“My poor baby. Is she okay? Why isn’t she awake?”
“She’s been in and out of it. Doctor says she’s going to be okay,” Rooster explains in hushed tones. “She needs to rest, though.”
Huh. Almost sounds like he’s warnin’ Momma to keep the drama to a minimum. Good luck with that, Rooster.
“Did you catch him? Where is—” Her question cuts off so fast, I can picture Rooster making a slashing gesture with his hand. At least, that’s how my mind fills in the blanks. I’m too tired to open my eyes again.
“Let’s talk outside and then you can sit with Shelby,” Rooster offers. “I’ll try to track down the doctor so you can ask your questions.”
“Well, I, uh…”
“Come on, Lynn,” Greg says.
How about that. Greg’s here too.
Still can’t muster up enough interest to open my eyes.
“How could you—” My mom’s accusatory tone scratches my nerves.
“Outside,” Rooster says in a harsher tone. “Please.”
My lips twitch. Although I hate having the responsibility fall on Rooster’s shoulders, it’s nice to have someone with a spine dealing with my mother for a change.
Their conversation fades, and I’m free to return to floating on air. Is it too much to ask for a dreamless sleep?
“The tour’s on hold while you recover, Shelby,” Greg says in a low voice. “Don’t you fret about a thing. Everyone’s worried about you and just wants to see you get better.”
“Thank you,” I mutter. His words actually ease some of my gathering anxiety.
“You’re awake?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“More or less,” I mutter.
“Need anything?”
Nope.
I’m so tired, I’m not sure if I say the word or not. Everything’s quiet for a while. Or maybe I go back to sleep.
“I’ve never been so scared in my life. When we realized you were missing…” Greg says. “I’m so sorry I didn’t take the letters seriously sooner.”
His pitiful voice tugs at me. Whatever happened isn’t his fault. At least, I don’t think so. I can’t round up any anger anyway. Only relief that I’m safe.
“The CMA nominations were announced,” Greg continues.
Wow. Just a few days ago, that seemed like the biggest thing in the whole universe. Now, I feel…nothing. Oddly detached from my old aspirations.
“Really?” I ask, more to be polite than anything else.
“You’re up for Best Female Vocalist of the Year and Best New Artist of the Year. Best Single of the Year for ‘White Knight,’ and ‘Big Lies’ for Song of the Year. That nomination includes Trent. He’s pretty stoked.” Greg’s tired voice is tinged with excitement.
Wow. My fuzzy brain tries to count up the nominations. Four? Dang. That’s more than I ever hoped for. Too bad my current predicament puts a damper on any mounting celebration. “They probably felt sorry for me.” I sweep my hand over the hospital bed.
Greg sits up, leaning closer. “No. Don’t do that, Shelby. They were announced before the story about your kidnapping broke. Those nominations were sealed. Done deals. This is all you. Not pity nods, Shelby. Your hard work this year paid off. Huge.”
Maybe in a few days it’ll hit me and I’ll be more enthusiastic. But inside, I’m too hollow to celebrate a damn thing. It all seems so insignificant after…everything.
I fall back against the pillows and close my eyes. “That’s good.”
Greg blows out a frustrated breath. “Shelby. Your dedication. Your talent. It’s finally being recognized in a big way. I know what happened was awful, but please try to focus on something positive. This will do amazing things for your future.”
Future? What’s my future going to look like? Being terrified every time I go someplace new? Scared of every fan I meet? Wondering which one is the next nutjob who thinks he’s in love with me? Fearing that the guy who shook my hand and asked for an autograph is secretly plotting to drag me off to his cabin in the woods?
“You can take a break, Greg.” Jigsaw’s rumbly voice is more of an order than a suggestion. “She awake?”
Metal scrapes against the tile and Greg clucks his tongue. “She seems to be in and out of it.”
Sure, if that’s how he wants to explain my lack of enthusiasm about the nominations, I ain’t gonna stop him.
They talk quietly for a minute. I flick my eyes open and watch them at the door. Greg finally nods and disappears into the hallway.
“Jiggy,” I whisper.
He eyes widen, and he slowly prowls closer to the bed. “Songbird, we had quite a scare,” he rasps.
I blink. My eyes well up.
“Shhh.” He brushes his rough fingers over my arm. “How you feeling?”
I try to nod, but it hurts too much, and end up wincing instead.
Jigsaw’s chiseled jaw turns to stone but he gently curls his fingers around mine. “We got to him, Shelby. He hasn’t suffered nearly enough yet. But he will,” he says, so low I almost can’t hear him.