Grace wondered if there was any chance that she was dreaming. Things like this just didn’t happen in her real life.
Had Bryan really followed her here? Had he really just told her he loved her in front of a game room full of men? Had he really said he was willing to beg, if necessary? The thought of Bryan Falcon begging for anything was enough in itself to boggle her mind.
She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sing a note, but she was almost dragged onto the stage before she could pull herself together enough to protest. She was welcomed warmly by the band—the same ones who had performed at her sister’s wedding. Their old school friend, Jack, the lead singer for the increasingly popular band, smiled at her and handed her the microphone. “What do you want to sing, Grace?” he asked, the only one there other than the band members and Bryan who even knew her real name.
“I, uh—” Her mind was blank.
“How about ‘Down at the Twist and Shout?’”
“Yes, that will be fine.” She cleared her throat and somehow found the mental resources to launch into the rollicking number made famous by country singer Mary Chapin Carpenter.
Bryan was sitting at a table with Stump and Paul now, looking like one of their lifelong pals, which only added to the air of unreality that accompanied her performance. He was grinning and lounging with the ease of a man in his natural environment. Even here, all he had to do was walk in and he had a dozen new best friends, she thought in resignation.
Thundering applause followed the last note of her song, and while she enjoyed the ovation, she was well aware that generous mugs of beer fueled the enthusiasm for her singing. Bryan was on his feet, clapping and whistling and generally making a fool of himself. She sent him a repressive frown and automatically followed along when the band began the next number, Tanya Tucker’s “It’s a Little Too Late.”
This was the music she truly enjoyed singing. Hard rocking, foot tapping contemporary country. She loved bopping with the band, holding the microphone, hearing the audience cheering and clapping along. This was when she flew, free of the restraints of her everyday life. Jack sang backup for her; they leaned toward each other as they harmonized the lyrics about being up all night wondering what to do—and then acknowledging that it was “a little too late” to do the right thing and walk away.
A little too late to turn her heart around, she sang—and realized that the words were absolutely true. It was entirely too late for her to stop loving Bryan. Entirely too late to do the right thing and forget about him.
She’d given him his chance. Now he was stuck with her. And he had better not change his mind this time, she thought as she finished the song and watched him cheer again with his newfound buddies. She couldn’t help smiling as Stump slapped him on the back so hard Bryan nearly tumbled flat on his face.
She turned to her friend and whispered into his ear. And then, while he talked to the band, she spoke into the microphone. “I would like to dedicate my final number to someone who’s waiting for an answer from me,” she said, looking straight at Bryan. “I hope you find it in this song.”
The band played the opening notes to a blatantly romantic song made famous by an incongruously violent movie. First recorded by Trisha Yearwood, it was entitled “How Do I Live.” The lyrics asked how she could live if the man she loved left her life, taking with him everything that mattered to her. Without him there would be no joy, no sunshine—no love, she crooned.
She had previously considered the song a bit too syrupy, too dramatic. She sang it occasionally only because it had been so often requested by audiences, and because the band liked playing it for her. Now she sang it because she meant it. Maybe she could live without Bryan—but she had discovered during the past few days that she really didn’t want to.
The applause was a bit more muted when she finished that number—or maybe she had just tuned out everyone but Bryan, who was standing across the room, watching her without taking his eyes from her face. She handed the microphone to Jack and stepped off the stage, murmuring incoherent responses to the compliments she received as she crossed the room.
She stopped in front of Bryan and gazed up at him fiercely. “Well?”
“I can’t live without you, either,” he said simply. “I love you, Grace.”
“I love you, too,” she said. “And if you change your mind, I swear I’ll…I’ll…”
“I’ll take care of him for you if that happens,” Stump offered, shamelessly eavesdropping.
“There you go,” Bryan told her with a grin. “I have no choice but to love you for the rest of my life.”
“No,” she said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him toward her. “You don’t.”
She kissed him right there in front of the entire room full of people, sealing the deal.
“Whee-eww,” Stump shouted, waving an arm in the air. “Sassy’s done got herself engaged. Drinks all around to celebrate—and the rich guy’s paying,” he added, thumping Bryan on the back.
Bryan seemed delighted to oblige—or maybe he was just scared not to, Grace thought with a happy laugh. She couldn’t really blame him.
“Grace?”
Arching into Bryan’s lazily stroking hand on her bare, damp back, Grace responded without opening her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to do so. “Mmm?”
“How did you find that place, anyway?”
She smiled against his bare chest, her own hand making a leisurely foray down his lean hip. “I used to go there with Kirk—my ex-fiancé. When we broke up, I got custody of the hangout and our friends there. Kirk quit showing up there when Stump threatened to use him for a pool cue.”
Bryan chuckled. “Remind me never to get on Stump’s bad side.”
“No problem. By the time we left tonight, he was ready to marry you, himself.”