It’s time for me to jump.
Embrace the unknown.
Find out if Jake is the one whoalmostgot away.
sixty-one
JAKE
I hustleoff the stage as soon as the lights dim, riding the high that comes from performing. Sweat is dripping down my back from the scorching lights. I’d kill for a shower, but I’ll have to settle for a quick wipe down before changing back into my red-carpet look. I probably have twenty minutes until I need to be in my seat for the first category I’m nominated in.
My manager, Jason, hands me a bottle of water. His face is pinched, and he’s eerily quiet. Not that it’s possible to talk backstage at one of these events. People are running around, phones everywhere. Privacy is definitelynotguaranteed. And he’s giving vibes that suggest whatever he’s about to say is going to require a private setting.
I drag a hand through my hair as I walk into the dressing room and down another bottle of water. I stare at the wall, bracing myself for whatever hell he’s about to unleash. He’s been with me for my entire career, and tonight was the first time I’ve kept something from him. Fromeveryoneexcept my band.
“What the actual fuck was that?” Jason yells, and I turn to look at him. Fuck. He’s pissed. Rightfully so. Our relationship is built on trust, and I broke it. On purpose. “Do you have anyidea how much my phone has blown up since the first words came out of your mouth? The label wants to know why you hard-launched a new single without telling them.”
“Had to do it,” I reply, crossing my arms. I’ve made my bed, time to lie in it.
“Youhadto do it?Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He massages his temples, trying to unfurrow the deep worry wrinkles settling into his forehead as his phone pings nonstop. I don’t envy the long night he’s about to have trying to calm everyone the fuck down.
“Where’smyphone?” I question, looking around the room. Usually, Jason or my publicist, Anna, holds it during performances. We learned early on not trust anyone else with it.
Jason pulls it out of his pocket and hands it to me. Immediately, I start scrolling through my missed calls and texts. Almost all of them are from fellow musicians and other members of my team who weren’t backstage with us, telling me how much they loved the new song.
Not a single message from her.
I drag a hand down my face before peeling off my shirt. Jason is pacing around the small room as he gestures wildly on a call with the label. I block out his conversation and focus on changing into my suit. Only ten minutes until I need to be in my seat, where I’ll fake a smile for the cameras to ensure I don’t accidentally end up as a meme on social media.
I took a risk tonight.
A big fucking risk.
One last gesture to show her how I feel in the best way I know how. Took control of my life and the future I want. Consequences be damned. I’ll face backlash from the label. The producers will chew Jason out at some point since the song I rehearsed wasn’t the one I performed. Even if nothing changesbetween us, it was worth the effort. She willalwaysbe worth the effort.
“I’ll tell him,” Jason mutters, hanging up and dropping his phone on the table. He shakes his head in disbelief.
“What?”
He chuckles. “You’re a lucky motherfucker. The label was so fucking pissed when you started playing. I’ve never received so many texts all in caps. Thought I was going to spend the night defending your ass.” He shakes his head again, dragging a hand down his face. “Then the song started blowing up on social. The fans fucking love it. You’re trending everywhere. Now the label wants to know how quickly we can get you in the studio to cut it.”
I blow out a sigh of relief. The fallout isn’t going to be as bad as I thought. A silver lining. Something to ease the sting if this attempt to win Kate back doesn’t work.
“There are some questions about the woman in the photos. Speculation on socials that you’re seeing someone. What do you want Anna to do?” Jason’s fingers fly across his phone, responding to messages as he talks to me. He’s in fixer mode. No more time for celebrating the small win. It’s back to business.
“Have Anna shut down any speculation quietly. I don’t want any formal statements or inside source bullshit,” I say, grimacing. The last thing I need is for people to learn about Kate, especially if a life with me isn’t what she wants.
Fuck.
Was it foolish to include photos of her?
I rack my brain, running through the images I chose for the video. There weren’t many of her face, which should make it harder to identify her. No one in our hometown would dare out us. They’ve kept my real identity a secret for fifteen years. News of my mom’s death or the months I spent living in Southmount didn’t leak.
“Will do. You need to get back to your seat,” Jason says, responding to messages without lifting his head to look at me.
I nod solemnly before leaving the dressing room and walking to my front row seat. I’m sandwiched between colleagues up for similar awards in slightly different categories than me. Producers don’t like to put nominees in the same category too close together because it doesn’t make for good TV when they pan to us as the nominations are read. Instead, they tend to strategically sit us near other musicians who will look good on camera. The blatant obsession with appearance and drama bothered me when I started in the industry. I’ve learned over time to ignore it. Separate the life of Chase Elliott from the life of Jake Caldwell. It works.
Most of the time.
