Outlaw Country (15 page)

Before he could give the asshole boyfriend what he truly deserved, hands grabbed him from behind. As usual, someone who had encircled him decided to jump in. Before even turning around to see who it was, Colton threw an elbow back. He felt and heard it connect. Probably broke the fucker’s nose.

“Just great, Colton. Just fucking great.”

His heart imploded the second he recognized Kitt’s voice. It was muffled, and when Colton turned around, he saw why. Kitt had both hands over his face, blood dripping at a fast rate to the dirt below.

Colton moved forward. “Jesus. Sorry, brother.”

Kitt pulled away and his brother’s outstretched hand dropped. Kitt uncovered his face, letting his brother see the red pouring from the broken nose. “This is it. Remember this moment. This is the beginning of your self-destruction. Take a fucking look around. Take it all in, you dumb shit.” Blood ran down Kitt’s lips and into his beard.

 
Gracie was in better physical shape but no better emotionally. Despite an hour-long screaming match with her mother, nothing was resolved. The tour went ahead as planned, and Gracie had to suck it up night after night in front of thousands of fans. In just two weeks, she debuted three brand-new songs. “Lost It All” and “Sad Songs” were classic tears in whiskey songs. “It All Comes Back Around” was an angry, up-tempo number that Gracie secretly dedicated to her mother every night.

She made a point to apologize for Colton and The Guilty Party’s absence. It was another swipe at her mother, and a little bit of publicity for Colton. Twitter and country music blogs had exploded with rumor after rumor. Some of it may Gracie laugh, but most of it just saddened her. The saddest ones talked about how happy Gracie and Colton had been. It was all lies, of course, but they did know how close to the truth they had gotten.

The only battle that Gracie had won was getting her own room. She couldn’t stand to be around her mother, and the two barely saw each other. When they did, it was strictly professional. Both had tension and anger just below the surface, but neither were willing to admit defeat in any way, shape, or form. Gracie cried herself to sleep most nights.
 

Kathleen was sick. Stress always took its toll on her. Crawling out of bed each morning was becoming harder and harder, and the news outlets were helping anything. “Standin’ Next To Destiny” had been at the top the charts for two solid weeks, and she was out of excuses with the record label. The momentum from the single and the duet on the charity album was too big to be stopped, they had said.

She dreaded the call, but she knew it was coming. The record label wanted a Colton Wade and Gracie Hart collaboration. Not just a single this time. They wanted a full album. Kathleen tried every excuse in the book. She did everything short of accused Colton of assault. She’d said the two didn’t work well together, they had no interest in working together, she even claimed Gracie was considering retirement. The record label didn’t buy any of it.

For days and days, Kathleen trying to figure out a way to tell Gracie. She knew that the longer she waited, the more her daughter would be angry at her for holding information back. Kathleen knew it, but she still did nothing. Every time she thought about talking to Gracie, Roger’s voice would appear in her head.

His words shook Kathleen to her core. Goger read into her so easily. Of course, she had pushed them away because of it. She always did when someone got too close. For the longest time, Kathleen had the excuse that she was raising a young daughter, but after the falling out that the two of them had, that excuse weakened.

He had said something about looking out for her own best interests. That was the thought that kept jumping into Kathleen’s head. She tried to remember the last time she had done something just for herself and she couldn’t.

She stared down at the email and phone. Colton and Gracie had two months to deliver their duet album to the record company.
How in the hell do I navigate this one?

Closing out the email app, Kathleen pulled up her contacts list and found the hated number she was looking for: Roger Ellery. Kathleen didn’t want to admit it, but it was time for her to start apologizing. She had set some bridges ablaze, and now she found herself standing at the edge of a riverbank, needing to be on the opposite side.

Her heart rate increased with every passing ring. She had no idea what to tell Roger besides “I’m sorry”. She thanked God when he didn’t pick up and it sent her to voicemail. That warm and familiar Yankee voice welcomed Kathleen to leave a name, a number, and a message, and Roger would do his best to get back.

“Roger, this is Kathleen Hart.” She paused—too long—to think of what to say, “I’m sure you’ve heard from the label about the album. I felt it was necessary to reach out, since I feel it’s on me to make an apology. I let my emotions stand in the way of business, and for that I’m sorry.” Up to that point, Kathleen was able to remain professional. After that, though, it all fell by the wayside. She spoke softer as if someone would overhear, “What you did, though? You completely blindsided me. I’m sorry if what I said was harsh, but you have to understand my side of the situation. You’re right about me putting everybody else first. I’ll admit to that, too. Maybe I’ve done it so long that I don’t know how to think about myself anymore. Gracie’s been a wreck. I knew she had feelings for the boy, but I didn’t realize to what extent. All it’s done is make me feel worse.

“If I could go back, I think I would do it differently. I think I would’ve been less afraid. Less afraid of what you told me, Roger. Less afraid of the fact that you really
do
know me better than I think. It looks like that despite my best intentions, you and I will be working together again, and it’s unfortunate that we can’t go back in time. I’ll be polite and professional to you, but I can’t make any guarantees. And I will be watching Colton like a hawk. I don’t want to see his eyes anywhere but the lyrics page in front of him. Gracie isn’t speaking to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still her mother.”
 

Realizing how silly it was of her to be chastising a voicemail, she wrapped it up. “I’m available by phone or email if you have any questions…related to the recording.” She hung up.

Kathleen caught herself in a reflection and realize that her cheeks were beet red. Thinking about Roger embarrassed her even when she was alone. She felt like a high schooler leaving a voicemail for a cute boy, not the manager of a multi-platinum country singer. Kathleen wasn’t looking forward to seeing Colton and Gracie interacting, but she was even less enthused about seeing Roger again.

She teased herself by thinking,
I wonder how hard it would really be to switch labels…

Roger listened to the message three times. Each time, he heard something different in Kathleen’s voice. He heard anger, he heard frustration, but the thing that he heard most beneath every word was sadness. Roger wasn’t kidding himself. He didn’t think he could take that sadness away. Hell, his last two relationships barely made it a year. Roger always seemed to find women who had roots.

Kathleen didn’t, though. Sure, she had a home, but her home was the road. As long as she managed Gracie, she’d be away from that house more than she’d be there. Roger knew that life all too well. He didn’t mind it, though. Roger enjoyed life on the road as much as anyone could. He’d eaten every variation of the Reuben from one coast to the other; he never found one that was particularly good. His phone was full of pictures from just about every state, and he sent postcards to his nieces and nephews any chance he could. It wasn’t a life he wanted to live forever, but he figured he had another ten years of highway travels in front of him before he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Roger didn’t know it, but he and Kathleen were in a similar situation. He hadn’t told Colton about the record label demands, either. He’d been worried about his star ever since they got dropped from the tour.

When a man known for his live shows starts putting on lackluster performances, people jump all over it. The tabloids leaned towards drugs, the record label towards burnout. Roger was positive it was neither. He had a fairly good idea, and even though there was tension between him and Colton, Roger needed to know that his singer was all right.

“Fuck, Roger. It’s early.” Colton pulled the trucker hat down and slumped down in the booth. Even under the cap and the aviators, the world was still bright as fuck.

Roger gave him the usual look. “It’s not early. It’s noon. Are you getting any food? Orange juice alone isn’t gonna be enough to cure that hangover. Eggs or bread will soak that shit right up.”

Colton’s head fell back down to the menu. Roger needed him at least somewhat coherent, and that meant something to soak up the booze from the night before. He caught the eye of the waitress and gestured her over.
 

She nodded and flipped out her pad. “What’ll it be, honey?” Her eyes flicked to Colton, but only for a second. Between his aviators and his trucker caps, there was no way to get a read on him.
 

Roger smiled at her when she looked to him. “Two orders of French toast for him, and I’ll go with the meat omelet. Oh, another OJ for him and keep the coffee coming.”

She nodded as she scribbled. “You got it.”

Colton slid the menu over to her without looking up. When she left, his head raised just slightly. “Didn’t want no French toast.” His voice sounded like there was more than just exhaustion creeping in.
 

“Like I said, you need something for that hangover. I wish this was just a social call, but you and I have business to talk about. Kitt came to me this morning. His nose was busted.” Roger sat back, his fingers rolling the mug coffee back and forth on the worn table. The two sat in silence while the statement sank in.

“I’m sure he did. Tried to talk to me, too. Y’ask me, he’s got his head up his ass.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth turned up. “Good thing I didn’t ask. You really think he’s full of shit? You think you’re the only one in a band who hasn’t noticed that the show is going downhill? There’s seven of you on stage, but only one of you isn’t giving one hundred percent every night.” Roger reached a hand across the table and tapped his knuckles in front of Colton.