Outlaw Country

by Davida Lynn

  “Fuck, Roger. It’s early.” Colton pulled the trucker hat down and slumped down in the booth. Even under the cap and the aviators, the world was still bright as fuck.

  Roger gave him the usual look. “It’s not early. It’s noon. Are you getting any food? Orange juice alone isn’t gonna be enough to cure that hangover. Eggs or bread will soak that shit right up.”

  Colton’s head fell back down to the menu. Roger needed him at least somewhat coherent, and that meant something to soak up the booze from the night before. He caught the eye of the waitress and gestured her over.

  She nodded and flipped out her pad. “What’ll it be, honey?” Her eyes flicked to Colton, but only for a second. Between his aviators and his trucker caps, there was no way to get a read on him.

  Roger smiled at her when she looked to him. “Two orders of French toast for him, and I’ll go with the meat omelet. Oh, another OJ for him and keep the coffee coming.”

  She nodded as she scribbled. “You got it.”

  Colton slid the menu over to her without looking up. When she left, his head raised just slightly. “Didn’t want no French toast.” His voice sounded like there was more than just exhaustion creeping in.

  “Like I said, you need something for that hangover. I wish this was just a social call, but you and I have business to talk about. Kitt came to me this morning. His nose was busted.” Roger sat back, his fingers rolling the mug coffee back and forth on the worn table. The two sat in silence while the statement sank in.

  “I’m sure he did. Tried to talk to me, too. Y’ask me, he’s got his head up his ass.”

  The corners of Roger’s mouth turned up. “Good thing I didn’t ask. You really think he’s full of shit? You think you’re the only one in a band who hasn’t noticed that the show is going downhill? There’s seven of you on stage, but only one of you isn’t giving one hundred percent every night.” Roger reached a hand across the table and tapped his knuckles in front of Colton.

  “Kitt is playing like his life depends on it. Roy Boy is playing like his life depends on it. Lee, L.J., Kevin, and Alabama; they’re all playing like their lives depend on it, because do you know what? It does. Those boys ain’t good at anything else, and you know it. If this ship sinks, they’ll be back to playing outdoor Derby Day parties. This is their life, and it should be your life, too.”

  “Never liked Johnson City. Fuckin’ town is full of inbred hicks.”

  The waitress picked the perfect time to bring their food. She stood balancing the plates before them. She set the food down, Colton’s plates landing with less than her usual soft touch. “Help you boys with anything else?”

  “No, thank you. I think we’re all set.” Roger’s voice was apologetically sweet. Colton didn’t bother to look up at her. He wasn’t sorry. Johnson City was a shithole.

  Colton was already diving into his French toast when Roger spoke again, “It’s not Johnson City. It wasn’t Roanoke two nights before, and it won’t be Asheville tonight.” Despite all the groupies, and all of Colton’s post show activities, Roger had never had to bring up women with him. As long as Colton put on a good show and didn’t hurt anybody, Roger was usually pretty lax. People were getting hurt, though. Colton didn’t want to admit it, event to himself, but Roger was right.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Gracie?” Colton’s face was still turn down to the French toast. He was stabbing at it over and over again.

  Colton let her name sink in. He let the sound of it reverberate in his mind. Kitt could have asked the same question, and Colton probably would have told him to fuck off. Colton saw Roger in a different light. Roger believed in him when he was nothing. It wasn’t far off from how Colton had to believe in Kitt after his third stint in rehab. Colton could be honest with Roger most days of the week. The thing with Gracie had him all shaken up, though. It had him questioning his relationship with everybody, including himself.

  “Ya found me out. Sherlock fuckin’ Holmes, over here. What do you want to know?” Colton’s jaw was tight, moving from side to side.

  Roger was poking a bear, but Colton reminded himself that it was Roger’s job to do the dirty work. Gracie was keeping Colton off his game, and that had to change.

  Curling his finger until Colton looked up, the manager then mimed pulling the glasses down. After a few seconds, Colton complied. His eyes were bloodshot, huge bags under each one. Roger probably wouldn’t have been surprised if Colton told him he hadn’t slept a wink.

  “Once upon a time there was a kid named Colton. Put a guitar neck is hand, and he became Colton Wade. Give him chicks and booze, and he stayed Colton Wade. Apparently that doesn’t work anymore. Now he needs Gracie Hart to be Colton Wade. Nothing wrong with that.” Roger put up his hands to preemptively stop anything Colton might say.

  “Nothing wrong with that, at all. In fact, some might say it’s a sign of maturity. I know how much you despise that word, so I will say it again. There’s nothing wrong with needing somebody else. In a twisted way, I need you. Without Colton Wade, Roger Ellery isn’t shit, and I know that.” After a pause, Roger asked the hard question, “Could it be that without Gracie Hart, Colton Wade ain’t shit?”

  Colton didn’t know what to say. That’s been going around lately, he thought. Roger was right on the money as usual. It didn’t matter how bad he fucked up, Roger was worth his weight in gold. Colton would never let that one get away.

  He had let Gracie get away, though. He had called himself a chicken shit, a coward, and immature. Colton tried to figure out what that thing was inside of himself that ruined a good thing. The band had been the only thing in his life that was a real success, and that was only because of Roger. Colton knew that without his manager, they’d still be playing four-hour gigs at bars where no one cared enough to listen.

  “You might be right.” Colton knew Roger was right. He was just trying to hang onto hint of his pride. “Ah, fuck. I’m crazy about her, boss. Absolutely up a fuckin’ tree. Hell, the morning you gave me the bad news in Nashville…” It was hard, but Colton had to tell himself to be a new man. “Never mind, boss. Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.”

  Roger laughed. Not just at the juxtaposition of Colton calling himself a gentleman, but at the crushing weight gone from the relationship. He and Colton had been at odds ever since Nashville, and it was good to feel the tension between them lift.

  “Yeah, gentlemen. You’re a gentleman like I’m an astronaut. I know what you mean, though. What’s the plan then, Casanova? How do you win her back?”

  Colton shook his head. The hangover was fading, but he wasn’t going to chance it by moving quickly. “No idea. Winning women back has never been my strong suit. I can get them, but once their gone, I’m clueless.” He looked to his manager for advice. Roger was always there for Colton when things got rough.

  Roger understood enough about production and music to help in the studio when the band hit a snag.

  Colton knew that Roger was there one of the nights that Kitt almost went back to using. Things had gotten rough, and Roger got him through it. Colton didn’t know of any problem Roger couldn’t solve.

  Roger knew that look coming from his young star. It was the deer in the headlights look. Roger raised his left hand. “Do you see a ring on here? No, you do not. That is for a good reason. God, if you only knew.” Roger laughed and thought of his pitiful plea to Kathleen. It was laughably bad, and he respected her more for turning him down. It hurt, but he still had to respect her.

  “Colton, I’ve watched you pick up women who straight-up hated your guts when they first met you. You clearly know what to say. Just form that charm into some kind of an apology. One for Gracie and one for her mother. The way to a man’s heart may be through his stomach, but the way to a woman’s is through her mother.”

  Roger had never felt so close to Colton. He saw the singer as his son in a way, but they never talked about feelings or emotions unless it was to touch up a lyric or two.

  “Well, a
in’t that some shit?”

  Roger nodded. “You and me both.”

  Colton reached up and pulled his aviators off. There was a questioning look on his face. Roger had dropped another hint about Gracie’s mother. “Boss, you wanna let me in on something?”

  “I guess so.” Roger knew he couldn’t hide it, so he caught Colton up on everything between him and Kathleen. Everything from their fiery interactions at Muscle Shoals, Roger pouring his heart out the same morning Colton and Gracie were together, and the collaboration album that the record company demanded. The two ate as if the problems of the world didn’t exist for a few minutes.

  As Colton’s hangover faded, the thought struck him that the hangovers would only get worse. At twenty seven, he knew age was going to dig its inevitable claws into him. He couldn’t keep living like a teenager.

  He found that he didn’t want to keep living that life. He still wanted to tour and make music his life, but there was nothing saying he couldn’t do that with a good woman by his side. All Colton had to do was get that woman back.

  Roger looked over at Colton. “Recording starts in three days. I guess you’ve got some work to do, slick.”

  The studio was just a few years old, built deep in the Smokey Mountains. After a climb up through the trees, the private drive opened up and gave a great view of Grapeyard Ridge, the namesake of The Grapeyard. Arvin had suggested that particular studio because it was modern, but still had the Southern charm that country musicians fed off of. The entrance to the building looked like it used to be part of a shipping container with windows from end to end. Once inside, the view was enough to make you drop into one of the Adirondack chairs along the wall.

  Colton couldn’t help but smile as he stood on the porch with a guitar case in each hand. Inspiration. That’s what he saw when he looked out into the vast rolling green. After months and months of waking up five hundred miles from where he had gone to sleep, two weeks in one place would be a fuckin’ dream.

  Two weeks without worrying about the fight with his brother, two weeks without the star fuckers who were getting on his nerves more and more, and two weeks of making some kick ass tunes with a producer he really respected. After he apologized to all parties involved, of course. After he made up, things would be silky smooth. The record company had even used a word Colton had never heard before he was hooked in with Gracie: unlimited. Their time was short, but their budget was unlimited.

  Colton had already sent his two treasured guitars in for a complete once-over. He’d bought a few items that he’d been eying for some time, including a decent amount of new equipment for The Guilty Party. After all, it was on the record company’s dime.

  After one last nod of his head, Colton backed his way through the door to the studio. Some solid hours with his band and Gracie would help clear his head. Thinking about his band made him wonder if Kitt would show up. If he did show up, Colton would take the high road and ask for forgiveness. Some part of Colton didn’t care of Kitt showed up or not. That part was bigger than Colton cared for.

  Armed with his two favorite guitars and a notebook filled with some of his best lyrics, Colton set his mind on the future. His future; Gracie’s future; their future.

  As much as Gracie was looking forward to seeing Colton, she wasn’t looking forward to work. Ever since her mother had gone from helicopter parent to prison guard, Gracie wanted nothing to do with the music business. Other than the phone calls in secret, she didn’t have access to Colton. Not seeing him was digging away at her heart.

  Part of her was upset that he hadn’t come to save her. She knew he was no white knight, but it still would have been a dream come true. She would’ve taken his pickup truck over a stallion any day. Gracie was a prisoner, not only to her mother, but to her contract. There was a two week break in the tour schedule, and that was exactly when the recording would take place for her and Colton’s album.

  Gracie felt like she was fourteen again. Her debut album was being recorded, and she relied on her mother for everything. Gracie had no concept of the music business. She just wanted to sing for people. Five years later, Gracie would’ve given anything to be on her own. Despite Kathleen’s words, Gracie saw nothing good in what her mother was doing.

  Kathleen had said that it was for Gracie’s own good, which made Gracie sick to her stomach. Social media had taken the rumors and turned them into a hurricane. She knew that responding to them would only make things worse, so Kathleen had forced Gracie to put her social media on hiatus.

  Their relationship had frozen over with ice so thick it wouldn’t crack. Gracie was furious with her for forcing Colton off the tour. Kathleen was tired of trying to explain that a man like Colton was no good. She couldn’t explain that twenty years earlier, Eric had done just about the same thing. He had come in and blown Kathleen off her feet, and before she knew it, she was knocked up and alone. Kathleen would die before she saw that happen to Gracie.

  Kathleen was dealing with her own relationship woes, too. When Roger had called her back, he didn’t mention anything personal. They discussed business, the recording studio, and the number of songs that Gracie would bring in with her. There was no mention of Nashville or the message Kathleen had poured her heart into.

  It hurt, but Kathleen had too much on her plate to worry about it. She wanted to get Gracie through the recording process as cleanly as possible. Once the record company had the album, everybody could go their own separate way, and the drama would come to an end.

  Both Hart women had grown used to the frigid silence between them. Gracie would stare at the passenger window for the entire length of a drive, no matter how long. It was four hours to the recording studio in Gatlinburg, and she stuck to her guns for the entire trip. Kathleen did her best to stay calm and keep the rising blood pressure at bay. She was beyond anxious and would have given anything to call off the recording session. She didn’t want to see Roger, and she certainly didn’t want to see Colton.

  The studio was modern and much larger than Muscle Shoals. That gave Kathleen room to keep their parties separate. The plan was to have Gracie record with her band in a separate sound stage as much as possible. If Kathleen could keep the two singers apart for the entire process, she’d call that a win.

  The engineer’s booth, alone, was larger than the studio that Colton and Gracie had recorded “Jackson” in. It had a wall lined with couches and tables for relaxing and listening back the recordings. When Kathleen walked in, Roger was there to greet her like an instant migraine.

  He nodded to her. “Kathleen. How are you and Gracie doing?”

  She hated how mechanical his voice sounded. She hated that he had gone from basically professing his love to pretending it never had happened. Kathleen kept telling herself to just make it through the recording session.

  “We are well, thank you.” She tried to match his cold tone, but she fell short.

  Kathleen was caught completely off guard when Roger grabbed her and pulled her against his body. Her eyes went wide as she pulled her in for a kiss. Her heart sped up in an instant, her mind completely blank. All she could feel was Roger’s strength and power as he planted his lips on hers. For a split second, Kathleen tried to push him away. It didn’t last long, though. Soon, her arms were wrapped around his back. She was holding on with everything she had. It was such sweet release.

  Roger bent forward, leaning Kathleen back. She had never felt so swept off her feet in her entire life. Part of her was angry, but part of her jumped for joy and screamed inside of her. Kathleen had let her anger block out the fact that Roger’s words had taken over her heart.

  When Roger pulled back, the two of them opened their eyes. Kathleen had fully prepared to scream at him, but the kiss…it was powerful. It was just the thing that Kathleen needed. She needed to see Roger man up and take the chance. She could see in his eyes that he had to take the chance.

  Kathleen’s mouth closed, and her eyes narrowed at him. “Just what in the hell do you t
hink you’re doing?”

  She twisted in his arms until Roger pulled her to her feet. Kathleen pushed him away and turned her face. The cautious part of her was trying to put up the wall. It was trying to make sure she wouldn’t get hurt. Her heart was fighting back, though. Kathleen had never felt a kiss like that in her life.

  That feeling. How long had it been since Kathleen had been swept up like that? She couldn’t remember, and she took that as a sign that it had been too damn long.

  The rational part of her jumped back into the fight, reminding her that she had a daughter to look out for. A daughter that was very upset with her but still needed her, anyway. The last thing Kathleen needed was her own relationship. Relationships took time and energy. For the past five years, every single bit of her energy and time had gone to Gracie.

  “Hey.” Roger’s voice was everything she thought it could be: warm and soft, wrapped around her more powerfully than his arms. “We both needed that. How long has it been since you were impulsive? How long has it really been you did something just for you, Kathleen? I don’t know how long it’s been for me, but I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  She turned back to them. The logical part of Kathleen had been squelched. She wanted Roger, no matter how messy and complicated. That kiss was better than any mess or any complication. In a strange way, it also made Kathleen realize how unfair she had been to Gracie.

  A smile came to Kathleen that she couldn’t overpower. She looked from the floor up Roger’s body. He was a good-looking man, and it was clear that he kept in decent shape. He was successful, and he knew what life in the music business meant. Kathleen couldn’t think of a better match.