“How do I do that?” She blinked.
“You realize people can’t hurt you unless you let them.” His mind turned to his dad. “That the words they say and the way they look at you can’t kill you. And what doesn’t kill you…”
“Makes you stronger,” she whispered.
He nodded. “That’s right.”
He could see the struggle on her face, as she thought about his words. And he realized how much he wanted her to ignore what everybody else said. To shuck off the expectations of this town and the people who lived in it. To shout from the rooftops that she wanted to be his girl.
Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he craved it. For her to tell everybody about them. For their relationship to be open knowledge, instead of a dirty little secret they both had to deny.
Because it wasn’t dirty. It was good and it was right, and it was the best damn thing that had happened to him in years.
“Maddie?” he whispered, his chest tight as he waited for her to say something.
She nodded, her eyes catching his. And he saw it. The strength and determination that had characterized her from the first time they’d met. It pushed down the vulnerability, cloaking it in a suit of iron.
“You’re right,” she whispered, reaching her hand out to cup his jaw, her palm soft against his rough skin. “I don’t give a damn what Jessica thinks. Or anybody else for that matter.” She rolled onto the balls of her feet, her head tipping up until her lips were a breath from his. “Gray Hartson, you’re making me break all my rules.”
His brow lifted up. “I’ve already thrown mine out.” He closed his eyes as her mouth brushed his, warmth flooding his body. He slid his good arm around her waist. “Christ, you feel good.”
When he pulled away, she was smiling, and it about broke him. This pretty, funny, strong woman had chosen him. And she wasn’t afraid to show it.
“Come on, I’ll let you take me home,” he said, tucking her against his side.
As they walked out of the hospital, he saw Jessica furiously tapping against her phone.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Your record company is pissed,” Marco said down the telephone line. Gray was sitting in the summerhouse, his denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him, his feet rested on a box. “I promised them you’d be ready to record in September. They’re not happy about postponing for two months.”
“It was an accident,” Gray reminded him. He was used to Marco’s high strung responses. Liked them, even. He paid his manager to panic, so Gray didn’t have to. “Just tell them I’ll be ready in November.”
“I already did. And they’re still worried, Gray. You left the tour on a high. They don’t want you disappearing for months. They were planning on releasing your next single in December.”
“We still can. It’ll just be tight, that’s all.” He stretched his injured hand in front of him, wincing at the momentary pain his movement caused. There was no way he could even hold a guitar right now, let alone play. The record company would have to wait.
“I spoke to the PR department and they’re making a plan in the meantime,” Marco continued. Gray could picture his manager sitting in his office, wearing his usual designer suit and thin, knotted tie, his wire glasses pitched low on the bridge of his nose. He was younger than Gray, but he acted about ten years older. “They want to get you back in the limelight. Let people see what you’re doing back in your home town. Rock Magazine has agreed to do a feature on you. They’re sending a journalist down next week.”
“What?” Gray sat forward. “I didn’t agree to that.”
Marco paused. “Okay, let me rephrase. Gray, is it okay if a journalist comes to interview you next week? It’ll be good for your career.”
“No.”
A big sigh reverberated through the telephone line. “You gotta throw them a bone. They’ve paid a huge advance for your next album, and now you’ve injured yourself doing something stupid. Something I told you not to do, by the way.”
A smile lifted the corner of Gray’s lips. “You gonna tell me you told me so?” He knew Marco never would. He was too diplomatic for that.
“I’m going to tell you to listen to me for a change. Let me earn the money you pay me. Just do this interview and it’ll keep the folks at Vista Records very happy.”
The thought of a journalist coming to interview him here, in Hartson’s Creek, made Gray want to groan. It was like two worlds colliding, and he had no idea where the fallout would be. In L.A., he was Gray Hartson. Rock singer, Grammy winner, owner of a beautiful house in the hills above Malibu. Over there he was in control of who he was.
But here? He felt bare. And yeah, some of that was due to Maddie and the way she made him want to be. But there were other things, too. His relationship with his father for one. He never wanted the world to know about that.
“Okay, I’ll do the interview, but I’ll fly to L.A. to do it,” Gray said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me the time and date and I’ll be there.”
Marco hesitated for a moment. “That won’t work,” he said quietly. “They’ve done a whole load of interviews with you in L.A. before. They want an exclusive. And the record company wants to start building the hype for your album. The journalist wants to see you in your home town. Wants the insider scoop regarding the inspiration behind your next album.”