Chapter 22.
Austin
And this is me discovering a version of my life I didn’t know I could possibly have.
I don’t know how long I get to have this.
I just know I don’t want to give it back.
As I step onto the stage, I realize that for the first time in a long time, everything feels easy. Which often means it won’t stay that way.
TJ made all the sensible remarks—he always does.
Everything could get so much worse.
The label could cut ties with me.
And poor Ian … always at the whim of every reckless decision I make.
You’d expect my heart to be pounding when I get up on the stage, but I’m as calm as a sliced cucumber.
I feel like I’m at home. Fiona is with her keys, running her fingers over them thoughtfully and looking inspired.
I wonder if she has Laina on her mind, if she is who Fiona performs for.
I see Raj doing one last circle of his kit, light on his feet, bouncy and happy.
Even our usual straight-faced Wily has a cute smirk as he runs fingers up and down the strings of his bass guitar and taking in our limited audience tonight while slowly nodding, like he’s ready for the heat.
I’ve never felt more connected to these guys.
And afraid to lose it all in one sweeping turn of the online masses.
I lift Glorious off his stand, gently sling him around me like a lover’s arm, and caress him to my body, giving the strings a couple test strums.
That seems to be the trigger. Everyone going quiet. Waiting. Eyes up on the stage.
The guy in the front with the main camera lifts his eyebrows at me and lifts his thumb, awaiting my signal.
I meet TJ’s eyes in the crowd, spotting him instantly.
He smiles back, arms crossed, and nods.
I peer back at my bandmates. Fiona’s eyes are on me, smirking like she’s ready to take on the beast. Wily, too, looking steady. Raj brandishes his drumsticks like weapons, bottom lip sucked in, eyes vibrant and excited.
I nod.
The light on the camera turns red.
There’s no opening speech. This isn’t about what I’ve got to say. Never was.
It’s about the music.
The moment I hit that first chord, Wily and Raj and Fiona all attack with me, all at once, our unified front, the four of us against the unseen monster that stares us all down from the other side of that camera.
We open with “Hate Me For a Reason”.
The hit song that started everything.
The seed of our whole hit album Hate Me.
It’s a funny story, actually. Fiona, Wily, and our first drummer Cam were getting heated. Nothing was working. Everything we threw at the higher-ups, they threw right back at us. I was chasing a sound I knew lived inside me, but nothing I did seemed to draw it out.
And we were starved for that big hit everyone dreamed of. We were biting and clawing and hissing for it—even at each other.
And it all came to a head. Fiona was fed up. Wily kept going off about how bands fall apart because of ego, he’d seen it before, his first band’s lead singer, blah, blah. Cam took his anger out on his drums and broke one of his snares.
I went into the booth, just me and Glorious.
Eyes shut. Anger and resentment and bitter longing for a dream I felt was always out of reach.
I’d never have it. No one would let me. Not my family who never really rooted for me when I pursued music.
Not my label, who kept seeing us as numbers and upticks and statistics.
Ian was even on my shit list, the guy who sold me the dream, who was with me at all those bars, at the Saltshaker, building up what would soon become this band.
I stared down the room of producers through the glass of that recording booth. “You’re gonna hate me anyway,” I said to their smug faces, “might as well hate me for a reason.”
Then I banged out some nasty chords on my guitar.
And those bitter words became lyrics.
And by the time I was through, the whole room was silent. All of them. Even my bandmates. No one knew what just happened, only that it’s exactly what every last person in that room wanted.
That’s how it happened. Just like that.
One burst of pure, honest rage, and our hit was born.
But it isn’t the same hit I’m singing now. Five years later, I’m a different man. My band is different, too—literally, Raj considered. And I’m no longer the boy chasing that dream of stardom. I found a new dream. A better one. And he’s out there in that audience.
And just like in that cold recording booth, he’s one brave and terrifying step away, just out of reach.
That’s how the lyric changes.
I’m gonna love him anyway.
So you might as well love me for a reason.
Yeah, I hear what you want, you hear what you want …
No one ever listened to words anyway.
Might as well love me for a reason, yeah …
And that reason is you.
The last chorus gives way to a whole solo section for Fiona to rock out on her keys. The camera focuses on her. I see passion in her eyes when she shows us everything she’s got.
I sure hope Laina is watching this live stream.
In my heart, I want to believe it’s not just my love the four of us are fighting for.
Maybe we’re even fighting for Ian, too. His right to never miss another damned moment with his wife Hailey and their beautiful daughter. All the Ians out there. All the Fionas and Lainas.
All the Chase Holts and his secret TJs.
When Fiona’s last chord is struck, and Wily’s rich bass hangs in the air, and the hiss of Raj’s last crash of the cymbals linger, and Glorious hums his final chord of the song, our crowd explodes into cheers and screaming that surprises us all.
It’s surprising because the crowd is barely half the size of the ones we’ve been performing for.
I can’t help but crack a smile, amazed at their enthusiasm.
I take hold of the mic. “Now hold on a minute, hold on,” I say through my chuckles.
“This just ain’t gonna do. All of you watchin’ this through your computer screens or phones or TVs or whatever need to know who’s here in person.
Look out there, go ahead.” The frazzled cameraman slowly pans out to the technicians, to people from all around Spruce who came in support, came to help, came dutifully at the calls of Cissy and Tim and TJ himself.
“You see all these wonderful faces out there? A band ain’t nothin’ without the people that work tirelessly behind the scenes to put these shows together.
And for puttin’ this together with such short notice?
I’m for real, from the bottom of our hearts, my bandmates included, we thank you.
Y’all deserve a round.” I start the applause and it carries on through Wily, Fiona, and Raj, too.
The camera slowly turns back to me as I start talking again.
“I also want to thank you viewers out there—whether a diehard fan or casual listener—for your part in makin’ us what we are today.
It ain’t lost on me that we wouldn’t have this privilege of sharin’ our music with the world if it weren’t for your support for us over the years.
” I pull the mic off the stand and pace over the stage.
“But I gotta say … despite as much as we try to give you guys in return … maybe I ain’t given you enough.
” I take off my hat and fling it back at my stool.
“I want you to stop seein’ me as a star.
We ain’t stars. We’re simple-ass human beings who just want things.
Y’know, like jellybeans and Pop-Tarts at 2 in the mornin’.
And sometimes … our hearts want things, too.
And just like you, I want to listen to mine and chase what it wants. Can you let me do that?”
Someone in the audience shouts, “Yes!!” Probably Cissy. But I can’t be sure. And then the rest of the audience chimes in with their shouts and cheers, eventually shattering into another wave of enthusiastic applause and whistling.
“I mean, if I’m gonna stand up here and sing about love,” I go on with half a laugh, “and sell y’all a hundred songs about what it feels like to want somebody … well, shoot, don’t I owe it to y’all to be honest about when it’s real?”
That same woman: “Hell yes!” And the audience goes nuts yet again.
And in that crowd of faces, TJ’s right in the center, beaming.
“You’ve probably heard a lot of things about me online.
The stories n’ rumors keep changin’ every day.
And the media’s tryin’ to spin it one way.
My label’s spinnin’ it another. But none of it’s the truth—none of it’s the real story.
I’m here to set it all straight. Don’t you wanna hear it from me? The truth?”
Another chorus of cheering and shouting yes.
I’m still looking right at TJ. “I met a guy. A really special guy from this beautiful town I’m in.
Met him when I … when I was at an all-time low.
I was lost. Couldn’t see myself through the noise.
” I can’t help but smile, gazing out fondly at TJ, thinking of how it was when we first met.
“This guy … he didn’t care about the shows or the charts.
He wasn’t a fool for any of it. He just …
saw me. For who I am. Not the version of me everyone else thinks they know. ”
The audience has gone quiet. I can literally feel them leaning in, drinking in every word—like the world is right now, I hope.
“And somewhere along the way …” My smile brightens. “I fell in love with him.”
A murmur scatters over the crowd. Sighs of delight. Sniffles—are they crying? It doesn’t matter. TJ’s face is all I see, and it’s his face that keeps me from freaking out and flying off this stage.
It’s TJ who saves me every day.
“So don’t let anyone twist our story into somethin’ ugly.
Don’t let ‘em turn it into a headline, pretending they know somethin’.
” My voice grows stronger. “Ain’t none of ‘em know our story. And that’s my fault.
Because I was told to hide it. Taught to hide it.
But how can I hide the man I love?” I swallow hard.
“They said I wasn’t allowed to fall in love.
But how can I sing all these songs about love without being allowed to have it?
This ain’t just a story anymore. This is my life. Our life. As real as real gets.”
“You betcha!” shouts that same woman, and the crowd erupts into cheers. TJ covers his mouth, eyes full of overwhelmed tears.
“This next song we’ve got for you … it ain’t about the life y’all have been led to believe I’m livin’. This song’s about the one I am livin’.” I give TJ a wink. “And I ain’t hidin’ it no more.”
Then I strike that familiar, bright, proud E-flat major chord, launching us into “No Fool For Love Songs”.
It’s funny to me, how this song sorta became an evolution of our relationship.
It was in G-minor back then, reflective and dark the night I premiered it at the Horseshoe.
Improvised, like little sewn-together pieces of thought that Wily, Fiona, and Raj fumbled their way through like a dark cluttered room.
The song grew more confident the next time I played it, now in a brighter key, finding its footing the same way TJ and I started to find our own.
The song gained familiarity. Became a part of me.
I started trusting its lyrics and what it was saying.
I started trusting us.
You give me that look, love song. I’m on the floor.
You give me your sass, love song. I’m on my knees.
You give me a chance and I get it wrong …
I beg you please, please, just let me inside your world again.
The drums pick up pace. The music rushes into a crescendo.
I see a passion in you …
I see a passion in you …
Oh, I see that passion in you.
Bass note slams. Drums crash. Fiona flourishes with her keys as we swing into the chorus.
You ain’t no fool for love songs.
But you sure made a happy fool outta me …
And I know I’ll spend the rest of my days
Chasin’ that version of me you see.
‘Cause I’m a fool for you, love song.
Just a happy fool for you, love song.
Only for you, for you, for you …
Yeah, you ain’t no fool.
Feet pound the floor of the pavilion, and I feel it like a second heartbeat. This little audience of no more than fifty or so Spruce folk and crew sound bigger than any crowd I’ve ever played for, with all this love and enthusiasm they pour back into us.
Even if TJ’s face is the only one I see, clapping along when the audience really gets into it, giving me all his gorgeous smile, all his adorable sass—every bit of the kindling that started this way back.
I see a passion in you … Oh I see that passion in you …
TJ blows me a kiss.
I grin back like an idiot and blow one back.
Yeah, you ain’t no fool.
The music gets carried away. None of us seem ready to let it end.
Fiona keeps riffing off the chorus, inspiring all of us to do one more round of it, Raj picking up the drums even stronger the next time around.
Wily does some sick stuff on the bass, and it’s like the song has become alive, a mind of its own, dancing wildly on the stage as everyone in the audience claps along and screams, right there with us, along for the ride.
It’s just like the Saltshaker, back in my first days.
Happy drunks. Feeling the music flowing through their veins as they give in to it, letting loose, dancing like fools.
Not a trouble in the world can touch them.
Grabbing hands with people they don’t know. Do-si-do. Grins that stretch over faces. Laughter in the air. Even the people who don’t dare dance get to their feet, feeling every beat of the drum, living through every string and chord pouring off the stage.
This is what I live for. This is why I exist.
This is why I write.
When “No Fool For Love Songs” comes to a glorious, crashing crescendo at its conclusion, the audience is screaming so loud that I have to take a second to wonder if it’s real.
I stagger backwards, our last chords lingering in the air, and peer at my bandmates, all of them similarly stunned by the reception.
There’s no telling how many people we’re really playing to.
How many lonely souls on their couches. In their beds. On the road with us streaming through their radios or phones.
Whether those people feel the love in this pavilion, too.
If all of this is for nothing.
Or if it’s for everything.
“Want another?” I ask, tickled. Everyone screams. My eyes on TJ, my muse, my everything, I get a happy, teary-eyed wink from him, then give the people what they want.