Page 53 of White Horizons

“I second that,” Clay says.

I’ve learned a lot about him over the last couple of months, and whereas my initial impression the first time we met was that he liked to go out and have a good time, I think that’s not entirely accurate. He loves to be out with Ash, but he loves to be at home more. He is a homebody through and through.

“Who is watching your dogs?” Cora asks, glancing back and forth between Avery, Ash, and Clay, but I already know the answer.

“Juliet,” Ash answers with a grin.

“Oh, I bet Bryce loves that,” she says, and then she laughs, “Juliet too.”

“He does, and yeah, we all owe her one,” Clay tells her. Clay told me Juliet was fine when it was just Whiskey. She would keep him when they all lived in Nashville. Ash would have a dog walker pick him up to take him out, but since moving back to the lake, he hasn’t found anyone, and now instead of one dog, she has three that she’s walking, two large dogs and Tank. Toss in that Moose is still a giant puppy and she’s got her hands full.

My mind drifts to the last time I saw Juliet. Has she asked Clay about me? She must have given that I was at his house, but what did she tell him? Does she still not like me? Soon, I’m going to need to have a conversation with her, I know this. Regardless of what I hope happens between Clay and me, our lives are intertwined and that’s not changing anytime soon.

Eventually we pull up to the west gate of the Moody Center. It’s where they have the red carpet laid out, and when it’s our turn, we get out of the car one by one. The fans who’ve lined up to watch and the photographers go crazy. Next to me, I feel Clay step close, and his hand again falls to my lower back. Glancing up at him, I see he’s put his hat on and pulled it low. My stomach dips, and butterflies soar. His eyes find mine, and together we smile, at each other and then for the crowd.

The world thinks we are together. There’s a picture of us out there from when we went snowboarding and quite a few from New Year’s. He’s never objected or acted like this bothers him, both of our publicists have left the media questions unanswered, and as we make our way down the line, over and over we’re asked if we’re together and if we’re getting married next. Ash, Avery, and Cora are like us and say nothing, but all three of them have given us knowing eyes. Add in what I have planned for a little later tonight and the gossip fodder is going to go mad.

“Well that was something,” Cora says as we finally make it in the door.

“Always is,” Ash mutters as we’re ushered toward a private hallway through which artists can find their seats. It’s not surprising they have us sitting toward the front. Ash and Avery are like music royalty, and the three of us are with them. Plus with Clay performing, he needs to be able to sneak out too.

The event kicks off without a hitch. It’s every bit as spectacular as one would expect from the CMT Awards, but as much as I try to concentrate on the show, I am hyperaware of the man sitting next to me.

He’s quiet, but then again, he usually is. However, this is different. It’s almost like the calm before the storm, and with each song and each award that is announced, he gets tenser and tenser.

People around us stand and cheer, they dance with the performances, and they’re generally having a good time, but it’s like Clay has gone to this other place in his head. He’s here but not at the same time. I don’t remember him being this way with other performances, but what do I know?

At one point, when the lights are low, I reach over and place my hand on his thigh. He looks down at it and then at me before he covers it with his own. I give him a soft smile, wanting him to know I’m here for him and in more ways than he knows. He lets out a deep sigh and laces his fingers through mine. The camera frequently pans this way, and though neither of us cares to be caught holding hands, in a way I’m secretly hoping we do. It doesn’t hurt to have the love of the fans on my side supporting us.

And then it’s time.

An attendant stands at the end of the aisle and directs us all to come with him. Ash and Avery are announcing him, and Clay thinks Cora and I will be backstage for support.

It’s interesting to me that he actually agreed to do this. He’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to, but some part of him must if he’s willing to put himself through this.

“Clay, if you’ll follow me,” the attendant says. Meanwhile, the four of us are ushered in a different direction, only Mona grabs me, and we leave the others with questions in their eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks me as she guides me into a room where I slip out of my dress and into one she brought for me. I tie my hair so it falls over the shoulder opposite the one I rest my violin on, and an audio person connects me to Clay and the sound system. I understand her hesitancy. I do. This is a very large audience to screw up in front of, but as Mona hands me my instrument and I make my way to the edge of the stage where Clay stands, I know whether he says yes or no, this is the right move to make for him.

Standing next to Clay, I take in his tense posture and notice how he’s gripping the neck of his guitar like it’s his lifeline. It takes a moment for it to register that someone is beside him. When his head turns and his gaze lands on mine, his eyes say it all: surprise, panic, and relief.

“W-W-What are you doing here?” he asks, looking me over from head to toe. His eyes flare as he realizes I’m now wearing something different, a short strapless purple dress, and I’m holding my violin and bow.

“I’m here for you.” I smile at him and wiggle my head so he can see the earpiece. I’m dripping with anxiety about what he must be thinking, but Clay is not a words guy. He’s about actions, and I needed to put myself out there for him. “I told you I would be backstage waiting, or if you want, I can join you.”

“Join me . . . I don’t understand,” he says, shaking his head in confusion.

My heart is crashing into my chest. People are running around in every direction, but he doesn’t see them. There’s organized chaos, and my nerves suddenly feel a chaos level of their own. Either this was the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst, and I’m about to find out.

“Well, I figured if you’re good to head out there and blow their minds on your own, that’s amazing, I know you can do it. But if by chance you need or want a backup to join you, I’m your girl.”

He studies me as he comprehends and contemplates what I’ve just said, and then he looks down at my violin again. My hands are sweating, and I’m certain if I held them out, they would beshaking.

“But what would you play?” His eyes return to mine.

“Did you change the song at all?”

“No.” His voice is thick with emotion, but I can’t pinpoint which one. Is it because of me or what he’s about to go do? I also didn’t think he did change it. I’ve subtly been asking him this same question but in different ways over the last couple of weeks.

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