“Well, um, I should go check on the hors d’oeuvres, so . . .”
“You want to get some air? You look like you need it as badly as I do.” He rakes a hand roughly over his head and glances around for the nearest exit.
“You sure know how to flatter a girl.”
He rolls his eyes. “Stop. You know you’re gorgeous. You just look a little . . . I don’t know . . . out of sorts or something.”
“Or something,” I say, taking his arm and leading him to the French doors that open to the balcony. Thankfully no one stops us as we make our way outside. Fresh air is actually starting to sound pretty good.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jase says as we step over to a deserted section of balcony. “You tell me why you’re green and look seconds from chunking on my shoes and I’ll tell you why I was barreling through the room like a runaway truck that nearly took you down.”
Sighing, I take a few minutes to breathe in the crisp, cool air around us.
When I turn to Jase, either he missed his calling as an actor or he’s genuinely concerned about my well-being.
“I either have the flu or food poisoning. I’ve been feeling off since New Orleans and I can’t shake it.”
“Did you go to the doctor?”
I gesture toward the party I had all of six days to plan. “When? In all of my spare time?”
He nods like he gets it. “That sucks. I hope you get to feeling better. Can I get you something to drink? Ginger ale or club soda or something?”
“Thanks. I’m good. For now.”
“You should go home if you’re feeling bad. The party is pretty much handling itself here. Hell, I’m the guest of honor and I don’t think anyone even cares if I’m here.” He rests his elbows on the balcony ledge and looks out over the courtyard.
I tilt my head. “That’s not true. All of this is for you, you know. To celebrate your hard work and success.”
“My success,” he huffs out under his breath.
“Whoa. I didn’t realize you’d invited me out here to your pity party.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “Who peed in your Wheaties?”
He chuckles, but it’s devoid of the lighthearted happiness that typically accompanies laughter.
Suddenly he turns to me, nailing me with an inquisitive stare I’m not prepared for. “You’re a hardworking girl, Red. You ever wonder if it’s worth it? The long hours? The traveling? Missing out on time with your family? Missing out on having a life, period?”
I regard him warily. He probably doesn’t realize how revealing his questions are. Or how much I can relate to them.
“Sometimes. I guess I tell myself that one day all the sacrifices will be worth it.”
“When?” he demands, growing instantly angry at my answer and catching me off guard. “When do people just sit back and say, ‘Okay. You did enough to deserve to just get to live your life. Now go enjoy it.’ Because I gotta tell you, in my experience, that day is never fucking coming. Your single hits number one and that puts more pressure on the album to do the same so they add more tour dates. More promotional appearances. More radio interviews and talk show appearances. Sell out venues? They add sixteen more shows. It’s all about feeding the machine. Put your heart and body and soul into it, and poof, money comes out. Too bad you won’t have time to spend it.” He shakes his head. “I’m not complaining.”
I arch a brow at him.
“Okay. Yeah, I am complaining. But I’m also trying to caution you from making the same mistakes I have.”
“Which are?”
“Too many to name. But most importantly, don’t use each goal you reach as a reason to set another, higher, less attainable one. Because I can tell you from experience that a life of chasing the next number one, the next promotion, the next opportunity, without ever taking the time to sit back and enjoy what you’ve accomplished is exhausting. And empty.”
I blanch at his declaration. Jase Wade is sad. I can see it so clearly now. Why he puts up the front. It’s a defense mechanism, same as my own. I completely understand what Dallas was talking about now. About “Performer Dallas” and “Person Dallas.”
Performer Jase Wade is on top of the world right now. But Person Jase is lonely and full of regrets. Who knew?
“You want to talk about it?” I coax gently, leaning against him just to let him know he’s not alone.
Performer Jase would make a comment laced with innuendo at the contact. But this version of him just gives me a shrug and pitiful puppy-dog eyes.
“Not really. Nothing I can do about it, anyway.”
“You sure? Sometimes a fresh perspective helps with—”
“My wife got remarried today.” He lets out a soft breath and continues speaking more to himself than me. “My album goes platinum and I get to celebrate on the day my wife marries a fucking accountant.”
If he had thrown me over the balcony, I don’t think I would’ve been more surprised than I am now.
“You’re married?” I don’t even bother keeping the incredulous apprehension out of my voice.
“Not anymore.”
“But . . .”
“But no one ever mentioned me having a wife? That’s because we separated several years ago and she filed for divorce when my career took off.”
“I’m sorry. What happened?” I shake my head. “Jesus. My mama would smack my mouth for prying. I’m so sorry.”
“I made choice, choices that hurt the two women I loved more than anything in this world.”
“Two?”
Jase turns his attention to his phone and when he holds it up I think it’s my cue to leave him the hell alone to wallow. A gorgeous auburn-haired little girl with startling green eyes and angelic curls smiles into the camera. She can’t be more than three or four and she’s holding up tiny hands covered in finger paint.
“That’s an old picture, but that’s my McKenna,” he says softly. “I call her Mac. She’ll turn thirteen soon.” There is reverence in his voice and it hits me hard in my chest.
My hand lifts to my mouth and inexplicable tears fill my eyes. “God. Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. She’s beautiful.”
He pulls up a more recent picture of a smirking twelve-year-old girl who looks a lot like him. A tear escapes my left eye, then one from my right follows and I feel like a complete jackass. First of all, it was my job to research Wade and all of his history so that I could make sure this tour was the right opportunity for Midnight Bay. Second, he’s Jase freaking Wade. How does no one know he has a wife, well, ex-wife, and a kid? Third, why the hell am I crying?
If Jase notices my emotional breakdown, he’s gentleman enough to pretend he doesn’t.
“I wanted joint custody, or scheduled visitation at least, but Aubrey fought me hard. I had the expensive lawyers but she had all the proof that she is Mac’s sole caretaker. There was no denying that the life I lead isn’t a great place for a kid. She won’t even let me pay for anything and that’s the whole reason I work so damn hard. So that Mac can have whatever her heart desires. Oh, hey, look at this one. Doesn’t she look like a superstar?”
He scrolls to another picture and I am barely in one piece at this point. McKenna is wearing a leotard and tights, standing in what I think is first position.
“She’s beautiful, Jase.”
“Right?” He shakes his head. “I just wanted . . . damn it.” Now his eyes are beginning to water.
“We are one hell of a pair of party animals.”
He puts his phone away and shakes his head. “Sorry.”
“Hey, listen. I won’t say anything. This is your personal business and no one else’s.”
“The only people that care about that part of my life are the vultures anyway.” Jase looks like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I wish I knew how to comfort him, but there isn’t a go-to response for situations like this one.
Turning around, he faces the party and leans back on the railing in a way that makes me dizzy. If I looked over the banister right now I’d likely puke all over the people below.
“You know, when this all started, moving to Nashville, cutting a demo, signing with a label, it was all for them. For my girls.”