by Andrew Grey
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
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Copyright
Don’t Let Go
By Andrew Grey
Avery Rivers is a country music sensation, selling records by the millions and playing to sold-out crowds. But behind that persona is Robert, a burned-out musician cracking under the pressure. He’s unable to write any new songs, and he wants out of the business—at least for a while. He changes his appearance and finds honest hard work in Jackson, Wyoming. Maybe getting to be a regular guy for a while will get him past his block.
Hy Whitely was a championship bull rider until he watched his best friend thrown in the arena and decided the rodeo circuit was no longer the place for him. He wants to be plain old Zeke for a while, and when he returns to his family ranch, he bumps right into Robert—a one-night stand from his last rodeo appearance who is now working there as a ranch hand.
The heat between the men could sear the grass off the range, but each one is hiding a secret. Robert and Zeke, the men behind the public images, fall in love, but can they hold on when Avery and Hy are pulled back into the spotlight?
To Karen Rose Smith. The television movie of your work A Country Cinderella got the juices flowing for this story. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Chapter 1
ROBERT CLOSED the door to his dressing room and sat on the sofa, shutting his eyes so he could have a few moments of peace. Not that he was likely to get that. There were too many damn people who wanted a piece of him, and they weren’t about to let something as inconsequential as a door stop them.
Performing usually sent him through the ceiling—the excitement of the crowd, being onstage doing what he’d always loved, what he’d dreamed about since his dad have given him his first guitar at seven years old. He still had that guitar. Didn’t play it anymore, but he still had it. He was starting to feel a little like that instrument: old, tired, and a maybe a little bit of a relic. Not that his career would reflect that. He was at the top of his game, in terms of audiences and the number of times his songs were downloaded. If that was the real measure of success in this industry, then he was certainly a megasuperstar. Not that he felt like it.
His real name was Robert Cummings, but his manager and the record label that had first signed him had thought that name was too plain and didn’t say “music star,” so onstage he was Avery Rivers. Over the years, that name had enveloped more and more of his life. From his start in the recording studios and onstage, it had taken over television, online, radio—you name it. Avery Rivers had become so big that plain old Robert barely existed at all anymore.
Like he knew it would, the door swung open. Robert didn’t bother to look up.
“That was something else,” his manager, Glenn Hopper, said, tugging off his cowboy hat to fan himself with it. “You were on fire, my friend.” He didn’t bother closing the door, which meant he was expecting more people.
Ray followed behind, hooking the door closed with one of his boots.
“We have a meeting tomorrow morning at eight. The record label and the tour promoter want to talk over what’s next,” Glenn said.
Robert ignored him. “What do you need, Ray?” he asked softly.
“Excuse me? I can’t hear you.” Ray stepped closer.
Robert didn’t raise his voice at all. “I said, what do you want?”
Ray turned to Glenn, confused. Ray was the representative of the company that had put together the tour that had just wrapped up. Tonight had been the final stop, and Robert was tired beyond belief.
“Can Glenn and I talk, please?”
Ray shot Robert a dirty look and scowled at Glenn, but he left the room. As the door opened, a wall of sound came in, then cut off when it closed again.
Robert sighed. “God, I hate that man,” he said. “Not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s just that he doesn’t have a right to be part of every goddamned conversation I have. Sometimes I swore he was going to show up in my bathroom.” He also gave Robert the creeps, but he’d never been able to put his finger on exactly why. Maybe Robert was just getting tired and less patient.
Glenn snickered. “He’s not a bad guy. Just a little nervous. This was the first tour he’d been put in charge of, and he wanted to make a good impression on his bosses. We all have that kind of shit to deal with sometimes.”
“Has Barry been on your ass again?” Robert asked, and Glenn shrugged.
“He is who he is. Barry makes stars in this business. That’s what he knows how to do. The rest of it is completely foreign, which is why he has us to handle all the people-skills end of things.” Glenn pulled over a chair, sat, and pulled out his iPad. “Anyway, I wanted to go over things for tomorrow, and then we’ll get you back to the hotel.” He tapped a few times. “Okay. As I was saying, there is a meeting at eight with the tour promoters, as well as the record label. Barry will be there too.”
“Not eight,” Robert said. “That’s too damn early.”
Glenn’s tapping on the screen stopped and his head came up. “That’s the time of the meeting, and….”
“Reschedule it to ten, please,” Robert said firmly. “It’s nearly midnight now, and it’s going to take some time before I can get to sleep. So make it ten.” He raised his gaze. “Tell Barry to reschedule the meeting at ten per my request. Because otherwise I’m not going to be there.”
“You know they’ll have the meeting without—” Glenn stopped when Robert held up his hand.
“No, they won’t. They’ll reschedule it.” Robert smirked.
Glenn started typing again, and sure enough, he nodded. “All right. We’ll meet at ten.” He set down the tablet. “Believe it or not, that’s the only thing I have for you tomorrow. The interviews and television spots have been taped.” He patted Robert’s shoulder. It ached something fierce, and Robert flinched slightly. Glenn didn’t seem to notice. “You did an amazing job through all of this. It’s been a whirlwind four months, and you were there and on point the entire time.”
“Thanks, Glenn.” Robert sighed and sat back on the sofa, closing his eyes again. “I want to get something to eat, something thick and juicy, and then I’m going to go to bed. So let’s go.” He stood and got ready to leave the room.
“How about we get you to the hotel and I’ll order you up some room service? You can relax and take it easy while you eat, and there isn’t going to be a crush of people asking for your autograph.” Glenn opened the door, and Robert stepped out of the dressing room.
“Avery, when do you expect to release your next album?” a reporter asked. She didn’t identify herself but had just the right earnest, yet smug, tinged-with-desperation look about her that was a dead giveaway.
“Soon,” Robert answered without stopping.
“Is it true that you haven’t actually written a single song for it and the label is getting worried?” she pressed as they continued down the hall. Those things were true, but Robert didn’t acknowledge them. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t had two minutes of peace in four damned months.
They reached the stage door, and Robert passed through as security joined them, freezing out the reporter. A group of men and women waited there, all screaming as he emerged, thrusting pieces of
paper at him.
Just like that, Avery burst through and he was on, the same way he’d been on during the performance. Every ounce of fatigue vanished as he smiled and took the papers to sign the name that wasn’t really his.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said to a girl standing next to a man who had to be her father. She was probably ten or eleven, with big blue eyes and pretty blonde hair. “What’s your name?”
“Lisa,” she said. She wasn’t jumping and screaming like the others, but the excitement in her eyes spoke volumes. Her father put his arms around her protectively, and when the others made a little space, Robert saw the braces on her legs.
“Well, Lisa….” He flashed her a smile as she handed him a souvenir program that they’d sold out front.
“Will you sign it?” she asked.
Robert nodded. He took the book, opened it, and found a page with one of his pictures. He turned to Glenn, who handed him a black Sharpie, and signed the picture to her. Robert then remembered he was still wearing a tour cowboy hat. One of the companies had sent a hundred black hats with white bands. Robert wore them at performances and threw them into the crowd, which sent everyone into a frenzy. He took it off, signed the white band, and handed her the hat.
She held it as though it were the Holy Grail. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, darlin’.”
For a few seconds, the crowd around him had dissipated, but it came roaring back as soon as he finished with Lisa. Robert signed a few more autographs as his security helped him get closer to the waiting car. The door was open, and he ducked inside. When the car door closed, he could be Robert again, slumping back on the seat. He turned, peering out the tinted windows at the already dispersing crowd. Robert watched as Lisa and her dad became visible. She waved, and Robert lowered the window to wave back at her as Glenn got in from the other side. He raised the window as the car pulled away.
“Take us to the hotel. We’ll use the back entrance,” Glenn told the driver, giving her all the details.
“Of course,” she answered quietly, and Robert finally relaxed once again. Dinner, sleep, and then that damned meeting, and he was done and could go home.
“GOOD, WE’RE all here,” Barry Stroheim said from his seat as Robert walked in.
Robert strode past the single empty seat halfway down the table and stopped at the head of the table where some guy he didn’t know sat, leaning back in the chair like a bored toddler. He tapped him on the shoulder, and the man turned to look at him.
“Yeah?” the guy asked.
“Avery, this is my nephew, Lindon,” Barry said.
“Nice to meet you, Lindon. Now get your ass out of my seat.” Robert pointed to the other chair, and Lindon slowly stood, his perfect dark blue suit falling into place on his tall frame. Nepotism was never a good idea as far as Robert was concerned. He took the now-empty chair and smiled as Barry glared at his nephew. Glenn sat next to him, and Robert nodded to Barry, folding his hands together. “Can we get started?” he asked quietly.
“Of course,” Barry said, and turned to Ray.
“The tour has been a huge success. There have been sellout crowds in every city for every concert. In some places we made adjustments to the ticket prices for the first eight to ten rows, nearly doubling them for later dates, and they sold out completely.” Ray grinned, and the others looked pleased.
“You price-gouged the fans?” Robert said, scowling at him.
“These tours are expensive, and we need to recoup all of the costs. Which we’ve done…,” Ray explained.
“And the tour has driven CD sales and downloads through the roof, even on older material,” one of the label guys said. They seemed to change all the damn time, and Robert was barely able to keep up with who they were. “Avery Rivers is the hottest thing with a guitar.” They all sat back smugly as though that was their doing.
“Yes, and we’d like to keep that going,” Ray said. “So the tour organizers and sponsors want to exercise the option in the contract for six additional stops, with two concerts in each location.” He passed out papers, and Robert took one that explained the proposed tour additions. “We’ll use the next two weeks to get the word out and sell tickets, which we’re sure will burn up the internet. The venues are thrilled to have us and will go into publicity mode just as soon as we give the okay.”
Barry looked things over and then turned to Glenn. They both nodded as though the decision was theirs and Robert wasn’t even in the room.
“Robert can rest up over the next two weeks, and then he’ll be ready to go,” Barry said.
At least Glenn had the courtesy to look worried, but he nodded as well. They weren’t the ones who were too damn worn out to think straight half the time. Robert held his breath, his hands shaking, as they all talked around him.
“Then we’re all on board, and I’ll get the wheels in motion.” Ray sat back as one of the record label guys cleared his throat.
“We need some—”
Robert had had enough. He smacked his hand on the table, the sound filling the room. Everyone except him jumped and all talking ceased. “That’s better. Now….” Robert turned to Ray. “The tour contract states that additional dates can be added by mutual agreement.”
“Yes,” Ray said. “We want to exercise the option, and your people have agreed.”
Robert switched his gaze to Barry. “I’m tired and running on empty. I haven’t been able to write anything new in months. My throat hurts and my head aches. I’m living on Red Bull and whatever I can get to eat after the concerts.”
Barry turned to him. “You’ll have two weeks to rest.” Then he looked away.
“Look here, you self-absorbed pain in the ass,” Robert said without raising his voice. He needed to get everyone’s attention, and more importantly, he needed to get his manager’s head back where it belonged. “I know you don’t know this, but I read my contracts too. The concert schedule can only be extended by mutual consent, and I will not agree.” He turned to Ray. “You’ve done a great job managing this entire process, but I’m worn out. So last night was the end of this tour. It’s time.”
“But, Avery, it will—”
“I mean it. I’m done and can’t take any more.” Robert turned to Barry. “You’re my agent, and it’s your job to watch out for me. Our contract is up in six months, and if you wish to remain my agent, some things are going to have to change or I’ll find new representation.” Robert leaned across the table. “And I’ll order a full audit of every penny for the last seven years.” That was also within his rights. Not that Barry had ever given him any reason to suspect he was anything but aboveboard with the finances, but it represented a huge pain in the ass that Robert could use as a club to get his way. “I want to write and take some time for myself.”
“You can do that after these additional dates. You’re the hottest ticket out there right now. We need to keep that moving.” Ray seemed as sincere as he could get. Suddenly Robert knew why he’d never trusted him—that arrogance.
“We will by letting me return to my music,” Robert said. “Thank you, Ray, for everything. But there will be no additional dates. I need some time. Maybe in a few months we can go back out on the road, but I just can’t do that right now.” He scanned the expressions of every man in the room. “Just so I’m being clear, this isn’t negotiable.” He turned to Barry. “I mean it. You all talk around and over me as though I don’t exist, but it’s because of me that all of you have jobs. So I’m putting my foot down and will be making some decisions about my future.” Robert was pretty proud of himself that he never raised his voice.
“You’re going to write new material?” the record exec asked, seeming pleased. “That’s good news. We’d like to get you recording again soon. So that sounds like a good decision to us.”
“Good. Then that’s what we’re going to do.” Robert stood. “This meeting is over. If any of you have any questions, you can forward them to Barry or Glenn. Otherwise, we’re
done here.” He waited while Ray, Lindon, and the other executives stood, clearly wondering if they could speak with Barry. They didn’t like being told no, and Robert was pretty sure they were already trying to figure out angles they could use to get what they wanted. Robert motioned for Glenn and Barry to sit where they were, and eventually everyone else left.
The door closed on the last person, and Robert sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“They aren’t going to be happy,” Barry said.
“So what? They don’t give a damn about making me happy. The tour company is a bunch of penny-pinching vultures who don’t deserve to be made happy.” Robert glared at both of them. “I want you both to get that through your heads. You work for me and no one else. And….” He stared at Barry. “I. Do. Not. Work. For. You! Please remember that. I call the shots, so you do what I want you to. Otherwise I’ll find different representation.” He pushed back from the chair and stood. “Harvey with the record label is happy, and he’s the only one we need to worry about.”
“Not true. What about the next time we need to tour?” Barry asked.
“They’ll be there with their damned hand out and you know it. Besides, they needed to be knocked down a peg or two. They treat their people like crap, and I had to step in more than once.” Robert yawned and stretched. “I’m going back to the hotel to pack.”
“Do you want me to make travel arrangements for you to go home?”
“To Nashville?” Robert rolled his eyes, then shook his head. He hated the house there. “I’ll make my own decisions for a while. What I want you to do is figure out how I can have some time to write and produce new songs. That’s what you need to worry about.” He stood and wandered over to the windows of the rented conference area, peering down into Grant Park and Buckingham Fountain. “It’s what we all need to worry about, because I haven’t written a note in six months. The music in my head has been silent for so long, I don’t know if it will ever start again.”
