by Shey Stahl
A girl like Bentley, she’d find humor in that and give me some rambling speech about how the rain felt against her skin while avoiding the reality of the moment.
Smiling, I remembered us in the back of my truck and her talking about the stupid stars and how they made no sense to her.
“See.” Wade waved his hand at my empty beer. “Order another one. We should be celebrating with poon and beer.”
“Then go find yourself some poon. I’m good with beer.”
Wade let out a whistled breath when he noticed a busty blonde ordering two pitchers of beer. “See what I mean, man.”
Maybe I was blind, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t even look anymore. Bentley had brain-washed me. It had been since the last time I was with Bentley, since I’d been with a woman.
Physically, though, the need was there, the desire simply wasn’t. Some piqued my interest, I was still a man, but nothing I ever acted on.
Wade went to the bathroom, or who the hell really knew, and left me at the bar when the conversations around me became louder.
“Go ask him for me, please?”
“No, you go over there. I’m busy.”
“Doing what, drinking? Get off your ass and get me his autograph.”
“Jesus, woman,” the man huffed and I could hear footsteps behind me, and then a man was beside me, adjusting his hat. “Sorry to bother you, man, but you’re Beau Ryland, right?”
I nodded, never looking up.
“My wife wants your autograph. She apparently loves your song ‘Everlasting Light.’”
I wouldn’t turn her down, so I twisted in the chair to face him and instantly recognized who he was. Jameson Riley, a famous NASCAR driver. “Yeah, sure.”
He didn’t have anything for me to sign, and I didn’t have a pen. I wasn’t exactly prepared for this kind of thing. Patting the pockets of my flannel and jeans, I frowned. “Do you have a pen?”
“She probably does.” He gave a nod to his wife. “I don’t have anything for you to sign.”
“Sign her tits!”
We both turned at the same time to see another man raising his beer in the air as it sloshed on the table, barely able to stand.
Jameson shook his head, glaring at the burly man with black hair. “Ignore him. He’s crazy.” And then he leveled me a serious look. “You’re not signing my wife’s tits.”
The woman, his wife, who wanted the autograph, stood and waved at me, clearly having a few drinks in her as well and held up a napkin. “You can sign this, Beau.”
She smiled when I approached her, avoiding eye contact as her husband wrapped his arm around her.
I felt a twinge of jealousy when they embraced, an ache vibrating in my chest. It wasn’t from the fact that he was touching her, but from not having that type of contact myself any longer.
Closeness, warmth, love, I was alone now more than ever.
“What’s your name?” I knew her name, only because of Jameson Riley, the man who had won the last, what, six NASCAR championships, and this woman was constantly photographed beside him.
The fact that she wanted my autograph, when Jameson Riley was her husband, had me a tad nervous.
“Sway.”
I scribbled a thank you Sway on the napkin and then signed my name before sliding it across the table. “Here ya go, ma’am.”
The man to my left, the one who yelled ‘sign her tits’ gave a nod to the table he was now seated at with a blonde next to him. “Have a beer with us.”
“Thank you, but I’m heading out soon. I’m actually singing the National Anthem tomorrow at the race. So you know…I should take it easy tonight.”
“That’s awesome!” tit guy said, high-fiving me.
I thanked them again and made my way back over to the bar where Wade was.
“Was that Jameson Riley?” Wade turned to look, and then stared at me. “That NASCAR driver?”
“Yeah, his wife wanted my autograph.”
“Holy shit, that’s awesome.” And then his voice lowered as we took a seat. “His wife is hot.”
Laughing, I shook my head at him. “And married.”
Two glasses of whiskey and I was feeling brave again and contemplating a quick one-hour detour back to Mountain Brook, trying to come up with a plan when this kid sat next to me. “Hey, aren’t you Beau Ryland?”
Not this again.
At least it wasn’t some chick. After every concert I played, there was a line of them waiting. I gave Wade and Miles—my thank you to them sticking by my side through all my moodiness—their choice of rock star pussy.
“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled, giving the bartender a nod for one more.
“You don’t gotta be rude about it.” He snorted, but then took a seat. I already wanted to knock him off that damn stool.
“I’m not.” I shook my head, wishing he’d get the goddamn point. “I’m trying to get drunk and you’re talking to me. That’s not rude. That’s real.”
To my left, Jameson and his family were starting to get rowdy, doing shots and shot-gunning beers.
Turning back to the glass now placed in front of me, I forgot the kid next to me until he said, “Aren’t you that guy who used to date Bentley Schow?”
All right, now he had my attention.
“Why?”
“You left her too, didn't you?”
Now that I was looking at him, I knew exactly who this kid was.
Joel. That fucker from the lake.
I wasn’t in the mood for this. No way. And what the hell was he doing in Talladega at the same bar as me?
“Bentley is none of your business.”
He snorted, stumbling and leaning with his arms on the bar. He’d had a little too much. So had I.
“So what, you leave her after your kid dies?”
Yep. He crossed the line.
“You son of a bitch.” I didn’t wait. I had the kid with his face pressed to the bar, my forearm across his neck. “Don’t you ever fucking talk about Bentley again, or my daughter.”
He must have had too much because the stupid fucker shoved me.
Commotion broke out all around us and the bartender began yelling at me to stop, but I didn’t.
The only reason I did was because Jameson came over and broke it up.
“Hey,” he raised a hand, motioning the bartender over, “can I get a round for me and slugger here?”
“You don't need to buy me a drink.” I really just wanted to be left alone, but I didn't want to be rude to this man either.
“I think I do.”
“Fine.”
We drank in silence for what seemed like eternity when he asked, “You okay?”
“I’m fine. That guy just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”
Jameson snorted, flipping a coaster in his hand, over and over again. “I know plenty of guys like that.”
I didn’t say anything else, just nodded when he slid another beer my way. “Girl problems?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded, again. “Wanna talk about it?”
I wondered if he really cared. Here was a professional athlete talking to me like I was his friend, when he didn’t need to.
“In January we lost our daughter. She died at birth. From then on, she wasn’t the same. Drowning in sadness and I couldn’t help her. So she left me.” There was a hell of a lot more to it than that, but then again, there wasn’t.
That was the simple version.
Jameson stood, maybe knowing I wasn’t in the mood for talking but he offered one last piece of advice I took to heart. “No matter how great it feels to succeed and be the best, if the girl isn’t there, none of it really matters, does it?” I nodded, knowing how true those words were. His hand clasped over my shoulder. “Give her a grand gesture, go all out and prove to her she means something to you.”
I thought I had with the song. Only she wouldn’t listen to it.
What else could I do?
“Thanks for the beer.”
Jameson smiled. “Any time, kid.”
“I WANT to make a small change to the tour.”
David groaned, probably getting tired of my frequent demands. “Like what?”
“I’d like to add a show, a small one on Lake Martin on August first. I want it for Bentley’s birthday.”
David raised an eyebrow. “At the lake? Like a private showing?”
“Yes, it’s where Bentley and I met.”
I sounded like a lovesick fool.
“What day is that again?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stared at my feet, waiting for him to deny it. If he did, I’d find a way to do it myself. If she wasn’t going to listen to the radio, Blaine could get her to that concert and she could hear it. “August first.”
He nodded, jotting down some notes. “So you’re thinking if you play there, she will come.”
I’m transparent, too.
“I have hope she will.”
Hope was all I had.
“Are you planning on finally playing ‘Everlasting Light’ live?” I knew David’s thoughts on me holding out on that one, and, eventually, I would have to play it. People wouldn’t wait forever to hear it. Though it was creating quite the hype of when and where the first live showing would take place. I had to say every concert was sold out and I gave them the performance they deserved, minus one song.
“If she shows up, I will.”
Gavin, Blaine, and Wade had all told me Bentley hadn’t even listened to the CD, let alone heard “Everlasting Light,” a song that was specifically written for her based off that first letter I read.
She had no idea I couldn’t move on from her no matter how hard she tried to push me away. I liked to think Dixie had something to do with that. She knew where her daddy’s heart belonged and it was with her mother.
“How many people do you think you can have there?”
“Well, my buddy Miles, he has a house on the lake with an empty lot next door. We can set up the stage there…I don’t know…” I scratched the back of my head, taking a seat at the table with him. “Maybe like five hundred tops. I need ten tickets for my family.”
David made some notes. “I’ll see what I can put together.”
AFTER I LEFT David’s office in downtown Nashville, I had a radio interview to do. The interview was held at a local station, but the same series of questions flowed as they usually did. This time one caught me off guard.
“If you could pick one person who has influenced your music, who would it be?”
I hesitated for a moment, leaning back in the seat. Looking at Miles and Wade, who stood near the wall, I should have said them, two guys who never left my side these days. Or Blaine, she was at every concert. Only I didn’t write songs about them, not the ones that held the most meaning.
I couldn’t say it was one person who influenced my music because it wasn’t just one person. It never was in music. Every person I encountered influenced me in some way, whether it be me, or my music.
“I can’t say just one person has helped me,” I told him. “My mom has given me so much emotional support over the years, and my sister, Blaine, she’s always believed in me and my music. My cousin Wade, and my best friend, Miles, they’re always there for me…but as far as influencing my music and the songs I write, it’s Bentley, always will be.”
Great, now they’re gonna ask who she is and how are you going to explain that?
I wanted to kick myself for saying that.
“Who’s Bentley?”
“Oh, you know, everyone’s got that one girl they can’t shake,” I said with a laugh, trying to sneak some humor in there.
I could feel the interview getting more and more personal and my theory was confirmed when he asked his next question.
“Now I hear you’re single? Is this Bentley girl in the picture?” I wasn’t sure how, but somehow Bentley and I, our relationship had stayed out of the media, and so had Dixie. I knew eventually it would come out, but I wasn’t ready to tell the world about Dixie.
It wasn’t until after she was born that I was thrown into the spotlight.
Shifting uncomfortably, I knew the women who had been faithfully following me on Twitter and every other social media outlet was eager for my response.
“I uh...I’ve never been one to date. I am single...” No you’re not. You never will be. “But I don’t have time for dating right now with being on the road.”
What the fuck kind of answer was that?
“That’s what I hear. Tell us about this new album of yours.”
Oh thank God.
And just like that, I avoided the personal questions and had the conversation back on my music, the way it should have been.
Nobody needed to know I was in love with Bentley and she had basically shut me out of her life after our daughter passed away. Nobody needed to know what “Everlasting Light” meant but us.
I would always love Bentley. Even if we were never allowed to be together again, she showed me who I was, who I wasn’t, and who I wanted to be.
For that, I would love her until the day I died.
“DID YOU GIVE her the ticket?” My hands were shaking holding the guitar as I sat on my bus, unable to meet Blaine’s eyes.
David had managed to get everything together in time. On August first, I returned to the familiar red clay where I met a girl who changed my whole world.
“I did, she said she would come, but she wouldn’t come with Gavin and me.”
I knew what that meant. She wouldn’t because she was afraid if she did, she’d be forced to show up, and hear me. If she came alone, she could chicken out.
“Are you ready for this?”
I nodded, trying to appear calm. I’d been on stage hundreds of times now but this had nothing on it.
This was different.
It was where I met Bentley, where I fell in love with her, and now, where I was trying to make her see this was all for her. The only way I could show her I still loved her, and have her hear me. I would always love her, even if she didn’t love me in return. I believed in loving someone, even when they couldn’t.
Blaine stood from her place across from me, rubbing my shoulders. “I’m trying to help, Beau, I am. It’s why I gave you the letters. You did your part, it’s up to her now.”
I knew how badly Blaine wanted to help me and Bentley. My mother was the same way, trying everything she could to make Bentley see she had support. All she had to do was look up.
The concert was to begin when the sun dipped down over the lake. My mom came in the bus, giving me a gentle smile when she saw the bottle beside me. I hadn’t realized how obvious bad my depression had become.
She gave me that concerned motherly tone. “I know you can’t see it, and I know you miss her and Dixie, but everything will work out.” Reaching for the bottle, I frowned when she took it from me. “Jensen has a drinking problem. Your father has a drinking problem. Please don’t turn everything to drinking for everything.”
“I just…”
“What?” she asked, waiting for me to give her an excuse.
“I miss her…them,” I admitted quietly. “It’s like there’s a hollow ache inside of me. I can’t see how I can do anything without her. I’ve tried to show her I’m still here for her, but how can I do that when she won’t even hear me out?”
My mother had always been a spiritual woman. She believed in having her stars read, daily horoscopes, all that. “Beau, your story, it’s the reason you were meant to be Dixie’s father. You can’t fix Bentley; it’s not your job to. All you can do is be there for her in any way you can. Even if it’s being a friend for her. You can’t fix her. Nobody can. Nobody should. She lost her baby, just like you did. It’s okay to heal separately. I know eventually you two will find your way back.”
“How? She won’t even talk to me.”
She smiled and held on to my hands. “You will find a way.”
Glad she was so confident.
Just before I went on stage and the sounds of the opening beats of “A Little Bit More Of You” played, Miles tugged on my arm, his expression one of concern. I didn’t think he wanted me to go out there unless I was prepared for the letdown.
“Maybe…it’s time you move on,” he said quietly, trying not to piss me off.
“I love her,” I said slowly taking in the crowd and excitement surrounding me. “I love her so much that I can’t move on. I can’t.” I stared at Miles, unable to explain what it was I couldn’t let go of. I don’t even think I understood it anymore.
“You know she might not come, right?”
I sighed, thinking about how that would feel. “I know.” I looked back down at the guitar adjusting the strap. “But she might, and I’m holding onto that might.”
God, please let this work.
I had been on stage countless times in the last year, in front of thousands and even the Grand Ole Opry. Nothing prepared me for that concert at Lake Martin and the stirring need in my chest to see her. It was an anxiety I couldn’t quite explain, something gnawing, a need deep inside my chest.
I wouldn’t sing “Everlasting Light” unless she showed up.
I couldn’t.
That was her song.
As the sun set and the sky painted with bright sweet colors, I took a seat on a stool and played Dixie’s song for her, for the first time live.
Tears were streaming down my face, as they were rolling down my mothers and Blaine.
I couldn’t promise your first breath
And I couldn’t give you one more
I can promise to love you
A pinky swear made true
I couldn’t listen to the radio or watch television. Despite anything I told myself and lack of sleep, outside of my bubble, the world continued, as did Beau’s career. He had mailed me a copy of the CD, and I wanted to listen to it. Told myself I would, but just the mention of his name and staring at the cover with him on it, his head down, staring at a guitar, sent a stabbing sensation to my chest.
