Quentin looked forward to the concert. He looked forward to playing it naked, so to speak, revealing their real strengths and flaws. It was nice to be himself again after two years of deceit. Even if, at the moment, being himself meant lying in the payload of Owen’s truck, flattened by asthma, staring up at Vulcan’s butt, pining for Sarah.
They wouldn’t let him go look for her. He needed to rest and recover as best he could for the concert. And Owen had taken his cell phone away so he wouldn’t be tempted to talk. Which was just as well. He’d left Sarah three voice mail messages before he had the attack, when he was searching for her. If he left her ten more, he might start to look pitiful.
He sat up for the millionth time and scanned the parking lot for Sarah’s BMW. Spaces were filling up fast for the Nationally Televised Holiday Concert Event, but security had been instructed to look for Sarah’s pink hair and let her back here, past the barriers. There wasn’t a sign of her. No flash of pink in the crowd. He waved halfheartedly to the Timberlanes and their butler, whom he’d gotten front-row seats.
Surely Sarah would show. If not before the concert, during. But he needed a plan in case she didn’t come. Maybe there was a red-eye flight from Birmingham to New York, or—hey, he had a big-ass truck! He could drive to Atlanta to catch a flight. He wondered how much it would cost to charter a flight himself. Usually he didn’t waste money on flashy stuff like that, but this was important.
Why didn’t she call?
Maybe there was something wrong with her cell phone. He could leave her an e-mail message in case she checked her laptop. He slid out of the truck bed and headed for the large trailer functioning as a dressing room so he could retrieve his phone from Owen.
Inside the trailer, Martin reclined on a sofa with his eyes closed, lost in something he was composing on his acoustic guitar, shirt still off. Erin laughed with the woman piling and spraying her hair on top of her head. Owen sat in a chair across the room from Erin, grinning at her unabashedly.
Quentin pulled up a chair next to Owen and sat down. Without taking his eyes away from Erin, Owen handed over Quentin’s cell phone so Quentin could make sure it was set to ring and that Sarah hadn’t left a message. Quentin let out a frustrated sigh and started coughing again.
The hairdresser spun Erin around to spray the back of her hair. Now Erin faced Owen. Erin beamed at him. Owen’s smiled broadened.
Quentin tried to climb out of his mood to be happy for them. They both were so content, sharing sappy looks with each other across the room. But he only sank deeper into the funk, contemplating how he’d prevented them from being together for five years. Unknowingly, but he should have known.
After a few minutes of silence except for Martin’s guitar and Erin’s animated laughter, Owen said quietly to Quentin, “Don’t be sorry. I should have said something or done something. I was afraid of chasing her off, and I wanted to be near her. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
Quentin typed a text message on his phone and handed it to Owen: Vonnie Conner.
Owen looked at the screen and handed the phone back to Quentin. “Vonnie Conner,” Owen muttered in disgust. “Q, Sarah is nothing like that. Vonnie Conner led you on. Behind that poker face, Sarah feels and sees. She had my number from day one. That’s why I avoided her. Every time she looked at me, I felt like she was coming up and punching me in the chest.”
Quentin nodded, because he knew what Owen meant.
“I thought all along that it was a shame you couldn’t break Rule Three,” Owen said. “You’re perfect for each other. Surely she sees that, too. You’ll have a great life together. She’s just held up somewhere.”
Quentin sighed and nodded again.
Owen said, “I like it a lot better when you can’t talk.”
The trailer door opened. Quentin sucked in his breath, knowing it was Sarah at last.
Then coughed, because he’d breathed too deeply. It was only Rachel.
She stopped and put her hand through Martin’s hair. Then she came to stand in front of Quentin.
“Did you find her?” he whispered.
She shook her head no. “But I have a confession.” She eyed Owen, and then her gaze slid back to Quentin. “I’m the one who called her down here.”
“What?” Owen asked sharply.
She turned to make sure Martin hadn’t heard, then gave Owen a reproving look. Quietly she told Quentin, “I really did agree with you that we couldn’t get Martin in rehab secretly if he didn’t want to go. And if we went to Owen and Erin to talk about an intervention, they would kick him out of the band, which would be the end of him.”
Owen’s mouth twisted in guilt.
“What I didn’t agree with,” Rachel said, “was that the problem would work itself out. I had to do something. I’d heard of a PR crisis manager who’d saved Lorelei Vogel’s career a couple of years ago—remember what a mess that girl was? But I didn’t want to call this PR lady and explain Martin’s problem. My contract says you guys could sue me if I did that.”
“I wouldn’t—” Quentin started to protest.
Rachel held one finger up to his lips. “You haven’t been yourself since Thailand. I wasn’t going to take that chance, not when I’m supporting my sister and my brother. Anyway . . . ” She took a deep breath. “I called Manhattan Music and told them the band was about to break up because you were jealous of Erin and Owen. They panicked, predictably. I made them promise not to say who called, just to convey that message, and I suggested the crisis manager. I figured when she came down to straighten you out, she would discover Martin’s problem and solve it. If anybody could have finagled a way out of that mess, it was her. But she was on maternity leave, so her company sent Sarah.”
“Was it Wendy Mann?” Quentin asked hoarsely. When Rachel nodded, he looked up at the metal ceiling and sent a silent thanks to baby Asher for entering the world at just the right time, so Sarah would be sent to save them all.
“I just wanted you to know,” Rachel said sadly. “I’m glad it all worked out for us, more or less. But Sarah’s thought the whole time that you’re in love with Erin. And if she’s angry about being lied to, that might be why she’s still missing.”
Quentin hugged Rachel, letting her know without words that she’d done the right thing, and she was a lot smarter than him.
Then he crossed the trailer, stepped into the setting sunlight, and slammed the flimsy door behind him. With one last glance around the parking lot for the BMW, he slid into the payload of Owen’s truck and composed an e-mail message to Sarah.