Chapter 11

Jack staredat the crowd that had gathered outside of the restaurant. "What's the plan?"

Delia blew out a breath. "I'm texting Mary. This is insane."

"Not normal, then?" Jack glanced toward the back of the restaurant, watching for their server. He'd insisted on getting the check, especially since Tony had already deposited a week's worth of per diem into his bank account.

Delia typed out the message on her phone. "Not normal."

"Do you have security or anything?" Jack folded up his napkin and set it on the table, thinking of his trip from the airport.

She set her phone down. "I haven't needed it. I bought a home within a gated community, and I always have a security guard at the venues when I do shows. My label pays for that . . ." Delia trailed off as her phone screen lit up. She frowned, and her right eyebrow dropped lower than her left.

Delia clicked her tongue. "Okay, Mary says she has a car pulling around to the back alley. She's going to meet us at the studio." She set her phone in her lap. "I'm sorry about this."

Jack shook his head. "No, I was going to apologize. The same thing happened to me outside of practice last night."

"Really?"

Jack grinned. "Don't look so shocked."

"I'm not shocked, just relieved. Or grateful?" Her cheeks flushed, and she grabbed her glass, coaxing the last trickle of pink juice from around the ice cubes at the bottom up her straw. "Not that I want anyone else's life to be disrupted, but it can be a bit lonely."

"I guess that's why celebrities are all friends with each other," Jack said. She gave him a look, and he smirked, knowing exactly what word she took issue with in that sentence.

She crunched the ice with her straw. "Nobody tells you how to start that, though."

"Start what?"

"Friendships. It's like, all the people you knew before don't get that you have to dive headlong into this new career, and you can't be at the parties or go on that trip to Europe with everyone, and then when you do make time to get together, you find you don't have anything to talk about because nobody else has any idea what your life looks like on a day-to-day basis and you feel like a narcissist talking too much about it. Especially because some of your friends are musicians, too, and they didn't get a record deal. And—" Delia's phone buzzed. "Ooh. Car's here." She looked up and blinked. "Sorry, that was a lot."

Jack grabbed his coat and stood, trying to process the thousand thoughts running through his head after Delia's monologue. He resonated with it. Every part of it, but for very different reasons than hers.

Delia whispered something to their server who nodded and led them down the hall to the washrooms, then opened an employee-only door. Jack barely registered the stacks of supplies on shelves or the bustling staff as they pushed through to the back of the establishment. His thoughts were still spinning.

When Angie had passed, he'd been immediately isolated. Conversations stopped when he entered the room. Hockey teammates stopped phoning, and when they saw him at practice, they acted like they weren't sure if he spoke English.

They were afraid, he understood that now. Afraid of saying the wrong thing. Worried he'd need something they couldn't give. But at the time, he may as well have lived on a different planet. His old life was still rotating on earth, and he'd been plucked up and dropped onto an orb of dark nothingness. Nobody wanted to buy a ticket there, and he couldn't figure out how to travel back.

Clara had tried to help. So had his parents. But the best fix had been moving to Calgary and meeting new people who didn't know his history. Most of his teammates on the Snowballs still didn't know about Ange. Not because he didn't trust them with the information, but because he wasn't willing to risk being booted out of normal life again.

Then he'd gotten the contract with the Blizzard and knew that every single one of his Snowball teammates had to harbour a bit of jealousy. He would've, had one of them been called up. He liked to think his envy would've been outweighed by legitimate happiness for his teammate, but that was a generous theoretical.

All of them had wanted a place in the NHL at one point, and too few of them had gotten a shot. Now he was the one trying to avoid talking about the elephant in the room on the team chat, which was becoming harder to do with his face being plastered over every media outlet in the country.

"Ready?" Delia paused at the back door of the restaurant and looked back. When Jack nodded, she pushed through and hopped into the car idling next to the dumpsters. Every admonition from his mother about not getting into cars with strangers flitted through his head, but he jumped into the backseat. He couldn't in good conscience let her get kidnapped alone.

The car took off as soon as his door slammed shut. Delia fastened her seatbelt, then turned to stare out the window. She was being oddly quiet considering they'd just made an epic escape from brunch.

That's when Clara's words came back to bite him. "Jack, maybe you'd have more luck with women if you didn't expect them to be mind readers. You have to actually say words out loud for us to know what you're thinking. Or, you know, not assume you think we're annoying as hell."

Jack cleared his throat. "I get it. What you said back there."

Delia turned. She was chewing on her bottom lip. "Which part?"

"All of it. I played for two different AHL teams, then when I didn't make the NHL, I joined an Elite League team?—"

"Wait, like Country? That YouTuber?"

Jack couldn't contain his amusement. "Yeah. Exactly like him. Country's on my team." Delia's eyes went wide. "I'd offer to introduce you, but he already has a girlfriend."

She shot him a look. "That was a fangirl reaction, not . . . attraction."

"Uh-huh."

Delia ignored the comment and motioned for Jack to continue.

"So, I'm playing with guys that feel more like family than anything else, and then I get a miracle. I have to leave them mid-season to follow my dream, which also happens to be their dream, too." Jack held up his phone. "They have it rubbed in their faces on a daily basis."

"That you're in the NHL?"

He nodded. "And . . . everything else."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "You and me?"

Jack flattened against the seat as they passed the hoards of people outside the cafe. "They don"t know it"s not real. Which means they think I not only got my dream job, but also immediately hooked up with a girl they fantasize about." Delia"s cheeks stained pink, and Jack backpedalled, "Not fantasized in a creepy way, just—you know."

"No, I don"t know, Jack. Please, explain it to me."

Jack scoffed. "Stop. You know men find you attractive."

"What"s funny about that is they never used to. Now they hear my music on the radio and assume I have money, and suddenly I"m a ten out of ten."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "They never used to?" He glanced out the window over her shoulder to make sense of where they were headed. He"d scouted out the location of the recording studio in relation to their breakfast spot that morning, and it seemed like they"d already gone too far.

"I think he"s circling. Leading off any people who might"ve followed us from the restaurant," Delia said. "And no. Men have always gravitated more toward Mary than me, which is why it was so exciting to get that kind of attention at first. But then it became obvious what they were after. Ironically what you didn"t want initially."

"What, a contract stipulating mutually consensual PDA and no sex? I didn"t know those were such hot commodities."

Delia snorted. "Status, Jack."

"I"m betting it was actually sex."

"You don"t ask if you can take nude pictures with someone on a first date unless you"re hoping to get mileage out of your experience."

Jack looked skeptical. "A guy did that?" The idea of walking up to a girl and asking for naked photos made him want to throw up. Growing up with a sister and a few years of being engaged had that effect.

"Not one guy. All of them."

And with that comment, Jack started to get pissed off. "How are you meeting these douchebags?"

"Online."

Jack drew a breath and unclenched his fists. "Well, there"s your problem. You need to wait until people"s publicists phone you up like the rest of us."

Delia laughed out loud. "If I only would"ve been patient, I could"ve signed my own contract for PDA and no sex. Instead, I had to write one myself."

"We"re the lucky ones." He grinned, and Delia settled back in her seat, a smile still on her lips.

The car pulled up to the curb, and Jack scanned the lot next to the studio. That was becoming automatic, especially with Delia there next to him. There were people sitting in cars, a few people with cameras standing next to the corner. Jack reached for the door handle. "If we go fast, they might not realize we"re here until all they can shoot is our backs."

Delia nodded, but before she could push open her side of the vehicle, Jack opened his. There was no way he was going to let her step out alone. "Follow me. I"ll block you." She did as he said, allowing him to stand between her and the paparazzi to their right. Without thinking, he put an arm over her shoulder and angled his body around her. They rushed forward together toward the building, and the shouts and shutter clicks barely caught up when they were a few paces from the entrance.

Mary pushed the doors open from the inside and ushered them through.

Jack pulled his arm off Delia's shoulders. "Sorry if I?—"

"No, thank you. It was . . . logistical." She straightened her jacket.

Logistical. Right. He would've done something like that for anyone, wouldn't he? Jack thought back to the time he shared a ride with a woman in Boston back from a restaurant after a game. It had started raining, and he'd pulled his jacket over both of them as they ran into the hotel.

That counted. He didn't know the woman and hadn't been looking for any kind of reward for that act of kindness. True, she'd walked with him to the elevator and didn't hit the button for her own floor, but that had seemed like a coincidence. It wasn't until she tried to hold his hand that he'd panicked and picked up his phone with a loud, "Hey babe, I'm almost to the room."

Smooth.

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets, and Mary reached for Delia's coat.

"Ugh. So glad you made it! I was starting to worry there for a second, especially since you didn"t text me back."

Delia pulled out her phone. "Oh, I didn"t even check. Your hired driver was quite thorough."

"You enjoyed your city tour?" Mary grinned. "Sorry, I just didn"t want to add to the mayhem over here by making it obvious you were recording, and, before you ask, I did just hire a company to provide security from here on out. For both of you. I think Jack met them at the airport?"

Jack nodded, but Delia winced. "How much is that going to cost?"

Mary looked between her and Jack. "Probably something we should discuss later?"

Jack thought back to their conversation in her dressing room after the concert. How Delia needed the money to earn out her advance and retire her mom. That had definitely tugged at his heartstrings.

Delia nodded and gave Mary a hug. "Later. Thanks so much for figuring all that out. I can"t believe how much this is ramping up."

"Exciting, though, right? Have you seen your streaming numbers?"

Jack was intruding on a moment, so he turned and looked for the washroom. There was a hallway off to the left. He figured that was his best bet.

He strode forward, and sure enough, there one was. He reached out for the door handle just as it turned. The door opened into the hall, and Jack stepped back as a man with dark, wavy hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a V-neck black T-shirt appeared in front of him.

"Sorry, mate. I . . ." The man frowned, looked him up and down, then glanced past him into the hall. His eyes lit up. "Delia, love! I wasn't aware you'd already arrived." He didn't look back or introduce himself, and Jack fought the urge to mutter something about how it was nice to meet him, too.

Jack stepped into the washroom and unzipped his slacks. Who was that guy? Someone who knew Delia well. His jaw tightened. The dude was Irish. He probably called everyone "love."

Jack had never known someone in the music business, and that meant he knew nothing about what was going to happen there at the studio. His childhood music career had been short lived, punctuated by a year and a half stint of forced piano lessons at age six.

The few things he knew about music came from that teacher, Mrs. Montgomery. He technically had a music teacher at school, but she was mousy and dull. Mrs. Montgomery, on the other hand, had worn sleeveless silk blouses and high heels inside the house. She had art on her walls, fresh flowers on the table, and she always sucked on tiny, perfectly round mints. She was a sophisticated fish out of water in Moose Jaw, and Jack might've had the tiniest crush on her. It didn't mean he practised, but he did listen with rapt attention whenever she leaned over and put her hands next to his on the keys. He still knew a C major scale because of her.

Jack zipped up and washed his hands, then pulled out a small tube of petroleum jelly from his pocket. He pulled up his shirt sleeve and applied the ointment to his still-healing skin, then put it away, wiped his fingers on a paper towel, and walked back into the lobby. Only Mary was left standing in the hall.

"Hey, Jack."

"Mary."

"Do you want to come back and watch the recording session or hang out here?"

Jack scanned the tiny meeting room. There was an armchair that looked like it could've only held him until he hit a growth spurt in grade ten and a water cooler with paper ice cream cone cups. "Does Delia not want me there?"

Mary shook her head. "No, she just went back to the staff lounge to brush her teeth. She told me to ask you."

"Oh, okay. Yeah. I'll come back and watch, then." Jack followed Mary down the dark hallway and into a small, narrow room bathed in a soft, ambient light. Mary took a seat next to the man he'd run into in front of the washroom.

"Jack, this is Finn Gallagher. He's producing the album." Mary leaned back so Finn could put out a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Jack. I thought we could get a picture after, if that's okay." Finn shook his hand, then grinned and looked past the left side of his head. "Happy with your teeth, Dels?"

Jack turned and barely caught Delia rolling her eyes. "Don't pretend you aren't thrilled I'm only breathing minty fresh air onto your pet mic."

Finn laughed. "I don't believe food breath sticks."

Delia swept her hair behind her ears. "Any fixes from the other day or are we moving straight into ‘Choose Me'?" They spoke so smoothly to each other, like they were fluent in a different variation of English.

"I have a bit more blending to do on the splices, but all in all, it's a good cut. I'll send it over to both of you this weekend." Finn put on his headphones as Delia entered the studio, and for a few seconds, Jack could only see Delia's lips moving. Then Finn flipped a switch and turned on the speakers.

"—assuming you want more of a breathy feel there," Delia finished.

Finn nodded. "Yes, exactly. I want it breathy and sexy. Like a ‘Happy Birthday, Mr. President' moment, then we'll punch it on the bridge."

Delia nodded, then put her own headphones on and set her tablet on the stand. Finn started the backing track and his hands roamed over the control panel in front of him, adjusting dials and pushing sliders until he was satisfied with whatever was showing on his computer screen.

Then Delia began to sing, and just like in the club in Calgary, Jack's world narrowed to that sound. This time there weren't conversations and clinking glasses or fans shouting out her lyrics to dilute the sound of her voice. It was raw, floating over the slow guitar. Jack couldn't categorize the song, but it made him think of speakeasies in the forties with red lights and cigarette smoke.

Whatever Finn had said earlier, Delia didn't have to do anything to make her voice sexy. Every word that came out of her mouth was a marriage between Norah Jones's rasp and Adele's soul.

"Pick me, let me be the one,

To dance under the moon and sun.

In this maze of hopes and fears,

Let me be the one you hear."

Jack listened in awe, then gaped as Finn stopped her and pretended something she was doing wasn't flawless. Delia started again, then they both repeated the entire process over and over until the first verse and chorus were complete.

Mary leaned over. "Bored yet?"

Bored was the antithesis of what he was. Even after Delia had sung the same lyrics twenty times, he was still on pins and needles waiting for her to open her mouth again. It had to be a reaction to seeing something so wildly outside of his life experience—something behind the scenes. That warmth in his chest. The tingling in his hands. That would happen with any artist creating music in such an intimate setting. It wasn't just Delia.

Jack shook his head. "Not bored. Is this how every record is made?"

Mary shrugged. "I've only worked with Delia, but other managers talk about artists holing up in a studio for a week at a time. Recording straight. Usually that's when they're writing all their own stuff. Or working as a band."

"Doesn't Delia write?"

"She does, but that's not what the label signed her for."

Jack's brow furrowed. "So she doesn't record any of her own songs?"

Mary shook her head. "Not yet. Maybe someday."

That was a travesty. Yes, her voice was otherworldly—she could probably sing movie credits and he'd want to listen—but the one song he'd heard of Delia's that had struck him to the core had been the one at the end of her concert. The one she'd written. Maybe the reason he didn't connect with lyrics was because he'd never heard any good ones until that moment.

Finn clapped his hands. "Brilliant! Let's take a minute. I'd like to get these tracks sorted before we move on to doubling and harmonies, yeah?"

Delia set her headphones on the stand and pushed through the door into the booth. Finn sat hunched over the board with his headphones on.

Mary stood and stepped out of the way. "Here, sit for a sec."

"You should take my seat." Jack stood, but Mary was already pressed against the back wall.

She folded her arms in front of her. "You're our guest, Jack. Sit down. I'm not too feeble to stand for ten minutes."

Delia sat in Mary's chair and swivelled to face her. "How's it sounding?"

"Like another hit."

Delia raised an eyebrow. "Are you being sarcastic?"

Mary laughed. "No, I'm not being sarcastic."

"But the lyrics . . ."

"Nobody listens to the lyrics." Mary waved her off, and Delia turned to Jack with a questioning look.

He looked between the two of them. The song hadn't hit him like the one at the concert, but he'd definitely been more focused on the way her lips moved around the words rather than the words themselves. He wet his lips. "I don't usually listen to lyrics."

"But?"

But I listened to yours. Jack shook his head. "I also don't listen to this kind of music."

Delia's expression fell, and he wished he could take his response back. She sighed. "He doesn't count because he's not my target audience."

Mary grinned. "How much time left?"

Delia rubbed her temples. "Probably a half hour or so? Why, do you want to do something?"

Mary nodded. "It's been crazy. I thought we could go for dinner? Talk about this collab with Ethan Hayes?"

Delia's expression brightened. "Do we have a collab with Ethan Hayes? Did IndieLake actually set it up?"

"They're still talking with his manager, but I think it's moving along."

Jack thought back to all the conversations he'd had with his coaches and agent back in the day. How in high school and college they were always working behind the scenes to get him in front of the right people, to give him opportunities to learn from players who were just ahead of him on the NHL-hopeful path. That part of the business made sense to him. No matter what industry you were in, networking and locking in resources were imperative to levelling up.

Just that tiny slice of his world slammed Jack back into reality. He was there for just over twenty-four hours to make a buzz, then he'd fly back to Calgary first thing in the morning and do what he knew. Hockey. After practice, he'd have a game—where he'd hopefully perform better than the last one—and with all the press, he'd be one step closer to nailing down a contract for next season.

Delia stood, and Jack caught the scent of her shampoo as she stepped back into the booth and slipped her headphones back on.

"Alright, love. Try something new on that last bridge, yeah? Maybe a small run—something fanciful." Finn ran a hand through his hair, and Delia laughed.

Jack clenched his jaw. This wasn't his world. They were comfortable with each other here. Finn and Delia were a little more comfortable than he preferred. And just like in the restaurant, that tightness in his chest and the swoop in his belly told him he needed to leave. There was zero reason for him to be in the booth and one very pressing reason for him not to be. He was enjoying this. He wanted to keep watching her, and he didn't appreciate that Finn kept grinning and calling her "love."

The paparazzi had gotten pictures of him at breakfast with Delia. They'd snapped some shots as they entered the recording studio, which meant his job there was done. This wasn't a relationship, and the more time he spent with Delia, the easier it would be for that line to get blurry.

Jack leaned over to Mary. "I'm going to head back to the hotel. I have an early flight."

She frowned and looked at her phone. "It's only two in the afternoon."

He stood. "I'm old, remember?"

Mary laughed, and Finn held up a hand for quiet. She motioned for them to step out of the room. "Don't you want to wait until she's done?" Mary asked as soon as they were in the hall.

Jack shook his head. "No, I think Tony's in touch with the marketing person with the Blizzard. I'm sure they'll figure out our next photo op."

Mary's eyes narrowed. "Right."

"Thanks for letting me tag along. I'll just . . ." Jack motioned to the door, and Mary nodded. He turned and walked down the hall, then pushed out the front doors and froze as a barrage of arms and cameras accosted him on the sidewalk.

"Jack! Over here!"

"Jack, where's Delia? Are you in love?"

"Jack! Give us a smile!"

He scrambled for the door handle and fell back into the studio foyer.

"Forget something?" Mary still stood in the hall, looking at her phone.

"There are at least fifty reporters out there."

Mary cursed under her breath. "Do you have security through your team in Calgary?"

"I haven't thought twice about it."

"You might need to. But don't worry, I'll take care of it." She tapped something on her phone screen.

Delia burst out of the recording studio and walked down the hall. "Mary? Finn says we're finished, and—" She pulled to a stop when she saw Jack. "Oh. I was just going to ask where you went."

Something fizzed in Jack's chest. She was looking for him. "I was going back to the hotel, but it seems we've attracted some attention."

Delia walked to the window and peeked out through the blinds. "Oh." She backed up. "Do you still have that driver, Mary?"

Mary nodded and turned to Jack. "He's on it. We can drop you at the hotel on our way home."

"See you, Finn!" Delia yelled down the hall as she grabbed her coat. It looked like it had been taken from a recently shorn sheep. Jack noted how the soft cream colour brought out the blue in her eyes. And that she didn't go back into the studio to say goodbye to Finn in person.

Mary gasped and gripped her phone like a venomous snake. "Shit! Shit, shit—" She looked up, her eyes panicked. "I'm supposed to pick up my niece after school right now and take her out for tea today. It's our birthday thing."

"What time?" Delia didn't bite on the panic.

"Her school is out in half an hour. I don't have my car. I came with the driver." Mary pressed her thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of her nose. "Let's go. I'll phone the school in the car, and?—"

"You could make it, couldn't you? If you went straight to the school?" Delia shoved her arms into her fleecy coat sleeves.

"Probably, but I wouldn't have time to take you home, Dels." Mary glanced at Jack. "The hotel's on the way, at least."

Delia let her coat slip off her shoulders. "No problem, I could just hang out here. I'm sure Finn wouldn't?—"

"Or you could come to the hotel." Jack blurted as he pulled off an ice cream cone cup next to the water tank. Mary and Delia blinked at him. He held his cup under the dispenser and pressed the blue button.

Where the hell had that come from? He didn't want Delia to come with him anywhere, especially not alone to his hotel room. But the idea of her taking off that coat and walking back into the room with Finn Gallagher tied his stomach in knots. He backpedalled. "Not that you have to. There are probably better places to kill an hour."

Mary chewed on her lower lip. "It would be more than an hour. Unless I sent the driver back to get you after dropping me and Alice off at the Palace Hotel, but then he wouldn't be able to get back for us until?—"

"It's fine, Mary. I'll hang out at the hotel with Jack until you're done, then we can head home together." Delia turned her eyes on him. Her tongue flicked over her lips. "You sure that's okay?"

He nodded, ignoring how it suddenly felt like he was standing on the deck of a ski boat going full speed.

Mary exhaled. "You two are the best." Her phone screen lit up. She tapped something and slid it into her jacket pocket. "Okay, ready to face the masses?"