by Kate Swain
And just as I set the mug down, someone dropped into the seat next to me.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Maddox said.
He smiled at me before I fluffed out my newspaper, then started folding it over. I held it in my lap, flickering my gaze up at my best friend who also happened to be my agent, a long time ago.
“Mm-hmm. And what brings you out and about before ten in the mornin’?” I asked.
“What? Can’t a guy be a mornin’ person?” he asked.
“I worked with you for years, Maddox. I’ve never known you to be up before ten-thirty.”
“I’m wounded, Walker. Your words hurt.”
I grinned. “I could make’ em hurt worse, if ya want them to.”
“No wonder you’re a winner with the ladies,” he said, winking.
I chuckled as the young woman came back around.
“Can I get ya anything, sir?” she asked.
“Just a coffee cup. I’m gonna share this carafe with my buddy,” he said.
“It’ll be a buck-fifty charge for sharing the never-ending carafe,” she said.
“A buck-fifty! What’s this world comin’ to when a man can’t share coffee with his—”
I peeked up from my newspaper. “That’s fine. Just get him a mug and some sugar.”
“No creamer?” she asked.
“Nah. He can keep that creamy shit to himself,” Maddox said.
The young girl giggled. “Anythin’ to eat?”
“What’s he having?” he asked.
“Oh, my gosh! Your bagel!” she exclaimed.
“I’ll have one of them, too,” Maddox said, smiling.
I shook my head at him as the girl ran off, bringing my bagel with cream cheese over seconds later. I shoved the plate toward Maddox and he dove into the food, devouring it before the young girl managed to remember to bring the second bagel with cream cheese.
“I’m so sorry about that, sir,” she said breathlessly.
“It’s fine. We aren’t in any hurry,” I said.
“Can I get ya’ll anything else?”
“Another bagel,” Maddox said with his mouth full.
“He also means ‘please.’” I grinned at her.
“Of course. You want another one?” she asked.
“I’m good with one, thank ya,” I said.
We sat there in silence until the girl brought Maddox his second bagel. Then my eyes fell to the newspaper again. But when Maddox cleared his throat, I resigned myself to no newspaper reading that morning.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Ya know, the country music awards are in a few months,” he said.
My face fell and I glared at him before he held up his hands.
“Don’t shoot the messenger. Just a fact,” Maddox said.
“Why are you bringin’ it up?” I asked.
“I could get us tickets for the red-carpet event. If ya want ’em.”
“And why would I want ‘em?”
“To go?” he asked.
“So I can be the laughingstock of the awards? No, thanks.”
“Come on, Walker. You need to get back out there. It’s the only way you’re gonna salvage your career.”
“No,” I said plainly.
“If you put out a new album, people will come flocking back.”
“They didn’t with the last album.”
“Because you established yourself in the country sector, then did a pseudo-country-rap album with way too much autotune with an unknown rap artist. What you were thinking I’ll never know. But, if ya went back to the country stuff your fans love ya for, you wouldn’t have an issue,” he said.
I sighed. “Look, my time is up. I had my fifteen minutes of fame. I got myself the money I need to live for the rest of my life. Now it’s time to move on.”
“That’s all you wanted from your music career?”
“Doesn’t matter what I wanted. It’s what I got, and it’s what most people don’t get. I’m fortunate. I’ll never have to work another day in my life if I don’t wanna. A lot of people on this planet won’t ever get that luxury. I get to live the simple life I always sung about on my records. Time for me to no longer be a hypocrite,” I said.
“You weren’t ever a hypocrite. You just lost yourself for a second. Artists do that and come back all the time,” he said.
I rolled my eyes as I poured myself another mug of coffee. Only this time, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my small flask. I screwed off the top and slipped some whiskey into my coffee, watching it blend with the creamer already tinting the dark liquid. I screwed the cap back on and eased it into my pocket, feeling Maddox’s eyes on me the entire time.
“Really? You want me to see somethin’ like that, and then assume you’re fine?” he asked.
“What? Can’t a man have a drink?” I asked.
“At ten in the morning?”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
“That excuse only works for so long before even I know you’ve got a problem.”
“I’ve got no clue what that’s supposed to mean, and I don’t care,” I said.
“Walker, you’ve got a hell of a talent. And it’s a talent this nation got to see. They haven’t lost their love for you.”
“Just their respect,” I murmured.
“I mean, the album was garbage. I’m sorry,” he said.
I snickered. “Appreciate the pep talk, pissant. You can go whenever you’d like.”
“Walker, come on. Listen to me for once. I was your agent for a reason.”
“I know you can’t be hounding me like this for monetary purposes. I told you I’d pay you half of what you were used to for the next seven years until you could find employment. You’ve still got three years to coast while you find a job. Or another artist to manage. Why the hell you still runnin’ around behind me?” I asked.
“Because I know your talent. And I know the love your fans had for you. Still have for you. I just gotta convince you that you haven’t tanked your career. That album was just a hiccup in the road,” he said.
I took a long pull from my coffee before setting it down. I stared down at my bagel, suddenly having lost my damn appetite. I hated having this conversation with my best friend. We’d been having it more and more, too. And while part of me wondered if he was doing it for the money—to try and get back to that massive seven percent chunk he could always guarantee from me—part of me wondered if he really was serious.
Would the fans take me back?
“Let’s just go back to what ya know. The shock of the last album has already worn off. It was almost four years ago, or somethin’ like that. No one remembers it. And they won’t, once you put out the hottest country album to hit the radio since you fell off the face of the planet,” Maddox said.
I sighed as I looked down into my lap. My eyes fell to the newspaper folded up on my thighs, and the irony slapped me across the face. I read the headline before letting out a bitter sort of laughter. Holy fuck, the universe couldn’t have gotten anymore clear-cut if it had appeared to me in the form of a gorgeous woman and offered to suck my dick right there in the coffee shop.
I picked up the newspaper from my lap and tossed it onto the table, placing my thumb against the headline.
“This is this morning’s paper,” I said.
“So?” Maddox asked.
“Look down at it.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Because you know you’re gonna lose this damn argument if ya do,” I said.
He sighed as his eyes dropped to the paper. And when they did, he fervently rolled them. He pushed it back toward me like I somehow wanted to hold the damn thing. So I picked it up and put it back in my lap.
“‘Walker Holcomb, Fame to Lame: Why the City of Hopeville Gives Us None,’” I said.
“That’s just trash-talkin’ bullshit. Just someone wantin’ to climb the ladder at the local newspaper outlet. Tryin’ to sell their newspapers
, or somethin’ like that,” Maddox said.
“Your accent gets stronger when you know you’ve lost,” I said.
“Fuck off with that nonsense. I haven’t lost anythin’.”
“This is just the reality of things, Maddox. This town will always remember. And if I can’t get my own damn hometown behind me, then I don’t have a shot at anything else. Nothing. No country artist who’s seen like this by the people he grew up around ever makes it once, much less twice. It’s over, Maddox. And ya have to move on,” I said.
“I’m not ready to give up on you,” he said.
“Well, I’m ready for my retirement. I haven’t given up. I just know when somethings run its course. And my music career has run its course. I’m in a good place. Got my own farm I’m runnin’, got enough money to keep me healthy and sane and alive and afloat until the day I die. With some left over to spare, if I don’t live lavishly.”
“Puttin’ alcohol in your coffee is your definition of fine?” he asked.
I shrugged. “So, I live a little.”
“Do ya put that shit in your sweet tea, too?”
I didn’t answer that question. Instead, I folded up the newspaper so I wouldn’t have to read that headline and tossed it into the empty chair next to me. “It’s time you accepted—”
“I’m not accepting anything, Walker. You’re depressed, not washed-up. There’s a difference. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to watch you throw away your—”
“It’s not your decision!” I exclaimed a little too loudly.
I stood up from my chair as the coffee shop fell silent, my hands clenching tightly at my sides. Maddox reared back, leaning against the back of his chair. I slowly looked around, watching the girls behind the coffee counter rake their eyes up and down my body. Drawing in a deep breath, I picked up my mug of coffee and chugged it, feeling the warm alcohol seep into my veins. I pulled out my wallet and tossed some cash on the table, ready to get the hell out of Dodge.
Then, without another word, I stepped away from the table.
“You’re letting the media win, you know,” Maddox murmured behind me.
I paused at his statement before I peered at him over my shoulder. “Maybe I am. Still, though. It ain’t your call.”
Then I made my way outside to feel the sun on my face, to feel the heat of the Tennessee summer wash over me. Sweat automatically pooled at the nape of my neck, sliding underneath my flannel shirt. The searing of the sun tanning my skin was the only thing that reminded me I still had years to live. And while I regretted that some days, there were other days where I was thankful, grateful for the time I still had left.
Today just wasn’t one of those days.
End of Excerpt
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About the Author
Kate Swain is an author of sizzling contemporary romance. Now a full-time writer and entrepreneur, she calls the Los Angeles area home.
When she's not writing steamy novels, you can find her working on her next entrepreneurial venture. She believes in living a healthy lifestyle and also frequently enjoys playing tennis.
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