So he set his phone down and looked over at the suit hanging in the closet. Everyone kept telling him he belonged here…but he knew he didn’t. He’d barely survived his first brush with fame and loss. He couldn’t fucking do it again.
But he had to. For Raine.
Still, he sat in the chair, staring at the suit as the minutes ticked by.
She would be better off without him. He would ruin everything.
And when finally he got the call that the driver was out front waiting…he realized he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in himself.
So he sat there, trying to force himself to get up off the chair. All you have to do is get dressed and get your ass out the door.
But it was impossible.
Two hours later, he watched the livestream with beautiful Raine giving her best ever performance on the awards show stage…without him.
And Quentin buried his head in his hands as she hit the last achingly beautiful note.
Chapter 24
Raine had been on cloud nine all day, feeling pampered for and cared about—and she was about to give her fans what they wanted. Despite the label and Mal pushing her constantly, what she loved most about this song was that it exposed the industry in a way that was either acceptable to the assholes in charge—or maybe they just didn’t get it.
And singing that song somehow made her feel freer.
Feeling like she was in their good graces again, she was beginning to think that everything that had happened, whether good or bad, had happened for a reason, because it had all led her here.
But the vibes she’d been getting from Quentin—earlier today and later when she called…they hadn’t been good. Although he’d said he was okay and that he’d be there, as the clock ticked toward seven and he was nowhere to be found, she began getting a little nervous. Maybe traffic was heavy or maybe there was some problem with his suit or something.
Now she sat in her dressing room, getting last-minute touchups. The room wasn’t large but it was functional—white walls, a bank of lights above a counter to hold makeup and hair equipment. A woman was dabbing her cheeks with a powder brush when a stage manager popped his head in the door. “Has your producer arrived?”
Raine felt a jolt of panic that hit her breastbone like a kick, but she kept her voice steady. “He should be here. His driver was supposed to pick him up at six-thirty.”
“Okay. I’ll see if we can find him wandering around. He might have gotten lost.”
But that wasn’t like Quentin. If he were here, he would have found her.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself it was all right. Being a few minutes late would be okay.
But when she heard the swell of the orchestral music coming from the stage, followed by applause, she realized that the show was going on, regardless of where Quentin might be. Grabbing her phone, she saw that there were no message notifications—so she sent him a quick text: Where are you? After sending it, she typed another. The show’s just started.
Why couldn’t she make her heart stop thumping? It would be fine.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Raine invited, her heart feeling instantly lighter, hoping it was Quentin with a ready explanation.
But it wasn’t him. Instead, a woman dressed in black said, “You’re on in less than thirty.”
Raine’s stomach knotted but she just gave the woman a tight smile and nodded her head. As soon as she was alone again, she called Quentin’s phone.
It rang and rang and rang until she got his voicemail.
So she hung up.
Another knock at the door was followed by it opening. Mal. Of course. “Is Russo here yet?”
“No.”
Two people walked by her open door laughing and joking when another person, a man close to her age, entered behind Mal. “I’ve got some water for you.”
It was a bottle, and Raine knew she’d need it to sing, especially with her mouth as dry as wood chips. “Thank you.”
