by Jaye Ripley
And Mel is killing me. One minute, she’s flirting with me, mouthing my lyrics back. The next, she won’t make any eye contact with me. She takes good care of our collective family, although I’d bet good money she wishes her T-shirt weren’t so tight and revealing. I’m gonna smack my cousin Waylon upside the head for the way he gawks at her ass. Can’t blame the kid, but he’s just one more that wants what I plan to make mine.
Mac catches my attention and points to the set list lying on top of his Korg keyboard. He then gestures to the acoustic guitar cradled in a stand off to the side. I nod my head, and handle the mic.
“It occurs to me that some of y’all might not know who we are. So I’d like to take this time to introduce the band.”
Some woman in the crowd yells out, “You can introduce yourself to me up close and personal, Hunter.” Laughter fills the room.
Random flirts come with the job. As long as they’re not nut cases, they’re easy to deal with. “Thanks, darlin’, but it sounds like you already know who I am. But let’s start with this ugly sucker to my right. That’s EJ Wilder, lead guitarist and vocalist. Wild Man, show them what you do.”
EJ lays down some licks. We plan the introductions about half way through our set so that we can all take a small break and get our wind back. It also shows off that every individual in the group can kick ass. Makes it clear how good we are together.
“That’s my grandson,” yells out Mrs. Wilder when EJ finishes showing off. Everybody laughs.
“Love you, Nana,” replies EJ, smirking and not caring one bit that he sounds like a big man-child. The boy loves his grandmother.
“And to my left is the man who can do it all. He sings. He co-writes the songs. He plays keyboards. And I think he would play the lute if we asked him to. Give it up for my man, Mac Summers.”
He riffs a little blues on the keyboard and manages to mix in a tiny bit of Beethoven from his classical training. Even if no one else picks that up, it adds to our fun.
“And continuing on my left. He lays down the foundation of what we do. How about you show some love for Levi Craven, our bassist.”
Some bass players do a fine job of adding in what nobody notices. Bass players do not get a lot of the attention. But Levi can riff on any stringed or fretted instrument he can pluck. He even gives EJ a run for his money on lead guitar. But he’s happiest when he can do what he does and only get attention when I point him out. I hope the crowd appreciates how much talent he possesses in one finger.
“I guess that’s it if you count me. Nobody else that’s worth mentioning,” I say, facing our fans.
A loud crash and boom comes from behind me, and I smile, turning to face up stage.
“What, you need some attention? Want some accolades? Want to show off what you can do? Well then, go ahead.” I turn back toward the crowd. “Give it up for our drummer, Hart “God of Thunder” Mullen.”
The bass drum thumps so loud, it vibrates my chest. EJ, Mac, Levi, and I take a second to go off stage to let Hart do his thing. While back there, we work out my two drop-ins I want to add and in what order. Nobody argues, and we all know that Hart won’t complain.
“Is the fucker done showing off yet?” growls EJ as he wipes off his sweat with a towel and swallows a bit of his Jack and Coke.
“He’s waiting for our signal, jackass.” I pop EJ upside the head. “And now, you have to update him on the plan instead of strutting at the front of the stage to try and win yourself a date tonight.”
The other three make their way back on stage as I plan how I’m going to handle the next part. My sudden nerves surprise me. I grab a stool and Dad’s guitar, and take them out with me. The stool’s a universal sign that things are going to slow down a bit, which is the opposite of what we’d normally do when we’ve revved up a crowd.
Mac sets a mic stand up for the guitar and adjusts the height on mine as I settle onto the seat.
He takes the lead for moment. “Ladies and gentleman, you all know the man I’m gonna introduce to you. He’s my oldest and best friend, my brother-in-arms, give a shout out to the lead singer and rhythm guitar player for Tailgate Down, Mr. Hunter Ford.”
It takes a full minute before the crowd quiets down for the next part. My hands tune the old but true guitar as I wait. One good strum and a few quiet notes help to bring down the noise.
Letting out a nervous breath, I adjust my mic to my mouth. “I’d like to introduce you to a special lady tonight. She’s one that I’ve known most of my life, and has brought much happiness into the world.” I hold up the guitar in my hands. “This is Caroline. Ain’t she pretty?”
Murmurs of agreement reverberate in the air before I continue.
“My daddy says he named her after the most gorgeous woman in the world. My mom.”
The crowd collectively murmurs, “Aww.”
I take a beat to look over at my parents. Mom nuzzles into Dad’s shoulder, a bit embarrassed. He leans into her and kisses the top of her head. I swallow hard to keep the lump in my throat from choking me up.
“Now, Caroline is incredibly special. She’s been a part of a lot of my ‘firsts’.”
A couple people snicker.
“Not that kind of first, jokers. No, Caroline here was the first guitar I ever played. She had the first string I ever plucked. The first chord my fingers every formed. The first string I ever broke. Hell, the first string I ever put on…my daddy never let me get away with anything.”
Everyone laughs.
“The first song I ever played. The first song I ever wrote.”
“Play it for us, Hunter,” yells a young voice from the back.
My nose wrinkles. “Ooh, I didn’t say it was good.” I pause for the laugh. “But there’s one ‘first’ that I’m most proud of when it comes to me and Caroline. See, she’s attached to the first time I heard my dad play and sing. There’s not a time in my life I can’t remember the two of them together. My guess is that he must have played to my Mom when she was pregnant with me.”
“Yes he did,” my mom shouts out. She knows what my plans are, and is probably fighting tears right now.
“So if y’all don’t mind, I’m gonna slow things down right now. But first, I want to ask you guys to help encourage my dad to come up on stage right now and play with me. Would you do that for me?”
Mac brings over another stool and mic set for my dad to use. From stage left, my dad walks on and stands next to me. The crowd welcomes him with loud cries and applause.
He leans in so I can hear him. “Thought you were the star in the family.”
I move my head so he can hear my reply. “I kinda always thought the spotlight always shone on you, Dad. Besides, none of this would be happening without your love and support.”
“Now don’t go making me cry in front of all these people, Junior.”
He takes the stool next to mine, and speaks into the mic. “So, now that you’ve brought me up here, what’s your big plan?”
“Well, I thought you could play Caroline and maybe we could sing one of your favorites. What do you think?” I ask the crowd.
At this point, everyone’s up for whatever we choose to do. But I bet no one expects my dad to pick Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’.” I let him play the first few bars of the lead in before he starts singing while I grab the guitar Mac set up to my right. By the end of the first verse, the rest of the band falls right in. We all know how to back him up. After all, whose garage and equipment did we use to practice back in the day?
When we finish, the crowd cheers for my dad. His excited smile warms my heart. He deserves every last clap and yell.
Before tears fall from my eyes, I recover quickly. “So Dad, that wasn’t half bad, was it?”
“Not bad at all. You guys can be my back up band anytime.”
The rest of the guys let him know they’d play for him any day.
“So how ‘bout one more song,” my dad says, surprising me.
I check in with Mac who
shrugs and nods, leaving things up to me. “Sure, Dad. What were you thinking?”
“See, there’s this band that started in my garage about six years ago. Took them a year to start sounding anything worth a damn.” He pauses for the laughs. “Took them another couple of years until they moved out of my damned garage. Funny thing, though. In all that time, from beginning to now, I count myself as a huge fan.”
I clap him on his back. “You’ve always been a huge supporter of us, Dad.”
“Who says I was talking about Tailgate Down, son?” He laughs along with everyone else. “By the way, we could spend the rest of the night going through all the crappy band names they came up with.” He gestures to all of us. And suddenly, we are his backup band as he captures the entire audience as slick as if he’s done it a thousand times like me.
“Tonight’s not a roast, Dad. So what’s the song?”
He stands up and takes my guitar out of my hands. He then holds Caroline out for me to take. “Son…and other sons,” he turns and looks at every member of the band. “It would be my great honor if we could play your song and my personal favorite, ‘Tears and Fears’.”
If any one of us can make it to the end of the song without crying, it’ll be a fucking miracle. He lets me start off the song on Caroline, but in no time he comes in on my guitar. I’ve got lead, but my dad’s right behind me singing, matching my voice and blending seamlessly. EJ and Mac come in on the vocals only to give a rounder sound during the chorus and the bridge.
By the end of the song that talks about how fear can keep us from going after what we want, the meaning of the lyrics kills me, because the man next to me has made sure to be by my side as I faced my own obstacles.
There are moments in a musician’s life he wants to remember and preserve because they’re so rich and full. This will always be one of those moments for me. A snapshot of pure harmony. Magic.
We both stare at each other as we strum the last chord, unaware that the whole audience has exploded with praise. I take the guitar strap off my shoulders and hand Caroline back to my dad.
He shakes his head. “Nope. She’s going with you to Nashville so you’ll always have a piece of me with you.”
And that statement breaks me. Screw EJ if he thinks I’m a pussy, because the tears flow freely as I hug the shit out of my dad.
He whispers in my ear, “Now, bring the house down and finish up your show so you can tell me all about that pretty girl Mel you’re interested in that’s been serving us all night. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s why you’re shining tonight.”
He lets me go and gives me one more look of pure pride and joy. My dad would have made one hell of a star if he hadn’t given his dreams of stardom up for his family. He waves at the crowd as he walks off stage, and I take a beat to drink some water and pull my shit together.
That last bit of the concert had taken my mind right off of Mel. But with one statement from Dad, my brain wanders right back to wondering what she’s doing and what she thought about my dad. I didn’t do it to impress her. But I hope she sees the connection between me and my family, and how important that is.
Scanning the VIP section, my dad joins my mother, who stands up and embraces him. Then she gives him a longer kiss than I’d like to watch. Chuckling to myself but averting my eyes from their display, I catch Mel watching them from the side, the corner of her mouth quirked up like when she sings the hell out of a song.
Images flash through my head. Mel holding my hand, laughing with me, kissing me, standing beside me as we watch our children soar. And my stomach doesn’t drop. Instead, my heart pounds faster. Or it’s Hart pounding on the drum as he sets the pace for our next song with Levi’s thumping bass line. When EJ plays an extra few bars of his gritty electric guitar to start me off, I know exactly what I want.
Tonight, that temporary country girl I can’t get out of my head is going to shake it just for me. And I’ll do whatever I need to in order to make it happen.
7
Mel
In the past, the concept of family has been a forbidden topic around me. Being alone works for me. The only family I’ve ever needed at all comes in a tiny, blonde package that uses up way too much time in our bathroom.
But seeing Hunter and the pure joy radiating from him over the past few minutes—the bond between father and son takes my breath away. How in the hell am I supposed to turn down a man who increases his sex appeal by a thousand simply by bringing his dad on stage? Most men with egos wouldn’t dare to share the spotlight. Ever. But Hunter shares perfectly fine when it comes to someone that he cares about.
The scales of sex tip more in his favor, but questions of whether or not Hunter can be only a one-time experience weigh the scales down more in favor of shaking hands and walking away.
Serving the VIP section no longer means working things well to earn a large tip from the band. I want them all to enjoy the hell out of the night because they deserve it for all their support of every man on the stage. Most of them want refills on sodas and water now, and that’s fine by me.
When I pick up the band’s last round of drinks to be placed backstage for them, I frown when Sean gives me too many on my tray.
He gestures at the stage. “Hunter’s orders. Bourbon neat.” Sean points at the glass of amber liquid, and turns back to handling the bustling bar area.
A smile creeps into a permanent place on my face as I shimmy my way through the crowd and around the back of the VIP section to a hidden table behind a curtain off the side of the stage. After placing the drinks on the table, I pick up the extra glass. Hunter pre-ordered it just for me. Never has a glass of bourbon looked so enticing, but we can’t drink on the job.
Standing in such close proximity to the band, my resistance fails me. I have to sneak a peek from this angle. When the last song ends, Hunter introduces EJ to the crowd again and asks him to take the lead to sing a cover of a popular country song. Turning in my direction, his entire being demands for me to stay right where I am. Hunter places his guitar on a stand and walks off the stage to stand next to me.
The hot tension between us from before holds nothing to the Roman candle of sparks now. Hell, his gaze could ignite me. See? Danger.
“Thanks for the bourbon, but I can’t drink it. I really do appreciate the thought, though.”
I reach a hand out intending to shake his, but find it curling around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. His wet body clings to mine for an instant. The scent of salt on his body and our own sweat mingling together makes me dizzy. When I back away, we come unglued with a wet noise. Fantasies flood my head about making that kind of sound with him in bed.
“Not so fast, Melody.”
My stomach clenches a bit. “Who told you my name?” No one calls me by my full first name that doesn’t want to get an immediate beat down.
“Actually Trey did when I asked him about you.” Hunter follows me as my feet attempt to shuffle away from him.
I don’t know what shocks me more—that Hunter’s asked about me or that Trey gave anything away. A long time ago, he and I had known each other well. Intimately. Now we avoid the topic of each other by keeping to our own corners of life.
“And he told you to call me Melody?”
Hunter chuckles. “He said you might kick my ass. But I like your name. What can I say, I’m just a musician.”
“You’re an incredible musician. You’ve packed this place out, played like a demon, and brought the whole house down!” I want to move away from a discussion about why I don’t like my full name. “But I still can’t drink the bourbon.” The song hits its last run of the chorus on stage. “I should go.”
“Wait. Stay,” commands Hunter with his deep voice.
My feet stop without my consent. If any other man had given me orders like they would an animal, they’d end up with a knee in some place uncomfortable. But apparently, my body overrides my brain and decides to obey Hunter.
He walks back on stage. Whe
ther it’s from the pointy cowboy boots or the nerves that make me giddy when I’m in his presence, I shift from leg to leg. I need to get back out on the floor to do my job. But curiosity keeps me backstage, waiting for whatever’s coming next.
Hunter checks in with his bandmates with the mic covered. They all shake their heads in agreement, and three heads turn to look right at me. What the hell did he say to them?
Addressing the audience, Hunter says, “You know, we started out doing crappy covers. In fact, we kind of sucked. But I’d say we’ve improved, right?” The place roars with agreement. “So tonight, I think we’ll do a cover that we’ve done before, but in a new way to flex our musical muscles. However, we’re going to need a little help.”
He turns in my direction, and my stomach drops. His finger motions for me to come join him on stage. My head shakes back and forth so violently, my hair threatens to break out of its hairspray jail.
“Hmm, she’s a little shy. See, there’s a girl that works here who can sing better than the original artist, and I think she might need some encouragement to come out. So how ‘bout it. Let Miss Mel Barnett hear how much you want to hear her sing!”
The roaring crowd does nothing to unglue my feet. Hunter runs off stage and grabs my hand.
“Are you fucking crazy?” I yell over the noise.
“About you? Yes. About you singing? Hell no. You’ve got balls almost as big as mine. Drink down that bourbon.”
“No.”
He picks up the glass and leans into me. The heat rises from his body and prickles across my skin. In a quieter voice, he rasps into my ear, “This will go much easier if you just do as I say. You’ll find everything much more exciting if you give in.” His breath on my neck sends chills down my body. He leans back to face me with my drink in his hand. “Now, drink.”
I take the glass from him, and without another word, I show him how well I can follow orders. The bourbon burns, but it all manages to go down fast.
