Chapter 1
“If Wheelhouse Records thinks one practice session is going to change the way I feel about Travis King, they have another think coming.” Loretta Gram adjusted the wireless earpiece—well enough to clearly hear her manager’s heavy sigh.
“Loretta, please remember you’re a professional,” Margot Reed said, near pleading. “This is important.”
Tell me something I don’t know. Today was important. Very important. Margot had made sure to drive that point home.
“When have I ever been anything less?” Loretta pushed through the front doors of the recording studio, the sting of Margot’s words sharp. “I get it, okay?” Her career was on the line. “I won’t let you down.” I won’t let myself down. “I’ll give one hundred percent. Charm them. And go.” Before I say or do something I’ll regret.
“I know, Lori, I know you will.” Another sigh. “This year has been…a nightmare.”
Nightmare? Hell was more like it. The year had started with Margot’s breast cancer diagnosis, then Johnny, then her father’s ongoing pleas for money, and now Wheelhouse Records expressing concerns over Loretta trying to go solo when the label “really needed more duos and groups.”
“Look at today as your chance to turn things around,” Margot went on. “I know you’re not exactly a fan of Travis King—”
Loretta couldn’t hold back a snort.
“But this isn’t about him. This is about you. I’m not giving up, you hear me? You can go solo. I believe it. Now you need to start believing it, too, all right?” Margot had a knack for getting herself all fired up by her own pep talk.
Loretta smiled. “All right.” A solo career had never been part of the plan. But without Johnny… Well, she was on her own now.
“Rehearse, perform, and you’re done. That easy,” Margot reminded her. “Then we’ll go back to Wheelhouse to see what they’re thinking. If we need to look for a new record label then that’s what we will do. I don’t care how important Wheelhouse Records thinks they are, they’re not the only recording label in the world.”
But they both knew Wheelhouse Records was one of the best record labels in the country music industry. Loretta ignored the bitter taste in her mouth, smoothed a hand over her hair, and scanned the lobby of the Kings’ lavish recording studio. All golden and shiny and privilege. Just like the man I’m singing with.
“If I could be there, I would.” There was no missing the snap to Margot’s words.
“I know. But you are where you need to be. Concentrate on resting, on your chemo, and taking care of yourself.” Loretta didn’t need to tell the woman she was pretty much the only person she had left in the whole world. I need you.
“I’m fine. Who needs boobs anyway?” Margot chuckled. “I’m keeping my phone nearby. I expect a full report when you’re done.”
“Will do.” Loretta forced as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
“That’s my Lori.” Margot chuckled again. “Head up, girlie.”
“You know it. You keep kicking cancer’s ass.” After their goodbyes, Loretta was left to her thoughts. And her frustration. Everything about this rubbed her the wrong way. From Wheelhouse Records CEO Ethan Powell’s sympathy phone call that turned into a “the future of your career” call to the fact that her opinions and objections about this duo with Travis King didn’t matter. All Ethan Powell had said was, “Travis King is a changed man, Loretta. I have every confidence that this performance will be unforgettable.”
Unforgettable as in Travis King would humiliate himself, and her, and the whole thing would be a catastrophe? Or, less likely, they’d manage to pull off some sort of miracle performance that wasn’t a total embarrassment. A changed man, my ass.
Mr. Powell was wrong. Plain and simple. She didn’t need to spend five minutes with the Comeback King to know a leopard didn’t change its spots. Travis King lived a gilded and entitled life, had more good looks that common sense, and fans who’d defended him even after that damning video had taken over every social media outlet on the planet. If he could still be loved after that, why change? He wouldn’t. People like him didn’t have to. The fact that she was standing here, eyeing the Kings’ wall of success with Wheelhouse Records in preparation for this disaster-in-the-making performance, proved that.
Margot had an infinite wealth of wisdom she’d dispense at appropriate intervals—something Loretta could sorely use at the moment. Likely Margot would use one of her go-to sayings like, “Never let a bad situation bring out the worst in you.” Or, another favorite, “Learn to pick your battles.”
Bottom line, Travis King wasn’t worth the fight.
“Loretta? Glad you could make time to meet with us.” Hank King was headed her way, all smiles.
Hank King. “Of course.” Her throat had gone bone-dry. Because…well…this was the Hank King. She didn’t want to get starstruck but… Hank King. Growing up, his albums had become the soundtrack of her life. There wasn’t a Hank King song she couldn’t play or a lyric she didn’t know by heart. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
Hank cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure we should be thanking you,” he said, stepping aside…for his son.
The Comeback King himself.
Travis King, in person, was ridiculously good-looking. It was fact. Everyone knew it. Including Travis King.
Be nice. Be charming. Smile. For Margot. Show them what you’re made of. Show him what it means to be a serious musician.
“Loretta. It’s good to see you,” Travis said. “I am sincerely sorry about Johnny.”
The familiar lump, cold and hard and jagged, wedged itself in her throat. “Thank you.” Two months of anger and frustration, sadness and grief so crushing that getting out of bed on some days was a challenge. But hiding under the covers, eaten up with useless emotion, carrying on and crying buckets of tears wasn’t her way. It’s not like it helped. It damn sure didn’t change a thing.
“We were at the Oasis together.” Several of Travis’s trademark tousled dirty-blond curls fell forward onto his forehead as he spoke. “Last year.”
The Oasis. Johnny’s home away from home. The Malibu California addiction treatment center catered to the very rich and famous. It had worked, sort of. Johnny always came home clear-minded and determined to stay clean and healthy…but it never lasted for long. This last time, he’d barely made it two months.
“He was a good guy,” Travis added.
“He was,” she agreed. Good and beautiful and gentle and too broken for this world.