He might have believed Pasha’s quiet “I don’t miss her” if he hadn’t grasped hold of Ed’s hand again.
Ed lay next to the man who had set off all his internal sirens the first time they met. Now, as Pasha’s fingers tightened around his, Ed knew one thing for certain.
Keeping him was the real prize worth holding on to.
20
PASHA
Pasha woke when the phone beside the bed rang. He sprawled across the mattress, flailing an arm in its direction, only realizing after he grabbed the handset that Ed had gone. He listened to what sounded like a standard wake-up call, assuming it was a recorded message, and had almost replaced the handset when the receptionist added something.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Pasha asked.
The voice on the other end of the line said, “And good luck for this evening!”
“Hey, thanks.” Pasha leaned out of bed and snagged his jeans by the belt loops. He fished his phone out of a pocket. Two p.m. already. He’d slept away the entire morning and now only a puddle of lube glistening next to the phone and a latent hum of satisfaction made him believe Ed had been there at all.
“Make sure you text in a vote for me tonight.” He was only teasing, and he smiled when the receptionist giggled, but then a slip of notepaper embossed with the hotel logo caught his eye. He said good-bye as soon as he saw Ed’s neat block capitals.
SING LIKE A WINNER TONIGHT.
That was all. Just one line written in black ink, giving him an order.
Pasha lay back on the bed, head sinking into the soft pillows. Winning now meant something very different than it had at the start. The two-year contract he’d set his sights on seemed more like a punishment than a first prize. At the start, anything would have been better than shifts in a call center selling crap to complete strangers. He’d watched contest after contest every Saturday night as a kid and had practiced for his big moment.BritPop’s!shiny promise of superstardom dulled now he knew what it might cost.
There wasn’t even any pleasure left in proving he’d succeeded where his mum had failed. What did she have to show for leaving him to chase prizes? Nothing as far as he knew. For the first time in his life, he felt sorry for her, especially now he knew how hard it was to raise a kid without a partner. Mandy had shone a spotlight too bright to ignore on the slack she had to pick up on her own. Hell, all single parents deserved medals.
Now, winning the first prize would be tarnished for a brand-new reason.
This was the thought that had cost him sleep all week long.
If Ed didn’t take first place, Steve’s song would die like its author.
Ed had said he was ready to move on, and Mandy seemed resolute too, but now that Pasha had held Steve’s son in his arms, could he ignore the implications? The winner’s choice of final song always hit the number one spot. Mandy’s life might be easier long term with the royalty income.
Pasha showered while thinking it over, steam hazing his vision as an answer became clear.
Was he seriously thinking about losing on purpose?
Throwing away his one chance after everything it had taken to get this far?
No. Ed wouldn’t thank him for that. Surrender wasn’t in the man’s vocab.
He rinsed and dried off hurriedly, his ride to the venue due at any minute. Pasha pulled on a T-shirt, movements only faltering when the blurred outline of the TrueBrit hashtag across his chest reflected in the mirror. He smoothed the fabric and then snatched up the note Ed had left, thoughts coalescing just as fast as the steam dissipated.
He’d sing like a winner all right.
He’d sing, even if it cost his freedom.
Production assistants keptthem apart at the venue until the final light and sound check an hour before the show. The next stage would be the audience arriving, and then it would be too late to rethink his plans. Pasha held a hand over his ear, listening to instructions from the control box.
“Hey, Pash, can you take a step to the left? You’re not quite on your mark.” He did as instructed and then cupped his hand over the tiny mic close to his mouth. “Is that Charlie?”
“Yes! Hi!” The kid sounded as excited as on the very first day they’d met. Pasha looked up and waved, squinting into the brightness. “Can anyone else hear me right now?”
The sound of a softclickwas followed by Charlie saying, “Not now. Pash, I just wanted to wish you good—” He broke off. “I mean, it’s been great working with you. We’re not meant to have favorites, but….”
“I know,” Pash said very quietly, hoping Charlie was right and no one from the production team was listening in. “#TrueBrit would be nothing without your help, right? You started the whole thing for us. I owe you big-time, man.” Charlie’s laughter was a soft chuckle that Pasha interrupted. “Weboth do. But I wondered if you could do me one last favor?” He explained what he wanted to happen.