Her arm was linked through his; their gazes were connected exclusively, and they shared smiles that had been freeze-framed by the magazine’s photographer. Chase took in the headline.

Check Out the Angel and the Bad Boy…

His throat went dry when he continued on to the brief summary that followed:

Has Christian music sweetheart Pyper Brock taken up with Nashville superstar and supposedly reformed bad boy, Chase Bradington? The pair unveiled some cozy behavior at a recent party hosted by record exec Alex Monroe at his Brentwood home. Attendees looked on as the couple tried to play it cool, but they kept close tabs on one another during the duration of Monroe’s 20-year anniversary celebration with the Imperion label.

The blurb went on to detail Pyper’s upcoming plans to release a second album and included a timeline of Chase’s future career plans and recovery efforts

“Hey…Mark…seriously? Gossip rags?”

Mark turned when Chase called, and then went unnaturally still as he spied Chase holding the magazine. Chase watched, perplexed as Mark filled his chest with a deep breath.

A second later, Mark shrugged. “Oh, you know how irresistible those tabloid offerings that stand guard at the end of the checkout lanes are. No doubt guaranteed to both horrify and entertain the folks waiting in line. I told you I was keeping up on you. Quite the cover story to catch my eye. Care to talk about this development?”

Chase looked at the cover once more and wanted to snarl as he took note of the byline. Petra Goode. Naturally. “The only development is a friend of mine has a barracuda on her tail with an axe to grind.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning Pyper Brock is upstanding and decent. Therefore, media-types like this Petra woman are determined to find a way to bring her down and sell papers. She wants to find chinks in the armor, if you know what I mean.”

“I do at that.” Mark took custody of the magazine and tossed it aside, face down. “So, tell me what’s going on beneath the slick headlines and black ink.”

“Nothing much, really.” Chase turned away, returning to storing soup cans, spices, and other dry goods in Mark’s pantry—a deflection that he hoped wasn’t as transparent as it felt.

“Yeah, it sure seems that way.”

Busted—about as expected. All the same, Chase’s world teetered. He had just shelved a couple cans of tuna and his hand rested against the edge of the shelf. He stared ahead then he smiled. Pictures didn’t lie, and that photo on the cover of Nashville from the Inside revealed the romantic spark that followed Chase straight into his dreams at night. He rejoiced, even as a contradictory flood of dread doused his bloodstream with ice. Evidently things were going to get complicated in a big hurry now that the media had sunk their teeth into personal matters…

“What's she like?”

Mark’s question—posed almost like a counselor, as in their days of therapy—helped push Chase out of hiding. He shook his head, yet the all over smile that curved his lips came straight from the heart.

“You want me to describe Pyper Brock?” Chase released a quiet huff of sound. “I’d never be able to do her justice. She’s soft and sweet, but she’s got this fantastic core of strength and sass, too. Mark, God’s in the process of helping me resurrect my life, there’s no doubt there. But to be happy like this? For a man like me to come upon a woman like her? It’s nothing short of a miracle. She’s everything I want. Spirited, faith-filled, loving and true. When I’m around her, I feel like I’m home. Like I’m where I belong…black-marked soul or not.”

“Quit that. The soul’s wiped clean when we call on Christ and start living for Him. You know that, but it’d be best to start believing it, Chase.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Properly chastised, Chase met Mark’s probing gaze. “I’m grateful for the reminder. Still, you know better than most that I struggle with self-worth. The whole time I was in rehab, I dreamed of finding my way to a relationship with a woman like Pyper Brock. I dreamed of her before I even met her.” He unloaded a few more groceries. “I’m almost there, Mark. Honest. I’m at the point now where I can almost taste it. I can almost believe in good things to come. I haven’t felt like this since…” He paused to consider. Since before Shayne’s passing? No, long before that. Long before the excess of life in the fast lane had overrun his soul. It had been almost a decade since contentment like this had filled his spirit. “Let’s just say it feels like it’s been forever.”

Expecting a show of affirmation and support, Chase struck a wall of surprise when he looked Mark’s way and came upon a clenched jaw, a troubled shadow through the eyes that wasn’t at all reassuring.

A second later, Mark blinked. He smiled, albeit tiredly, and Chase figured his imagination was simply running wild.

“You’re doin’ real good, Chase. You’ve worked hard, and you’re staying focused. Humble. I couldn’t be prouder, and I couldn’t feel better about where you are and what you’re gonna accomplish. Stay true to that goal, no matter what comes your way in the days and weeks to come.”

Where, exactly, was that coming from? Mark’s tone and tense posture rang with warning and pulled Chase to a halt all over again. Did his friend refer to temptation, or staying true to God? Chase opted to brush off the disquieting vibration. Mark was under a lot of pressure these days—moving, launching a rehab center, starting a new season of life. The combination was more than enough to tax a person to maximum.

Maybe Mark needed a breather. Kellen’s phone call from earlier inspired an idea. “Hey, I’ve got a welcome wagon idea for you. Why not take some time out to hear me play a live set? My agent lined up a gig. Pyper and I will be performing at The Stage in a little over a week. Next Saturday’s the date. Come along and listen in. It’ll give you a chance to see her in person. I’d love for you to meet the Brock family, and Kellen, plus you’ll hear some of my new music.”

“Ordinarily I’d jump at the chance, but I think I better get my feet under me and settle in. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, and I really need to focus on Reach North and make it a huge success. My legacy, you know.”

Chase nodded.

“Next time, OK? Let me know when and where. I’ll be there, and I know I’ll enjoy it.”

“You bet. No pressure. Besides, now that you’re local we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. In fact, Pyper and I intend to perform a song or two at the grand opening of Reach North next month. You’ll meet her and her family at that point for sure, if not before.”

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds good.” Mark rubbed his eyes, heaved a sigh full of exhaustion. The poor guy seemed completely tapped out right now.

Eager to move beyond, Chase shifted the conversation, initiating a discussion of dinner options. There was a small balcony attached to Mark’s second-floor unit, complete with a small gas grill so the idea of hotdogs and hamburgers climbed to the top of the menu. The life-switch from South Carolina to Tennessee seemed to drag on Mark harder than Chase previously realized, but that push of disquiet—stronger this time—took Chase under all over again and he had no choice but to set that recognition aside.

For now.