Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
After snapping photos with everyone who asked, including the Grumpy Grandpas, Jamie had lost all feeling in his face from forcibly smiling.
He ducked into the living room to the sound of Brinton and Emma Lou’s laughter, as if they’d come up with a lifetime of inside jokes between them.
His heart squeezed at the sight: his future and his past, colliding atoms that lit up his entire world.
While Brinton wouldn’t ever meet his mother, he felt her presence—her unwavering grace—in the room.
She’d be happy he found Brinton too.
On the coffee table, Emma Lou had pulled out her infamous album of drooly baby photos—him in the tub and the good Lord knew where else.
Clocking the empty champagne flutes, he chuckled. “Y’all throwing a party in here without me? Not very hospitable of you.”
Brinton held up the album, open to a photo of him as a newborn. He was naked, wearing only a tiny blue cowboy hat as he lay on a white shag rug. “I think this should be your next album cover.”
Emma Lou and Brinton broke into another fit of laughter, which didn’t bother him at all. He knew, for a fact, he had a great ass.
“What time should we head back?” Brinton asked once she settled down.
Jamie grabbed his phone from his backpack. He almost had a heart attack.
It was 10:34 a.m. His scheduled soundcheck started in thirty minutes. They should have left an hour ago. With traffic, it’d be a miracle if they made it on time.
Worse yet, Sammi and Tex had left him dozens of voicemails and increasingly hostile texts. Sammi’s spirited use of emojis alone belonged in a Saw film. Nothing from his father, thank God. Or was that a harbinger of shit-eating to come?
His shoulders seized, and he turned off his phone.
“Shit—I mean, shoot. Please excuse my language, Mamaw,” he said, kissing her on the cheek and hoping to soften the stunned look on her face. “We’re late getting to soundcheck for tonight’s show. I’ll call tomorrow and let you know how it went.”
“Sure, sure. I love you,” she called. “And promise me you’ll drive safe.”
“I love you too, and we will.” He turned to Brinton, trying to stay calm despite the tightness in his chest, a Coke can crushed by a monster truck. “We gotta go right now.”
Somehow, Jamie caught a break and traffic was cooperative enough to get them to the stadium at ten fifty-five.
They pulled into a VIP entrance, flashed their all-access credentials to security, and motored to the artist check-in tent.
Tex and Sammi were waiting by a narrow stairwell leading up to the main stage.
“Where the hell have you been?” Tex barked, the first time he had ever raised his voice at him.
Jamie rubbed the back of his aching neck. “I’m sorry, we got here as soon as we could. We went to see Mamaw and—”
“You don’t answer your phone, you don’t tell anyone where you are. I was scared you got kidnapped,” Tex bellowed.
Sammi brandished her phone at Jamie. “With how mad your daddy is, you might consider making that happen,” she said, her shrill voice cutting through the ambient backstage noise. “Or get a fake passport and flee to Mexico, because he’s gonna be hotter than fish grease when he finds out.”
Tex nodded to Brinton. “Did she talk you into this?”
Without thinking, Jamie stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. He was fucking done being admonished. “It’s my fault I was late, you hear me?”
“Well, the promoters are threatening to pull you from the show,” Tex said, his voice lower but still tinged with ire.
“What? They can’t—”
Sammi slid between the two men. “Yes, Jamie, they can. That’s why we called you. Your father moved your rehearsal time up for ten o’clock to make room for an extra meet-and-greet scheduled for”—she checked her phone—“right now.”
Jamie clenched a fist. “And you let him?”
Sammi’s emerald eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “I don’t let him do anything, you know that. And if you’d bothered to read the contract you signed for the show, you’d know the promoters stipulated that you—the headliner—must attend soundcheck. Or you forfeit your spot.”
“There must be something we can—” Brinton started, but Sammi cut her off.
“Brinton, honey, I’m sorry. The three of us need to figure this out.” Sammi waved over a passing staff member, a lanky twenty-something guy with a headset, who immediately brightened at her attention.
“Excuse me, could you please take my friend to Jamie’s greenroom?” Sammi asked, sweet enough that Jamie almost forgot she planned to whoop his ass.
The concert staffer nodded.
“I’ll meet you there as soon as I can,” Sammi told Brinton as she answered her buzzing cell phone.
Brinton peered up at Jamie for the answer. He nodded, rubbing slow circles on the small of her back. “Don’t worry about me, Bee. I’ll see you tonight at the show. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
He needed to believe it.
Jamie looked back at Tex, arms now crossed over his broad chest, and Sammi, who held her phone between them as they shout-talked to someone over speakerphone.
Brinton nodded, a little shell-shocked, and followed the guy.
Another artist’s song blared over the loudspeaker.
The show had gone on without him. It was strange because on one hand, Jamie knew he was only there because he’d successfully scammed his way into fame.
He hadn’t actually earned it. On the other, a tiny part of him longed for the chance to play such a prestigious show, as if he did.
Sammi hung up, then she and Tex watched him with the same expression: relief and a smidge of irritation.
“That was the promoter,” Sammi said. “After what you pulled—”
Jamie slid his palm down his jaw. “Hell’s bells, I said I was sorry. Am I playing this show or what? Because I’ve got plenty of other ways to spend the time if not, so stop jerking me around.”
Sammi straightened her spine and raised both hands in defeat. “We deserved that. I was gonna say that you’re a lucky son of a gun. They’re gonna honor the contract, partially because I begged and partially because your father agreed to extend the meet-and-greet by an hour.”
“Tonight, you’re headlining a completely sold-out show,” Tex said. He moved closer and outstretched his hand to Jamie, who took it. “I was worried about you, son. Didn’t mean to blow a gasket.”
“I appreciate that,” Jamie said slowly, taking in that, in a few hours, he’d be performing for a hundred thousand people. He’d be happier if it weren’t another moment signed, sealed, and delivered by his father.
“No more foolishness,” Sammi said, signature grin returning. “The promoters are already cagey. Unfortunately, there aren’t any more slots for you to rehearse before doors open, so when you walk out there tonight, you’re flying blind.”
“A broken clock is right twice a day,” Jamie cracked.
Sammi smirked and nudged his shoulder with hers. “Bless your heart.”
The concert staff guy led Brinton backstage through a series of interconnected hallways painted in the same corporate beige. Eventually, they reached a door with a red-and-white sign and Jamie’s name thickly scrawled in black marker.
Inside, the makeshift greenroom was stocked with what Brinton assumed were items from Jamie’s rider: high-end bottles of whiskey, multiple coolers overflowing with beer and wine, and every packaged junk food imaginable, lined up on two long tables against the walls.
Two plush gray couches with matching weighted blankets anchored the middle of the room.
A pair of brand-new iPads and a few fancy-looking swag bags sat on the nondescript black coffee table. Next to a lighted vanity in the corner, in a display making any respectable It Girl swoon, there were two full clothing racks of designer T-shirts, jeans, sneakers, and boot options.
Brinton waited until the door shut behind her, then let the dam containing her tears falter.
Back home, she called times like these “wet days.” When something stressful or overwhelming happened, and she was on the verge of a panic attack but it hadn’t quite materialized, the tears came more easily.
She typically spent a wet day at home, rotting in bed, entombed in Cheeto dust and steeped in white wine.
Certainly not in a crowd of tens of thousands of people.
The ground tilted beneath her feet. Her head felt like it was full of cotton. Why did she agree to visit Iris Grove with Jamie? She knew the concert was today. It was foolish to let him play so fast-and-loose with his schedule, presumably to impress her.
She roughly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and peered into the lighted vanity mirror. Being in Iris—and being with Jamie—taught her that she was stronger than she thought.
She needed to believe it.
There was a knock at the door.
She expected Sammi, or better yet, Jamie. “Come in,” she rasped.
Rich popped his head in first. His stretched eyes seemed surprised to see her. “Oh—hey…”
A grenade detonated in her belly. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too. And I’m here because Landmark is one of the festival’s sponsors. Or did you forget with all the fun you’re having down here?”
She stared at him blankly, wondering how he excelled at making a bad day astronomically worse. He closed the door and plopped down on the couch, slapping a cushion beside him. Begrudgingly, she followed.
“I’m here with the social team to make sure we get enough content to cross-promote on the homepage,” he said. “But…I was hoping to run into you.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I agreed to let you skip the daily pitch meetings to write, but you stopped answering my emails. I need to know we’re on the same page, because I’m getting a lot of questions about the draft. I don’t like not having an answer.”
Brinton conjured a smile. “It’s going great. Truly. This morning, I interviewed his grandmother, and she gave me an exclusive about his late mom. I think it’ll—”
“I’d like to read something soon.”
“We agreed my deadline is Tuesday. Three days from now.”
“We did. But how about you send something by the end of today? I’ll take a look and share feedback.”
“But—”
“Look, I’m trying to fight for you here, give you a shot to prove yourself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
The tremors started in Brinton’s hands, an emotional earthquake that radiated through her chest and down her arms and legs. But she had to hold it together. If not for herself, for Jamie.
“Because Agatha’s got a killer pitch on deck. It’s nothing for me to text her—”
Like hell he would.
“I’ll have it for you tonight.”
“Agatha’s a beast on deadline.” He laughed, rising from his seat. “It’ll be good for you to be under the gun.”
He plucked a frosty beer from the cooler, twisted off the cap, and took a long swig. “This could be a career-making piece. Oh, and don’t forget to have fun out there tonight. Sitting side-stage, and all this shit”—he gestured around the room with his free hand—“best perks of the job.”
The door slammed behind him.
Shit.
Too distracted by Jamie’s allure that morning, she’d stupidly left her laptop at the guest house. Was she being punished for daring to have it all—namely, being with someone who actually wanted that for her?
Brinton shakily texted Michael to come pick her up.
It was noon; she could transcribe Emma Lou’s interview, update her draft, and get back to the stadium with plenty of time before Jamie went on at nine. Couldn’t she?
She just needed to hold it together. Jamie’s words echoed through her mind.
Everything is gonna be fine.