A/N and Disclaimer: I own nothing as always thanks for reading and supporting just three more chapters to go it may just be two because I despise the next chapter and don't know if I have the time or the inclination to just rewrite it all. Thanks for sticking with me I promise to make the ending worth it…

Chapter 13

Sam

Nashville, Tennessee

December 21

There was a knock on the driver's-side window of his pick up truck. Sam opened one eye—with some effort, because everything felt heavy—and saw Mason looking in at him. Mason had long since moved on from being Sam's America's Newest Star assistant and had been working for the studio all year, so this was clearly a favor April had called in. He made an "open up" gesture, and Sam unlocked the doors.

Mason covered his nose with hand. "Wow, this truck smells like the inside of a whiskey barrel."

"Well, hello to you, too, Captain Obvious." Sam grunted as he twisted around to a seated position, hanging on to the steering wheel as he felt upside down. "Hell no."

"Are you going to throw up?" Mason asked, alarmed.

"No, but bless your heart for being so concerned about me and my puke." Sam's tone was sarcastic, but Mason was too focused on trying to move Sam over to the passenger seat without being vomited on.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You have driven a truck before, right?"

"Of course I've driven a truck," Mason mumbled. "I grew up in the South, too, you know."

Mason started the truck, and Sam leaned his head back again. He felt like he was underwater, his body moving in turbulent waves.

"I find taking some deep breaths helps to restore your equilibrium." Mason put the seatbelt on Sam and then headed to the driver's side of the truck. He pushed the button to start the truck, looked in the rearview mirror, then pulled out onto the road.

Sam didn't say anything, but gave it a try. Slowly breathing in and out. Again and again. After a while, he did feel a tiny bit more clear headed.

"So, what brings you out here to a cemetery, Mr. Evans?" Mason asked and then remembered they were not friends just former employee/employer, "Oh, I'm sorry. That is none of my business. Are you okay, though?"

It was at that moment that Sam, still drunk as a skunk and obviously not thinking clearly had a sudden urge to tell Mason everything.

"Having some romantic problems, if you must know," Sam said, the image of Cedes staring at him just before he walked out on her this morning burned into his brain.

Sam let out a deep sigh, pressed a hand to his chest. Mason glanced over, but didn't say a word. "I have a secret about Cedes. Do you want to know what it is? Okay, here goes. She was never really my girlfriend."

"Did you two have a fight?"

"When are we not fighting, Mason? That woman is . . . Well, she is so stubborn and closed-lipped that she won't share anything important with me. Leaves me to find out everything important from someone else even the stupid tabloids." Sam closed his eyes, picturing Cedes with her arms crossed over her chest, a look of irritation on her beautiful face, her brown eyes flashing.

"But hell, if she isn't whip smart. And sexy. And beautiful. And that amazing voice. She sure can sing so good that she will give a person goosebumps. Thing is," Sam continued. "Thing is, Mason, Cedes and I are not together."

Sam let his own words sink in. He shifted in his seat, so he could see his former assistant's reaction. "For a hot second it seemed like we were going to be but not anymore." Sam thought about Will, and the photo of him and Cedes, and he almost had to ask Mason to pull over.

"Are you sure about that Mr. Evans?" Mason asked.

"Of course I am sure. I screwed the pooch and she screwed that dick. Why are you calling me Mr. Evans all the time? Just call me Sam, okay? And Ms. Jones is Cedes."

"Of course. Won't happen again." Mason changed lanes, checking his blind spot twice. "But here's where you're wrong, Mr. Evans I mean Sam." Mason's sudden change in tone was surprising. "I worked with both of you. I've seen things. And what you have with Cedes. Well, if that isn't real and worth fighting for I don't know what is."

"We fooled you, Mason. We fooled everyone. The judges. The fans. The paparazzi. Even our families," Sam said quietly. "We fooled everyone, even ourselves."

"Sam, I'm sorry, but I just don't understand you."

"There is no such thing as Samcedes, man! It was all fake. The relationship. The stories about us being in love. We faked it all because that's what the show wanted, what the fans wanted. And we wanted to win, so we did what we had to do."

Mason was silent, likely trying to sort out the truth from his drunken conversation.

"But you two seem so happy together. Obviously, you were both In love."

Sam let out a strangled sigh. "She's a good actress, man. The best actress ever. She needs to go to Broadway next or maybe Hollyweird."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Sam asked.

"Are you a good actor, too?" Mason kept his eyes on the road.

"Nope, never have been," Sam replied after a moment. "You wanna know the truth, Mason? I love her. Like, I really love her. And I once told her I don't wanna fake it anymore, and that's still true."

Sam stumbled out of the truck, catching himself before falling to the ground. Mason had come around and was trying to help him.

"Thanks, man. But I got this," he said. "Just grab my bag from the back, would ya?"

Sam went to open the front door, but it was locked. He sighed, patted down his jeans looking for the key. He'd sold his condo after leaving for Vail, so he was stuck staying with Dwight until he found a new place, whether that was in Nashville or somewhere else, Sam wasn't quite sure yet.

"Is this it?" Mason asked, holding up the truck fob's key ring.

"Sure is." Sam grabbed for the ring, missed it, and pitched forward just as the front door opened. Dwight opened the door and caught Sam and righted him.

"Alright there, son?" he said, glancing at Sam's face.

Sam just scowled, straightened his shoulders. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mason handed Dwight the keys and bag. "Nice to see you, Mr. Evans. Your house looks really nice." Wide boughs of greenery wrapped around the marble posts that flanked the home's porch, with white lights poking in and out of the boughs, casting a warm glow. Two large nutcracker soldiers stood guard at the front door, surrounded by swaths of cotton meant to look like fresh snow.

"Thank you kindly, Mason," Dwight replied. Sam was surprised that his father remembered Mason's name. That wasn't really his style, to pay attention to details that didn't immediately concern him. "I really appreciate you bringing my son home. Do you need a ride home yourself?"

"I'll call an Uber," Mason said as he retreated down the front porch's stairs.

"Nonsense," Dwight said. "We'll get you a ride. Just let me get Sam inside, okay?"

Once Dwight shut the door behind them and arranged a ride for Mason, he turned to Sam. "This isn't how we handle things, son."

Sam knew then that April had already called his dad, which he should have expected. April had managed Dwight's career, and had taken over as Sam's manager at Dwight's request.

"Speak for yourself, pops," Sam said, giving shade and a hiccup simultaneously.

Dwight paused, watching his son, then took off his hat and hung it on the coat rack by the front door. "Sam, I don't want you making the same mistakes I made.

"Oh, don't you worry about that. I'm nothing like you, Daddy O."

Dwight sighed and grabbed Sam. "Let's get you to bed, so you can sleep this off. Trust me, things will look a hell of a lot better in the morning."

Sam ripped his arm out of Dwight's hands. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can, Sam." Dwight's voice was soft. "You always have."

Sam pointed a finger at Dwight. "No thanks to you, I might add."

"No thanks to me." Dwight nodded. "Come on now. Let's get you a hangover remedy.."

The remedy consisted of tomato juice, egg, a dash of molasses, salt, and a shake of hot sauce, meant to cure a hangover or stop one from happening. All it did was make you throw up everything you have consumed because it was as disgusting as it sounded, and Sam was a pro at making them having done so many times as a kid when Dwight came down for breakfast, still drunk from the night before.

"I don't need anything from you, Dad. Can't everyone just leave me the hell alone?"

With that Sam made his way up the staircase—clumsily, slowly, as his fingers got caught in the pine garland and twinkle lights that were wrapped around the railing. He checked his phone to see if Cedes had called back, hazily remembering the message he had left her, before collapsing on his bed, letting sleep overtake him.

Cedes

Nashville, Tennessee

December 22

Cedes stepped inside the studio building and looked around, hoping to see Sam already there, waiting, ready to work. The night before, after their heart-to-heart, Tana had insisted she was going to call Sam. Cedes hadn't heard anything from her yet and had a sinking feeling the call hadn't gone well. But she was here, even if Sam wasn't going to be. She wasn't giving up yet.

The studio's lobby was empty except for De'Wanda, Will's newest hire who was sitting behind her reception desk wearing a Santa hat.

"Will is upstairs, waiting for you," De'Wanda announced.

"Any sign of Sam?" Cedes tried to make her voice sound natural when she said his name, but heard the waver in it—and the hope.

"He's not here yet," De'Wanda said, adjusting her Santa hat, which had fallen down over one of her eyes. "But as I said, Will is eager to get to work. He's waiting on you, and he wants to do some intimate-sounding recording today. So it's just him up there waiting. I'll buzz you up."

Cedes felt like she was walking a plank as she headed for the upstairs to the private studio. Come on, Sam, she mentally willed. I need you here.

She took a deep breath and entered the room. Will spun around in his chair, two large coffees in his hands. "Good morning, sunshine! I figured we might need these. But I see you're way ahead of me there. Thanks." He took one of the coffees from her, the one intended for Sam, and handed her one of his. "Sit. Please. His Highness's team just called to tell me our boy Sam isn't feeling so great today and he is going to be late, if he shows at all." Cedes' heart sank. "But that's okay. We need some alone time. Shall we deal with the elephant in the room? Let's just dive right into that."

"We really should." She took a deep breath. "Will, what I told you about my grandmother's death was a secret. It's not okay that you said anything about it to the press."

Will's expression seemed appropriately chastened as he dumped sugar packets into one of his coffees. "Cedes Jones, I am so very sorry. First off, I know I behaved like an idiot at Coachella from what I remember. Sandy is still a pothead and it's legal in California. I should have warned you about those cosmic brownies." He rubbed his forehead as if he still was having an effect from the pot. "I was having so much fun with you that day, just being with you. You are the opposite of my soon to be ex-wife. She is always yelling and demanding and you are just so sweet and caring." He put his coffee down and put his hand on her arm. "And you know getting high was what you needed to deal with your granny's death. I don't know who took that photo—" He shook his head. "Now, that person did not have the best of intentions. It happens, in this industry. The bigger you get, the more people want to take you down. Trust me, I know. You don't get much bigger than me. The lies they are telling about the Broadway play and me having to harass anyone for some pussy. I never have to ask for it. Girls and even guys throw themselves at me all a time they want a piece of big Willie, and I give it to them even though they think they will become a star because of it. It's a problem for any man in power."

"I really don't want to know about that. I just want my personal life to stay personal, and for people to know that there is and will never be anything between to the two of us."

"There is not much we can do about it now but move on. Your true friends and loved ones will believe you; they want be fooled by untruths. You and I are a great team. So today, let's just put our two heads down and do some good work."

"Three heads. Sam is going to get here eventually."

"I doubt that. Seems the boy went out and got wasted yesterday."

This surprised Cedes. She knew Sam, and he wasn't a big drinker. "Are you sure?" she asked.

"One hundred percent positive'. He took a page out of his old man's book a little too soon, if you ask me. You have to actually be a megastar before you can start exhibiting rock star behavior. But perhaps we both know the truth about Sam Evans: that he will never be as talented and as popular as his dad."

Cedes bristled at this. "I don't agree with you, Will. Sam is just as talented as Dwight, but in a different way—"

Will laughed off her words and shook his head. "You don't have to pretend with me, Cedes. Remember? I know the truth. That you two have been in a fake relationship. Here, with me, you can be real. And I think you know that, since you do seem to make a habit of confiding in me. Maybe Sam is going to show up, maybe he isn't. But if you stay here today, I'll agree to work on a song with you. And it could up your chances of actually getting to perform at the extravaganza. If you've got a song, you've got a shot. Who knows, maybe they'll just decide to throw Jesse St. James up there with you."

He shrugged nonchalantly, but Cedes sensed there was more going on here than met the eye. Her throat felt dry and she tried sipping her coffee, but it didn't help. Meanwhile, Will tapped his cup against hers, as if everything was settled. "You've made the right decision. I admire you, Cedes. You have what everyone in the industry is starting to realize is a once-in-a-lifetime voice. So, let's get to it."

Everyone in the industry realizes he has a once-in-a-lifetime voice. Was he speaking the truth? Surely, she'd be a fool to walk out now. She had to take her own shot here. She had to be strong. And time was running short. The performance at the opry was supposed to be the next day, and the song was supposed to be pre-recorded so fans could stream it immediately. They had to get something down.

"Hey, Will, once we're done here, do you think we could talk about those master tapes of mine you have?"

"Sure thing, Cedie baby, sure thing."

Cedes didn't entirely trust him, but he was right about one thing. They simply had to get to work.

Will stood, patting her arm in a patronizing manner as he picked up an ukele leaning against the wall. "I've got a few ideas for a song that will work for you and Sam. Why don't I play it, you see what you think, maybe we lay down a few vocal tracks and hear how it sounds? When and if Sam surfaces we can edit him in, okay? We're not cutting him out entirely. Fans are expecting Samcedes to perform, and we may just be able to make that happen for them. However, Sam won't get a writing credit, and that's just how it's gonna go."

Cedes wanted to argue, but the reality was Sam wasn't there. She was writing the song with Will, not Sam. She was also growing concerned about something else. If Will was claiming a writing credit on this, what else of hers was he going to try to hone in on? "What about my songs?" she ventured. "Do you get a writing credit on those, too?"

"We said we were going to stick with one thing at a time, right? Your songs we can talk about once we get this one done. Now, come on, let's get to work, princess."

"Excuse me a moment, Cedes? I need to make a phone call. But why don't you play back what we've got down here."

After Will left, Cedes listened to the song once, then twice. The third time was not a charm. The song was lackluster. It was called "Holiday Jet Plane" and it followed the story of two lovers on a romantic holiday getaway together. There was nothing wrong with it, per se. Will insisted it had everything it needed to become a huge holiday hit, but Cedes knew she could do better. She knew she and Sam, if they finally gave themselves a chance, could do a whole lot better.

She checked her phone for the tenth time to see if Sam had reached out, but there were no messages from him—just one from Tana, asking her to call ASAP. But Tana wasn't picking up.

Cedes hit play on the song again. The weird thing was that try as she might, Cedes was unable to see where Sam was going to fit into the song—or to picture him singing at all.

She stopped the playback and picked up her phone.

Hey. Happy Birthday, Sam. Any chance you're feeling better and can get here soon? I really need you here.

She hit send, before she could think better of extending an olive branch, just as Will reentered the room. "Texting your boyfriend?" he said, and she could hear the air quotes around the word boyfriend.

She didn't answer him.

Will gazed at her intensely for a moment, but then smiled. "Well, we can't get any further on an empty stomach, now can we?" He lowered his arms and leaned in. "How about we eat lunch in here?" He hit the intercom button.

"Hey, sweetie, can you order something to eat for us?"

"Sure, boss, the usual?" De'Wanda asked.

"Thanks, make it two, please. And add in a bottle of my favorite wine."

He turned off the intercom and hit play on the music Cedes had been listening to before. "Holiday Jet Plane" filled the room, and Cedes tried not to cringe.

Will seemed delighted with it, nodding his head along to the music. "A song like that gets me right into the Christmas spirit," he said. "And a song like that is also the kind of song that allows a stellar voice like yours to shine." He turned down the volume and stood to pace the room as he spoke. "I can make you a star. You know I can. It's the whole reason I got involved with America's Newest Star: to find the next big thing. And the next big thing is you, baby. Not Sam Evans. Not even Jesse St. James. Cedes Jones, all on her own. My next label headliner. Isn't that what you want?"

Cedes tried to keep her voice casual and calm, even though the panicked sensations she'd been having were growing stronger by the minute. "To be the next big thing is what everyone in the music industry wants," she said as noncommittally as possible. I'm just not sure you're the right producer for my songs, and I have to get my tapes back.

There was a tap on the door. Lunch had arrived. De'Wanda, still in her jaunty Santa hat, set it up on a small folding table and the room filled with the scent of garlicky lentil spaghetti and the vegan meatballs his wife had introduced him to and that he loved because he could eat as much as he wanted without gaining weight. The amount of garlic and onions were to mask the tastelessness of the meal. "Come on, dig in, lady first," Will said, dishing her up a plate, and pouring her a glass of wine, too.

Cedes put the wineglass on the table without tasting it and retrieved her water bottle out of her bag instead, as Will dug into his heaping plate of odiferous pasta. Eventually, she put her nearly untouched plate down on the table and checked her phone, but there was still no response from Sam.

Will refilled his wine and looked pointedly at her untouched cup. "Are you sure you don't want to drink any?"

She shook her head. "If I have alcohol now, I'll need a nap soon enough."

"Well," Will said, taking a slug of wine. "This place is full of couches. I might just snuggle up beside you."

Cedes knew she could no longer ignore how uncomfortable Will was making her feel. But when she opened her mouth to say something to him the words dried up in her throat. What exactly was she going to call him on? He would say he had only been joking, and that she was being too sensitive.

"Anyway," Cedes said. "We should get back to it."

"Right. That's my girl. Your work ethic is the total opposite of your deadhead boyfriend." He tipped his glass toward her. "You're the real deal, Cedes Jones. Now, come here, sit close, I want to show you this new technique with the mic I think will give your voice more depth. Make it sound sorta like you just got out of bed, you know?"

Even though every technique Will suggested seemed to make her voice sound worse, she reluctantly moved her chair just a few feet closer to him, but he grabbed the arm of it and pulled it right up against his. "Don't be so shy with me," he said, and she smelled the wine he had been drinking on his breath. "A lot of people out there think we're an item now, and you're used to playing a part, aren't you? It's okay to sit close to me, Cedie baby." He winked and she looked away.

She hated that particular endearment the most. Every time he called her that it had the opposite effect on her making her think of her dead grandmother and contributed to her wanting to get as far away from him as possible the married piece of excrement. But he grabbed her hand and put it on the mic. "Okay, so you hold the mic like this, and tilt your head like that"—he now had his hand on her jaw; his fingers on her face felt disgusting. "And then, I press this button like so, and you start singing."

She sang a few bars of his trashy Christmas song, but the position of her head was too awkward. She had to stop eventually and rub at a crick in her neck. Will jumped up and stood behind her. "Here, let me take care of that for you," he said, his hands on her shoulders.

She moved forward, avoiding his touch, but Will followed with his hands. "Really, Will. I'm fine. I just don't think that technique worked for me, it was too painful to be in that position for long." She tried to pull away again, but his grip was firm.

"I'm just trying to find ways to get the most out of you. Wait, I have an idea." He stopped rubbing her shoulders and came around in front of her. He leaned down, and the garlic, onions, and wine on his breath was almost too much to bear. How had she ever admired this man, thought he could ever be a part of her path to success? "What if we tried to channel some of that same passion you and Sam have? Surely, it isn't just him. You can turn it on with anyone, can't you?"

"Excuse me?"

The next thing she knew, Will's smelly thin lips were on hers. She struggled to move herself back, but he was holding her too tightly.

"Will!" Her voice was muffled because his lips were pressed so hard against hers.

He pulled away then, but only by millimeters, holding her to him with his other arm. "Come on," he said. "You can't deny the attraction we have for each other. This is what every new artist and employee of mine knows is the score when they agree to work with me. I know you have heard the rumors. I had something in your wine to make this easier for you, but you refused to drink it. If I can't hit it, then there is no way I am going to allow you the opportunity of making any hit records ever."

"Get your hands off of me, Will! "Cedes yelled and pushed him away so hard he nearly fell over. As she did, she thought she saw movement out in the hallway, but no one entered the room.

"Hey!" he said, collecting himself. "What is your problem, Cedie baby? We're making beautiful music. That is all we're doing. This is just how it's done in this industry. If you were anything other than an amateur, you'd know that."

"No," Cedes said, standing up. "I am not an amateur, I'm a professional. You are a predator and probably a rapist, too. And we are not making beautiful music, by the way. We're making subpar music, and you have crossed a line, and I'm not going to take it anymore. I don't have to take it anymore. I have a contract to record a song with Sam, for America's Newest Star, and that's what I'm going to do. I don't and will never need you, Will."

He laughed as if she'd just delivered a punch line to a hilarious joke. But then his expression morphed into an ugly sneer. "In this town, everyone needs me," he said. "And congratulations, you're finished. You've just made the second biggest mistake of your life—the first one was ever getting involved in a fake relationship with Sam Evans in the first place."

"Screw you, Will."

"Screw you, Cedes Jones. You and your master tapes, which belong to me."

As she gathered her things and got the hell out of there, all she could think was that if this was what getting ahead in the music industry looked like, it was time to find a new dream.