“All right--Bree Matthews!” a stagehand shouted, coming over with a clipboard and a microphone on his head. “Are you ready?”
“We are ready!” Bree said for all of them, bouncing on her heels.
“Then, head to your spots.” He signaled for them to approach their section of the stage. The band had been prepped on how this would work before the show. They headed to the places they’d been told to earli
Yet again, Bree found herself speaking to a police officer. This time, she wasn’t the one lying in a hospital bed, though. Instead, after they’d pieced together enough of the story to know that the maintenance man had been trying to make it so that the pipe above her head would move down, Bree and her bandmates had been asked to come to the police station. The others were sitting outside, or maybe one or two of them were being interviewed by other officers now. All she knew was the man sitting across from her, Detective Coop Wellington, didn’t look like the sort of person one kept information from. “We know Monica and this&helli
The sound of the gavel echoed throughout the courtroom. No one said a word for what seemed like the longest few seconds Bree could ever remember. Then, the people around her came back to life, and she found air in her lungs again. “Are you okay?” Trent asked. He was always asking her that, checking on her, making sure she was all right. Bree nodded. She was all right. She was going to continue to be all right, too. It seemed like a nightmare that had lasted almost two years was finally over.&nb
Two weeks later…. Bree sat on the beach, a drink one hand, Trent’s fingers interlaced with her other where it lay in the sand. The ocean waves rolled in, wetting the sand near their toes, the sun baking down on their tan skin as it dried from their first dip in the ocean. There would be plenty more.&nbs
The log cabin was bigger than Bree Matthews had expected. Of course, when her friends had suggested they rent a place up in the mountains for a few days during winter break, she knew it would have to have a lot of rooms in order for all of them to comfortably fit, but this place looked more like a mansion made of wooden beams than a traditional log cabin."Woah! This place is massive!" Bree's boyfriend, Jason Owens, said as he stared up at the house.
Trent Walker had just sunk a difficult shot, knocking two balls in the outside pocket when Bree walked into the room. She took one look at him and muttered a curse word. Not sure exactly what to make of that, Trent lined up the next shot but ended up scratching, which wasn't a surprise, considering how jarring it was just to see her again, let alone have her drop an expletive at the sight of him."Our shot!" Hank Yarborough said, a little too much happiness in his voice. "But first, let's take a break to say hi to Bree!"
Watching the guys play pool, Bree sat next to friends she hadn't seen in far too long and tried her best to listen to what they were talking about. Concentrating was hard. She truly hadn't been prepared for Trent to be there, and the fact that he was served as a distraction.Jason must've noticed her change in behavior. She'd mentioned Trent to him before because he'd come up when she was telling him some stories about things that had happened with this particular group of friends while they were in high school. Jason had specifically asked if Trent was going to be th
This Jason guy was a prick. Trent could tell by the cocky way he held his pool stick. Not to mention he didn't have too many nice things to say about Bree. The girls were sitting on the other side of the room, laughing and telling stories, though every time he looked at Bree, she seemed tuned out, like she had something on her mind.Jason was telling stories, too. "So anyway, she decides to bring her guitar, right, as if she's going to serenade the poor homeless dudes downtown. And I don't want to be there anyway. I've got more to do with my Saturdays than work a damn
Bree hadn't meant to follow Trent outside--not exactly anyway. She'd seen him leave but hadn't realized he'd stepped outside for a breath of fresh air in the same place she had until after she was halfway out the door. It would be strange to walk away from him. It seemed strange to walk toward him, too, though. But her feet were headed in that direction before she had a chance to stop them.The night was chilly, which was to be expected in the mountains in December; she wished she’d thought to grab her coat. It wasn't snowing, but the wind was stirring up ice cr
Two weeks later…. Bree sat on the beach, a drink one hand, Trent’s fingers interlaced with her other where it lay in the sand. The ocean waves rolled in, wetting the sand near their toes, the sun baking down on their tan skin as it dried from their first dip in the ocean. There would be plenty more.&nbs
The sound of the gavel echoed throughout the courtroom. No one said a word for what seemed like the longest few seconds Bree could ever remember. Then, the people around her came back to life, and she found air in her lungs again. “Are you okay?” Trent asked. He was always asking her that, checking on her, making sure she was all right. Bree nodded. She was all right. She was going to continue to be all right, too. It seemed like a nightmare that had lasted almost two years was finally over.&nb
Yet again, Bree found herself speaking to a police officer. This time, she wasn’t the one lying in a hospital bed, though. Instead, after they’d pieced together enough of the story to know that the maintenance man had been trying to make it so that the pipe above her head would move down, Bree and her bandmates had been asked to come to the police station. The others were sitting outside, or maybe one or two of them were being interviewed by other officers now. All she knew was the man sitting across from her, Detective Coop Wellington, didn’t look like the sort of person one kept information from. “We know Monica and this&helli
“All right--Bree Matthews!” a stagehand shouted, coming over with a clipboard and a microphone on his head. “Are you ready?” “We are ready!” Bree said for all of them, bouncing on her heels. “Then, head to your spots.” He signaled for them to approach their section of the stage. The band had been prepped on how this would work before the show. They headed to the places they’d been told to earli
Sitting in a chair, staring at a runway, brought back way too many uncomfortable memories for Trent. Had it really just been a little over a year since he’d spent at least one or two days a week sitting in just such a chair, waiting for Monica to come down the stage? It seemed so strange now. He tried not to fidget, but his leg was bouncing up and down so quickly, he was glad he wasn’t outside because he might manage to start a fire with the right kindling--and like Bree, he’d had enough of fire for one lifetime. “Are you all right?” Celia asked, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “You’re making me nervous, an
Anxiety bubbled up in Bree as she stood in the staging area, getting ready for the big show. All around her, models and bands were putting the finishing touches on their makeup and hair, the models getting into their first outfits so that they’d be fully prepared to grace the runway as soon as it was their turn to take the walk and show off the newest fashions to an invigorated audience. From what Bree could tell, this wasn’t actually one of those fashion shows where the clothing was practical and might be bought by the average housewife. No, it was mostly lingerie, and it was mostly, well, ridiculous, in her point of view. None of it was s
The sound of voices from the television met Bree’s ear as she walked through the apartment door. She checked the time on her phone. It was only a little past 3:00. What was Trent doing home? She had to assume it was him watching the television because it sounded like the news channel, and if the housekeeper had turned it on, it would’ve been a soap opera or court show. Hanging her purse by the door, and placing her keys where she could find them, she went into the adjoining room to investigate. Trent was sitting on the couch with his laptop open on his lap, his stocking feet on the coffee table, typing away. She almost didn’t want to
Meeting Monica at the event center where the Nashville Nights concert was to be held was intimidating, even though Bree had her bandmates with her. She had insisted Trent go to work; it was a Thursday afternoon, after all, just after lunch, and there was no reason for him to miss work to walk with her through the building where she’d be playing in a couple of nights, not when she had three capable men and Shawna with her to give her moral support.Trent had protested, saying he’d feel much more comfortable if Bree allowed him to go along, that the rest of the band wasn’t aware of how Monica could be. It had almost led to an argument. Bree had insisted she wasn&
“This is a horrible idea. The worst one ever. In the entire history of the world, I cannot imagine one idea worse than this one.” Celia sat across from Trent in his office, her arms folded, her legs crossed, her face puckered.At the moment, he couldn’t even allow himself to snicker at her exaggeration. While he agreed that what he was about to do was a terrible idea, he could think of lots of other ideas that were worse, many of them involving wars that had killed thousands or millions of people. Or spread disease. Or polluted the environment. But she was right--of all of the decisions he’d been directly involved in, this one was pretty awful.