Page 36 of A Song for Another Woman

“I didn’t feel like getting lectured.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I drove over here specifically to lecture you.”

I run a hand over my face. “She blocked me.”

“Good.”

The word hits so hard my head snaps up. “Excuse me?”

Cy folds his arms. “I said good.”

“My wife left me because of an edited clip, and you’re saying good?”

“No. Your wife left you because you made her life hurt for a year and then acted surprised when she finally believed the pain.”

My jaw tightens. “You know damn well I didn’t cheat.”

“I do.”

“Then maybe lead with that.”

“Why? You want a parade for not sleeping with the twenty-five-year-old who’s been making eyes at you on every stage in America?”

Heat rushes up my neck. “That’s not what this is.”

“No? Then what is it?”

“It was work.”

Cy’s mouth goes flat. “Try again.”

“It was a song. It was a narrative. It was Duke and the label and the damn numbers. Yes, I should have shut parts of it down, but Emmy knows me. She knows I would never choose Melody over her. I don't know why she couldn't just believe me when I told her it wasn't what it sounded like."

Even I hate how petulant that sounds.

Cy looks at me for a long moment. Then he says, “Maybe because for at least a damn year you’ve been choosing Melody over and over again. I suppose for her, she was just waitin’ to hear it.”

The words go through the room like a slammed door. I stare at him. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he says. “What wasn’t fair was your wife being led through side doors while Melody got the red carpet because it photographed better. What wasn’t fair was Emmy sitting in the audience while every camera in that arena hunted her face like she was part of the act. What wasn’t fair was you thanking half of Nashville by name and giving your wife one little afterthought while your arm was still around another woman.”

My stomach turns. “I thanked her.”

“You barely thanked her,” Cy snaps. “There’s a difference, and she felt it in front of millions of people.”

I look away.

He steps closer. “You know how many shows she sat through this year watching you and Melody all but make love to each other onstage?”

“It was blocking.”

“It was humiliating.”

I flinch.

Cy’s voice drops, which is worse than when he yells. “Every night, Cade. Every performance. Every interview where somebody asked about that chemistry and you grinned instead of saying, ‘Careful. My wife is the love of my life.’ Every time Melody floated some sweet little home-wrecker joke and you let it hang because the room laughed and the numbers went up.”

“I was going to fix it.”