by Davida Lynn
Turning to face her, he said, “Thank you very much. And what is your name?”
“Sierra. I drove all the way from Florida for the show. I dragged two of my girlfriends and even my fiancée, because they didn’t believe how good you were. Hell, I can’t believe it. Colton Wade right in front of me!” She reached into her purse, and Colton stood up. He knew the routine; big smile and a selfie. She waved her friends over. They looked like sisters, if not twins. Twins.
In another time, Colton would have noticed the gleam in the sisters’ eyes and gotten excited. Instead, it made him feel heavy. Every beautiful woman reminded him of Gracie. Every time some sexy little thing came onto him, he wished he was back in that lavish hotel room in Nashville. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gracie wrapped in the smooth sheets of the bed. Instead of music, he heard the giggle that Gracie let out when the champagne tickled her nose.
Sierra and her friends stood in front of Colton and snapped a picture. They were all in their early twenties, and they were all dressed like they knew how hot they were. Colton took pictures and talked with them, but when they began to flirt, he did his best to shuffle them off on the band. They were more than willing to have three lovely ladies drinking with them, meaning that Colton could get back to his beer, and Kitt could get back to the unwanted conversation.
“You ready, babe?” A man stepped up and put his arm around Sierra. He gave a typical bro nod toward Colton. Colton barely noticed him. Men never registered on his radar unless he knew them personally.
“Sorry, Colton” Sierra grabbed onto his arm. “But could you do me one more huuuge favor?” She blinked up at him, trying to be sexy even in front of her man.
Colton wanted to brush her off, but he was too far gone to change his mood. “What else can Colton Wade do for you?”
Leaning forward and pulling her crop top down, she shoved her breasts upwards. “Mind giving me an autograph?”
He laughed and looked back to his big brother, giving him a can you believe this shit look. Colton just wasn’t in the mood, which was a first. He’d signed his fair share of titties, and he’d enjoyed every one, even the older ladies that were on the downslide. There was only one pair stuck in his mind, though.
“I’m gonna have to politely decline.” He gave Sierra’s boyfriend a quick look, not interested in starting trouble.
Her sexy little smile turned into an unbecoming pout. “Are you serious?”
Colton nodded. He wanted to drop back down onto the stool across from Kitt and get back to the serious discussion. “As a heart attack.”
“Dude,” the boyfriend’s voice dropped in, “Just sign the goods.”
Colton couldn't hold back a laugh. “Look, I just wanna get back to my drink.” He turned to sit back down.
The boyfriend wasn’t having it. He grabbed Colton by the collar, and every bit of anger and frustration began to surge through the singer.
Kitt could see his brother’s eyes change. He knew Colton had a short fuse, and when Colt clenched his jaw and fist, Kitt stood up. His brother and the band had enough negative press, punching out a fan wouldn’t help shit. Kitt knew all of those things, but he knew his brother well.
Sierra’s boyfriend tried to pull Colton back, and Colton’s fist was already flying. Kitt moved hard and fast to grab his brother’s arm. “Don’t do it, little bro.”
Waiting and hoping, Kitt held Colton’s arm. Kitt was a workout fanatic, but Colton was giving him a run for his money. Think about this, Kitt thought, trying to give his brother a look that would calm him down. That girl has him mixed up like he’s in a twister. The music played on, and no one in the bar took notice, but it was like time stopped.
Sierra was everything wrong with his fans. Her loser boyfriend was no better. As his fist flew in what seemed like slow motion, Colton was hit with the hard realization that his fans acted that way because it was how he wanted them to act. He encouraged them to show their tits during his concerts, and he made no bones about how many fans got the “royal treatment”.
Even as Kitt held his brother’s arm, Colton’s anger and strength began to fade. He wanted Gracie more than anything in the world, and it was destroying him to be without her. It was destroying the public version of Colton Wade just as much as the private.
With a face that was steel hard but calm, Colton brushed down his arms. He looked at both Sierra and the man who had almost pushed him over the edge. “Really, I’m going to have to politely decline. If you’ll excuse me.”
Kitt’s hand still gripped Colton tight. Colton gave his brother a weak smile. Until Colton turned and dropped back onto his stool, Kitt stood by, ready to separate the men if it came to it.
“I’m good.” Colton nodded. “I’m good.”
Looking at the couple with disgusted expressions, Kitt shook his head. “It’s best that you just go on your way. Colton’s not gonna be signing any more autographs tonight.”
“Fuckin’ celebrities.” The boyfriend pulled Sierra away from the table.
Kitt sat down as Colton draining his glass. He didn’t stop until only a bit of foam remained at the bottom. Kitt didn’t say a word. Both men needed a second to cool off. After Colton poured the rest of the pitcher into his glass and half-drained that one, Kitt started back in. “Don’t care what you say, little bro. It’s written all over your face.” Kitt gestured to the Sierra and the girls who had practically thrown themselves a Colton. “That’s not the Colton I know. The old Colton would have done a hell of a lot more than just sign them melons. He’da left his mark all over that group. Ain’t nothing wrong with love, Colton, if that’s what you really want. The question is what you can do about it?”
Kitt had never really been much of a role model for Colton. He’d been in and out of rehab for years while Colton put The Guilty Party together. Kitt had kicked the habit for good, once he had some purpose. Most of the time, Colton felt like the old brother, and he wasn’t in the mood for any role reversal.
He downed the rest of his beer and stood up. “Kitt, when I need advice on hustling, I’ll come to you. When I need a fix, I’ll come to you. Since that day will never come, why don’t you mind your own fuckin’ business and do what you do best; try not to fuck things up.”
Even before the words came out, Colton regretted them. Between all the drinks and all the stress weighing on him, Colton wasn’t in a good place. He knew it. His brother knew it. Colton wasn’t the type to share his feelings, and Kitt wasn’t exactly Dr. Phil.
Pulling his trucker cap down low, Colton began to make his way through the crowd. The adoring hotties were a nice distraction, but Colton wasn’t in the mood for distractions. He wanted to drag himself back to the city hotel, dive into a bottle of SoCo, and fall into a dreamless, black sleep.
Fate wouldn’t let him, though. The second that he stepped through the door to the outside world, a punch landed square into his stomach. He hadn't seen it coming, and it took the wind from him hard. Colton barely stayed standing. As his eyes tried to adjust to the dark, a man wearing an idiot grin stood in front of him. Aw fuck. The asshole boyfriend.
Colton’s face twisted into a grin off his own; more of a rock bottom, laugh so you don’t cry grin. He opened his mouth but only a wheeze came out. Colton had a strong set of pipes, but even freedivers couldn't just brush off getting winded. He struggled to move past it and sucked air into his lungs.
“Shoulda just played ball, shithead. Now I gotta kick your ass.” The boyfriend danced around like he’d watched one too many Muhammad Ali fights. He was already tearing his flannel shirt off.
Colton shook his head, looking to just move past the guy and get to his truck. He hadn’t remembered any other dudes with the group, but now a semi-circle blocked his escape. You kiddin’ me?
Looking back toward the bar, he saw that the circle had closed in around him and the asshole. He sighed, knowing he was gonna wake up in the morning with more than just a hangover paining him. Even once he put the boyfriend down
, Colton was gonna get his share of blows; the crowd didn’t look like it was on Colton’s side. Price of fame, I guess. He corrected himself; Nah, the price of my fame. These are the fans I’ve attracted. This is the life I’ve built.
The last thing Colton wanted was to see his face on the news for yet another bar fight. At first, he had put his years of living on the street to good use. He often came out the victor, the media often calling him a bully whether or not he started the fight.
Even after changing things up and letting the other guy win, it didn’t help his case. TMZ started calling the Wade brothers “Cowardly Colton and Kitt.” The names made his blood boil.
Colton was able to block and deflect the first few punches that the boyfriend threw. Colton caught the asshole in the jaw, but he didn’t have his whole weight behind the punch. Hoping it was enough to smack some sense into the dude, Colton didn’t turn the punch into an easy combination of two more. The boyfriend didn’t learn his lesson. Colton dodged most of the punches thrown his way, even with defeat in his heart. There were ample opportunities to counter, but he held his ground. Keeping his hands up to protect his face, Colton took another hard blow to the stomach. That one dropped him to all fours. He pushed himself up to his knees, his hands ready to defend from a kick. Jesus, this guy’s not fucking around.
The kick came, but Colton grabbed the asshole by his ankle and twisted. Colton was done holding back. Anger, sadness, and self-loathing filled him, and this asshole just picked the wrong time to poke the bear. Standing, Colton threw the guy backwards and onto his ass in the dirt. As he stood up, he knew he shouldn’t sock the dumb fucker right in the face, but he was going to anyway. Sierra was staring at the two, probably wet over two men fighting for her. Colton wasn’t fighting for her, though. He was fighting for Gracie. He was fighting for that sweet girl who knew he could be a better man, even when he was kicking some hillbilly’s ass.
Before he could give the asshole boyfriend what he truly deserved, hands grabbed him from behind. As usual, someone who had encircled him decided to jump in. Before even turning around to see who it was, Colton threw an elbow back. He felt and heard it connect. Probably broke the fucker’s nose.
“Just great, Colton. Just fucking great.”
His heart imploded the second he recognized Kitt’s voice. It was muffled, and when Colton turned around, he saw why. Kitt had both hands over his face, blood dripping at a fast rate to the dirt below.
Colton moved forward. “Jesus. Sorry, brother.”
Kitt pulled away and his brother’s outstretched hand dropped. Kitt uncovered his face, letting his brother see the red pouring from the broken nose. “This is it. Remember this moment. This is the beginning of your self-destruction. Take a fucking look around. Take it all in, you dumb shit.” Blood ran down Kitt’s lips and into his beard.
Gracie was in better physical shape but no better emotionally. Despite an hour-long screaming match with her mother, nothing was resolved. The tour went ahead as planned, and Gracie had to suck it up night after night in front of thousands of fans. In just two weeks, she debuted three brand-new songs. “Lost It All” and “Sad Songs” were classic tears in whiskey songs. “It All Comes Back Around” was an angry, up-tempo number that Gracie secretly dedicated to her mother every night.
She made a point to apologize for Colton and The Guilty Party’s absence. It was another swipe at her mother, and a little bit of publicity for Colton. Twitter and country music blogs had exploded with rumor after rumor. Some of it may Gracie laugh, but most of it just saddened her. The saddest ones talked about how happy Gracie and Colton had been. It was all lies, of course, but they did know how close to the truth they had gotten.
The only battle that Gracie had won was getting her own room. She couldn’t stand to be around her mother, and the two barely saw each other. When they did, it was strictly professional. Both had tension and anger just below the surface, but neither were willing to admit defeat in any way, shape, or form. Gracie cried herself to sleep most nights.
Kathleen was sick. Stress always took its toll on her. Crawling out of bed each morning was becoming harder and harder, and the news outlets were helping anything. “Standin’ Next To Destiny” had been at the top the charts for two solid weeks, and she was out of excuses with the record label. The momentum from the single and the duet on the charity album was too big to be stopped, they had said.
She dreaded the call, but she knew it was coming. The record label wanted a Colton Wade and Gracie Hart collaboration. Not just a single this time. They wanted a full album. Kathleen tried every excuse in the book. She did everything short of accused Colton of assault. She’d said the two didn’t work well together, they had no interest in working together, she even claimed Gracie was considering retirement. The record label didn’t buy any of it.
For days and days, Kathleen trying to figure out a way to tell Gracie. She knew that the longer she waited, the more her daughter would be angry at her for holding information back. Kathleen knew it, but she still did nothing. Every time she thought about talking to Gracie, Roger’s voice would appear in her head.
His words shook Kathleen to her core. Goger read into her so easily. Of course, she had pushed them away because of it. She always did when someone got too close. For the longest time, Kathleen had the excuse that she was raising a young daughter, but after the falling out that the two of them had, that excuse weakened.
He had said something about looking out for her own best interests. That was the thought that kept jumping into Kathleen’s head. She tried to remember the last time she had done something just for herself and she couldn’t.
She stared down at the email and phone. Colton and Gracie had two months to deliver their duet album to the record company. How in the hell do I navigate this one?
Closing out the email app, Kathleen pulled up her contacts list and found the hated number she was looking for: Roger Ellery. Kathleen didn’t want to admit it, but it was time for her to start apologizing. She had set some bridges ablaze, and now she found herself standing at the edge of a riverbank, needing to be on the opposite side.
Her heart rate increased with every passing ring. She had no idea what to tell Roger besides “I’m sorry”. She thanked God when he didn’t pick up and it sent her to voicemail. That warm and familiar Yankee voice welcomed Kathleen to leave a name, a number, and a message, and Roger would do his best to get back.
“Roger, this is Kathleen Hart.” She paused—too long—to think of what to say, “I’m sure you’ve heard from the label about the album. I felt it was necessary to reach out, since I feel it’s on me to make an apology. I let my emotions stand in the way of business, and for that I’m sorry.” Up to that point, Kathleen was able to remain professional. After that, though, it all fell by the wayside. She spoke softer as if someone would overhear, “What you did, though? You completely blindsided me. I’m sorry if what I said was harsh, but you have to understand my side of the situation. You’re right about me putting everybody else first. I’ll admit to that, too. Maybe I’ve done it so long that I don’t know how to think about myself anymore. Gracie’s been a wreck. I knew she had feelings for the boy, but I didn’t realize to what extent. All it’s done is make me feel worse.
“If I could go back, I think I would do it differently. I think I would’ve been less afraid. Less afraid of what you told me, Roger. Less afraid of the fact that you really do know me better than I think. It looks like that despite my best intentions, you and I will be working together again, and it’s unfortunate that we can’t go back in time. I’ll be polite and professional to you, but I can’t make any guarantees. And I will be watching Colton like a hawk. I don’t want to see his eyes anywhere but the lyrics page in front of him. Gracie isn’t speaking to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still her mother.”
Realizing how silly it was of her to be chastising a voicemail, she wrapped it up. “I’m available by phone or email if you have any questions…related to th
e recording.” She hung up.
Kathleen caught herself in a reflection and realize that her cheeks were beet red. Thinking about Roger embarrassed her even when she was alone. She felt like a high schooler leaving a voicemail for a cute boy, not the manager of a multi-platinum country singer. Kathleen wasn’t looking forward to seeing Colton and Gracie interacting, but she was even less enthused about seeing Roger again.
She teased herself by thinking, I wonder how hard it would really be to switch labels…
Roger listened to the message three times. Each time, he heard something different in Kathleen’s voice. He heard anger, he heard frustration, but the thing that he heard most beneath every word was sadness. Roger wasn’t kidding himself. He didn’t think he could take that sadness away. Hell, his last two relationships barely made it a year. Roger always seemed to find women who had roots.
Kathleen didn’t, though. Sure, she had a home, but her home was the road. As long as she managed Gracie, she’d be away from that house more than she’d be there. Roger knew that life all too well. He didn’t mind it, though. Roger enjoyed life on the road as much as anyone could. He’d eaten every variation of the Reuben from one coast to the other; he never found one that was particularly good. His phone was full of pictures from just about every state, and he sent postcards to his nieces and nephews any chance he could. It wasn’t a life he wanted to live forever, but he figured he had another ten years of highway travels in front of him before he couldn’t stand it anymore.
Roger didn’t know it, but he and Kathleen were in a similar situation. He hadn’t told Colton about the record label demands, either. He’d been worried about his star ever since they got dropped from the tour.
When a man known for his live shows starts putting on lackluster performances, people jump all over it. The tabloids leaned towards drugs, the record label towards burnout. Roger was positive it was neither. He had a fairly good idea, and even though there was tension between him and Colton, Roger needed to know that his singer was all right.