Forgiveness Read online

  2

  A compulsion to pray overcame Pyper Brock. Seated on a leather couch in the Women of Country Music dressing room back stage at the Grand Ole Opry, she attempted stillness and calm, but couldn’t quite get there. Instead, a spiritual deluge took place. Urgency. A weird and uncomfortable foreboding tightened to a coil through her chest.

  She submitted, closed her eyes and drank in the sweetness of heavenly breath moving through her body.

  I come to you in the light; I come to you in the darkness; I come to you always. You’re Mine, and you’re precious to Me.

  The Spirit’s words worked against Pyper’s skin. The moment of assurance lent strength to a night she knew was going to be huge for her and her entire family.

  What mystified her, though, was a subtle vibration of warning, a sense of being called to…to what? To battle? To some form of preparedness? Foreboding didn’t fit into the puzzle pieces of her life at the moment, but she opened her eyes and straightened against plump pillows and focused on her mom who stood near a picture covered wall not far away. The jitters quieted, yet didn’t quite go still. “Mama, can you come here a sec? Can we pray together before makeup invades and we’re not alone anymore?”

  “Sure, Pyp.” They sat together, but Pyper’s head continued to swim in an ocean salted by disquiet.

  Her mom’s brow puckered. “You thinking about the performance to come?”

  “No. It’s…” She couldn’t figure out specifics quite yet, so she shrugged. “No. I just want to find some peace.”

  That dodge didn’t lie, but it didn’t tell the whole truth, either. Pyper sensed something momentous on the horizon, but it felt like blinders obscured her vision. For now, anyway.

  So, she sent her trust to God and joined hands with her mom, but didn’t begin to speak right away. Patient as ever, Amy Brock waited on Pyper in a silence that gradually worked against Pyper’s rattled nerves. “It must be the magnitude of the honor dad is about to receive, but I feel edgy…like something big is set to explode.”

  Her mother stroked gentle fingertips against Pyper’s cheek. “Something big is happening, sweetheart. You’re helping to spring the surprise of a lifetime on your dad. It’s going to be great. You’re going to be great.”

  Pyper squeezed her mother’s hands. “I know...and you’re right…but it’s more than that. It’s…”

  Rest in Me. Call on Me. Seek Me and you shall always find Me. Trust Me with what’s to come.

  An instant later, Pyper’s body relaxed. Anxiety dissipated and a supernatural surrender took place. From there, prayer came as easy as her next heartbeat. “Father,” Pyper began quietly, in a voice that bore testament to her Tennessee upbringing, “watch over us tonight. Bless Dad, and help us honor You as we use music to bring praise to Your name. Calm my restless heart; still my nerves and touch this night with the power of Your love.”

  “Amen and amen.”

  The response was tender, but no less emphatic. That made Pyper smile. She squeezed her mother’s hands once more. Everything would be fine. Everything. Sustained, Pyper leaned forward to deliver a tight hug. A sharp knock sounded at the dressing room door which came open a moment later, admitting the makeup and costume team.

  An entire team. The idea made Pyper chuckle. When she stood to move from the couch to an empty makeup chair, she captured her mother’s gaze and delivered a sassy smirk. “Can you even believe the amount of effort that goes into making me presentable for the stage?”

  Her mother laughed. “I guess I better leave them to it. I’ll be right back. I’m going to check in on your dad and your brother or they’ll wonder where I am and get suspicious. We can’t have that.”

  “Give them both a hug from me.”

  For the next quarter hour, Pyper sat straight and tall in the makeup chair, centered behind a wall-length, stage-lit mirror.

  Her mother reentered the room followed by a production assistant.

  “Fifteen minutes, Miss Brock,” he said.

  “Thanks, Sam. Appreciate it.” Pyper flashed him a smile. Following the call to arms, she looked at her mother via mirrored reflection while makeup techs finished brushing a thickly waved tumble of dark blonde hair. “Mama, how am I going to get through this duet with Dad? I feel like bawling, and I’m not even on stage yet.”

  Her mother fingered a curl of Pyper’s freshly styled hair. Not that it needed much work. Pyper’s trademark was a mane of hair that twirled and spun to the mid-point of her back with a life all its own.

  “Sweetheart, think of tonight as just another show. You’ve sung with your dad a thousand times before, right? Tonight is no different. Just enjoy the music. Your brother’ll be right there with you, too, playing in the band. It’s going to be great.”

  Yeah, no different except for the fact that Tyler Brock, her step-dad—dad, she amended with a fierce sense of love—was about to be honored with an invitation to lifetime membership in the Grand Ole Opry performance family.

  Pyper tilted her head to cuddle her cheek against her mother’s palm. “This…tonight…what’s to come for Dad, it’s so important to me. I want him to be proud. He’s done so much for me.”

  Her mother leaned against the makeup counter and turned Pyper’s chair by the arm rests so they were eye-to-eye. “You already make him proud, Pyp. Always have. And that goes triple for me.”

  Pyper’s chin quivered, but before sentimental emotions could gain traction, the dressing room door came open once more.

  Sam, the PA, made a return. “Miss Brock, we’re ready to set up. Need you in the wings. Your dad and brother are on the move, too.”

  Pyper expelled a pair of fast, steadying breaths. Anticipation’s shiver swept through.

  She wore a pair of well-used, well-loved cowboy boots of deep brown. She snagged a pastel blue sequined jacket and slipped her arms into the sleeves while her mom finessed the fall of her hair and arranged the lay of curls against her shoulders. Her white lace dress swished against her ankles; jeweled fringe and sparkles captured the light and set it free with flashes of brilliance. Perfect stage attire.

  “I’m out of here, Mama. See you from the stage, and I love you!”

  She took stock of the one who had seen her through the worst and brought her to the best. An indomitable, petite blonde, Amy Brock was Pyper’s hero. A rise of tears threatened once again, set to spill over and do damage to the skilled workmanship of the Opry’s makeup artists.

  Blast the way her emotions always lifted right to the surface.

  With full understanding, her mom shot her a teasing glower. “Don’t you dare cry, Pyper Marie Brock, or I’ll be a mess, too.” That said, she yanked a few tissues free from the nearby box and handed off a couple so Pyper could dab her eyes while she did the same.

  Restored, Pyper moved fast. “Thanks, Mama. You’re the best. The very best.”

  “Knock ‘em dead, Pyp. I’ll be cheering—for both of you.”

  She was right. This was all about Dad. Tonight belonged to Tyler Brock—the man who had changed their lives, their hearts, forever.

  Pyper dashed into the hall, looking over her shoulder just long enough to give a last wave before the door closed.

  And she collided hard into a tall, strong body that stopped her as solid as a wall made of bricks.

  “Whoa, there…”

  A smooth deep voice registered. Her breath whooshed on impact, but Pyper found herself grabbed at the forearms and carefully steadied. She looked up, way up, and took in a pair of pitch-black eyes and the olive-skinned features of a man who caught her attention, held it fast. Black hair tumbled in well-styled waves that curled against the collar of a supple, tan leather jacket worn over a plain white t-shirt. Her eyes skimmed down, then up again—he wore faded blue jeans like a dream—and she focused once more on a strong, compelling face, full of male charm and a dangerous, edgy charisma. A layer of stubble shadowed his chin and square jawline…

  “So sorry.”

  Her murmured ap
ology and auto-smile died when something else registered. Chase Bradington. Oh, for the love of mercy she had nearly been upended by Chase Bradington?

  All that wonderful female appreciation, the sparks and tingles, died cold against her skin. Not to be judgmental or anything, but facts were facts, and as a member of the Nashville music scene, she knew the guy’s history. He was sexy as could be, but ten-thousand shades of trouble.

  “No problem.” His grin spread slow, warm as sweet melted butter, just as tempting, too. Her throat went dry and heat worked through her body in spite of every intention otherwise. She fought the sensory pull and gathered her focus until it rested on one thing alone: the performance to come. “See ya, crash.”

  His close caused Pyper’s lips to curve. She stared down his insolence and propped her fist on a cocked hip. “Whatever you say, bad boy.”

  She spun smooth on a booted heel and his rolling laughter followed her to the wings of the Opry stage.

  3

  “I’ll get you for this, Pyper Marie Brock, if it’s the last thing I do. Same goes for you, Zach. I can’t believe what you guys pulled off tonight!”

  Her dad’s decree stirred Pyper’s laughter into a merry twinkle, left her heart to soar as she tucked her arm through his and slipped her free arm around her brother Zach’s waist. “Empty threats, empty threats.”

  Post-performance, she danced on air as they exited the stage. A crew followed headlined by triple-platinum inductee of two years ago, Jeff Stockton who tugged Tyler close for a final chest bump and a celebratory hug. Jeff had a jet to catch for a gig in Tulsa, so while farewells were exchanged between the two men, Pyper took note of nearby activity as Chase Bradington made ready to step into the spotlight.

  Tyler rejoined her. “I swear, when I saw you tearing up at the end of “True Justice,” when I heard your voice wobble a bit, I knew something was happening, but it wasn’t until we finished, when Jeff strolled on stage, casual as could be, that my knees about buckled, and I almost fell to the floor. I couldn’t believe it. What a night.” Pyper’s mom bounded forward and launched into her dad’s waiting arms. He laughed and spun her in a circle. “I do believe I’ve been ambushed by my family.”

  “True enough. We’re kinda brilliant like that.”

  “No argument here.”

  Her parents’ conversation faded to static once Pyper saw Chase take the stage with a confident, powerful stride, waving and smiling as the emcee performed an introduction.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the Opry is pleased to welcome back to its historic circle two-time Grammy nominee and three-time CMA award recipient Chase Bradington!”

  The crowd went wild. Folks pressed against the front lip of the stage and stretched forward, accepting Chase’s high-fives and handshakes. The women in particular seemed bent on out-screaming one another.

  Whatever.

  He stood before the iconic WSM microphone, a guitar slung against his back for now. “Hey, y’all. It feels real good to be back on stage singing for you, especially here at the Opry.” Applause rang out along with cheers of support. Pyper found it tough to breathe—and even tougher to look away—while she watched him gear up the crowd with a level of energy that was electric. Then there was that gorgeous, sizzling smile…irresistible to some, Pyper thought, but she steeled herself against its power.

  Almost.

  “I’ve missed you guys more than I can say. Thanks for the welcome home.” Crowd noise distorted everything, amplifying, building, until he calmed matters by simply going still, studying the hallowed circle of oak at his feet and shifting so he could position and strum his guitar. The world faded to a silence that vibrated through the venue.

  “As most of you know, I’ve walked through the badlands lately. In fact, you probably can’t read a tabloid these days without mention of my name.” Music built in the form of a smooth, aching ballad. He addressed the house now; his posture struck Pyper as intent—most definitely potent. “All the same, I own my past with all of its blessings and all of its curses. But I also own my future.”

  Drawn, Pyper edged closer to the nearby curtain line of the wings.

  “I’ve battled tragic circumstances and bad decisions. I’m hoping I can find my way back to what’s good, because moments like this are what I love the most. Nights like this are what I dreamed of while I battled the demons in my soul.

  “The song I’m about to share with you is a new one that came to life as a result of my recovery from addiction. It’s called ‘Burning Bridges’.”

  The band increased its volume. Pyper’s heart started to thump—hard.

  “A lot of times when we think about burning bridges we think about ruined relationships, or circumstances that’ve conspired against us. In this case, ‘Burning Bridges’ is about destroying a bridge that leads us to something bad, and finding a way to transform evil into something good in ways only God can create.”

  “You OK, sugar beet?”

  Lost to poetic words and high ideals, Pyper jumped when her dad stepped close and wrapped an arm around her waist. Fast as lightning, she lit a smile and laced her fingertips with his. “You bet.”

  Her step-dad could never be fooled, though. He tracked the direction of her gaze. “You seem tense.”

  “Nah, I’m OK.”

  The evasion caused Pyper’s nerve endings to skitter, but then, comfort rode in. The easy, gentle presence of her truest dad always worked on her spirit that way.

  Her attention drifted back to Chase Bradington; the song he had crafted was evocative, an ode to heartfelt wishes, to wanting more than life and life-choices had delivered. She listened, captivated as he painted a world of redemption and hope with nothing more than his voice and his words. The song featured a definite country vibe, but remained unapologetically Christian.

  The song was pure gold.

  “Mr. Brock? I’m Joan Bradley, a hostess here at the Opry.” Jarred once again from the view on stage, Pyper tuned in to more immediate concerns as a lovely woman with short, curly hair and a dynamite smile joined their group. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead the way to the green room.”

  Reluctantly, Pyper left Chase Bradington’s music behind. Then, like the answer to a building wave of disquiet, Darren McCree fell in step next to her and delivered a great big smile.

  “You did it, Pyp!” Darren kissed her cheek. “Great job.”

  “Thank you.” She leaned against him and gave him a quick kiss in return. After a year of sharing space in Tyler’s band, Pyper and Darren moved closer and closer to the crossroads between friendship and romance. “If I looked as shaky as I felt on the inside, I don’t think I’ll want to watch the broadcast when it airs next week.”

  “Yes, you will. Trust me, you were fantastic.”

  “Gosh—do ya bias much?”

  “Yeah. Much.”

  He was so warm, so engaging. Even if Darren didn’t set her world on fire, Pyper loved his companionship and affection.

  Joan guided their team. “To be honest, I don’t like to refer to the space I’m taking you to as the ‘green room’. For me, that feels way too impersonal and Hollywood. The staff of the Opry would like you to consider this your family room. Make use of it as you wish.”

  They entered an expansive area off the right wing. Walls were decorated by legendary performance photos and a wall-sized mural that featured caricatures of the biggest names in the industry. Comfortable seating invited folks to linger within the ebb and flow of service personnel and VIP’s.

  “I’ll leave you here,” Joan said, “but again, I want to welcome you to the inductees of the Grand Ole Opry, Mr. Brock. This is your night to take over the premises, and I hope you enjoy every second.”

  Visibly absorbing their surroundings, Pyper’s dad acknowledged their hostess. “I already am, ma’am. Thank you again for everything.”

  Pyper continued to move in step with Darren like a perfectly synched puzzle piece. This was comfort. This was relationship as it should be—wa
rm, steady and thoroughly compatible. She was blessed, and she knew it.

  “You rocked the stage tonight.”

  Pyper looked into Darren’s clear, green eyes. She dipped gentle fingertips against the soft fall of an errant wave of his light brown hair.

  “I’ve always loved the guitar riffs in ‘True Justice’,” he said. “You and Zach really know how to bring them to life.”

  “What a beautiful flatterer you are.”

  He kissed her temple, and Pyper closed her eyes, absorbing his touch. She sought passion—heat. She sought connection and a tingle of awakening but instead came upon a solid, ready tenderness.

  That was good, and that was enough.

  She forced her enthusiasm upward and let Darren lead the way toward a buffet table that bowed beneath a fragrant variety of warm finger foods, an assortment of fresh fruits and veggies, and even a selection of succulent desserts. Pyper crossed the room at his side, but felt a somber chill sweep the length of her arms as her gaze rested upon a thin line of dark wood installed against the far wall. The simple piece leveled at a spot just above Pyper’s waist, a poignant reminder of just how far flood waters had risen within the gorgeous auditorium during the late spring of 2010, destroying everything in its path.

  Gliding her fingertips against a section of the trim, Pyper remembered the desperate way she and her family had stuffed sandbags and stacked them as tight as they could, as they’d prayed hard and chased the clock while a nasty deluge caused the Cumberland River to spill over its banks. A destructive crush of water washed through downtown Nashville, toppling history, toppling beauty, but never once toppling the city’s hope and determination to rebuild and overcome.

  She surrendered that memory in favor of the rebirth she now enjoyed, smiling at the way God had provided for the town she lovingly and resolutely called home. She focused on Darren.

  “Now that my nerves have settled, I’m starving. Are you hungry?”