Crazy Love(4)
“When is your next album coming out?”
“When are you announcing tour dates?”
“Why did you leave Midnight Rush?”
“Is Midnight Rush ever going to get back together?”
“Are you dating anyone?”
There were also the occasional offers to carry his baby, and of course there were proposals, both marriage and indecent. He tried to be in the moment. Be present. He’d found that it was a trick to not let the outpouring of affection overwhelm him. Also, he honestly believed that each fan deserved his individual attention.
Normally during meet and greets, he was able to do exactly that. But tonight, after seeing the lyrics he’d written as a private love letter permanently inked on a stranger’s body, all he could think about was the girl he’d written them about. There wasn’t a second that Krista Sloan wasn’t on his mind. The only question was whether or not she was dominating his thoughts or hanging out in the background.
As the photographer snapped the final picture with the last person in the small conference room, Chase knew he needed to get his head in the game. He only had a couple of hours until showtime and he needed to use that time to refocus his energy on the second love of his life. Music.
“Let’s get you back to the green room,” Tully said, as he motioned for the two men his management had hired as bodyguards to follow them through the back halls of the venue to the room designated for talent.
Chase hated having security. Even though on some rational level he knew it was for his own safety, especially since he’d had a few close calls with some fans who were not mentally stable. Still, it bothered him that as a grown man, he had to have other grown men walk him through a building.
“Marcus called and he wants you to sign off on the dates for the tour,” Tully said, rapidly relaying messages as he scrolled through his iPad. “You have a photo shoot for the cover of Hits on Friday and an interview for the magazine the following day. We need to confirm location.”
Chase stopped mid-stride. “Who approved that?”
Interviews were the last thing he wanted to do right now, and a photo shoot ran a close second.
Tully’s shaggy hair fell in his face as he looked down at the iPad. His finger swiped across the screen several times before he looked back up and turned the device so that Chase could read it. “You did. Back in March. It was supposed to coincide with your tour.”
Chase stared at the bright screen that shone like a flashlight in the dim hallway of the old music hall. Sure enough, his initials were on the scanned contract agreeing to both the interview and photo shoot for Hits Magazine.
“Fine.” Chase began moving again, walking even faster towards the room where he’d have a few moments of peace to himself.
Shit. An interview. The first interview he’d ever done without the band surrounding him as a buffer.
Even when the band had been together, as the lead singer, a lot of the questions had naturally been asked to him specifically. But if anything had ever gotten too personal, it was an unspoken agreement that one of his bandmates would redirect the attention and focus. It had worked like a charm for eight years.
This time, he was on his own.
“Move out of the way.” His security team cleared a path through the narrow hall that was crowded with screaming fans.
As he navigated his way safely into the room, he felt like the walls were closing in on him as he shut the door behind him. He hated shutting out people who had been waiting to see him, but the reason they wanted to see him was because of what he did onstage. He couldn’t do what he needed to do onstage without taking time to prepare.
The bottoms of Chase’s boots squeaked as he moved across the hardwood floor. After sitting down on the tattered brown couch that sat against the far wall, Chase picked up his guitar, resting it on his leg. As his fingers gently pressed down on the nylon strings pulled taut against the spine, his thumb strummed the opening chord to “Crazy Love”.
He’d written several songs specifically for Krista, but somehow this song was the one he automatically played when she was all he could think about.
“I can hear her heartbeat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her, that’s where I belong
Yet I’m running to her like a river’s song.”
As he sang the lyrics and closed his eyes, he could practically feel the heat of the sunrays hitting his face from that warm summer day on the river in Harper’s Crossing. The day he’d set up a picnic after staying up all night learning their song on his guitar. He could hear the river flowing beside them, and in his mind’s eye, he could see her golden-red hair shining in the sun. Her green eyes filling with tears as she sat on the blanket, holding her knees to her chest as he sang to her. His girl.