Chapter Two
· Brooks ·
“I will ask one last time and then I will shut up forever: Are you sure this is a good idea?” Anthony paced the length of my music room, gnawing on his thumbnail. It had been years since I’d made my manager nervous enough for him to start biting his nails.
“No, I’m not,” I replied honestly for the first time since I’d gotten Addie’s text. Anthony immediately stopped pacing and threw his hands in the air. Before he could launch into the cascade of words that was on the tip of his tongue, I silenced him with a raised finger. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
“Brooks,” he groaned.
“It’s one show.” I clicked my guitar case shut.
“Exactly. We could be doing so much more with a One Night Only show. This is your first time back on stage after almost three years. People have been begging for this. They’d probably give you the Grand Ole Opry.
” Anthony had always dressed in impeccable suits in bright colors, sequins, and glitter.
And he’d always been a pale, tall, and slim guy.
But he’d shaved the last of his graying hair off last month, and now he looked as if Slenderman and Elton John had morphed into one, and that made it a little harder to take him seriously.
“Or if you insist on doing something small without the fanfare, we could do a charity thing. Make it count.”
“This counts.”
“I get that you feel like you owe this girl something.”
“Adriana.”
“Yes, I’m aware. But you don’t owe Adriana jack. This is way too big a favor to do for a girl you spent a few weeks on the tour bus with. You’re not even getting paid.”
Technically, it had been ten weeks on tour with her as the opening act, plus three weeks of rehearsals ahead of the tour, and months of friendship before those rehearsals.
Considering my music career spanned over a decade, Adriana was probably a blip on my timeline for Anthony.
She was different from anyone I’d worked with though, and not just because she was there the day I decided to retire.
Anthony narrowed his eyes, clearly unhappy. “You have to tell me if this is some sort of blackmail situation.”
“Jesus, Tony.” I rolled my eyes at him. “I’m not relevant enough anymore for anyone to blackmail me.”
“First of all, legends always stay relevant. Second of all, you have money. Money is always a good blackmail motivator.”
“Right, but if she wanted my money, don’t you think she would blackmail me for cash rather than asking me to play her hometown bar?”
He opened and closed his mouth, huffed, crossed his arms over his chest.
I’d made both of us enough money to retire three years ago.
Tony was still technically my manager because my estate needed managing.
Songs playing on the radio or licensed for movies, old footage like music videos and interview recordings, residual payments for a handful of TV show cameos.
Helping me get the old band together and making sure they’d all be paid enough to show up in Wild Fields, a tiny town an hour and a half west of Nashville, was probably the most work Anthony had done in years.
“Breathe.” I clasped my hand around his shoulder and moved him sideways away from the door. “Addie is the least of my worries in all this.”
He followed me out the door and down the stairs. “That just means that there are worries. Tell me your worries, so I can manage them. That’s what I’m here for, Brooks.”
“Did you get the guys sorted with park tickets?” I asked instead of delving into any real worries.
I’d have to be on stage in a matter of hours and I hadn’t slipped into that version of myself in years.
If I focused on everything that could go wrong, I wouldn’t get my confidence up to where it needed to be.
Who I was when I was performing—whether on camera or on stage—had always been different from who I was in private, and it wasn’t a switch I could flip.
Even after all these years, I had to make a conscious effort to get into stage mode.
The way I saw it, I was going on a date with the crowd in front of the stage.
I wanted to dazzle them, woo them, make them feel like I was walking them home.
I wanted them to fall into bed and replay the night minute by minute, smiling, texting their friends, my voice still echoing in their ears.
If I wanted to give them a night like that, I’d have to get up on stage and win them over with my first smile.
Anthony was rambling on about the VIP tour of the theme park I was going to get while the rest of the band could go out and about and explore on their own—a perk of not having their faces plastered across billboards—but I stopped dead in my tracks at AJ sauntering through the entryway and out the door with a huge sandwich in his hands.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I couldn’t help but laugh at the four-inch-thick monstrosity in his hands. He’d fully raided my fridge.
“Hm-harn-haway,” he mumbled, mouth full. No idea what that meant.
“Times have changed. I can’t have strange men waltzing through the house anymore.”
“Haw-hi.” Pretty sure that meant all right.
AJ’d been my drummer since my first album, which meant he’d spent a lot of time in this house when I’d operated under more of an open-door policy.
For years, I hadn’t actually been sure if he rented a place somewhere or just stayed at mine between hookups.
Nowadays he worked with troubled teens who let off steam by smashing out drum solos, and we actually had to make plans to see each other rather than running into each other in the hallway.
I followed AJ to the van parked in the driveway, which was already filled with instruments, and added my guitar to the mix.
“I can’t remember the last time I played a set with nothing but a carload of equipment.”
“Eight years ago. Your old high school’s fundraiser,” Anthony chimed in.
“I’m too old for life without a roadie, dude,” AJ said once he finally swallowed. Despite being only a few years older than me, in his mid-forties, he looked like the seventies spat him out, long curly mane, leather vest and all.
Not only were we lacking a roadie, but the rest of the band members were also making their own way to Wild Fields. No comfortable bus with sofas and a minibar. None of us were actively touring anymore. Some of us were bringing family to the theme park.
“Okay. Last chance. Are you sure about this?” Anthony tapped his hand against the side of the vehicle.
“Didn’t you say you were going to shut up forever? I think those were your exact words,” I said.
“Yeah, shut up, Tony. I need to make some music with grownups,” AJ chuckled and slid into the driver’s seat.
“I was going to shut up before Brooks said he was worried,” my manager screeched.
“I’m not worried. You’re worried. I’m fine.” I shut the back of the van and walked backward to the driver’s side, while giving Anthony two thumbs up to reassure him.
AJ rolled down the window, brows raised. “We good to go?”
“Yep. I’ll see you over there in a few hours.”
“Can’t believe you got a kid who won’t cut school to go to a concert.”
“Trust me, she didn’t get that from me.” I wasn’t sure if following rules was more nature or nurture, but I would have taken any chance to cut school at my daughter’s age.
Then again, I’d been stuck in a public school that somehow always smelled like gym socks.
Skye’s school was on her iPad, completely digital, with a handful of students in each class, and teachers who actually cared about making their subjects accessible to the kids.
“Later!” AJ spluttered, pieces of lettuce flying from his mouth. Music started blaring from the speakers on full volume when he pulled out of my driveway and the gate closed behind him.
“I love him, but I do not miss sharing a tour bus with him,” Anthony mumbled, staring after the van.
“You don’t miss the tour bus, period,” I laughed. “Your skin care routine barely fits in a carry-on.”
“If you decide to make an official comeback after tonight, we are traveling by private jet like Taylor.” Anthony pulled his phone from his pocket and strutted back inside.
I groaned and let my head drop back. I’d said multiple times that I wasn’t planning on making a comeback.
To Tony, to the band, to record labels and journalists.
It never seemed to fully sink in. Live shows were the only thing I really missed.
The instant connection between audience and song, the euphoria, and the shared love for music were addictive.
I didn’t miss touring. I didn’t miss red carpets, interviews, photo shoots, marketing meetings, and everything else that required me to mull over every word thrice before speaking.
“You coming?” Anthony poked his head back out the door. “We’ve got the call with Jamie to discuss how you want to play your socials after tonight.”
“Yeah, coming.” Socials. Another thing I didn’t miss.
“Ready to giddyup, cowgirl?”
“Dad, stop,” Skye groaned and rolled her eyes at me. “Not every person in the Old West was a cowboy or cowgirl.”
“Would you rather be a gunslinging, silver-tongued, quick-drawing bandit?”
“Da-ad.” Since turning twelve, she’d discovered that new way of dragging the word “dad” over two syllables to sound extra annoyed. She climbed out of the car with a huff and slammed the passenger door.