A/N and Disclaimer: I own nothing as always thanks for reading and supporting…More drama ahead.

Chapter 4

Cedes

Nashville, Tennessee

December 16

"I just had a brilliant idea," Sam said, once they were all in the back of his town car together, cruising through the streets of Nashville. Almost every corner was decked out with Christmas lights, trees, and business doors with wreaths. The sidewalks were still busy with holiday shoppers and tourists.

Sam leaned forward and tapped on the glass partition. "Hey, Beiste, can you take us to Party City?" Beiste, who had apparently been working for Sam's family for years, was wearing sequin reindeer antlers that shook and sparkled as she nodded her head and said, "Sure thing Sammy boy!"

Because it was a weekday evening nowhere near Halloween, the costume store was fairly empty. The cashier did a double take when they walked in and took out her phone to snap a quick photo when she thought they were unaware, but that was about it. No one else was around to witness Samcedes at the store.

"Why exactly are we here, Sam?" Grandma Sadie asked, confused.

"Because if we're going to go out," Sam explained. "We need to be in disguise. Wigs, glasses, the whole shebang. No one will know who we are!"

He picked up a black wig that was styled into some 40s hairstyle. When he put it on her grandma's head, she broke out in laughter and shooed him away. "But it looks perfect on you," Sam drawled. "Very Dorothy Dandridge, just your style."

"I'm not the one who needs to go incognito," Grandma Sadie replied.

"There is no reason why you can't join in the fun, though." He grabbed an opera-length string of pearls and handed them to Grandma, then turned to Cedes. "What about you? I'm thinking . . . an Ursula mask?"

She swatted at him. "Whatever, your mouth is the only thing here that screams "Under the Sea." I think I heard Tana call you Trouty. Seriously, do you really believe that this is going to work?"

"Why wouldn't it? Nashville is full of crazy people. We'll blend right in."

He grabbed a clown hat with bright red curls attached and stuck it on his head, then added some glasses with a clown nose. "What do you think?"

Cedes couldn't help but laugh as he waggled his eyebrows at her in the absurd getup.

In the end, much to Cedes' surprise her grandma agreed to wear the wig and the pearls, while Cedes and Sam decided to wear hospital scrubs. Mercedes chose a brown straight bob wig that hid much of her face and paired it with thick-rimmed cat's-eye tortoiseshell glasses. She hardly recognized herself when she looked in the mirror. Meanwhile, Sam bought a dark wavy curly hair wig, a brown beard, and a pair of blue-tinted John Lennon–style glasses that concealed his green eyes.

"I hope you both know that the two of you look like yourselves trying to be incognito," Grandma said with a chuckle as they headed back to the waiting car. "But, I'll admit—this is the most fun I have had in years."

They were all shocked when their disguises worked. At the restaurant, they got a few odd looks as they waited for their table because the trio of the elderly black lady with two doctors or nurses with crazy hair and glasses was an interesting sight, but no one recognized them. They were left in peace to eat at a table laden with Nashville barbecue, Nashville fried chicken, coleslaw, mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits, baked beans—and the restaurant's signature charcuterie board.

Cedes was so hungry and dug right in, but she couldn't help but notice her grandma didn't eat much. She just picked at the food on her plate and asked for hot water with lemon a few times. She also took a pill halfway through the meal and brushed Cedes off when she tried to ask what the pill was for. "I'm in my eighties, not my twenties. I could not possibly eat the way you two are without a little pill for my digestion—but that doesn't mean I'm not having a good time! Quit worrying about me, baby girl."

Once they were finished eating and their leftovers were packaged up, the waiter came with the bill and Cedes had insisted they go Dutch, Sam turned to Cedes and Sadie, his eyes lit up with another idea. "Do you all want to go to the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar next?"

At the mention of the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar, Cedes's heart skipped a beat. She looked down at the table, then back up at Sam. That was the place they had met years before, and Sam hadn't been all that nice to her. But the guy she had been getting to know these past few days, especially tonight, seemed like an entirely different person. Was it really possible he'd changed? How could she really know for sure?

"Watching live music at the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar would be a delight; they have all kinds of music there, but I know my limits, though. I must call it a night. However, I insist you two go on without me, especially when you're both dressed like that. I can get myself back to Cedes's place if she gives me the key or code or what have you. I have my cell phone here if I get into any trouble."

No matter how much they protested, Grandma Sadie wouldn't hear of Sam and Cedes accompanying her back to the apartment—but she did allow Sam to send her back with his driver, while they went on to the bar in a taxi.

Soon, the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar sign came into view, even more noticeable than usual because it was strung with Christmas lights. The taxi drew to a halt and Sam paid before Cedes could, then opened the door for her. "I will say one thing," he drawled. "That grandma of yours is right; we can't let these disguises go to waste." He adjusted his wig and Cedes laughed. He looked truly absurd. She had laughed more tonight than she had in ages—and felt grateful to Sam for that.

It was crowded and loud inside the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar, even at the out-of-the-way table Sam was able to secure for them by talking to the manager. The band on the stage was an upbeat jazzy trio. While Sam went up to the bar, Cedes's phone lit up. She quickly answered, thinking it might be her grandma calling to say she was having trouble getting into her apartment.

"Cedes? Hey, this is Will calling. Will Schuester."

As if there could be any other. "Hey, Will," she said with a surprised smile just as Sam returned to the table with their drinks. She stood and walked further into the bar, so she could hear him better.

"I was just calling to see how you're doing. How's your ankle? Sounds like you're out and about?"

"Sam and I are at the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar. I'm getting around just fine. It's nice of you to check in, though." She felt elated. Maybe Will wasn't entirely focused on Jesse after all and was interested in mentoring her, too.

"Well, that's good to hear, Cedes. I was feeling awfully guilty, after you had to come to us producers and ask for a wardrobe change. And you were absolutely right those high heels are a hazard. I'm just glad to hear one of the show's top competitors is back on her feet, though."

He thinks that I am one of the top competitors. Cedes's smile grew a few sizes as she thanked Will for checking in, and he told her to go have a good time; he'd see her tomorrow.

Back at their table, Sam had a sour expression on his face. "Will Schuester is calling you personally?" he said, his voice tight. He was jealous, Cedes realized. He wanted that kind of attention from Will for himself, but Will was one of the rare people in Nashville who didn't fall all over himself around Sam because of his last name.

"He was checking to see how my ankle was," she said.

"I'm sure he was," Sam muttered.

"Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?"

He toyed with his still full beer bottle, ripping the label to tiny shreds, and Cedes couldn't help but be reminded of something she had been avoiding thinking about, because she hadn't wanted it to ruin the nice evening they were having: the time they had met, years before, in this very place. Sam looked up at her again. "Just giving you a heads up. Will has a reputation with up and coming singers."

"I know his business reputation. It's for being the best in the business, the kind of person who can help someone like me break into the music industry."

"You could say that, I suppose, if you want that kind of break."

"I don't think I like what you're insinuating."

"Oh yeah? What exactly do you think I am insinuating?"

They sat facing each other, fire shooting through their eyeglasses now. "That I am the type of woman who is willing to do anything to make it in the business. That the only way I can make it is by sleeping my way to the top of the charts."

"Here we go again. The real Cedes Jones is back. Insecure and ready to pitch a fit to cover up her many insecurities."

"How in the hell would you know who the real Cedes Jones is?" Cedes's voice was so loud, even over the music, that the couple at the next table looked over. "How about you? Your true colors? You've been so charming tonight, but that's not the real you, is it? That's just the Sam Evans you like the world to see, so everyone will fall in love with you and treat you like country music royalty!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he growled. Cedes swept her eyes around the room, then back to Sam. Moments before, it had seemed like water under the bridge, a chance meeting years before when they were both a lot younger. But now, seeing this side of Sam come out in full force so easily, she knew she had to get it off her chest.

"Obviously, you don't remember me, but we met before right here in this very place. Nine years ago."

Sam's expression darkened further. "Nine years ago? That wasn't exactly the best time in my life."

"It was the first time I came to Nashville. I was just out of school and I had scraped together enough money—with my grandma's help—to stay for a month. I managed to get a slot to sing here for New Talent Night. I was incredibly nervous, and you were here."

"You must have looked completely different because I am sure that I would have remembered you."

When someone shows you who they are, believe them, was something Grandma often said to Cedes. And hadn't Sam shown her who he was, almost ten years before? Cedes needed to remember to protect her heart.

"I went outside to fight my nerves, around the back of the bar—and you were leaning against a wall, having a cigarette, looking like a blond rebel without a cause."

"Your voice," he said, finally connecting the dots. "I knew I'd heard it before. But I thought it was just because it was—"

"Common," Cedes interrupted. "Right?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," he snapped. "You know your voice is incredible. You are one of the best lyric sopranos I have ever heard!"

"I would believe you except I know that anything you say is insincere, and you're only charming when you want something or to fool your adoring fans. The real you is a jerk!"

"You say I don't know you, maybe you are right but you sure as hell don't know a thing about me. I am leaving, and you should go home, too. If I were you, I would go home and see how your grandma is doing." He took out his phone. "I'll see if my driver is on her way back here yet. She'll take you home."

"I can get myself home just fine. I don't need you. But don't you want to hear the rest of the story of what happened when we first met? Or are you too embarrassed to remember?"

Sam rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin. "Go ahead, remind me what happened almost a decade ago then," he said albeit reluctantly.

"Well, you dragged on your cigarette and told me that you were no stranger to stage fright. I couldn't believe my luck, getting to meet Sam Evans, the son of Dwight Evans, one of my grandma's favorite singers the night I also got to sing at the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar. Then you gave me a tip: you said the best way to deal with fear was to look out at your audience, find a friendly face, and sing to that person and that person alone. You promised you'd be out there in the crowd. That when I looked for you I'd find you. That you'd be my friendly face. And you told me to wait for you after the show. You said you'd make a few introductions to some industry people who were there that night." Cedes stopped talking and looked down at the table, embarrassed now to think about how gullible she had been. She had thought meeting Sam Evans was going to lead to her big break. She looked back up at him. "Is any of this ringing a bell?"

Sam nodded, unaffected. "Yeah. That was the same advice my mom gave me, back in my early days performing: look for a friendly face. So?"

"When I went out there to sing I looked for you—but you were ducking out the back door with a gorgeous blonde. We never talked later. You never did make those introductions. I guess I was pretty naïve back then, right, Sam? You had no intention of sticking around at all."

"Right," Sam said, his voice now as cold as ice. "Sounds exactly like something I would have done back then to people who only wanted to use me because of my father's connections."

Cedes stared at him, waiting to feel relieved that she had told him this. But she didn't feel better at all. She'd been hanging on to something for years that he either had no memory of or didn't care about. She felt like a fool. Still, she couldn't let it go. "Why did you even bother telling me that story about your mom's advice then, or making me feel like you actually understood how I was feeling, if you were just going to get up and leave right when I was about to sing?"

Something flickered across Sam's expression that looked a lot like guilt and remorse. For a moment Cedes thought he was actually going to answer her properly—and somehow make it better between them again. But by the time he opened his mouth his expression was defensive again. "I don't owe you an explanation. You should have been grateful for the lesson. I helped you to grow up and realize just how brutal and unsavory this business truly is," he said as he got up to leave. "More importantly, this is a long time to be holding a grudge against me, even for someone as dramatic as you."

He walked out before she could respond. But the truth was, she had nothing more to say because part of what he said rang true.

Sam

Nashville, Tennessee

December 22

Being interrupted by the knocks on the door caused Sam's fingers to immediately pause on his guitar strings, and a scowl marred his face. He felt like he was endlessly being disturbed—whether during rehearsals or while he was trying to relax.

"What?" Sam replied, with more irritation than necessary. Cedes, who was seated on the piano's bench, shot him a familiar judging look—the one she sported when she disapproved of what he was doing, or saying. He shook his head at her as if to say, Don't start with me. Cedes murmured that he was "impossible," and his scowl deepened.

"Uh, Mr. Evans…Sam…can I come in?" It was Mason of course. Sam was still mildly annoyed with his assistant. If Mason had been more careful, McConaughey wouldn't have escaped the trailer the week before, Cedes wouldn't have jumped in her ridiculous heels to go after the little dog, she wouldn't have sprained her ankle, and Sam would never have gone to her apartment to check up on her that night. Which meant he wouldn't have met her grandma or had so much fun getting costumes and going out for dinner. Most importantly, he wouldn't have ended up at the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar with Cedes, where everything unraveled as quickly as a sharp yarn pulled on a badly knit sweater.

Unfortunately, he did remember that night at the Bourbon Street Blues and Boogie Bar now, but not until Cedes had brought it up. He really hadn't remembered meeting her there because of what else had happened that evening. Sam should have just explained himself, but being back at the bar had ignited a barrage of unpleasant feelings that he'd worked hard to forget. She also hadn't given him a chance to really explain, being so committed to her own version about why he'd taken off that night believing that he was a lying jerk, and that's what buttholes do. He wasn't proud that he'd left her there, twice now, but she had made him madder than he had ever been in his life with her accusations.

So, yeah. The unfortunate series of events wasn't exactly Mason's fault, but none of it would have happened without his carelessness, either. Cedes's ankle seemed to be better, even though it remained an alarming mash-up of swelling and bruising. But she was clearly still not happy with Sam, and holding on to her own anger.

Well, the feeling right now is mutual, Miss Cedes.

Just before Mason had interrupted, they had been working on their next duet—a cover of Mariah Carey and Justin Beiber's Shazam version of "All I Want for Christmas"—for the upcoming Christmas-themed episode of America's Newest Star. The tension was thick in the rehearsal room. He and Cedes had been at each other's throats, disagreeing on everything from the arrangement to the temperature of their rehearsal room. Sam liked it warm, so he could play in only a T-shirt, but Cedes's preferred rehearsal outfit was tights and long, bulky hoodies.

"Look, if you had to wear what I do every time you stepped onstage, which is basically nothing, you'd be reaching for big hoodies, too," she had quipped when he'd suggested she simply take off a layer if she was too hot. It was the most she'd said to him in days.

"Hello?" Mason knocked again as he slowly opened the door, peeking his head in. It was then Sam realized why his assistant was being so cautious: it was this fake relationship. Mason probably didn't want to disturb them in case things were hot and heavy behind closed doors. Ha! The reality could not be further from the truth.

"To what do we owe this great pleasure of your presence, Mason?" Sam could practically feel Cedes shooting him that look again. He wasn't interested in seeing it, so he kept his eyes downcast and on the strings, as he pretended to play chords.

"You have a visitor," Mason said.

Now Sam glanced up. Then looked at Cedes, who shrugged, as surprised as he was.

"Who is it?" Sam asked.

"Well, he didn't want me to—"

"Samuel, my boy!" Dwight Evans stepped through the rehearsal room's doorway. Sam scowled at the use of his full name, and felt a flurry of emotions, none of them good.

Dwight Evans was approaching sixty-two, but he looked much younger. Sam knew what he would probably look like when he got that age because they shared a lot of similarities. Not the cowboy hats that Dwight insisted on wearing for fashion because he definitely had never needed one for work or protection from the sun.

"Ah you must be the incredible Cedes Jones that Will has been bragging about," Dwight said, taking his hat off with one hand and bowing slightly toward her. "What a pleasure it is to finally meet you."

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Evans." She smiled under his gaze, and Sam's irritation ramped up. Though he was used to his father's effect on people—everyone responded the same way to Dwight Evans, as though he were a royal, and he was, at least in Nashville, seeing Cedes fall under his spell made his stomach turn.

"Please, little darling, call me Dwight," Sam's dad said. Then he turned to Sam, lowering his voice almost to a whisper. "Well done, Sammy. She's as pretty as her voice."

Cedes smiled at hearing Sam's childhood nickname again. "I didn't 'do' anything, Dad." Sam's tone made it clear Dwight's visit was not a welcome surprise. "Why exactly are you here?"

For one moment Sam saw his dad's perfect cover wobble, but he soon recovered and turned to Mason. "Would you mind going and getting the package I left outside, young man? It's leaning against the wall, by the door."

"What package?" Sam asked as Mason practically ran through the doorway to retrieve whatever it was Dwight had brought with him. He was back a moment later, lumbering slightly with the awkwardly shaped, gift-wrapped box.

"Happy Birthday, Son." Dwight gestured for Mason to give Sam the gift.

" 'Happy Birthday'?" Cedes slowly turned toward Sam. "Today's your birthday? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Should I get a cake and candles?" Mason asked.

"No, Mason, you should not get a cake," Sam replied at the same time Dwight and Cedes said, "Good idea!" and "Yes, and balloons, too!"

Mason was gone in a flash and Sam put a hand to his forehead, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He suddenly had a pounding headache, and his fingers itched for the clay in his bag. The molding of the material in his hands would be the only thing that could calm him. But obviously now was not the time for that.

"Go on Sammy, open it up," Dwight said, sitting on the arm of the closest chair.

"Being a holiday baby can be tough, so Sam's mom always wanted to make sure he got a proper birthday celebration, too," he said to Cedes. "And even though she's been gone for a while, I've continued the tradition."

What Sam wanted to say was that Dwight had only started remembering his birthday in the past couple of years. Before that, Dwight Evans was far too much of an unavailable narcissist, and often too drunk to remember something mundane as his only son's birthday.

"Look, Dad, I appreciate the gift and seeing you, but Cedes and I have to rehearse. Maybe we can do this later?" He set the wrapped gift, unopened, against the rehearsal room's back wall.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Cedes glanced between Sam and the gift. "Your dad went to all the trouble . . ."

Dwight put a hand up. "It's fine, Cedes. Sam is a workaholic just like me. The apple doesn't fall from the tree." He winked at her. "You can bring it to Christmas dinner, Sammy." Then Dwight turned to Cedes. "Speaking of Christmas dinner, I just had a great idea! Cedes, why don't you join us? For Christmas dinner? Sam's sister, Stacie, is in England and won't make it home this year, and if you don't come it will just be the two of us at the huge dining room table."

Cedes was momentarily speechless, and she gave Sam a searching look.

"Dad, I'm sure Cedes has her own plans," Sam said.

"Well, I don't, actually. I'm from Lima, Ohio, so I can't get there and get back in time for the next show." Cedes gave Sam another glance, trying to gauge his reaction, but he kept his face blank. He was confused about why Cedes would agree to spend Christmas dinner with him when she could barely seem to stand being in his presence. Just another example of how he would never really understand Cedes Jones.

"It's settled, then." Dwight clapped his hands on his denim-clad thighs. "Well, it isn't every day I get to have Christmas dinner with 'hashtag' Samcedes. I'm so looking forward to it."

"Me, too," Cedes said, grinning at Dwight. "My grandmother loves your music. She'll be beside herself to know where I'm spending Christmas this year."

Sam stayed silent, his grip on the neck of his guitar tight enough the strings pressed painfully into his palm. He wondered if this was why Cedes agreed to dinner, to say she'd spent Christmas with "the great Dwight Evans." That was one way to make it in this town—exploiting your networks however you could. He would see how many pictures she posted on social media after the meal. It was the reason he never brought girls to his home.

"If you don't mind, please close the door on the way out," Sam said to his dad, the edge still in his voice.

Dwight nodded. "I guess you two need to get back to work. Bye, son. And have a happy birthday."

Sam looked down at his guitar, waiting to hear the door latch click. The room went quiet, Sam was now alone with Cedes.

"Did you have to be so rude to your dad?" She continued when he ignored her. "You two are nothing alike," Cedes said, breaking the silence. "Your dad has an unbelievable stage presence even when he's not onstage. He is really charismatic. Whereas you try to make people stay far from you and distance yourself apparently from everyone."

When Sam still didn't respond, Cedes walked over to the box leaning against the wall, limping slightly because of her ankle.

"It looks like a guitar."

"It is a guitar." Sam wished he could ignore the gift. "But I already have a guitar. See?" He treasured the instrument in his hands because of the person who had gifted it to him. Sam wondered if his father even remembered where this guitar had come from, and why trying to replace it was like a slap in the face for his son.

"Aren't you curious to see it?" she asked, touching the wrapping paper.

"Leave it alone, Cedes," Sam said, his voice sharp. He knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on her, but his dad always had this effect on him. He hated the truth of that as much as how it felt. "Just for once, can you leave it and me alone?"

Cedes crossed her arms tightly over her chest, the wrapping paper forgotten. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed wearily. The last thing he needed was another fight with Cedes. "It means we have work to do. If we don't get this nailed down we won't win, and then we both go home. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not." She stood there for a moment longer and then limped back over to the piano and sat down, placing her fingers on the keys. Sam could only imagine what she was thinking, and rightfully so—that he was a spoiled entitled brat. What sort of son didn't open his father's birthday gift?

But that wasn't his whole story, and he didn't know how to explain it to Cedes. So, he decided to focus on the music, because that was the only thing he could control, especially now that Dwight had invited Cedes over for Christmas dinner. He was not prepared for his worlds to collide like that.

Sam strummed the opening sequence for the song, and with one last glance at his father's gift, he turned his attention to Cedes. Her fingers were gentle yet confident on the keys, and when she began singing goosebumps ran up and down Sam's arms. Damn, could she sing. It was pure talent—the sort of raw voice that came along so rarely you couldn't help but be mesmerized by it. If she could shake her insecurities and harness that nervous energy, she would take over not only Nashville but the entire world.

The two of them singing together was magical, just like the judges said. They may not have been a good match without the music, but when they sang together, there was nowhere else Sam would rather be