by Magan Vernon
I knew that if this didn’t work out, I might still be the laughing stock of Friendship, but I knew Brooke would still dust me off and, after a few jabs, make me a drink from her dad’s liquor cabinet, and we’d have a good laugh.
And if things did work out, and I was the next big name in country, then maybe I’d finally have the balls to come back and tell her how I felt.
“More bread for the superstar,” Mr. Conti said, bringing a fresh basket of homemade bread to the table.
The whole Conti family was straight-off-the-boat Sicilians, and Mr. Conti was the patriarch, even though he was barely over five-foot with a bald spot and a mustache that rivaled Mario and Luigi.
“Not a superstar yet, Mr. Conti. I still have to survive Nashville,” I said, trying to stay humble because, even though I put up a big front from my parents, I didn’t want to be the cocky SOB in front of the town. Who knew when I’d have to come back.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” I mumbled, pushing the red plastic chair back and standing.
“Yell before you go in. Dana may still be cleaning it,” Mr. Conti said as I walked away from the table.
“Hello. Man coming in the restroom,” I yelled, pushing the wooden door, the tiny porthole depicting a stained glass portrait of the Sicilian flag.
Nicky Conti squatted over one of the urinals. Even crouched down, he was still a hulk of a guy with his tan arms bulging out of his white t-shirt. He’d had a mustache since we were in the sixth grade and still had the hairiest back of any guy in Friendship High School.
“Man ... you’re a funny guy, Jahid,” Nicky said, standing and throwing a sponge in a bucket.
“Um ... okay ...” I said, unsure of what else to say.
I was a decent size—skinny, but six-foot-two. Even at my size, Nicky towered over me in stature and presence.
He slowly walked toward me wearing a scowl that could have made a grown man shit his pants.
“Brooke’s not working tonight, or I’m sure she’d ask for your table,” he said, his expression still stoic.
“I know. I was gonna meet up with her tonight after dinner,” I said, my eyes looking everywhere but at the scowling Nicky.
“You gonna finally tell her you like her, or are you going to let her be miserable and chase after you forever?”
I gulped, finally meeting his steely gaze. “Um, what?”
A small smile cracked Nicky’s face. “C’mon, Jahid, I’m not stupid, even though my SATs may say something different. Brooke Carrington’s been in love with you since you were born, and if you weren’t so thick headed, you’d see she’s an amazing girl and stop leading her on.”
“Does Dana know you’re hitting on Brooke?” I asked, trying to smile but ending up dropping it as soon as Nicky narrowed his eyes.
Dana and Nicky had been boyfriend and girlfriend since we knew there was such a thing in second grade. The tiny little blonde girl followed the hulking guy everywhere he went, and I figured they’d be engaged before high school graduation.
“Don’t change the subject, Jahid. You may now be Eddie Justice, country superstar, but to that girl, you’ll always be Eddie, the boy next door. The one she stares at starry-eyed. No matter how big you get or how hard you fall ...” Nicky took another step forward, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. “And you will fall, Jahid. She’s going to be the one there to catch you. So don’t fuck up her heart. Capiche?”
I didn’t know what answer he was looking for or what to even say. I’d had a crush on Brooke forever, but I wasn’t the best at talking to girls, and every time I realized that I did have feelings for her, it would be too late, and one of us would be with someone. Now that I was leaving, there was no point in telling her. Unless I knew she was going to end up in Nashville with me, Nicky was right; I couldn’t break her heart.
I nodded, swallowing hard before Nicky patted my back and left the bathroom. Leaving me with my own thoughts and wondering where in the hell I was going to go next.
When I left Friendship, Texas, for a bright future in Nashville, I never thought I’d go back.
I hated everything about the small town that made the skinny kid with a foreign last name the target for incessant bullying.
The only thing I ever regretted leaving behind was Brooke Carrington, my next-door neighbor and the girl I’d carried a candle for all my life.
It wasn’t hard to come up with songs about missing a girl back home, and once the producers in Nashville let me record my own music, I was soon sailing up the country music charts and into the panties of just about any actress or singer who would let me. As my stardom rose, I started working with a publicist from the agency that represented my music. She hooked me up with a stylist, gym membership, and a team of hairdressers. By the time I was twenty, I had two number-one hits and a body to match my new superstar persona.
I thought about reaching out to Brooke so many times. Late at night, I would scroll through Baylor’s website and Facebook, looking at pictures of Brooke in her theater productions or with her friends on campus instead of working on new music. I could have done something less creepy, but after years of not talking I didn’t even know how to approach her.
As much as it sucked, Mary’s cheating and the untimely passing of Brooke’s dad was like the universe trying to bring us back together in Friendship.
Of course, I thought it meant we were supposed to finally figure us out. We’d both changed, but I didn’t expect her to change so much that she’d sell me out and make up blatant lies to sell a book.
I watched Brooke practically fall out of the limo and run toward her house. I should have followed her, but I was too pissed off. I figured I’d get back to my parents, take a hot shower, and sit down with my guitar before I even thought about my next move.
It was early afternoon, so Dad was still working on the ranch, but Mom sat at the kitchen table, going through some receipts and entering them into the computer.
“Don’t you have some fancy office for that, or does your son need to build you a new one?” I asked, leaning on the doorframe.
Mom looked up from the computer, pushing her glasses onto the bridge of her nose as a smile crossed her face. “You know I’ve always preferred the kitchen table. There’s a better view.” She motioned toward the patio door that looked out to the horse barn and grazing field behind it.
“I reckon you’re right,” I said, taking the seat across from her.
“I was just about to take a break. Want some sheet cake? Just baked it this morning. It’s supposed to be for after dinner, but one little slice won’t hurt.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Mom. That sounds great.”
Mom patted my hand before she got up from the table and cupboard doors opened and shut behind me. “So how was Austin? Did you and Brooke have a good time?”
I winced. “Yeah. The show was great. Stan thinks the recording will be a hit, and we can sell it through the website after the producers and sound teams get through it.”
Mom frowned, setting a slice of Texas sheet cake and a big glass of milk in front of me before she sat down in her seat. “You didn’t answer my question, Edward, which makes me think something happened with you and Brooke.”
Mom was always perceptive. She could tell when I was lying the minute she looked at my eyes. It was why I avoided her most of my teen years until I went to Nashville.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “We’re just two different people now is all, Mom. Hell, it’s been ten years since I’ve seen her, and we’ve both changed.”
Mom raised her eyebrows, and I looked down, focusing on my sheet cake and shoveling a huge piece into my mouth.
“So what you’re telling me is that you fucked up and broke that girl’s heart again?”
I almost choked on my cake and took a big gulp of milk to wash it down. I cleared my throat before looking at my mom’s serious face. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word, Mom.”
My mom spent the
first year in Nashville with me when I was starting out, but once I began touring, she went back to Texas. Eventually, I bought my own place in Nashville where my parents would visit on occasion. In all of those years, I’d always thought my mom looked more reserved. Her once full of life demeanor had faded, and she had a permanent scowl that she had to force into a smile. On the ranch, she was at ease. Her shoulder-length brown hair, now peppered with gray, and the smile back on her still flawless face.
“Don’t change the subject, Edward Francis. You and Brooke had a tiff, just like y’all used to when you were kids, but somehow, I think this one is more than just you pulling her hair or dunking her under in the pond.”
I sighed, raking my hands through my hair. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“What’s complicated? That y’all have been in love since you were in diapers, and now are too scared to try anything new, or did you let fame go to your head and forget about the poor girl next door?”
“What? You of all people, Mom, should know that I’m as humble as all get-out. Maybe one of the most down-to-earth guys on the scene right now,” I said, trying to defend myself.
Mom laughed, shaking her head. “Son, that’s like saying you’re the smallest cow at a stampede. You’re still part of the herd.”
“Mom, cattle analogies don’t apply to everything. It’s a lot more complicated than that,” I grumbled, shoving another forkful of cake in my mouth.
“What? Did Brooke try to expand from that horrible smut she’s been writing and pen a tell-all book about being the girl who finally nabbed the boy next door?” Mom asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Something like that,” I muttered, drinking the rest of my milk and standing up. I didn’t want to have this conversation.
Walking over to the sink, I rinsed off my dish and cup before putting them in the dishwasher. By the time I closed the door to the dishwasher, Mom was standing in front of me with her arms crossed.
“So what? Brooke is trying to write a book based on your love life. What’s wrong with mixing a little fiction and real life?”
I sighed, leaning against the counter and shaking my head. “It’s a lot more complicated than that, Mom. I don’t want to get into details, but a lot of it was blatant lies to, you know, smut it up and sell it.”
“And did you ask her to remove those parts?” Mom asked, raising her eyebrows high on her head.
“Well, no, but—”
“So you didn’t ask her to change it, but you’re mad because you didn’t ask or make suggestions?” Mom interrupted.
“No ...”
“Instead, you just got mad at her and had an argument over it and went huffing and puffing to go write a song about it? I guess y’all haven’t changed much.” A small smile crossed Mom’s lips.
“I’m going to head up to my room,” I muttered, not wanting to admit that she was probably right. I needed to apologize to Brooke, maybe talk it out, instead of just getting angry about what she wrote.
I’d have to swallow my pride, and I knew that, as I’d done it many times as a kid. But this time, I had a lot more to lose if she didn’t accept my apology.
“Mom! Mom!” I screamed, running into the house as fast as my one-size-too-big-but-Mom-assured-me-I’d-grow-into-them cowboy boots would carry me.
“What, Ed?” Mom turned away from the stove where she stirred something in a big pot.
“Can you drive me into Rockwall?” I asked, stopping and tapping my feet on the tile floor.
Mom raised an eyebrow, not looking up from her pot. “What on earth do you need to go into Rockwall for?”
“On a count o’ Brooke’s mad at me again, so I need to make her not mad at me.”
Mom smiled, tapping the wooden spoon on the side of the pot before setting it on the spoon rest and turning to face me. “What did you do that a trip to Rockwall will fix?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, looking at my feet instead of Mom’s glare. “It’s nothin’, really.”
Mom stayed silent, and I knew she was giving me the look. I tried to keep my eyes away from her as long as possible, but finally, I broke down. “I told her I’d jump in the pond with all my clothes on if she did and then I just let her jump in. She was so mad that she got her new jeans wet that she stormed back to her house and didn’t even let me drive her on the four-wheeler.”
“And you think going to Rockwall and getting her something pretty is going to help?” Mom asked, lifting an eyebrow.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess.”
Mom pulled out one of her baking dishes from the cupboard then grabbed a mixing bowl before heading toward the pantry.
“Uh, Mom? Do you need that all for driving?”
Mom smiled, piling her arms with sugar and cocoa and other baking necessities. “Eddie, we don’t need to go to Rockwall. The best way to make someone feel better is with chocolate, especially Texas sheet cake.”
Mom set the ingredients on the counter and handed me an apron.
“But Gramps says baking is woman’s work,” I protested.
Mom smiled, putting on her own apron. “The only way to truly apologize is for you to make this yourself and pour all your love and forgiveness into it.”
I curled my upper lip. “Ew, Mom, I don’t want to put love into anything I give Brooke. She’s my best friend.”
Mom gave me a knowing smile. I didn’t think she knew that I had my first wet dream a few nights ago, and it was about Brooke in her bikini. I made sure to toss my sheets into the wash and not tell a soul.
“Well, then you can just put forgiveness in the cake. It’s either that or you can ride your bike the fifteen miles to Rockwall and see what money you have in your piggy bank to get something at the grocery store.”
I sighed, tying the apron around my back. “Fine. Baking, it is.”
***
Two hours later, I stood in front of Brooke’s back door with a fresh sheet cake. It would have been sooner, but I had to shower to get all the flour off me.
Brooke’s mom was at the back door after I knocked twice.
“Hiya, Mrs. Carrington, is Brooke home?” I asked, putting on the biggest smile I could so my dimples would show. I always hated that they made me looked like a cherub, but I seemed to be able to get away with more when they added to my smile.
Mrs. Carrington smiled and opened the door. “Come on in, Eddie. She’s in the living room.”
“Mom! You weren’t supposed to tell him I was here!” Brooke whined, standing up and pouting her bottom lip.
Now that we were in middle school, Brooke had changed. Her parents let her get contacts and bras. Combined with her long silky brown hair and the raspberry lip-gloss sheen she always had on her lips, I had to cover up my growing bulge that I seemed to have trouble keeping down whenever I was around her.
“What do you want, Eddie?” she spat, folding her arms across her chest which just made her boobs pop out of her V-neck top and my pants grow even tighter.
“I came to apologize, and I brought a Texas sheet cake. I made it myself,” I said, holding the pan out toward her.
Brooke raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think you can win me over that easily with some chocolate cake?”
I wiggled the pan and my eyebrows. “My mom also has homemade ice cream at the house.”
Brooke’s eyes widened then she looked toward the kitchen. “Mom, can I go to Eddie’s?”
Brooke’s mom laughed, not even looking up from the dishwasher. “Sure, Brooke. Just cut me off a slice of cake first.”
Chapter 18
If chocolate and ice cream worked fifteen years ago to apologize to Brooke, I figured it would do the same now. I would just possibly have to up the ante and make it chocolate diamonds or something.
But before I could even plan a shopping trip into Dallas, my cell phone rang with Stan’s number flashing across the scene.
I swiped to answer and put the phone to my ear. “Yello?”
“Eddie, my man,
long time, no talk!” Stan said in his typical nasally voice. Stan had been my agent since I was seventeen years old. He was like a second dad to me.
“I just saw you yesterday, Stan.”
Stan laughed. “You’re right, you’re right. But how’s about I see you tomorrow too? There are some guys who want to meet with you in Nashville, maybe talk about a comeback?”
I raised an eyebrow even though I knew he couldn’t see it. “Wasn’t that what the show in Austin was for?”
Stan sighed. “Look, Eddie, I know you’ve got the new girlfriend and family stuff in Friendship, but it’s been three months since the incident with Mary, and you left Nashville and the music scene. One little concert in some honky tonk isn’t going to help. Either you can stay in your small town and probably live comfortably off your millions while doing a few small gigs in Dallas, or you can keep your superstardom and have the comeback of the century. What do you say, Ed?”
I thought about what he said. As much as I enjoyed my time with Brooke and at the ranch, now that some of the reporters had left, I couldn’t deny that I missed the stage and making music. I never felt more alive than when I had hundreds of people screaming my name and begging for my attention.
“All right, Stan. Send the plane and I’ll be there tomorrow. I just want to sleep tonight.”
“Okay, Eddie. I’ll see you at the studio tomorrow.”
As soon as I hung up, my phone rang again with a number I didn’t recognize. My phone number had been leaked more than once on Twitter, and I’d had to change it at least a dozen times in the last two years. Normally, I’d ignore the call, but tonight I was a glutton for punishment.
“I don’t know how you got this number, but now that you’ve heard Eddie Justice speak, are you satisfied?” I huffed.
The voice on the other end laughed. “Dude, do you always answer your phone like this?” a low voice with the hint of what I’d call a “Southern California accent” said.
I sighed, slumping my shoulders as if I was letting the weight of the world off them. “Is this Jay?”