Page 37 of False Promises

Twenty minutes later, the adrenaline of the night slowly receded as I slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Any other day, I would seize the opportunity to enjoy Las Vegas and its night life—my musicians had plans for the rest of the night and asked me to join them—but I just wanted some time to relax on my own. Big concerts meant tons of people surrounding me. A lot of prepping. And not a single minute to myself. And I found it tiring. Sometimes, I wished I could do smaller venues. I loved the music, the performance, the thrill that came with it. I was addicted to it. But I hated the fame that accompanied it. The press trying to catch pictures of me or my family, the gossip, the unwarranted pressure it added to my existence.

Every time I stopped and thought about it, my insides coiled, and my breaths picked up.

Taylor and I entered my suite. A symbol of the Las Vegas extravaganza. So far from the man I was. And the things I cared about. I would have been satisfied in a regular room with two queen-size beds. Instead, this had a high ceiling—at least ten feet—golden trims, and what appeared to be expensive pieces of art hanging on the walls and spread all over the place on coffee and side tables. A black and gold cheetah-patterned rug. It was exuberant and not even tasteful in my opinion. Like they tried to overdo the décor, thinking it would impress people. Well, it didn’t impress me. This cacophony of patterns and colors even increased my uneasiness. As I scanned the area around me, I bet June did this on purpose. She knew I was a simple guy, and I could picture Riley and her betting, trying to find the worst room for me to sleep in just to get a rise out of me. With a shake of my head and a tired curl of my lips, I kicked my shoes off and turned to face Taylor still beside me, taking in every detail of this décor the same way I did. A small smile peeked through his otherwise collected composure.

“Don’t say it, man,” I said, nudging his side. “I’m sure it was meant as a joke. No way would June book this room on purpose unless it was to mess with me.”

His unruffled facade broke, and a warm laugh left him. “I was thinking the same. Think it was a bet? Or a test?”

I shrugged. “No idea, but it’s hideous.”

“Well, you’re the one spending the night here.”

“Don’t speak so fast. Perhaps she’s subjecting you to the same treatment.”

His humor dissolved.

“Anyway, wanna go for a run with me? I can’t stay here unless I’m so exhausted I’ll go straight to bed.”

My friend looked at me with a quizzical expression that quickly transformed into worry. “You still got energy after that show? You really wanna escape this room, or is it one of your episodes?”

I sighed. “Other than this hideous piece of museum exhibition”—I waved an arm around me—“my mind is restless. Before it turns into a panic attack, I better get the angst out. Will you be able to follow me?” I teased. Taylor was an ex-secret service agent. If someone could outrun me, it was him. “Or is it too late for your old self to keep up?” And he was only a few years older than me.

“Better tie your sneakers tight enough, man.” His face lit up at the challenge. “We’ll see who puts who to bed first tonight.”

I extended my arm to shake his hand. “Deal. You should know by now when panic invades my thoughts, I’m unstoppable for hours.”

“Well, you just performed for two hours. I might win this time.”

He left to get ready while I changed into my running gear and a baseball cap. I pulled the hood of my light gray sweater over it, praying the disguise would be inconspicuous at this late hour with the partygoers and tourists still filling the busy sidewalks.

* * *

Taylor parked the car in the back alley and escorted me inside through the rear door. Since we were in Los Angeles and not Nashville, my security had to be reevaluated. Here, there were paparazzi camped in front of every popular venue and famous restaurant on the lookout for the next compromising picture they would be able to sell to make a name for themselves. I had no interest in playing a part in this celebrity scheme. First, I never considered myself to be a person of interest and had no clue why those photographers took pleasure in catching sight of me. Second, all this appeared like a game, and I wasn’t in the mood to play. I much preferred my privacy to any unwanted scrutiny.

My bodyguard exchanged a few words with a man, and seconds later, I was led to a table in the far corner at the back, away from most of the patrons. The small Italian eatery had a burgundy carpeted floor, dark wooden walls, and wrought-iron chandeliers over each table. It didn’t have the slick straight lines of modern décors or an abundance of frigid stainless steel and white marble surfaces. Instead, it was both warm and welcoming, with its wood-fired oven embedded into an extensive red bricked-wall.

My mouth watered at the scent of garlic and fresh bread filling the air.

Back in my band days, we would have dinner here every time we were in town. The food was chef’s kiss, the service top-notch, and the atmosphere convivial.

“How is it going, Mr. Hills?” Roberto, the owner, welcomed me.

“Amazing. Thank you for having me on such short notice.”

“It’s always my pleasure to have you over. Let me know if you need anything. Have a great night.”

We shook hands, and after Taylor sat at the table reserved for him, I walked to Savannah Prince, dressed in red leather pants and a white blouse, waiting for me. Her dark brown hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her onyx eyes were framed by thick mascara-coated lashes.

My memory of our time together didn’t fail me. She was still gorgeous, her lips enticing when they shaped into a smile directed at me.

“Carter,” she exclaimed, moving to her feet as I kissed her cheek.

“You look beautiful.” I pushed her chair forward before sitting opposite her. The server filled our water glasses, promising to come back soon to take our order.

“I must say, when I arrived, I thought I’d gotten the wrong address.” She perused the room. “That it was a mistake. I didn’t picture a date in such…such a rustic environment. Then I remembered you were from Tennessee and maybe you’re used to these outdated décors.” She shrugged and brought her glass to her lips.

“You’ve never been here before?” I asked.