And then she frowned, staring at her reflection. No. “I’m done.”
But she shook her head. Those words didn’t seem to be completely true. Not yet.
Chapter 28
April had seemed to take years to arrive and yet, in many ways, it seemed like such a short time since Quentin had last seen Raine in the flesh. He’d been following her online, appreciating her successes from afar, but seeing her in person was something else entirely.
The label had allowed him to go backstage, and he’d given the lame excuse that he wanted to hear their work live just once. Fortunately, he knew Simon, Raine’s new tour manager. Simon had been a TM for another band Jokers Wilder had toured with when they were still teenagers—and before he’d become full of himself—so there was no bad blood there. In fact, Simon’s backstage greeting had been warm and friendly, and he’d led Quentin through the backstage area to the wings where he could watch Raine and her band without the audience even knowing he was there.
As he watched them—actually, his eyes only focused on her—he felt a sense of pride in how far she’d come. Musically, she’d matured, and Quentin had started to doubt that it had had anything to do with him. He’d encouraged and coaxed her—but it had been all her and only her. He couldn’t really take credit for any of it, even though his name was listed as Producer on the CD jacket.
A slight frown crossed his face, because he felt like he didn’t deserve the credit.
Even though she had never replied to his email, the last song was on the album—and she performed it every night as the last song of the set. She was beautiful and brilliant, poised and in control.
And he regretted ever pushing her away…and not being there for her.
Every song Raine and her band played, it was easy to tell even without seeing the audience how much they loved it. There was no denying the sound and the energy in the place and he again filled with pride at how much she’d taken charge of her destiny.
She had earned every single bit of praise the audience showered upon her.
When they played “Harmony” near the end of the show, Quentin again smiled and nodded to no one but himself at how she’d crafted this rewrite—and, if the label was smart, they’d have her re-release the song as an alternate version on a future album. After that song came another that they’d written together, one of the tracks not chosen as a single…
And then he knew. After that, she would perform the song called “Last Chance,” the song he’d arranged for her after she’d gone.
That meant it was time. Sucking in a deep breath, Quentin clenched his jaw and waited, trying to ignore how his heart was beating a little harder.
Raine began talking into the microphone. “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much your support means to me. Friends, please let my band know how much you’ve loved them too. Tom on bass, Diana on tracks, Bobby on guitar, and Jack on drums.” Between each introduction, Raine had to pause until the cheers died down. Then she said, “Good night,” and walked off stage—not to the side where Quentin stood but the other.
As the lights dimmed, the audience began screaming, demanding that she return, and it wasn’t long before their chant was in sync. “Encore! Encore!”
After just a few seconds, Raine reappeared onstage by herself, beaming, an acoustic guitar strapped around her.
And it was time. Wiping his damp hands on his jeans, Quentin took a deep breath. It felt like his boots were nailed to the floor. He had to lift a foot before he could start walking onstage. Was he really going to do this? He’d only taken one step and he wasn’t anywhere in view of the audience yet. He could stop now and no one would ever know.
But he made his other foot take a step and finally, he was walking. Although he didn’t want to hurry, he knew he couldn’t go at a snail’s pace, either, in case someone on her crew tried to stop him. There was a collective noise, one that Quentin might later compare to a gasp, from the audience as people recognized who he was.
Raine turned her head and looked right at him. Not backing away from the mic, she took him in first, and he could read her expression like a book. Her face went from shock to anger in a split second. Her head turned from the mic, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
Quentin stopped just a foot away from her. “I would like the honor of playing this song with you.”
Then her gray-blue eyes changed—from looking angry to something else. It reminded him of a child who’d been stuck inside with a cold, forced to look out the window at all her friends having fun playing outside without her.
But it was more than that…and he recognized it, because he felt it too.
She nodded…and pulled the guitar strap off her neck, handing the instrument to him. When he put it over his head, he had to adjust it so the guitar wasn’t resting up on his chest, and then he adjusted the guitar mic so it was in the right place. After striking a couple of chords, he looked at Raine. When she nodded that he was ready, he played the note that would start the song.
Goddamn. She was beautiful anyway, but when she sang that song, it was raw and gritty, showing the audience how the repaired cracks in a vase could be just as breathtaking as the smooth spots. Each word came out as truth, and the audience seemed to hold their breath, taking it in.
It wasn’t until the chorus that Quentin leaned over and began to sing. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how he’d arranged the song, even though it had been in his head for weeks: the verses and bridge were in first person, the chorus in third person, making it easy to sing as a duo.
When he sang, he looked at Raine, not the audience.
* * *
She picked up a guitar and wrote down all her fears
Through the rage, through the pain, and through all the tears.
