Gypsy Hearts (15 page)

With a few slow strides, she was by his side, smiling
at him. "Sure you can."

Her voice was smooth and comforting. God, he
loved the sound of it, what it did to him. The gentle
hand she placed on his shoulder seemed to anchor the
room as it spun.

"You've done this same show here every night for
nearly a week now. In the last six weeks the band has
become so tight. With the crowd that's out there, it's
going to be a fabulous show."

He shook his head and turned to her, taking her by
the hand. As he swallowed hard, his heart pounded like
the wheels of a freight train racing down a track.

"You don't understand. I can't do this. I really can't."

She'd been as excited as the rest of the band about tonight's performance. But the light in her eyes instantly
darkened when she saw his drawn expression. Her
smile faded, slowly at first, and then the excitement that
had lit her face was gone.

"What is it, Brock? Did something happen?"

He shook his head. "My guitar's gone," he said quietly, sinking lower as he heard himself voice his fears.
Shame shook him to the core. If he'd been with anyone
else, he'd have rather crawled into a hole than admit his
fear. But this was Josie. He held her hand tight, his eyes
fixed on hers.

She chuckled softly, cocking her head to one side.
"Is that what's bothering you?"

"It's gone, Josie."

"No, it's not. It was on stage. I saw it. One of the
crew must have taken it for you. Just relax."

"I can't. I usually sit with my guitar and play before
a show." He closed his eyes, the walls of the room closing in on him. He looked past her toward the door. He
needed air, needed to get out of there. Humiliation
washed over him. He hated that Josie was seeing him
this way. Dear God, anything but this.

Her frown was back. "Brock, what's wrong?"

"This is different." He took a quick breath. "This is
huge." He peered into her blue eyes as she fixed her
gaze on his face.

Settling into the chair next to him, she sighed. "It's
just a little stage fright, Brock. You can work through it.
It'll go away as soon as you start to play."

He swallowed, keeping his eyes steady on Josie. Thank God she was here. "I can't be what they want. I
don't even know what they want."

Her smooth voice was low when she spoke. "You're
thinking too much. Just be who you are. That's all they
want, Brock. That's all you can be."

"That wasn't good enough in Galveston. That
reporter tore me to shreds." He looked at his reflection
in the mirror. He was a clown. How could he be anything but a clown wearing this getup? Shame leveled
him as he closed his eyes. "I can't say I blame him."

Her gaze dropped to his shirt and then back at him
again. Her face didn't register any emotion, but he
knew what she must be thinking.

With a quick sigh, she said, "Who cares what the
critics think, Brock? Did you see that crowd out there?
Do you hear them?"

Panic slammed into him, leaving his heart beating
wildly in his chest until he thought it would burst.
"Yeah, I can hear them."

"Good. Because when you look out at that crowd,
there'll be a lot of faces you recognize. Some of those
people caught buses from Galveston and Houston and
they came all the way here to see you."

He drew in a deep breath and bolted to his feet.

Josie was quick to come to his side, placing a tender
hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy. You're going to
hyperventilate if you don't slow down."

"I can't," he said, his voice in a whisper.

"You have a choice, you know. You don't have to
do this," she said, her delicate brows furrowing with
concern.

With her words, relief bowled him over like a tidal wave. He didn't have to do this. He turned to the door.
Running away sounded really good right now. He could
walk out that door, away from the stage and away from
the panic, and he'd be okay.

But he did have to do this. What kind of person just
walked away from all these people when they expected
to see a show? His show. They came to see him. What
kind of man would he be to just go back on his word?

Closing his eyes, he sighed. He felt his hand tremble
and his throat constrict, choking him. Breathe.

"How long have you been having panic attacks?"
Josie said, taking his hand.

She knew. Of course she did. How could she not? He
was practically wetting his pants in fear.

Brock dragged his hand across his face. "My whole
life."

He hated admitting it. He hated that it always made
him feel so weak. No amount of muscle could move
him when the feeling of panic hit him square in the
chest.

His brother Beau could face a wild bronc hell-bent
on stomping all over him, but Brock couldn't even walk
out on stage.

When he'd been a kid, his brothers had razzed him
like only brothers could do. His father had called him a
coward for letting panic get the best of him. His
mother had blamed his father's heavy hand and tough
cowboy ways for breaking Brock's spirit and causing
the panic attacks in the first place.

But Brock knew none of that was the cause. There
were times he could climb up on stage and be fine. He could face a group of people and feel alive. Other times
the walls closed in on him without any warning, offering no rational explanation for what brought on the
attack. He couldn't predict when he'd feel the panic; he
could only use the tools he'd learned over the years to
help get through it.

His solution was playing his guitar. But now his guitar was gone.

Josie stood behind him and eased him into the chair
by the dressing mirror. Her hands gently kneaded his
tight shoulder muscles. He loved her hands. The way
they seemed to glide gently over his shoulders pulled
the tension away, and pushed his anxiety off. "What do
you do when you feel the panic?"

"I play my music. But I can't get up on that stage and
let everyone see me this way."

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his throbbing temples. He didn't know if he was hiding from his
attacks or from Josie's probing gaze.

After a few minutes, he turned his head around to
look up at her. God, she was beautiful. Her dark hair
fell slightly forward, framing her face as she bent her
head and worked his muscles.

"That feels good," he said, concentrating on the
magic her fingers were making instead of on all the
thoughts racing through his mind.

"I'm glad."

He closed his eyes, letting her energy build inside
him. His breathing was getting easier, steadier. "You
saw my guitar on stage?"

"Someone must have taken it out without thinking. Everyone is so excited tonight. I'm sure someone did it
just to be helpful."

He nodded his head, wishing the situation was different. Someone took what was his, what he needed.
But it hadn't been out of malice.

"I need my guitar right now. That must sound so
pathetic for a grown man to say."

She chuckled softly. "No, it doesn't. Don't beat yourself up about this. You think you're the only one in the
world who carries around a security blanket of sorts?"

When he didn't answer, she went on.

"Why do you think I insisted Dexter come on this
road trip? You have your guitar, and I have my cat.
Whether Miles and Roy would agree or not, I think they
have each other and without the arguing they'd be lost."

Brock chuckled for the first time since the attack hit.

"I always play by myself before a performance. It
calms me down when I get nervous. It helps channel
my thoughts."

"I haven't seen you like this at all. How have you
been hiding this?"

"I haven't had an attack in a long time. That first day
in Galveston I thought the walls were closing in on me
when I was on the bus alone. I took a walk right out to
the water's edge. No one knew who I was there. No one
expected anything out of Brock Gentry and for the most
part, they didn't pay me any mind at all. It helped."

"I'd wondered where you went that day."

"I was alone, Josie. Even though there was a flood of
people around that beach, I was by myself with my guitar. It always helps. I don't know if I can get on that stage.
There's so much riding on tonight. So many people are expecting something of me, and if I don't deliver..."

"You had your guitar in Galveston. Have you ever
had an attack before a performance and just gone on
stage without the guitar?"

Brock thought back to the night he'd met Will. He'd
nearly lost his dinner that night alongside the drummer
of the other band. The weight of his feet had him thinking he was dragging steel across the stage. But when he
finally made it to the center of the stage, had the guitar
in his hands and the lights hitting his face, he could
hardly see the people beyond the border of the stage
and he'd convinced himself they weren't even there.

He'd worked through his panic that night because he
hated the feeling of being controlled. He'd wanted to
impress Will Harlen. He'd wanted it so badly, he faced
his fears and just walked on stage.

"Just once in Houston. Back in Steerage Rock, I knew
everyone at the dance hall. It was like a big party every
night I played. It felt comfortable. This is different."

His chest tightened just thinking about it and he had
to force a deep breath to get air.

"How about we do it differently tonight then? Do it
like you did that one night in Houston."

"I was by myself that night. I didn't have the band."

"Okay. You could start on the stage alone instead of
with the rest of the band. Do an acoustic number and
then the band could join you after you feel comfortable
again."

Brock shook his head. "That's just it. I don't think I
can do it at all."

Josie continued to rub his shoulders and play with
the hair at the nape of his neck. "Sure you can. Just pre tend you're back in the studio when you sang that night
we were alone. Don't think about what's beyond the
lights. Pretend it's just you and me again trying to lay
down some tracks. That's all. I'll be right beyond the
lights looking back at you, just like I was there beyond
the glass in the control room that night. It'll be just you
and me, Brock. Don't think about anyone else."

Just him and Josie. He liked the idea of that. It was
easy for him to be with her, easy to admit his fears and
relax.

"Will doesn't know," he said.

"I don't doubt it. He's too wrapped up in trying to
promote you right now. But he's going to know if you
don't go on that stage in the next five minutes."

Just him and Josie. He could do that.

Josie stopped her massage and rested her hand on his
shoulder, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head.
Their eyes met and locked in their reflections in the
mirror. He couldn't imagine going through this without
her. Having Josie in his life, in this room right now,
made all the difference in the world.

Five minutes ago, his mind was searching for a way
to escape. In just a short time, she'd calmed his nerves
and steadied his breathing. Although some of the panic
remained, it had ebbed considerably and that allconsuming fear was fading.

"Like I said, you don't have to go out there, Brock.
No one, not even Will, can make you. But just think for
a minute about what you'll be missing. These people
are just regular people like you and me who've come to
share a moment with you. That's all. Just a moment in
time. You can share it with them or you can walk away. That's your choice. But if you walk away, the moment
is lost forever. You can't get it back."

"You sound like you're talking from experience."

Her crooked smile was bittersweet, but her eyes
twinkled from the moisture filling them. "I made a
promise to myself when I boarded the bus for this
trip-no regrets. Do you think you can walk away and
not regret this? That's what you have to ask yourself."

Brock stared at the mirror. He didn't see a man he
recognized there and that scared him to death.

"Give me a minute. Tell Will I just need a minute."

"Brock?" she started.

He looked directly in her eyes so she would know he
was speaking the truth. "I'll be there. I promise."

Josie bent her head and kissed his forehead, then his
lips. The sweet kisses magically did wonders to calm
his nerves. He wanted more though. He wanted to wrap
her in his arms and hold her by his side, and be as close
as they'd been earlier at the hotel. He wanted everything that was good and wonderful about this woman to
envelope him and wash away the rest of his fears.
Having her on the other side of the auditorium was too
far.

"No regrets," she whispered as she slipped out of the
dressing room. He heard her shoes on the floor as she
made her way down the hallway toward the stage.

Brock took a long hard look at himself in the mirror
again and quickly unbuttoned the royal blue satin shirt.

The stage was empty except for equipment that had
been carefully placed there during the sound check.
Brock's guitar sat in a stand by the drums. It looked out of place now that Josie knew the significance of why
Brock always carried it on stage with him.

She listened to the announcement about an upcoming event for the fifth time. The announcer had been
playing it over again to keep the crowd interested, but
even Josie could see they were growing restless as they
waited for their star performer.

"I thought you said he'd be out in a minute." Will
said, bending toward her ear so she could hear him
above the crowd. He was frantic. She couldn't say she
blamed him. She should have never left Brock alone.

He'd managed to hide his panic attacks from everyone, including her, until tonight. And he'd truly been
alone that day in Galveston. He'd said as much the
night they'd made the sandcastle on the beach. It
shamed her that in her heart, she hadn't believed him.
And it pained her more that he'd lived alone with this
secret for so long.