She was gone.
Mari Belle was there. Paisley too. A blonde he'd been introduced to at the meet-and-greet. But no Lindsey.
Must've run to the ladies' room, he guessed. Or went in search of food.
Or the crowd had gotten to her.
He gave the Gibson a strum while the audience cheered and hollered. "Y'all know this one, huh?"
He scanned the audience again, a dark mass of standing-room-only crowd spilling out of the hangar. No sign of Lindsey's blonde hair, her light purple sweater, her smiles just for him in the VIP section though.
She had about three minutes before he'd pull her song from tonight's set list.
Wouldn't be an all-bad thing, though. Meant he'd have to sing it for her later.
Just the two of them.
They were over on Sunday? She could think it all she wanted to. But Will, he'd get his girl. He might not get to keep his mishmashed little family, but even if it took all his life to convince her, he'd get his girl.
Chapter Eighteen
"YOU'RE SURE IT'S okay to be out here?" Lindsey said to Jackson. Mari Belle's neighbor had noticed her struggling to breathe in the growing crush of the crowd in the VIP section, and he'd walked her out for air.
"Better than you passin' out in there." He smiled at her in the dark-a warm, adorable kind of grin that his fiancée seemed to fully appreciate. "Don't get on military bases much?"
Lindsey shook her head.
"All good out here tonight. If you get somewhere you shouldn't be, somebody'll steer you back."
"Good to know." The night air was cool and refreshing, and the tingling in her fingers and toes slowly receded. Will's voice drifted out into the night. A month ago, she never would've considered it possible that she'd be standing on a military base, listening to Will sing. But here she was. "Your wedding's coming up?"
"Next month." His grin went even more adorable. She was such a sucker for the Southern boys.
"Congratulations."
"Thank you kindly, ma'am."
She studied the dark-haired man. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you deploy often?"
He chuckled. "Me? Nah. Air Force paid for my engineering degree. Like to keep me behind a desk and use my brain instead. I get sent downrange maybe every few years or so, at most."
"Oh."
The music changed inside, slowed down. Lindsey was missing Will's show.
But she couldn't breathe inside the hangar.
Too many people, too many bad matches, too much subtle hostility still rolling off Mari Belle.
Too much of her self-imposed deadline breathing down her neck. She had to walk away from Will in less than forty-eight hours.
"I go TDY a fair amount, but I reckon ol' Billy travels more than I do," Jackson said.
"TDY?"
"Temporary duty. What civilian folks call business trips."
"Ah."
"My Anna Grace, she's one of them takes-care-of-herself types." He tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "Still hate to leave her, though. Miss her when I'm gone."
Lindsey couldn't help smiling. "You two are ridiculously cute."
"She gets all the credit for that part."
Will's voice washed over her, echoing over the crowd's roar inside the hangar.
They loved him.
Thousands of people, and they loved him. He could've had anyone, and he kept coming back to Lindsey.
"You gonna go with him out on tour?" Jackson asked.
She shook her head. "We're not-" She blew out a breath. "Will is one of the best men I have ever known," she said. "But Billy Brenton-that's not the kind of life I fit into. He was born to be a superstar, and I-I'm not the best he can do."
"Usually the kind of thing a man likes to decide for himself."
"I've been a divorce lawyer for ten years. Trust me, I know how it ends when one party asks the other to sacrifice their dream to make a relationship work."
"Still his choice to make." Jackson looked at the hangar. "A year ago, I thought I liked being all by my lonesome. Thought serving Uncle Sam was good enough for me. Would've said the same as you, that it's not fair to give up a career for love. But my Anna Grace-she's worth everything. I was born to wear the uniform-and my Mamie says I make it look good-but I'd quit my job in a heartbeat if that's what it took to keep her."
"But then what would you do?"
"Life ain't about what you do. It's about what you do for the people you love. And I don't know Billy-don't know Will-but I reckon he'd be as happy in a little country bar as he is on a big stage." He grinned. "But don't go telling my Anna Grace or Mari Belle I told you so. They'd chew me up one side and down the other for taking the wrong side."
"You don't miss much."
"No ma'am."
"Lindsey! Hey, Lindsey!"
She glanced over at the unfamiliar voice, and suddenly a spotlight was on her, a microphone was shoved in her face and two guys crowded her. She could make out crew IDs and nothing more as she blinked into the light.
Her pulse crashed in her ears, panic bubbles erupted in her chest, and she tasted the acidic bite of terror. She tripped back one step, two, before a solid grip steadied her.
The other two bodies, the spotlight and a camera jostled into her. "Billy said this is your first concert," the same voice said. "That true?"
"Wanna tell his BillyVision viewers what you think of it so far?" another voice said.
No. No. She didn't. She couldn't.
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. The microphone leered at her, taunting her. Say it, it said. Tell us everything, Lindsey. Tell the world you're a psychic anti-matchmaking divorce lawyer and that you're dumping Billy tomorrow.
She swallowed against the words rising from her chest. Bile nipped at her throat and she fought the words she wanted to spill into the microphone. "I-he's-"
Thousands of people watched BillyVision. Being Billy was Will's life. She'd been wrong fifteen years ago. They hadn't been bad for each other because she'd be president and the world couldn't handle a First Bubba. They'd been wrong because she was never meant to be president, and she couldn't handle Billy Brenton's life.
"Oh, hey, we need to get you a Billy T-shirt."
Lindsey's knees turned to rubber. "I don't-You can't-Will-" she choked out.
"How about you fellas give the lady some room?" Jackson said quietly beside her.
The light went out, the microphone disappeared and suddenly there were two men standing between the dots marring Lindsey's vision while she gasped for air.
"You okay, Miss Lindsey?"
"Just wanted to give the boss a surprise. He digs you. Thought he'd like seeing you on camera."
"You need some water or something?"
She declined, lungs heaving, fingers tingling. Will's crew hadn't meant any harm.
But her pulse was zinging. Her legs quaked with aftershocks and her stomach was wound tight. She swallowed hard. "You startled me," she forced out.
It was the only thing she could think to say to keep her dignity intact without causing problems for Will's crew.
"Sorry again, Miss Lindsey."
"Didn't mean any harm, ma'am."
"Here, have a bottle of BillyWater."
This time, instead of a microphone, they thrust a water bottle with Will's picture on the label at her.
"Can we get you a chair?"
"Or walk you inside?"
"I got a peppermint too, if you want that."
They were sweet, all doing their best to make her feel better, but these were the good guys. What if they'd been the local press, or People magazine, or Katie Couric, or the National Enquirer? What happened when someone shoved a mic in her face and asked the hard questions? Are you dating Billy for his money? Is it true you dumped him onstage fifteen years ago? What makes you think you're good enough for a superstar to love? Hey, can you tell me if those two people over there are a good match? What's it like to be a weirdo?
She and Will weren't in Willow Glen anymore. Her Will wasn't her Will anymore.
She swallowed hard again, this time against the grief welling up.
She had to let him go. She wasn't built for a public life. Sooner or later, she'd repeat her mistake from Colorado, or her mistakes from college with her gift, and his family, his friends-they were all right.
This time, it would be worse. This time, instead of building him up for his destiny, she'd tear it down, piece by piece, by being the freak show in Billy Brenton's life. The girl who couldn't handle crowds. Who panicked over the sight of a microphone. Who wanted him to stay home, with her, every day, and never go on tour again.
She couldn't ask that of him. He'd been hers for a month, but in his regularly scheduled life, he was Billy. The BillyVision videos, the way he lost himself in writing songs, that broad, unfiltered country boy smile that lit the whole stage when he was on it-Will loved being Billy. He was born to be Billy.
And she would only be in his way.
Will's voice echoed out of the hangar, half-drowned by the crowd singing along with him.