Chapter 4 Grady
grady
. . .
You goddamned idiot. You absolute fucking fool.
My heavy boots thudded against the familiar pasture as I made my way back to the stage.
I clung to Charlie as she rambled about the different toys she brought with her—blue pony, blue dolly, blue monster truck…
She sure didn’t need to. I already knew exactly what we brought.
The only reason we’d avoided an absolute meltdown while packing is because we let her bring all her favorites.
My daughter hadn’t been lying. Blue really was her favorite color. It was mine, too, but I liked a specific shade. One that was as deep as the ocean depths and as sweet as the wild blueberries that grew along the fence line of this ranch.
The one that matched Cleo’s eyes.
I tried not to focus on that little detail. Because when I did, all I could think about was the hurt and confusion on her face that had deepened the moment she’d seen Charlie running up to me with open arms.
Had she not known I had a daughter? Charlie’s mom and I had worked hard to keep her out of the media as much as possible. Having two parents with high-profile jobs meant we were under constant scrutiny. Our kid didn’t deserve that. She didn’t choose this life.
We never hid her, though. We were proud parents, and I thanked my family in every acknowledgement or speech I gave. It was important to me Charlie knew how much I loved her, and the way her birth had changed my life in ways I could never fully explain.
The band and I were coming up on nearly twelve years together.
After the first ten, we’d been able to negotiate a yearly contract, which was convenient at the time.
None of us were sure what we wanted to do.
Life on the road was hard, and we weren’t getting any younger.
Most of us had families, and touring took us away for months on end with little time for much else.
When our contract was up for negotiations this year, we unanimously agreed it was time to take a hiatus. It wasn’t a breakup by any means. We all wanted to get our asses back on the road eventually, but the thought of a year or two to ourselves was too good to pass up.
So much had changed since we’d first signed on the dotted line.
The guys and I had come a long way from the scrawny nobodies we’d been before we signed with the label.
None of us had known each other at first. We were brought together by desperation and a handful of dreams, which still rang true today.
The break just gave us a chance to figure out what we wanted, write and record some new music, and prepare for our eventual return to the public to be better than ever.
There were downfalls to having so much time on our hands, though.
For the first time in twelve years, I had time to overanalyze.
The guys and I were at the height of our career, topping the charts left and right with every single we dropped.
If we walked away now, would all of it still be waiting for us if we decided to come back?
Would we even want it? It was all a guessing game.
No matter how exhausted I was, I was selfishly worried about myself, too.
Music was like therapy to me. It helped me through some of my darkest moments and allowed me to celebrate the highest points.
But after tonight, there would be no work to fall back on.
No screaming fans to drown out the incessant chatter in my head.
No melodies to lose myself in. It was just going to be me, myself, and my thoughts, which had been a dangerous combination over the past few months.
Because no matter how hard I tried, those damn thoughts always drifted right back here to a beautiful blue-eyed blonde and Black Springs Ranch.
God, so much time had passed since the last time Cleo and I had seen one another.
It felt like another lifetime, and I guess it was.
We weren’t the same people we used to be.
Yet when I looked at her, I felt the same rush I did when I was young.
Like we were still the same kids we were at sixteen—reckless and running through this very field to meet one another at our secret spot.
Only, back then, she would’ve greeted me with a smile and a kiss before asking me what took me so long rather than running for the hills like I was a monster. Which, in her story, I might’ve been.
Our history was long and complicated. There was fault on both sides.
No one was perfect, but Cleo was damn close.
When she’d been by my side, I’d felt invincible.
Nothing and no one could bring me down. No one except, it seemed, myself.
The day I’d let her slip through my fingers, prioritizing all the wrong things and heading down a wildly twisted path, was one of the worst of my life.
It was why thoughts of Cleo were easier handled with a bottle of tequila after dark. Memory lane was a bumpy ass road to walk by yourself. If I was gonna be forced to do it, it sure as shit wasn’t going to be sober.
When the band and I had talked about where we would play our last show, our label pitched the idea of ending it where everything had begun.
The decision was met with a bunch of cheers and pats on the back from our PR team and agents.
They raved about the sentimentality of it, how it would look so good to bring revenue to a no-name, small town in Texas and pay tribute to my humble roots.
I’d smiled and nodded, pretending everything was fine, but it couldn’t have been further from the truth. I hadn’t stepped foot in my hometown since my mother passed, and I’d vowed to never do it again.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to give credit where credit was due.
The Lonestar was the birthplace of a wild dream.
I owed a lot to my hometown bar. If I hadn’t played my first acoustic show on that simple stage to a group of half-drunk old men, I wouldn’t have had the courage to follow my heart and be standing here today.
But all those accolades and accomplishments were only possible because of one person. Cleo had been the only thing I saw during my first set. She watched me with nothing less than utter love and adoration, believing in me before I ever did in myself.
I’d felt every bit of it, too. Her excitement never felt like an obligation. There was never a roll of her eyes when I told her I wanted to play music for a living. She didn’t balk when I deferred college to chase my newfound dreams or tell me I should have a back-up plan.
I tried like hell to convince our label that somewhere, anywhere, else would’ve been better for our final show.
I worked with some of the best tour promoters in the world to come up with bold new ideas that should’ve had our label jumping up and down in their plush leather seats.
Instead, they just nodded their heads and told me to save it for our comeback.
When we drove into town for the show four months ago, something had felt off.
I couldn’t explain what it was or why, but it was there all the same.
It’d been enough to scare me off for good.
I had every intention of playing the show and high-tailing it out of there so I could get back to Tennessee.
There was no reason for me to stay. No reason for me to do anything but handle my business and leave as soon as possible.
Until I saw her.
Twelve years may have passed since the last time I’d seen her, but Cleo Hayes was just as beautiful as I remembered.
Even inside the darkened bar, all it had taken was one look at her for my world to flip upside down.
It’d felt like a fever dream at first. She wasn’t supposed to be there.
She was supposed to be in Montana with her husband, living out her dreams.
I knew because I’d checked.
Cleo may have blocked me on every social media site known to man, but the same couldn’t be said for my band members. So, I did what I’d always done in the rare moments I found myself spiraling at three in the morning, curious about what she was doing—I stole one of their phones and looked her up.
My daughter jumped in my hold, pulling me from my thoughts. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”
I looked forward, noticing my wife striding toward us. “Hi, baby girl!” Olivia said, holding out her arms to take our daughter. Charlie gave her a kiss on the cheek and nuzzled into her neck. “I see you found your daddy.” Her eyes met mine as she mouthed the word ‘sorry’ behind our daughter’s back.
I shook my head, stepping back to let them have their moment together.
Charlie may have had me wrapped around her finger, but she was a momma’s girl through and through.
Neither Olivia nor I had planned on kids, so finding out she was pregnant had thrown our worlds topsy-turvy in the best way possible.
Watching them together was a special kind of joy. Their bond was magical. Our daughter idolized Olivia. She went on and on about how when she grew up, she wanted to be just like her mom.
Olivia Hart was country music royalty. Her grandfather, Franklin Hart, had started one of the biggest record labels in Nashville.
She grew up in an entirely different world than I had—one of glitz and glamour and more money than I could ever fathom.
The Hart name carried a lot of weight in the music business, and a lot of pressure to boot.
When her grandfather retired, the company had been passed down to Olivia’s father. Just like Charlie, she’d revered the man, wanting nothing more than to be just like him when she grew up.
She’d only been fifteen when he passed away.
While the industry mourned, and the family was devastated, it hadn’t taken long for her uncle, John, to step up to the plate, holding down the fort until Olivia was old enough to take the reins.
She learned a lot from him before taking her role as CEO of the label.
He was still on the board, helping her navigate the complexities of the job.