“You’re getting to spend a lot of time with her?” Guy pushed.
He nodded. “I am. I always loved their music—I own every album. Working with her?” He shook his head. “She’s a good partner, we sync well, I think. I hope. I’m pretty sure there’s not a better songwriter out there. She has a way of layering in the emotion, lyrics and music working together. And her voice, well, you’ve all heard her. I’m blessed.”
“We have a picture.” Guy turned, looking at the screen behind them. “You two look like you get along.”
Jace studied the picture. The day of the photo shoot. Him smoothing her hair. Her smiling up at him. Seeing it now still made his heart rate pick up. She was beautiful. No doubt about it.
“You want to tell us about this picture?” Guy asked.
Jace grinned. “What’s to tell? Damn good picture.”
The audience laughed.
“And this one?” Guy pointed at the screen again. A different picture. “That’s Clementine, isn’t it?”
Jace stared at the Instagram post. “Yes. Krystal took that for my sister, Heather.” He waved at the camera. “You better be studying for your finals, Heather.” He looked back at Guy. “Krystal found out my sister was a fan and took the picture. She does things like that.”
“Interesting.” Guy nodded. “What about this one?”
Jace wasn’t prepared for the picture that popped up. Krystal was asleep on him in the bowling alley, his arm around her and her head resting on his shoulder. He’d turned a little, his nose resting against her temple. The look on his face. “That’s a new one.”
The audience reaction was a flutter of squeals, some light applause, and a few gasps.
“I know, right?” Guy asked. “This is some development. You’ve become friends?”
Jace nodded, tearing his gaze from the picture that painted a picture all on its own. “We have. I respect her—and I like her. A lot.”
“We can see that. But we had Mickey Graham on the show a few weeks back.” Guy leaned back in his chair. “He doesn’t seem to share your…generous opinion of Miss King.”
“He wouldn’t. And I have a few choice words for Mickey Graham.” He smiled. “But I’m pretty sure I can’t say them on network television.”
Guy sat forward. “You don’t say? Maybe you could paraphrase?”
Jace shrugged. “No man likes rejection. But twisting the truth to get his songs on the chart and his picture on a magazine cover? To me, that makes the man a real rat bastard.”
“Probably best if I stop you there.” Guy was smiling. “Let me play devil’s advocate here, Jace. Some people might think you’re doing the same. Or that this relationship with Krystal King is some sort of damage control for her? Pictures like that circulating—looks awful convenient. People love you. After the show, they feel like they know you and want the best for you. I’m sure I speak for most of the audience when I say I’m sincerely sorry for your loss.”
“I appreciate that.” He nodded. He hated this part of it. Hated the constant reminder of that truly awful day. How would people react if they knew how angry he was? Not at the truck driver but at Nikki? She’d been drinking and she’d still gone. She’d taken his son away. Forever. He cleared his throat. “It means a lot.”
“People want you to be happy. They see you with Krystal King, and they worry.”
Jace nodded. “I am happy. I can’t predict what the future holds, but I’m blessed that she and her family are a part of mine. It’s important to say that Krystal doesn’t need damage control—the real Krystal, that is, not the one the media has created. I’d ask people to listen to her songs, read her lyrics, you’ll see what I’m saying. She has a huge heart and a good soul. But if being damage control means I get to spend time with her, sign me up.”
“You can’t fake that kind of chemistry.” Guy pointed at the picture on display. Jace and Krystal, leaning in to sing their song together during a concert.
“No, sir, you can’t.”
“It was a real pleasure to meet you, Jace. I wish you nothing but success.”
He shook Guy’s hand. “Thank you.”
“I hear you’re going to sing something for us?” He stood, leading Jace to a stool on the far side of the studio’s stage.
Jace nodded, sat, and picked up the guitar. He’d been working on the song for a while, played it through with his band, but he’d never performed it for an audience. “I’m going to play something new for you. I hope you like it. It’s called ‘One Boot at a Time.’”
He ran his fingers over the strings, smiled out over the crowd, and began to play.
I put my boots on one foot at a time