Good Time Bad Boy (31 page)

“Hey.” Daisy grabbed Jillian’s arm and gestured toward the bar.

Jillian grinned. “Oh, hey, yeah.”

Chris had to lean down to hear Megan.

Jillian said, “Text Ronisha, maybe she can tell us what they’re saying.”

Daisy laughed.

Chris snapped to his full height as if stung, staring at Megan with his mouth slightly open.

“Do you think she’s talking dirty to him?” Jillian sipped her drink. “I hope she’s talking dirty to him.”

Megan cocked her head toward the dance floor, smiling. Chris took her hand and they claimed a spot in the crowded space. George Strait numbers always brought the dancers out.

Daisy propped her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, knowing she must have been wearing a goofy smile. “I feel like I’m watching the best damn Sandra Bullock movie ever, only live and in person. And all because of a song Wade wrote. That is amazing. He is amazing.”

Jillian bumped her shoulder into Daisy’s and mumbled something about a double feature.

Wade went right into another song, not giving anybody time to walk off the dance floor. He nodded at Daisy, jerking his head slightly in the direction of Chris and Megan who were still dancing. Daisy nodded back and gave him a thumb’s up.

By Your Side
might just well turn out to be one of her favorites of his new songs.

W
ade had never felt like his stage fright was a burden, in large part because it didn’t last. Once he got on stage and got a few songs into a set, his nerves usually settled and he put on a good show. Even when the nerves were at their worst or didn’t quite settle, he’d always been able to hide it. In the weeks since the benefit concert, when he felt like he’d buried the old Wade and begun to uncover a new one, the stage fright had lessened considerably. It wasn’t that he didn’t care anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. He just had a different set of expectations for himself now, and it didn’t necessarily involve giving the audience exactly what they wanted at every moment. He still sang to entertain, and always would. But now he felt more confident about singing for himself, too, and performing the songs he wanted to play even at the risk of someone in the audience tuning out briefly. Those different, new songs might reach someone. If they didn’t, it was not such a great loss anymore. He no longer felt that desperate urgency to reach as many people as possible with every song. Maybe he’d somehow become more comfortable with just how personal his songwriting was. Maybe he wasn’t interested in the hustle anymore. Either way, he was fine with not seeking out the spotlight constantly.

For himself. For the songs, now, that was different.

A thousand thoughts swirled in his mind as he took the stage at Rocky Top on Saturday night. Wearing jeans and a casual short sleeve button down shirt, he relaxed on a stool stolen from the bar as he tuned his guitar. The hat was now in the back of a closet. He needed a haircut, his thick brown waves threatening to turn into curls. The beard was neatly trimmed and a hit with every woman but his mother, so he was happy to keep it even with the telltale signs of gray in it. He knew he didn’t look quite like the same man who’d started the summer at Rocky Top, and that was fine by him. It felt good to shed the old skin and find something underneath that made him happy.

He started the set with some Gram Parsons, something he did more and more often now. Along with Parsons, he mixed in some Townes Van Zandt, Alejandro Escovedo, and some of the Kris Kristofferson that Daisy liked so much. As he sang
Loving Her Was Easier
, he allowed himself a private smile at the thought of how perfect the sensual song was for Daisy. Wade was trying to capture that sensuality and the way she leveled him with it in one of his new songs, called
Burning the Candles Down
. It still wasn’t quite done yet, and he certainly wouldn’t debut it in the bar before she’d had a chance to hear it. He did have another song he was working on that he didn’t mind playing before it was quite finished. After a Guy Clark song, he took a sip from the water bottle on the floor to one side of his stool and spoke to the audience.

“Y’all might have heard I’ve been writing some new songs lately.” That got such a warm response that he felt his cheeks flame with embarrassed pleasure. “I got one I’ve been working on this week and I thought I’d play it for you even though it’s not quite done. It doesn’t have a name yet. I think it’s got potential. Y’all tell me what you think.”

The sound he’d begun to think of as the desert at night flowed from his fingertips and through the guitar. It started out sparse, melancholy, a slow descent into twilight. From there it twisted and turned into a dance that was as much conversation as courtship. No matter the lyrical content, he couldn’t keep the romance out of his new songs. Not that he tried very hard, if at all. This was not the same kind of love song as
Burning The Candles Down
, but it was filled with love nonetheless.

Lost in a sea of false stars

Empty light and a road that never ends.

I forgot who I was

Or maybe I never knew to begin with.

Endless night and a desert sky

Was the only map I had to find my way home.

The constellations whirled above

Their names unknown to me.

I found my own stars to guide me back.

Traced the shapes of my holy relics in the night sky

Guitars, mandolins, banjos

Acoustic, electric, strings and pickups.

Names like a mantra

Carter and Gibson

Cash and Martin

And my own Hummingbird that let me fly free.

Jewels more precious than any crown.

The voice of mothers and kings

And kids who only know how to dream.

I traced the shape of a guitar in the desert night sky.

It pointed like an arrow back to the boy I used to be.

I followed it without thinking

And found the man I am now.

Flying free on the wings of a hummingbird.

Wade brought the song back to the beginning, only this time the notes told of an approaching dawn. Lighter, as if a weight had been released somewhere between one stanza and the next. Brighter, as if a sense of peace made the night sky’s darkness into a friend instead of something to be scared of. Afraid of the response, Wade stared at his hands for a moment before lifting his gaze to the audience.

Not everybody got it. There were people who looked bored by the slower tempo, and that didn’t feel great. But the ones who did find something in the song that spoke to them - the looks on their faces more than made up for the fact that he hadn’t drawn in the whole room. Those folks would take this song home with them and turn it over in the minds and their hearts, and keep a piece of it for themselves for a long time. There could be no better outcome to sharing a part of his soul in a song like this. Pride filled him, and satisfaction. This was what it was all about, this moment right here. He’d started writing songs to express himself, to figure things out and learn to understand not only what was in his own heart but the hearts of others as well. But sharing those songs, singing them for other people, that was born of a desire - a need - for connection. Recognition. Communion. He saw all of those things in the shining eyes that glowed at him with warmth, the smiles and nods and the expressions that said yes, yes, I’m right there with you.

He did his best to mumble thanks into the microphone and retreated from the stage, riding high on the feeling but knowing it was fragile. He headed out the front door for some fresh air, wishing Daisy was working tonight. He would have liked for her to have been there for what just happened. They had plans to meet at his house later, after his last set. The temptation to call and talk to her was too much. His cell phone was in his truck so he started for the side parking lot, turning on his heel suddenly. He almost collided with a woman coming out of the bar.

It was Becky Walker. His manager wrapped him in a hug that left him speechless. They’d been friends for years but Becky Walker was no hugger. The only other time she’d embraced him was the first time he played
Empty Rooms
for her. Wade blinked away an uneasy sensation of deja vu and found his voice. “What are you doing here, Becky? You should have told me you were coming, I would made sure you had the best table in the house.”

She pushed him away as if suddenly remembering she was his manager and not his mother. “I’ve seen the videos. Heard the way people are talking about them. But I had to see it for myself.”

“See what?”

“You. I had to see you.”

He didn’t know what to make of that, so he rubbed his whiskers and made a joke out of it. “You drove two hours to check out this beard?”

Becky swatted at him. “No, you idiot. I drove two hours to see for myself if you’re as good as those videos make you look. And God help me, you’re better. You look and sound amazing and the new material...good Lord, I don’t know if I can sell it to country radio, but it’s so damned good I don’t even care.”

The mention of selling and country radio alarmed him. “Hold on.”

“You’ve been holding out on me, Wade Sheppard, and that stops now. We need to have a good long talk.”

Deja vu returned, and brought a rush of excitement with it.

D
aisy woke as Wade eased into bed. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced at the clock, surprised to see that it was much later than she’d expected him. “Is everything okay?”

Wade didn’t answer. He lay with one arm above his head and the other wrapped around her. She sat up enough to see his expression, wondering if maybe he hadn’t heard her. “Wade?”

“Becky came to hear me play tonight.”

It took Daisy a moment to remember that Becky was Wade’s manager. That newspaper article sprang to mind, as did the videos she’d finally made time to watch. “What does she think of your new songs?”

Wade shifted to his side and rested his head on one arm while pulling her close with the other. “She likes them. A lot.”

Daisy didn’t know what to ask further, so she waited for him to say more. Her heart fluttered like a scared bird. She lined her body up against his, wanting to touch, to feel him.

“She wants to put together a showcase for me. See if any record labels might be interested in offering me a deal.” His voice was quiet but the words fell heavy in the silent room.

Tears stung her eyes and she was grateful for the dark. “That’s wonderful. You could have your career back.” It was a lousy effort at being encouraging but she couldn’t help it. The thought of losing him squeezed her heart.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought I was past all that. Wanting it, I mean. I was on top once, what the hell do I want to make that climb for again?” He moved to a sitting position and turned on the small bedside lamp on the nightstand. “It’s hard as hell and it takes more work and more out of your life than it’s probably worth in the long run. You think you’re doing it for your music, your art, and that there’s some purity to your ambition because of that. But you wind up doing things you don’t like and don’t enjoy, things that make you feel like a used car salesman because it’s all about selling. You sell your music and you sell yourself and you sell and you sell and you sell, until there’s nothing left of any value. It hollows out that place inside where the art comes from. Makes it feel empty. Not just feel empty, but be empty. I didn’t write for so long, Daisy. I played old songs and other people’s songs and it wasn’t because I had nothing to say. It was because I didn’t think anybody gave a damn. If I couldn’t sell it, what was the point?”

“The music was the point.” Daisy sat up and kissed him. She didn’t have the words to tell him how she felt, so she did her best to show him. “The music is always the point. You don’t need a reason to write songs, baby. It’s who you are.”

“I finally remembered that. When I came home, when I met you. I remembered.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “The songs you’ve been writing are so good. I’m not surprised your manager thinks so too.”

“You know, all the bad stuff I know about it, all the shit I went through and the shape it left me in.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Even knowing all that, I still damned near jumped out of my skin when Becky started talking about a new record deal. What kind of idiot does that make me?”

Her heart sank. He wanted it, she could tell. How could he not? “You’re not an idiot, Wade. This is who you are. You’re a singer and a songwriter, and you’re amazing at both. Getting a record deal is the pinnacle of that. It’s like.” Daisy struggled with both the words and keeping her emotions in check. “It’s like a football player being offered a chance to play for an NFL team. It’s perfectly normal to want that. To want recognition for what you do.”

“Part of me wonders if it would be better the second time. Maybe I could exert more control over things. I’d know what to expect, so I’d know what to do my best to avoid.” He raised a hand in a searching gesture. “But then I think about touring, and I know I don’t want to do it. I do not want to live on the road anymore.”

Hope beat butterfly wings in her stomach and her heart. She measured her words carefully, because she didn’t want to be selfish with him. She wanted him to be celebrated for his talent and follow his dreams, even if his dreams led him away from her.

“Is there a way to minimize the touring? Maybe that’s where you could try to have more control. Instead of living on the road, you could maybe only go out for a few weeks or so.”

“Becky talked about these videos people have been putting online. And she saw me play tonight. The label executives, they’ll know I can still put on a good show. I won’t have a good reason to refuse, and besides, it’s the best way to promote an album. The best way for a singer to make money.” He chuckled, the sound hard and a little bitter. “God knows album sales are shit these days.”

“What do you want, Wade?” Daisy hated asking the question. She’d worked so hard to prevent her own happiness and security from being dependent on someone else. It was the last thing she wanted, to feel that her life was in someone else’s hands. It made her doubt everything: her resolve, her hopes and dreams for her own life. What if she was wrong to want a stable life and a home and a restaurant of her own one day more than she wanted to be with Wade? Should she just give all that up and follow him to Nashville and wherever else his dreams led him? If he even wanted her to, that is. Whose dreams were more important? Though she was loathe to think of it that way. Both of their dreams were important. The trouble was figuring out to make them work together.