Page 68 of From the Embers
But on the other hand, the same wonderful, gorgeous, and talented man I loved with my whole heart and entire being had just been handed the biggest opportunity of his entire life.
And he wanted me there with him.
Therefore, even if I had to go in a pair of jeans and with my hair in a ponytail, carrying all three kids on my back like a pack mule, I was getting on that plane first thing the next morning. Because if Eason wanted me there, dammit, then that’s where I’d be.
“Okay,” I breathed. “In that case, you get the luggage from the attic and I’ll call Evelyn to see if she can keep the kids.”
His smile was so wide I swear I thought it was going to swallow his face. “That’s it? No freaking out about it being short notice?”
“Oh, there is plenty of that going on in my head right now. But I love you and I am so damn proud of you I’d be honored to go.” I blew out a dreamy sigh. “And let’s be real: A sexy rock star asking me to be his date to the Grammys isn’t exactly a hardship.”
The kids made gagging noises as we kissed, our smiles never faltering even as our lips locked together.
Yeah…the saying was right. When it rains, it definitely pours, and I was all too happy to drown in Eason Maxwell.
EASON
In theory, two days didn’t seem like a lot of time to prepare for music’s biggest stage.
In reality, it was even less time than I’d imagined.
As always, Evelyn was amazing. As soon as Bree told her about my opportunity, she dropped everything to be there for our kids while we were gone.
First thing the next morning, with suitcases so full we had to pay the airlines a small mortgage payment in extra weight fees, Bree and I were off to California. It was an absolute whirlwind from the second we stepped off the plane.
Cars were waiting for us when we arrived—two of them. Bree was swept off to the hotel, and God bless Levee Williams, she’d arranged for her stylist to take Bree out for hair and nails and shopping. I hated letting her go. I didn’t give a damn if I had to spend the day holding her purse while she tried on every dress in Los Angeles. I should have been there with her. But with thirty-six hours until showtime, I didn’t have much of a choice.
After she’d climbed into the back of a black Escalade, I leaned in for a kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
“I’ll be the woman in your hotel room. With any luck, you won’t recognize me.”
I chuckled and kissed her again. “Then be naked. I’ve memorized every curve of that body, Sug.”
She wrapped her hand around the side of my neck and teasingly acted like she was going to choke me for using the pet name she hated. But she didn’t say a word about it. “You’re going to be incredible. Try not to be so amazing you make Levee look bad, okay?”
I laughed, but so much love swelled in my chest it was a wonder I was able to breathe. “I’ll try.”
She brushed her nose with mine. “I love you, Eason.”
There wasn’t a word strong enough for the way I felt for Bree, so I made do with what I had. “Love you too.”
The rest of my day was crazy. I spent four hours rehearsing with a woman named Jo while at least eight skeptical men and women huddled in the corner. Levee owned Downside Up Records, so I assumed she got the final say, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Levee’s asking me—Eason Nobody—to replace superstar Henry Alexander hadn’t been a thrilling idea for everyone on her team. However, if they wanted “Turning Pages,” a song of love, loss, and moving on—a song I’d written long before I’d known the true depths of any of those emotions—there wasn’t a person on Earth who could make it more authentic than I could.
I played to a room full of mumbled conversations. And I didn’t give the first damn what they were saying. I followed my heart and let the music speak for itself. When I finally finished, I had everyone on board with swapping the arrangement so I could play piano instead of filling in Henry’s shoes on the guitar. I could play both instruments, but if I wanted the world to remember my name, my best bet was behind the ivory keys.
After everyone had appeared satisfied that I wasn’t a royal fuck-up, I was driven to The Staples Center, sent through wardrobe, met with hair and makeup, and then weaved my way down a press corridor. They had exactly no idea who I was and most didn’t try to pretend they did. Pretty much every question revolved around how I knew Levee. And the truth was I didn’t.
