CHAPTER 2
Three years later ...
There was not enough alcohol in the bar to ease the growing pressure. Hunter Kane’s chest felt as if it was going to explode right there in front of his cousins, and not a single one of them would do a damn thing. Other than tell him this was his own fault.
The sorry-as-shit part was that they’d be right.
Hunter had been sitting on his ass for the last year, waiting for inspiration to walk back into his life. But since he’d let her walk right out without a fight, he wasn’t holding his breath.
“Come on, Brody,” Hunter said to his oldest cousin. “You make it sound like I’m asking you to get me a meeting with Johnny Cash.”
“That would be a hell of a lot easier, because what you are asking is beyond impossible,” Brody said, not even trying to hide his piss-poor attitude. Hunter assumed it was partly from the predictability of the conversation—one they’d had many times recently—but mostly because it was well past last call.
“You’re my agent,” Hunter pointed out. “By definition your job is to make the impossible possible when it comes to ensuring the band’s happiness and continued success.”
At that moment Hunter’s needs included a meeting with the most sought-after songwriting team in country music. He’d made this particular request so many times over the past year he’d lost track, but each one ended with the same disappointing result.
Two years ago, Hunter Kane had been a singing sensation headed toward living-legend status. There wasn’t a person he couldn’t get a meeting with. Even the president of the United States had knocked back a few stouts with the front man behind the Hunter Kane Band, who’d been deemed the greatest thing to hit country music since Garth Brooks and Keith Urban.
Then they’d released their fourth album. And what a clusterfuck that had been. With their lead songwriter MIA, the label had paired him up with a team of writers who’d put an end to Hunter Kane Band’s trendsetting sound. While the album had contained two number-one hits, both written by the elusive Mack and Muttley, it was considered a commercial flop.
A mistake Hunter would never make again.
Which was why Mack and Muttley’s continued rejection lit a fire under Hunter’s ass, making him more determined than ever to lock down a meeting.
“No,youragent works in that big office three blocks over,” Brody said. “He has a fancy schedule that is carefully managed by his amazing assistant, Raydeen. You should call her. Set something up.”
Hunter looked at his watch. “And wake her? Big Daddy raised us better than that,” he said, referring to Brody’s father, who had stepped up to raise Hunter when his own father turned out to be ill-tempered for the job. “I mean, what kind of asshole calls someone at two fifteen in the morning on a work night?”
“The same kind of asshole who pulls his cousin from a warm bed to come down here and hold his hand.” Brody dropped his hand on top of Hunter’s—hard. Then squeezed with enough force to fracture a few bones. “Now, if we’re done here, I’d like to go back home to my wife, who’s hopefully still awake in that nice warm bed that I left.”
“Your wife told me I could call any time. Those were Savannah’s exact words.” Hunter shrugged. “Who am I to argue with a pretty lady?”
“Jesus.” Brody ran a hand down his face. “And you wonder why you’re divorced.”
Hunter didn’t have to wonder. He knew exactly why he was divorced. He simply wasn’t cut out for marriage. Period.
Whatever that elusive trait was that allowed his uncle and cousins to love so freely had clearly skipped Hunter’s branch on the family tree. Oh, he loved his family and his music so fiercely he was often paralyzed with its power. But when it came to letting other people into his heart, he seemed to be more of a hard-ass like his father than he wanted to admit. So when Hadley wanted out less than a year into the marriage, he hadn’t fought her on a thing.
He’d taken her around the world, bought her a dream house in one of the most prestigious areas in Nashville, and showered her with all kinds of things. Sadly, in the end, after the success and the touring and the insane hours, the divorce was probably the nicest thing he’d ever given her.
“How are you doing with that?” Brody asked, his voice softening with genuine concern.
Hunter knew bythatthey were no longer talking about the divorce, but Hadley’s new marriage. “Good. She seems happy and genuinely in love. Chet is a good guy, stable, works a suit job with a membership at the country club. She deserves that.”
She was also expecting her first child. A difficult reality for Hunter to swallow, since she’d made it clear that parenthood wasn’t a role she had interest in pursuing. Apparently, she’d meant with him.
Hunter loved kids, wanted a few of his own someday, when he had the time to devote to being a great dad. But he worked too damn much.
A side effect of being responsible for so many people. It wasn’t just about his own success. He had bandmates, roadies, a whole team of people and their families whose financial security depended on Hunter’s ability to go the distance. To settle this standoff between the label and his bandmates.
The band refused to record songs that the label picked, the label tossed out every song Hunter sent over, and if he didn’t find some way to get everyone on the same page, the band was going to miss their studio time. End result: the album would suffer.
He wasn’t sure how he’d been appointed the savior of the fucking universe. Last he’d checked, he’d handed in his cape the day Hadley asked him for a divorce. Yet here he was, sitting in his uncle’s bar, sucking down a beer, trying to get another runaway horse back in the corral.
Only this time he was man enough to admit that he needed help.
“What did Mack and Muttley say?” Hunter asked.
