“Yes, but that’sa story for another time,” he said with a smirk.
“Intriguing,” Isaid, raising an eyebrow.
“How ’boutanother song?” Train suggested, clearly changing the subject.
“Okay. How about‘Blame the Night’?” I said, pulling a deep cut off my third album. Of all thesongs I’d ever written it was my absolute favorite, and I’d never played itlive. Mostly because I could never find anyone who could nail the harmony vocalpart originally recorded by Max MacMillan of Fallen Crown. His vocals added a certainmagic to the song that I’d never been able to reproduce with anyone else since.I’d been a lucky bitch to get him. His sister-in-law, Charlotte, just happenedto co-star with me in a rom-com a few years ago, so she asked him if he hadtime, he’d done the vocals in one day, sent them off to my producer and thesong was done without me ever even meeting him.
“That’s the onein six-eight, right?” Train asked.
I nodded andTrain began to strum softly. I studied his hands as he played. Well-worn,grease-stained hands, that moved effortlessly along the guitar’s fretboard ashe played through the song’s delicate intro.
“I think that’swhere you come in,” Train said. I was so mesmerized by his hands I’d missed mycue to start singing.
“Oh, I’m sorry,”I said, slightly embarrassed. “You play beautifully.”
“Thank you,”Train said, with a smile. “Do you play an instrument?”
“I play piano,and a little guitar,” I replied. “But never on stage. Not since I was a kidanyway.”
“Really? Howcome? Even the country guys strap on an acoustic, strum three chords, do thehokey pokey, and shake it all about.”
“That’s justit,” I said. “I don’t want to do anything half-assed or for the sake oftheater. If I play guitar during my show, I want to do it well, and have itmean something.”
“Your sister wasright,” Train said, resting his arm over his guitar with a smile.
“About what?”
“About you. Whenshe told me about this gig, I told her I had no interest in joining the popprincess circus.”
“Meaning?”
“To be honest, Ifigured you were probably the type of singer who used backing tracks and pitchcorrection, but Harmony told me that shit didn’t fly with you. From what I cansee, you clearly have integrity and I respect that.”
I cleared mythroat. “Thank you,” I said, feeling my cheeks redden. “Okay, let’s try thisagain and I’ll remember to sing this time.”
Train playedthrough the song’s intro once more, and this time I sang as if it was the firsttime the melody had ever passed through my lips. I closed my eyes, losing myselfin the sound of Train’s guitar. Hanging every one of my notes on to the chordsTrain placed in the air. Then his voice met mine.
As Train and Iharmonized, I felt both elation and terror. I’d never felt such a connectionsinging with anyone before. Not even with Max McMillan. Not even with mysisters, and that freaked me the fuck out.
Shit, this was alittle too close for comfort.
“Okay, that’sgood,” I said, muting Train’s guitar strings with my hand, mid-strum, beforestanding. “The gig is yours if you still want it,” I blurted out.
“Um, yeah. Ofcourse, I do,” he replied, his expression suddenly guarded.
“Cool. Myassistant Brandy will call you tomorrow with the tour itinerary, bus bunkassignment, and per diem information. She’ll also have some paperwork for youto read through and sign as well. The first show is in two days. Brandy willhave your backstage passes. Don’t be late for soundcheck. In fact, don’t belate for anything, ever.”
“Yes, Ms.Morgan,” he said.
“Melody is fine.Welcome aboard,” I said and without another word, turned and walked out,leaving him alone in Jaxon’s office and running away like the coward I was.
Train
What the fuckjust happened? Did I saysomething wrong? She gave me the gig, so it couldn’t be that. Unless she’sdesperate.
I set Jaxon’sguitar on its stand and turned to leave to find Harmony standing behind me.
“Jesus, youscared the shit outta me. How long have you been there?”
