Hideaway Heart: Chapter 19

WHILE XANDER MADE BREAKFAST, I sorted through my texts and emails. Much of it was unimportant, work-related stuff that could have waited until I got back—dates I needed to put on my calendar, collaboration pitches, songwriter suggestions for the next album—but no one seemed to understand the concept of “getting away.”

Then there were my parents to deal with. My father wanted to talk over the PMG deal with me, review its many pros. And my mother had had another premonition—this time, the bear didn’t eat me, it just carried me off to his cave and kept me there like a prisoner.

I ignored my father, texted my mother I was doing fine, took a few deep breaths, and moved on to my voicemails. Most were insignificant, but there was one from Wags that made me slightly nervous.

“Hey, Kelly Jo. Sorry to disturb you. But the situation with the disgruntled bodyguard—his name is James Bond, believe it or not—is getting a little heated. He says he’s going to sue for wrongful termination unless you want to settle with him privately for ten grand. He claims he can give you details about which members of the team were leaking info and why. Let me know what you want to do.”

I called Wags back.

“Hey, Kelly,” he said when he picked up. “You got my message?”

“I got it. I don’t know what to do, Wags. I don’t want a lawsuit, but silencing this guy with money doesn’t feel right either. He obviously knew what was going on and didn’t stop it or come forward.”

“I agree with you. I think he’s bluffing about the lawsuit. This guy doesn’t have the money for attorneys and all that. Suing someone is a tedious, expensive pain in the ass.”

“And what difference would it make to know who was leaking the info? It’s not like I’d ever hire any of them again. I don’t really care whether it was one of them or all of them. And I know why—money.”

“So I’ll tell him no private settlement.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling sure of myself. “Fuck that guy for thinking he can get money out of me. Let him come after me in court if he wants. I won’t be bullied into paying him. If he knew it was happening and said nothing, he’s guilty in my view.”

“Mine too.” He paused. “How’s your trip?”

“It’s good. But I was spotted pretty fast.”

“I saw the photos. How many photographers are up there?”

“You know what? I haven’t seen any, so I have no idea.” I thought for a moment. “Which is kind of strange. I wonder if there’s only one guy, and he’s keeping his distance.”

“Who’s the guy with you in the pics? Is it the bodyguard?”

“Yes.” I smiled as the scent of frying bacon wafted down the hall and into the bedroom. “Turns out, he’s not so bad. But he’s seriously pissed about the photos that were taken on the property here.”

“Rightly so. I’m glad he’s around. You be careful.”

“I will. Bye, Wags.”

We hung up, and I was feeling so confident and plucky, I decided I could even handle listening to Duke’s latest voicemail, which he’d left yesterday.

His smooth voice made my shoulders tense up. “Hi Pix, it’s me. I know you’re on your little vacation, but I have an opportunity for you. How would you like to perform the opening number at the Music City Awards?”

I gasped. The Music City Awards were a big fucking deal.

“Rebecca Rose and I were slated to perform ‘Back Where We Started.’ But she has to have surgery on her vocal cords next week, and the show is a week after that. The producers came to me and asked if I had any idea who they should ask to fill in. Of course, I thought of you right away. If you’re interested”—he laughed—“and I know you are, give me a call back.”

Well, damn.

Performing the opening number at the Music City Awards would be amazing—bucket list amazing—and I wanted to jump at it. But filling in for Rebecca Rose on “Back Where We Started” would mean performing a romantic duet about a second chance at love with Duke. Could I stomach it? He was tricky and manipulative. What if he was dangling this opportunity with strings attached?

Phone in one hand, I picked up the cup of coffee Xander had brought me with the other and wandered out to the kitchen. After warming it up in the microwave, I sat at the counter and watched him scramble eggs and flip bacon. He had a kitchen towel tossed over one shoulder, and his hair was a mess.

“Are you going to make breakfast for your wife and three kids?” I asked.

“All the time,” he said, adjusting the heat under the eggs. “It’s the most important meal of the day.” Then he turned around and noticed my expression. “What’s wrong? More photos?”

“No.” I exhaled. “It’s Duke.”

Xander’s face darkened. “What about him?”

I told him about the offer to fill in for Rebecca Rose at the awards show. “It would be really hard to say no. Like, twelve-year-old me used to dream about this every night.”

“So say yes.”

“You think I should?”

He shrugged. “Do you want to sing on that stage?”

“Yes. With all my heart.”

“Then don’t let anyone stop you.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is.” He put some eggs and two strips of bacon on a plate and set it in front of me. “If something will make you happy, I think you should go after it. I used to have this argument with Austin all the time.”

“Oh yeah?”

He put the rest of the eggs and bacon on his plate and came around the peninsula to sit next to me. “Yes. There’s always going to be a reason why you shouldn’t—and sometimes the reason is completely valid. But I believe in going after what you want. I think fortune favors the bold.”

“Is that why you did things like jump off garages into baby pools and try to prove you could fly?”

“No. That was just ego.” He ate half a strip of bacon in one bite. “But this isn’t about ego, and it’s not about Duke. It’s about Kelly Jo Sullivan.”

I sucked in my breath. “Xander! You’re right!”

He held his arms out wide.

Laughing, I grabbed onto one. “I’m going to ask to perform not as Pixie Hart, but as Kelly Jo Sullivan! No gimmicky sets, no crazy costumes, no glittery makeup. No made-up, manufactured character. I just want to be me up there and sing from the heart.”

“Then do it.”

“I will.” Sliding off the stool, I planted a kiss on his temple. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to call Duke.”

Xander picked up his coffee cup, but he didn’t say anything.

Back in the bedroom, I sat on the edge of the bed and made the call.

“Hey, honey. How’s my Pixie girl?”

I cringed. “I’m fine.”

“You get my message?”

“I did. I’d like to do it. I just have one request.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to be introduced as Kelly Jo Sullivan. Not Pixie Hart.”

“Why? No one knows who that is.”

“I think it will be obvious when I walk on stage and start singing.”

“But in terms of publicity and everything, Pixie Hart is a name.”

I stiffened. “Kelly Jo Sullivan is a name too. I’ve just never been encouraged to use it.”

“Because it’s not memorable. And you’re famous as Pixie Hart. Why change your name and confuse people?”

“It’s important to me.”

“Let’s not worry about that minor detail right now. I think we should rehearse as soon as possible. How quickly can you get back to Nashville?”

Annoyed that he’d dismissed my request as minor, I said, “I’m not back for another ten days.”

“I know when you were planning to be back, but this is big, Pixie. We’ve never performed that song together. We can’t just show up at the televised Music City Awards without practicing. Everyone who’s anyone in the industry will be in the first three rows at Milton Auditorium that night.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to practice, but I know the song, Duke. We’ll still have a week once I’m back.”

“I want you back sooner.”

I flinched at the edge on his tone. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea, us working together. You should probably find someone else.”

“No, wait. Sorry.” He exhaled and spoke more patiently. “I think you and I have the perfect chemistry for this song, and people love seeing us together. Our arrival alone will cause a media frenzy.”

“Duke, I—”

“Don’t worry, it will be strictly platonic behind the scenes. It’s a musical collaboration between friends.”

“Okay,” I said warily.

“If you decide to come home sooner, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch with details when I get them. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.” He paused. “How’s it going up there? I saw a few pictures.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I was hoping to stay under the radar, but it didn’t happen.”

“That’s the worst. You can’t relax when you know you’re being watched.”

“I know, but what can you do? I have to go, Duke. Thanks for the opportunity. I appreciate it.”

We hung up, and I texted Wags, Jess, and my agent with the news, leaving out the bit about performing as Kelly Jo and not as Pixie. There would be pushback on that, but I’d deal with it later. I got immediate replies from Wags and my agent, who were thrilled with the idea and wanted to know when it would be announced. I told them I wasn’t sure but would keep them posted. My assistant responded with more measured excitement.

I had to laugh.

When we left the house, Xander hustled me from the front door into the car like I was the President of the United States. He made me wear another gigantic sweatshirt of his over my bathing suit, hood up, covering my hair. My oversized sunglasses helped hide a good portion of my face.

The drive to the marina was tense, with Xander constantly checking to see if anyone was following us. Not that he told me what he was doing, but he looked in the rearview mirror a lot, and he was unusually silent, his face uncharacteristically grim. At the harbor, he parked, came around to get me, and once again shepherded me quickly onto the dock and down to his well. He got aboard the boat first, and then helped me on.

Only when we were heading out of the harbor and onto the open water did his shoulders relax and his jaw unclench. I shed the sweatshirt and my shorts, slathered myself in SPF 50, and spread out a towel on one of the reclining leather seats. Leaning back, I tilted my face to the sky and let the sun warm my skin. The bay was a little choppy, and every now and again, we’d hit a wave that would splash me lightly, but the cool water was refreshing in the hot air.

Eventually, Xander found a spot he must have felt was safely distanced from land and dropped the anchor. Only then did he doff his shirt, unfold a towel, and stretch out on the back bench seat, perpendicular to me. For a while, we just lay there like two turtles on a log in the sunshine. I breathed in—sunscreen, sea air, maybe a whiff of the woods that lined the shore. The call of the seagulls above us mingled with the soft lap of the water against the hull, and the boat rocked gently on the waves. It was blissfully peaceful, and my heart was happy. This was how I’d imagined feeling on my vacation.

I just hadn’t imagined company.

My heels were propped up on the back bench next to Xander’s. I picked up my head and studied our feet. It made me chuckle—Xander’s were so huge compared to mine, his toes long, his ankles sturdy. His legs were hairy, and my gaze wandered up toward his muscular thighs, causing a little involuntary contraction at my core.

I nudged him with my foot. “Hey.”

“What?” He sat up immediately. “Everything okay? You see something?”

“No,” I said, laughing. “I was just thinking how nice this is. And I wanted to thank you for taking me out on the water. I know it makes you nervous to be out and about with me.”

He sat all the way up and moved to one side of the bench. “Come sit with me.” I moved to the bench, and he reached down and took me by the back of the calves, swinging my feet into his lap. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good,” I said. I could look at his body in the sun for hours. His skin kissed by gold, the ink gleaming, the rays glinting off the water behind him.

“So when is the awards ceremony you’ll sing at?”

“It’s in about two and a half weeks. Thursday, the twenty-first.” Over breakfast, I’d told him that I’d agreed to sing with Duke on the condition that I would be introduced as Kelly Jo Sullivan.

“The night before Buckley’s Pub will open—I hope.”

“I wish I could be in two places at once,” I said.

“Me too.” His hand bracketed my ankle, his thumb rubbing the tendons of my heel.

“I’m expecting an argument with my label on the name thing.”

“Fuck them.”

I laughed. “I can’t fuck them, but I’m going to fight for it.”

“Good.” He looked at me. “This is a big event?”

“Huge.”

“And where is it held?”

“It’s at the Milton Auditorium. Most famous stage in country music.”

“That’s a theater?”

“Yeah, but it’s also got a museum, offices, and conference rooms on the upper floors. A lot of agents and publicists and even singers keep offices there.”

“Does it have good security?”

“It will that night, I’m sure.”

“What about you personally? What will you do?”

I sighed. “I guess I’ll have to hire someone new. Oh—I forgot to tell you this. I spoke with Wags, my manager, this morning, and he said one of the bodyguards from the tour who was fired is trying to get money out of me.”

His hand tightened around my ankle. “What?”

“He claims he was wrongfully terminated and in exchange for ten grand will provide the names of the guys who were really at fault.”

“Fuck that guy. He knew what was happening and didn’t say anything?”

“I guess. Want to hear the funny part? The guy’s name is James Bond.”

Xander didn’t laugh. “He lives in Nashville?”

“I assume so.”

He placed one wide hand over the tops of both my feet. “I hate that you’re going back there without protection in place. Tell me you have cameras at your house.”

“I do.” I hesitated. “I think they work.”

Xander groaned. “You don’t know for sure?”

“Well, I never looked! I had people for that. Plus, I bought a house in this ritzy gated community, so I assumed it was safe.”

His mouth assumed that stubborn shape again. “I’m going back with you.”

“What?”

“When it’s time, I’ll go back with you. I’m going to do a security assessment, make sure those cameras are functioning, check out this gated community, and hire a new bodyguard for you.”

“Xander, you don’t have to do that.” My heart was beating wildly in my chest.

“I want to.”

“But how long will that take?”

“Depends. A few days, at least. Maybe a week.”

“What about the bar?”

“I’ll figure it out. But I need to make sure you’re safe.”

Moved that he cared so much, he’d follow me back to Nashville and do all those things when he had his own business to worry about, I felt my throat tighten. Pulling my feet from his lap, I got to my knees and swung one leg over him, straddling his lap. I placed my hands on his bronzed, sun-warmed shoulders and pressed my lips to his. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a big deal. Your brother would want it that way.”

“So it’s for him? Not for me?” I kissed him again, pressing my breasts against his chest. He grew hard beneath me, and I rocked my hips over his.

“I guess it’s for you,” he murmured against my lips. His hands wandered over my skin, slipping beneath the edges of my bathing suit.

“Did you bring a condom?” I asked in a hushed, breathless tone.

“No.” His mouth moved down the side of my neck. “Guess I’ll have to get you off another way.”

“Xander?” I tilted my head, and he reached for the ties on my bikini top.

“Yeah?”

“I have a birth control implant.”

His hands and his mouth stopped. “You do?”

“Yes. And I haven’t been with anyone since Duke.”

“I haven’t been with anyone all year either.”

“So . . .”

“So I’m okay with it if you are.” He untied the top and let it fall, reaching for my breasts and lifting them to his face with both hands.

“Is this one of those times when you want me to put up a fight?” I asked.

“No,” he said, his mouth buried.

I laughed, dizzy with desire. “Then I’m okay with it too.”

The next five days passed in a warm, golden-hued, late summer haze. We slept in, sat on the porch with coffee, Xander with his laptop, me with a paperback. He cooked breakfasts for me, I made dinners for him. We spent a couple days at the bar when the beer and liquor deliveries were made, and I helped Xander get everything organized and inventoried. When the inspection was successfully completed, we celebrated with the first drinks poured at Buckley’s Pub.

We took afternoon jogs, snuck out on the boat one night, worked on self-defense moves in the living room, and once the town wasn’t bursting at the seams with tourists, he even took me on a tour, tolerantly stepping aside when someone asked for a selfie with me or an autograph for their child.

I adored Cherry Tree Harbor—especially with Xander at my side.

We climbed the lighthouse stairs, and finding ourselves alone, we snuck a quick kiss while the wind whipped my hair. We took a ride on the old ferry boat, admired the Victorian mansions along the shore, and listened to the guide tell stories about the past. We took his niece and nephew out for ice cream at an old-fashioned sweets parlor, and I got to taste the fudge Veronica had raved about. We shopped on Main Street, and I made Xander stand outside the fitting rooms while I tried on outfits. Then I’d come out and demand to know what he thought.

“Well?” I said, modeling a halter sundress in emerald green. “What do you think?”

“I like it.”

I rolled my eyes. “You like everything. Scale of one to ten—and don’t say ten. You’ve rated everything a ten.”

“Eleven.”

I clucked my tongue. “Never mind. You’re no help.” But I was smiling, and so was he.

“Get the dress,” he said. “I’ll take you to dinner.”

The following Saturday night, he took me to the Pier Inn. Xander had called ahead and reserved a table, and when we got there, he introduced me to the manager, who happened to be his aunt.

“Kelly, this is my aunt Faye. And Aunt Faye, this is Kelly.” He placed a hand on the small of my back when he said it. I liked that he didn’t give me a label, like friend or client. That hand told me how he felt.

“So nice to meet you, dear.” She gestured toward the dining room, where tables were covered in white linen and topped with flickering candles. “Your table is all ready.”

We followed her to a corner table by the window, and Xander pulled out my chair before sitting across from me, facing the room. He looked gorgeous in a dark navy suit, light blue shirt, and maroon tie. We’d stopped at his house yesterday and picked it up, and I wondered if it would be strange to see his wide swimmer’s shoulders restricted by a formal jacket, his thick neck enclosed by a stiff collar, his beard above the crisp knot of a tie.

It wasn’t strange at all. It was breathtaking.

“You can’t see the view from that seat,” I scolded him. “And it’s so beautiful.” The sun was setting over the water, and the harbor shimmered with pink, orange, and amber light.

“My view is beautiful too,” he said, his eyes on me. “In fact, I think it beats yours.”

My cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”

As we finished dessert—well, as I finished dessert, since Xander said he was full but I could not resist chocolate lava cake—his aunt Faye approached, looking nervous.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, wringing her hands together.

“What is it, Aunt Faye?”

“Word has gotten out that Pixie Hart is here, and some of the waitstaff and even a few tables of guests are asking if it would be okay to get a picture.”

Xander looked at me. “Your call.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s obviously not a secret anymore that you’re here. And maybe if you let fans post their photos, those jerks who hide out and take them in secret won’t get any money for them.”

More photos of us had surfaced since Monday morning—getting out of Xander’s SUV at the marina, strolling down Main Street, sitting on the rocks at the seawall. We saw nothing that had been snapped at the cabin, and Xander and I were very careful never to be affectionate in public, so the pictures were all pretty mundane, even boring. It didn’t surprise me that hordes of photographers weren’t flocking here to follow me around. It seemed like it was just one or two, and they were keeping their distance.

But the luckiest break was that another scandal was blowing up in Nashville—one of the most committed couples in country music had announced their split. The wife had evidently fallen for her trainer, and the husband had been carrying on with a nineteen-year-old backup singer, who was already wearing a big rock on her finger. I didn’t wish anyone ill, but I was glad some of the heat was off me.

I touched my napkin to my mouth. “I don’t mind,” I said to Faye. “I’d just like a moment to use the ladies’ room first.”

“Of course,” she said, looking relieved and grateful. “I’ll show you where it is.”

I stood up and looked at Xander. “Okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Faye and I walked side by side toward the restaurant entrance, where she gestured toward a door marked with a W. “There you are. Thank you so much,” she said. “I hated to ask you. You two looked like you were having such a nice, intimate evening.”

“It’s all right,” I assured her, glancing back at Xander. He lifted a hand. “It has been a lovely evening, but Xander understands.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”

As I used the bathroom and freshened up, I thought about what I’d said. Xander understands.

And while I posed for photos for the next thirty minutes straight, he stood patiently to the side, always alert, always watching, always aware, close enough to step in if he felt someone was getting too familiar, but distant enough not to interfere.

Because he understood—this was part of my job, even when I was out for dinner, enjoying what should have been a private occasion. He understood that while it might not be my favorite part of the job, it was sometimes necessary. And he understood instinctively when I’d had enough, and he came forward and took my elbow. “We’re done here.”

With a nod to his aunt, he steered me through the room, out the door, and straight to the car. Once he’d tucked me safely in the passenger seat, he went around to the driver’s side. But after sliding behind the wheel, he didn’t start the engine.

“Is it always like that?” he asked. “Everywhere you go—coffee, shopping, ice cream, dinner . . . people are there wanting a piece of you?”

“Pretty much. But you know . . .” I lifted my shoulders. “It’s the price you pay.”

He looked at me. “I’m sorry I said that to you. This is a really high price. I don’t know how you keep paying it.”

“Sometimes I don’t either.” I reached over and rubbed his leg. “When it gets to be a lot, I think about when I was little and dreamed about hearing my songs on the radio, and signing autographs, and singing in front of huge crowds. Those dreams came true. So if I have to deal with some bad stuff in exchange, it’s okay. I’d rather deal with fans than suits at the label any day. Or sleazy producers.”

His expression angry, Xander started the car. “I don’t blame you.”

“Thanks for dinner,” I said. “I loved it. I hope what happened at the end didn’t spoil your night.”

“Not at all. I guess I just feel a little . . . possessive of you.” He shook his head. “Sounds shitty when I say it like that. I don’t own you.”

“Well . . .” I slid my hand up his thigh, grazing his crotch. “Sometimes you do.”