Chapter Eighteen
After Trigger Happy, the last song of the first act, Cole ran backstage and guzzled the bottle of water that had been left for him. The band continued to wail as the lights dimmed and their solos started. Cole had ten minutes to take a breather, drink some water, and wipe the sweat off his bare chest while the crowd became amazed by the talent of the drummer and lead guitarist.
So far, Cole had brought the show down. The crowd’s energy was staggering and over-the-top. So much more than he anticipated. According to what Rita told him before the show started, Harrah’s showroom had remained sold out. Either Scratchy’s fans were more eager to watch a rock show than they’d expected, or seats that opened up were immediately sold.
Rita appeared beside him and handed him a towel. “You’re killing it out there,” she said. “Do you hear that crowd?”
Cole nodded, swiping the towel over his chest. “Did you let the showroom manager know about the change of plans for the end?”
“Yes, but are you sure you want to do this?”
“No turning back now.”
And if his songs were well received, if he didn’t get booed off the stage afterward, he’d call Rachael and invite her to the show tomorrow night. He’d surprise her with front row seats so she could hear the songs she’d inspired.
She had to know how much he thought about her, how she plagued him in the best possible way. He’d never known anyone like her, so giving and caring, so attentive, yet self-assured and independent. And she didn’t look at him like Cole Turner the rock star. It was as if she wasn’t blinded by Hollywood’s glitz and glamour and truly liked him for who he was…the thought gave him strength.
With Rachael at his side, he felt whole in a way he’d never known.
“All right,” Rita hollered over the screams of the crowd. “Ronnie’s solo is almost over. Go out there and hit ‘em hard. When the lights black out after Darkness Awaken, I’ll bring you your favorite guitar and a barstool. That’s all you need, right?”
No, he needed Rachael beside him to share this moment with. What he was about to do was completely different than anything he’d ever done before. These were the songs of his heart. Once the words left his lips, he’d be exposed. Vulnerable. What if they hated the songs and rejected him?
Nerves rattled in Cole’s stomach. If Rachael were here she’d know what to say, and how to soothe him.
“That’s all I need for now,” he said, but he needed Rachael like the air in his lungs and the guitar slung over his shoulder.
Adjusting the guitar strap, Cole darted back onstage to sing the last set before his own songs.
* * *
Rachael drove hard and fast, and when she pulled up to Harrah’s in Tahoe a mere two hours after leaving Blue Lake, she thanked the Lord above that she hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket.
She parked in the self-parking lot and darted inside, heading straight for registration.
What would she say to Cole when she saw him? Hey, just wanted to tell you I want more than a weekend fling. Don’t go back to Hollywood. Kiss me until I stop over-thinking this.
All of those things would work, but none of them felt right. The only thing burning to leap off her lips were three tempestuous words: I love you.
It was crazy to think she loved a man she met three days ago, but since the day she met Cole Turner, he somehow managed to burrow into her soul. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
“Excuse me?” she said, sliding up to the hotel registration counter. “What room is Cole Turner staying in?”
The short man behind the counter grinned without showing his teeth. “I can’t tell you that ma’am. Privacy issue. Are you checking in?”
“No, I…” What was she going to do? Wait in the lobby until she caught him walking out? Clearly she hadn’t thought this through. “…I just needed to say something before it was too late.”
“I could lose my job if I gave out that kind of information, especially since I’ve been given specific orders from his manager to keep his room number private.” His smile disappeared as fast as it came. “I’m sure you understand.”
Her heart squeezed. “Yeah, I do.”
“So,” he said, folding his hands over the counter, “checking in?”
What was her other option? Wait in the lobby? Come hell or high water she would see him tomorrow for his show, but she’d need a place to crash for tonight.
“Fine.” She took her ID and credit card from her purse and slid it over.
His fingers flew over the computer keys. “All we have left is a luxury empress suite. Full kitchen and living room. King size bed. Magnificent views of the Sierras. Top floor.”
“Seriously?” She sighed. If she wanted to run into Cole, she had to stay. “Fine, whatever, just give me the paperwork.”
As she signed the registration form, the concierge handed her the key. “Take the elevator to the eighteenth floor, and the room will be the last on the right.” He unfolded a brochure in front of her showcasing the music acts for the month. A scorching picture of Cole was on the left flap, a smoldering gleam in his eye, a guitar slung over his shoulder. “Every luxury empress suite reservation comes with a complimentary ticket to one of our shows.”
“Perfect!”
At least she’d save the cost of tomorrow’s ticket to see him.
“Tonight’s show was supposed to be Scratchy and the Buccaneers, but they had to cancel.”
“Scratchy?” She snorted into a laugh. “Hope he didn’t get a rash.”
The concierge stared, his face a stoic mask. “Cole Turner filled in, but the show is nearly over.”
“Now?” She screeched, pounding on the counter. “Cole’s playing now? Where?”
“South showroom.”
“I’ll take that one. That show.”
He frowned. “All right, but once I print it there are no refunds. If you miss the show, you don’t get a ticket for tomorrow.”
“Just print the damn ticket!”
God, what did a girl have to do to stalk a rock star around here?
Raising his eyebrows, the concierge stared as if she’d gone nut-so. She probably had. He printed the ticket. Snatching it off the counter, Rachel took off toward the south showroom. She jetted through the casino, winding around slot machines, her thoughts whirling. She wouldn’t ask Cole to stay in Blue Lake, but would he want to? Could he still sing and make records if he didn’t live in Hollywood? Is that what he’d want?
More importantly, would she, could she, be enough for him?
There were too many questions and only one way to get the answers.
When the showroom doors came into view, she slowed. Pulled up her jeans. Yanked down her sweater. Fluffed her hair and draped a few golden waves over her shoulders.
Show time.
She heaved open the doors and met two security officers in a blacked-out antechamber. The screams of the crowd exploded into the small room, nearly blasting out her eardrums. She handed the ticket to the burlier of the two security guards.
“You know the show’s about to end, right?” he hollered, leaning into her ear. “There are only two songs left.”
“That’s okay, I’m not here for the music anyway.” She opened the curtains and lost her breath as she spotted Cole sitting on a barstool in the center of the stage. He wore a black T-shirt, dark washed jeans, and black boots. He looked relaxed, completely at ease, as he adjusted the guitar over his shoulder and waved at the guests in the front row. The lights in the showroom dimmed and the spotlight honed on him. He smiled, languid and sexy, quieting the crowd and stopping her heart. Her chest warmed, sending a delicious blush blooming over her skin. “I’m here for him.”