I left Aaron and the rest of my team—my assistant, Natosha; my PR guy, Bryson; my booking agent, Martin—to deal with the mess. The people at RXM had not been pleased that we had to postpone recording the album. Aaron smoothed things over with the A&R people, and Martin dealt with all the other cancellations that had to be made. My schedule was planned out a year ahead, and this really threw a wrench into things, affecting not just me, but my musicians, who’d all counted on recording and performing, and countless other people.
One good thing about being back in Chicago was connecting with my best friend Anjali, who still lived here. It had been heartbreaking leaving her when I was sixteen, but thanks to social media and various visits we’d kept in touch. Music had brought us together, but where I’d gone on to be a performer, she taught music at an expensive private school. And yet despite our different lives, we still felt the same connection we’d had when we’d met at age ten.
I sighed and turned away from the window. What the hell was I going to do for the next three months? And that was a minimum, if all went well. It could be longer than that.
I’d been reading tons of books, especially the romance novels I loved. Except it was unfortunate that some of the sexy times in the books got me a little, um, fancy in my nancy, as they say, and here I was all alone with nobody but B.O.B. B.O.B. was very amenable and available, but our relationship was becoming humdrum. We’d lost that loving feeling. There was no spark left. I’d taken things into my own hands, so to speak, with some buffin’ the muffin, but that wasn’t spicing things up enough either.
I eyed the television. I’d refused to watch hockey because it was going to make me think of Chase. I’d also avoided social media. My assistant had posted the updates the team had come up with for my fans, and I’d written lengthy Facebook and Instagram posts before I had the surgery to apologize and explain the reason the new album was going to be delayed. I hated disappointing my fans, but most of them had been overwhelmingly positive in their support of me, which was enormously touching.
Then there’d been the people who’d started rumors that I was actually in rehab for my alcohol/cocaine/heroin (choose one or all) addiction. I just had to clamp my teeth down onto my tongue, or rather, curl my fingers into fists so I wouldn’t type a bunch of shit online, and let it go. I knew the truth. People who cared about me knew the truth.
So yeah, it was better to just stay away from that stuff.
I sat on the couch and stared at the TV. Oh, what the hell. Maybe there was a game on. I loved hockey; it would at least distract me from the fact that I was going crazy. I grabbed the remote and turned it on, then clicked through the various sports channels. Yep, there was hockey—a couple of games.
I sat back into my couch, and my bottom lip pushed out. One of the games was the Maple Leafs against the Canadiens.
Was Chase watching? Probably not…he likely had a game himself.
Fuck. Curiosity burned insistently inside me. What the hell. I leaned way over and grabbed my phone from the end table where it was plugged in, charging. I found the Aces schedule and peered at it. I didn’t even know today’s date, that’s how out of it I was. Finally I figured it out. Nope, no Aces game tonight. They’d played last night and had another home game tomorrow.
I sucked in a long breath and let it out slowly. He was here in Chicago.
Chase had sent me a ton of messages after the night of the Mistletoe Magic concert. I’d never replied to any of them, and guilt, remorse, and shame weighed in my belly like a rock. He’d probably stopped messaging me by now. Anyway, he would have seen the stuff posted online about what was going on with me.
I opened the instant messenger app on my phone and found his name. With a heavy feeling, I swiped my finger down the screen to read his texts. Yeah, he’d stopped sending them after Christmas…the last text from him said, I guess you’re not reading these and that’s okay, I’ll stop bugging you. As you can see, I’m worried about you. The stuff in the news says you’re okay so I hope that’s true but if you need anything ever EVER just ping me. Merry Christmas, Jordyn.
The others had all been shorter, You there? You okay? Other than the first one, which had come through the night of the concert when my vocal cords had hemorrhaged. I could read the panic in it. He’d been watching the concert on TV.
My eyes stung. I dropped the phone and leaned my head back into the couch cushions.
Images of our date floated behind my eyelids. It seemed like forever ago, with everything that had happened since, but I clearly remembered how happy I’d been that night. We’d connected in a way that didn’t happen very often, a fun, easy connection with an underlying sizzle of sexual attraction.
He was the nicest, hottest guy I’d ever met.
I also remembered the look on his face when I’d told him I wouldn’t see him again. I’d told him it was just a onetime thing, a PR event our fans would love. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t into relationships and was focused on his career. And I was focused on mine. We didn’t even live in the same city. What was the point of seeing each other again?
I rubbed the heel of my hand against my aching chest. I hadn’t been honest with him. Or with myself. Because I wished so, so much that we could have seen each other again. I felt guilty about saying those things, and I felt guilty about not responding to any of his messages, because I’d at least owed him that much.
At least I could apologize to him.
I picked up my phone again and bit my lip, staring at the screen.
I entered the message slowly, then re-read it three times.
Hi Chase. I want to apologize to you for not responding to your texts. I’ve been going through a rough time and that’s not an excuse for being rude, but I want to say I’m sorry. I’m doing okay and I hope you are too. And thank you again for that amazing evening…it was the best date I’ve ever had.
My heart banged against my ribs and then I hit the button that would send the message.
I swallowed. Done. I’d apologized.
I didn’t expect a reply. I’d blown him off pretty badly, and I totally got why he wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
I opened up Twitter. Things about me had died down now so I wasn’t as worried about what I’d see, but I avoided checking my mentions and searched out some Leafs hashtags and settled back to watch the game.
The Leafs scored a beauty goal on a delayed penalty, taking the lead, and I added my praise for the sweet play to the Twitter hashtag.
“Wow, the Leafs are really pounding the D tonight!” the announcer cried.
I snorted. Yeah, I had to tweet it. It was too good not to. But before I could, I saw the tweet from Chase. He’d actually tagged me in it. I laughed out loud.
My heart went all warm, and my blood fizzed in my veins like champagne. I set my fingertips to my mouth and stared at my phone.
He was watching the game and posting dirty hockey tweets.
I touched my finger to the screen to like the tweet.
It only took seconds before he tweeted back at me. Good one eh?
My smile was huge. My fingers actually shook a little as I replied. So good eh.
I watched the game but I wasn’t really seeing it, my heart beating fast, a goofy smile on my face.
My phone chimed. I grabbed it. It was a text message—a reply from Chase. My heart rose into my throat.
Hey, song girl. Good to hear from you. After a couple of seconds, another message arrived. Are you really okay?
I pressed my fingertips to my lips, a tingling warmth flowing through my body. My nose stung as emotion rose inside me. The surgery had been deemed a success, but I still couldn’t sing. And until that happened…I’m not sure.
Ah baby…fuck, what happened?
Long story. But don’t worry. I am okay. I’m here. I’m alive. I have a lot to be grateful for.
Your voice…?
It should be okay. The surgeon said the surgery was successful.
The dots that showed Chase was typing appeared on my screen. Then they disappeared. And reappeared again. Finally his message showed up. Thank Christ.
My smile was shaky. I know. Then I sent another message. How are YOU?
This reply took longer. Eh. Could be better.
Damn. He’d been unhappy with how he was playing a month ago. Were things not going any better for him? I hadn’t been following the Aces at all. Score any goals?