Page 25 of Summer Serenade
And hadn’t that already happened in some ways?
It needed to stop.
Even though nightmares still cropped up, the audition had been ten years ago. Thankfully, her family had made her perform at Quinn’s right away or confidence and performing issues might have plagued her. Forgiving Nash would give her the closure to put what happened behind her once and for all.
She needed that as much as he did. “I forgive you.”
His relief was palpable. “Thank you.”
“You mentioned how you shouldn’t have been a judge. I should have never auditioned.”
It was her one regret. Which, in twenty-eight years, wasn’t bad. If only hers hadn’t been such a public disaster.
He took a step toward her. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant when her insides twisted and her skin itched. “You were right about me not being ready. I wasn’t. My dad—God rest his soul—was biased. Of course he told me I’d make it big. That’s what fathers do.”
Nash’s face pinched. “Not all fathers.”
Curiosity flared, but his personal life was none of her business. Back when she’d been a fan of his, she remembered reading about him being raised in the foster system. His experience, however, had sounded positive.
“Well, mine did.” Her dad had been the best. “He supported me moving to Nashville after I graduated high school when my mom wasn’t sure. Then he died, and I couldn’t leave my family.”
“But you still planned on moving there at some point.”
Ivy nodded. She nearly laughed at the plans she’d made. “Until…”
“The audition.” Regret dripped from Nash’s words and matched the expression on his face.
Ivy wasn’t about to deny the truth. She rubbed the edge of her blanket. “Yes. I had to face some hard truths. The most difficult one was the realization that making music for a living was a pipe dream. No matter. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
His gaze narrowing, he stiffened. “You don’t believe that.”
“I do.” The determination in her voice reaffirmed her words. Part of her had wanted to show the judges—Nash especially—how wrong they were about her singing. But the social media attacks sent her wavering confidence on a downward spiral. “Music is a hobby. I’m fortunate to be able to perform occasionally.”
“And write songs?”
She forced herself not to glance at the table where she worked for hours, sometimes falling asleep when she stayed up too late trying to get a lyric or the notes right. “Yes.”
“I have no right to ask you for anything, but…” He stepped closer to her. His larger-than-life presence made her apartment feel even smaller than it was. “Would you play another song you wrote?”
Ivy had accepted his apology. He should leave not stay. “Why?”
“I want to hear one. Your favorite.”
That would be “Broken Dreams,” an extremely personal song to her. One she’d never performed in public. No one but her knew it existed.
“And don’t pick any song. I’m a songwriter, too. I’ll know if it’s not your favorite.”
She doubted that was true, but some music resonated with her more. When bands performed original songs at Quinn’s, she could tell which ones did with them. “You make this sound like another audition.”
His lopsided grin made her breath catch.
He cocked a brow. “Maybe it is.”
Not appreciating her reaction to him, she frowned.
“The truth is, everyone is on the lookout for talented songwriters,” he said before she could tell him to leave. “Me, friends. If I re-sign with the label—”
