He Held Her at the Concert novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Green Room

Declan is dry and kind, the clip is going viral, and Trent barges in with security and says she will be back by Monday; at home Patricia has her bag packed and the deed is in Patricia's name.

The green room smelled of coffee and hot lights.

A man was sitting on the arm of a couch with a towel around his neck, drinking water from a bottle.

I knew his face from a billboard on the way to the Lincoln Tunnel.

Declan Shaw had a scar through his left eyebrow and a voice that sounded better in person than it did on the radio.

"You're the one with the champagne," he said.

"I'm sorry about your show," I said.

"It was my fourth encore. I think the show survived."

He stood and held out a hand.

I realized I was still holding the bracelet and had to switch it to the other hand to shake his.

"Declan."

"Hannah," I said.

"Sit down before you fall down," he said. "There's a bowl of pretzels. Nobody here will ask you anything."

I sat.

The couch was warm, and I realized my coat was soaked through with sweat.

A woman with a headset and a clipboard put a paper cup of tea into my hands without a word and left.

"My tour manager saw the box camera," Declan said. "The arena shows us the VIP feed, so we know when somebody famous is in the room."

"Nobody famous was in that box."

"Your husband is Trent Mercer."

"Yes."

"He's my agent."

I put the tea down.

"I didn't know that," I said. "I mean, I knew he was your agent. I didn't know you'd see it."

"I'm not asking you to explain it. I wanted to tell you that I saw it, and I'm sorry it happened at my show."

He said it plainly, with no pity in it.

I felt something in my chest loosen.

"The clip's already out," he said. "Eleven million views. Somebody filmed the ring."

I laughed, a short one, and then pressed my hand to my mouth.

"That was a very good ring," I said.

"It looked like it."

"It was my grandmother's setting."

"Then I hope it ruined his champagne."

I looked at him.

He had a tired, steady face, and he kept looking at me as if trying to place me.

"You sang along," he said.

"What?"

"In the corridor. The tour manager saw you on the other camera. You were mouthing the closer."

"It's on the radio," I said. "Everyone knows it."

"Everyone knows the chorus," he said. "You had the second verse."

"I have a good memory."

"You must," he said. "I've sung it nine hundred times and I still lose the second verse."

The door banged open.

Trent came in with two arena security guards behind him and his tie loosened, wearing the face he used for clients.

"There you are," he said. "Hannah. Thank God."

He crossed the room in three steps.

"Declan, I'm so sorry about this," he said. "My wife is upset. She hasn't been herself. It's been a hard year."

"Has it," Declan said.

Trent put a hand on my shoulder.

I stood up, and his hand fell off.

"Don't," I said.

"Honey, there are a hundred people outside with cameras. Let me take you home and we'll sort this out like adults."

"You can sort it out with your assistant," I said.

"That's not fair."

"I took her wrist and she let me. That was the fair part."

One of the guards looked at the ceiling.

Trent lowered his voice, so only I and Declan could hear.

"Hannah. Listen. It was a stupid night, and we'll talk about it. You'll be back by Monday. You always are."

I had been back by Monday after the missed birthday dinner.

I had been back by Monday after he sold my piano to make room for his mother's furniture.

I had been back by Monday every time, for three years, and never gone anywhere.

"Monday I'll be at a lawyer's office," I said.

His face did the smooth thing again.

Then, for one second, it didn't.

"Mr. Mercer," Declan said, in a pleasant voice. "You and I have a meeting Tuesday. I'd save the rest of this for then."

"Declan, with respect, this is a private matter."

"Then you shouldn't have held it in my VIP box."

Trent looked at him and decided not to say anything.

The tour manager put a hand on my elbow.

"There's a car at the loading dock," she said. "Where do you need to go?"

"Westchester," I said.

Declan took a pen from a table and wrote a number on the back of a setlist.

"If anything goes wrong tonight," he said. "Anything."

"It won't."

"Take it anyway."

I took it.

The ride up the Taconic took an hour and ten minutes, and I watched my phone fill with messages I didn't open.

The porch light was on when I got to the house.

So was the kitchen.

My suitcase stood by the front door, zipped, with my winter coat folded on top of it.

Patricia sat at the kitchen island in her camel cardigan with her pearls on, drinking tea.

She did not stand up.

"Trent phoned," she said. "I thought it would be kinder if you didn't have to pack in front of him."

"Patricia, this is my house."

She set the cup down in its saucer with a small click.

"No, dear," she said. "It's mine. The deed has been in my name since before you moved in."

← Chapter 1 · All chapters · Chapter 3 →

Want to keep talking to characters like these? Chat with AI romance characters: AI Boyfriend · AI Girlfriend · Dark Romance · Fantasy Romance · BL (Boys’ Love) · Billionaire Boyfriend · Mafia Boyfriend · Possessive Boyfriend · Hockey Boyfriend · Older Boyfriend · K-Drama Boyfriend · Anime Boyfriend · Vampire Boyfriend · Werewolf Boyfriend · Demon Boyfriend · Fae Romance · GL (Girls’ Love) · Anime Girlfriend · Goth & Alt Girlfriend · Gamer Girlfriend · Tsundere Girlfriend · Fantasy Girlfriend