Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)

“B-b-but . . .” Ivy stuttered. “It’s not done. We haven’t rehearsed it or anything. Even if it’s the first release, performing it Saturday seems kind of risky.”

“I’ve got it handled, Ivy. There’s rehearsal time on Saturday to get this all nailed down. Don’t worry. I’ll send you a demo track when the music is done so you can listen and make sure you’re happy. I’m going to call the recording team and see if we can’t tape the performance and release it as an exclusive live track.”

This was no joke. He really did like it. He had never so much as suggested doing something like that before. While he understood live performances were important to a musical career, he liked the recordings to be polished, flawless. A live concert opened him up to so many potential problems. Kevin didn’t tolerate problems.

“I’d like to try shooting a live video, too.”

Ivy nearly dropped the phone. She’d never filmed a live video. “Have you fallen and hit your head, Kevin?”

He chuckled low on the phone. “No, I just think this is the best move. Your numbers are going up with the good press from the Rosewood events. If we follow up the charity concert with a live song and video—maybe even donate a portion of every download to the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund—I think that will seal the deal. We’ll finally be able to put all that unpleasantness with Sterling behind us.”

Ivy breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a tense few months waiting to ride out the tsunami that scandal had caused. If Kevin seemed to think the worst was over, it probably was. Her only concern was singing the song itself. It was so . . . personal. All her songs were personal in one way or another, but this one left her vulnerable in a way she didn’t entirely like. She was emotionally invested, which was something she never did—hadn’t done—since Blake the first time.

The thought of performing it live, with Blake in the audience, was enough to make her want to throw up with nerves. What if he didn’t like a song about them being made public again? What if he thought she was crazy throwing the L-word out there before it was time? What if he just plain hated the song? So many things could go wrong—or right—in just a few moments’ time.

“Ivy?”

She realized she’d missed something Kevin said while she worried herself to death. “Sorry, yes?”

“This song is exactly what I asked you for, so thank you for listening and taking this seriously. I’m excited to debut the new, improved Ivy Hudson to the world.”

“Me too, Kevin.”

“The gossip bloggers have been pretty quiet about you the past few days. Everything okay down there?”

Things were very okay. They were just private. If Nash published photos of what she’d been doing the last day or so, she’d sue the socks off him. “Yes. Malcolm was here and we went to Birmingham to do those promotional spots. Since then, Blake and I have been lying low. Trying not to cause a stir with my relationships, as you requested.”

Kevin laughed again. “You know, I was certain your romance with Blake was doomed. I already had some contingency plans outlined for when it ended with the blast zone of a nuclear warhead. But I was wrong, and this song is the proof of it. You seem to really be . . . happy.”

Ivy felt tears start to well in her eyes. She almost never cried—her persona was too bad-ass for that—but Kevin’s words had struck a chord with her. She was happy. And she hadn’t really been happy in a long time. “I think I am. I don’t want to jinx it, but I am.”

Chapter 18

If given the choice, Blake would never choose an away game for their annual confrontation with their biggest rivals, the Ashville Hawks. But, since the football field had been taken over to set up for the concert, there wasn’t really another option. Besides, until Rosewood High got more bleachers, there just wasn’t room. The Panthers always had good attendance at the games, but the Ashville game was a big deal.

Blake looked into the crowd and couldn’t see an empty seat. One side was a sea of red and white, with the Rosewood band, led by Ivy’s father, right in the middle. They were currently playing the Rosewood fight song while the crowd shook their red-and-white pom-poms. The other side of the stadium was filled with green and white, the Ashville colors.

The sound of the crowd had been deafening since kickoff. He tried to zone out the chaos and focus on the game—that was one of the first things he taught his boys—but this was the first game as a coach that had challenged him. Not only was it a big game, but it was the first game Ivy had watched him coach.

She was sitting a few rows back, near the band. Her mother was on one side of her and Pepper was on the other. At first, he’d had a touch of nerves knowing she was there. He realized soon that no matter when he turned to look up at her, she was cheering for him. It felt good to know that she believed in him and was engaged in his work. He decided to chan

nel that faith into encouragement for his team.

Blake looked up at the scoreboard. It was the fourth quarter and they were down by two points. The boys had been slow to score tonight, and the kicker had been on the verge of throwing up the whole time, he was so nervous. Josh Baldwin was a good player, but the poor kid had psyched himself out. He’d botched an easy field goal in the first quarter, and two extra point kicks. His last kick had been good for three points, putting them within range to win, but all he could think about was the ones he’d missed.

Time was winding down. Blake’s defensive line was out there now, trying to keep the Hawks from scoring again. The Hawks were trying to run down the clock and had just called another time-out. At best, the Panthers would have just enough time to move down the field and put Josh in range to kick a final field goal.

Blake went over to the bench and sat down beside Josh. The boy was holding his helmet in his hands, staring down into it instead of watching the game.

“Baldwin,” Blake said.

The kicker’s head snapped up, his face pale and coated in a sheen of nervous sweat. “Yes, Coach.”

“You’re a great kicker, Baldwin. I’ve seen you make field goals that would be hard for an NFL kicker to pull off. But you’ve got to get out of your head. You’re so worried about screwing up that you’re screwing up.”

“I know,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Coach.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be focused. We’re going out on the field in a minute, and if it goes well, you’ll be kicking again. I need you to think about what we’ve been practicing. Tell me,” Blake demanded.