Her eyebrows flew up. “Whoa. That’s a lot of food.”
“I wanted to make sure I had something you like. And I remember that you watch what you eat, so I got healthy stuff.”
Her eyes softened. “Thanks.”
I was still trying to focus after glimpsing blessed paradise. “So tell me about what happened. I saw your posts but they didn’t say much. That night at the Mistletoe Magic concert…were you in pain?”
“Yeah.” She dropped her gaze to the granite counter and traced the pattern of the stone. “I’d been having problems off and on for a while. Sore throat, a weird feeling when I sang. The night I did the AMAs I thought my voice sounded different…rough. Nobody else seemed to notice though. Then that night in New York…I kept feeling like I had to clear my throat, and then when I went to hit the high notes, nothing came out. Oh God.” She covered her face with her hands dramatically. “It was absolutely mortifying. At first. I felt like such a fool, having to leave the stage. But then I got scared.”
“I guess so.” I set a dish in the microwave to heat and closed the door, then turned to face her. I fucking hated thinking about her going through that.
“I saw two specialists and they said the same thing. I had a polyp on my vocal cord and it had hemorrhaged.”
“Jesus.” I stared at her in horror.
“But it was something they could fix, so that was good, and like I said, they used a laser. I couldn’t talk at all for three weeks after.”
“You could have texted.” I said it in a mild tone.
She squeezed her eyes closed. “Yes. I could have. That was how I communicated with most people, that or writing notes. I’m sorry. I was…messed up.”
Yeah, I could see that. “I guess it was a shitty Christmas.”
“It wasn’t the best.” She paused. “Did you go home for Christmas? How was it?”
“It was okay. My parents think I’m doing drugs or something, and that’s the reason I’m not playing well.”
“Oh my God. Well, people are saying that about me too. That the real reason I had to put off recording my album is because I’m in rehab for a cocaine addiction.”
“We have so much in common, including imaginary drug addictions. Who knew.”
“So did you convince them you’re clean?”
“Maybe.” I poured the dressing for the salad over the spinach, cranberries, and almonds in a big bowl. “So no talking for three weeks. That must have been hard.”
“I was dying!”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Okay, not dying, but it was hell. I couldn’t even cough. I had to take acid reflux medication even though I don’t have a problem with that. I sucked on so many cough lozenges.” She curved her hand over her throat. “I can talk now but I’m not supposed to whisper or shout.”
“Not even whisper?”
“That strains the vocal cords.”
“Huh. Does it still hurt?”
“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore, but I still feel a little hoarse.”
“It’s sexy.”
She smiled wryly. “Well, there’s one bright spot.”
“You’ll be able to sing again.” I set my hands wide apart on the counter and met her eyes. “I know it.”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sure of it too.”
I could see hints of fear in her eyes though, which told me she was being brave and strong but she wasn’t really sure of it. “You know what they say. Life is like a dick. Sometimes it’s up. Sometimes it’s down. But it won’t be hard forever.”
She stared at me for a beat and then bowed her head. Her hair fell around her face, her shoulders shaking. “Oh my God.”
“Those are my words of wisdom for today.”
She lifted her head, her smile gorgeous. “Thank you. I needed a laugh.”
I smiled back, my chest expanding. “No problem. So anyway…you came back to Chicago.” I pushed a small plate of fancy crackers and cheese across the island to her.
“Yeah. Mom and Dad wanted me closer, and I didn’t really feel like being in L.A. At first it was relaxing here, but I’ve been kind of bored.”
“You’re used to being crazy busy.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe you should write some songs.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “I’ve tried. My mind is a creative wasteland.”
My lips twitched, even though she was clearly unhappy. I thought about that. “I’m not a very creative person, but I’d think that might be a good way to express your feelings about what you’re going through.”
“Hmmm. You could be right.”
“Which means you think I’m full of shit, but you’re humoring me.”
She chuckled. “No! Seriously, you could be right. I should try again. But I’m finding it so hard to write when I can’t sing.”
Her voice wobbled, and I thought she was going to cry again. My chest clenched. Jesus, I hated seeing her like this.
“I also need to find a gym so I can work out.”
“Oh baby.” I grinned. “Come here.” I crooked a finger.
Her eyebrows rose, and she slid off the stool.
I clasped my fingers around hers and led her down the hall. “I didn’t give you the tour. This is my game room.” I showed her the big space with a pool table and a dartboard. “This is my bedroom.” Which I hoped she would get a much closer look at, at some point. “And this is my workout room.” I opened the door.
“Oh wow!” She walked in, scoping out the room. I had a treadmill, a stationary bike, and some serious equipment, along with a big screen TV on the wall and a speaker for music. I could work out at the arena, but when we had time off I liked to do it here. The building also had an exercise room, but I’d created my own private one. “This is amazing.”
“Yeah.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall. “You want to work out in private, you can come over here anytime.”
“Oh, I couldn’t bother you.”
“Hey, half the time I’m not here. We’re on a road trip next week. I’ll give you a key and let the security staff know you can come up anytime.”
She gazed at me, blinking those big eyes. “That’s very nice of you.”
“I’m a nice guy.” I set a hand on my chest.
She bit her lip on a smile. “Wait, I’ve seen you slamming guys into the boards and throwing punches. That’s not nice.”
“That’s hockey.”
“I saw you get in a fight with that big dude from Florida…”
“Walters.”
“Yes! You were not a nice guy to him.”
I couldn’t stop my grin. “True. He’s an asshole.”
“I’ve seen you talking to your opponents too,” she said. “I mean yelling.”
“Chirping.”
“Right. I always wonder what you’re saying. Though it’s pretty easy to read your lips when you tell them to fuck off.”
“I never say that.”
“Ha! Right. What do you say then?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes I tell them ‘yo, nice haircut.’?”
“Aaah! No way.”
I loved her smile. “Or ‘hey man, your coach know you’re out here?’?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Or, ‘my left nut dangles better than you.’?”
“That’s more like it.”
I grinned. “Come see the rest of the place before we eat.”
“It’s huge.”
“That’s what she said.”
She actually fell against the hall wall, shoulders shaking with mirth. “You’re terrible.”
I moved closer, with a wink. “That’s not what she said.”
I kissed her forehead then moved past her down the hall. I showed her the other bedrooms, the main bathroom, and then the balcony, which at this time of year wasn’t super inviting. “There’s a hot tub out there,” I told her. “And a fireplace and a bunch of furniture.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” I led the way back to the kitchen. “Where’s your place? You said you have a condo here.”
“Yeah. It’s on North Lake Shore.”
“Oh ho.” I hoisted an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s nice.”
“It’s nice, but nowhere near this big. The building is older. But it has a lake view and I like it.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes. I actually am. I haven’t had much appetite lately.”
“You look like you’ve lost weight. And you didn’t need to.”
“I have lost a few pounds. That’s okay, but I need to work out so I don’t lose any muscle.”
“Problem solved.” I waved a hand at my gym. “We can eat here at the island if you’re okay with that.”