Page 47 of Echoes of a Southern Song

I blink.

“What?”

“Yeah. Last week. He said they know their way around the place and he needs the help.”

Rage flares in my stomach. I feel like a hot knife has just plunged into my back.

“Aiden and Trent? Those assholes?”

“Yep,” Caleb confirms, clearly annoyed. “I tried to talk him out of it. So did Michael. But he wouldn’t budge.”

I run a hand down my face. “They made my life hell. You know that. And now he’s rewarding them with jobs on the farm like nothing ever happened? Talk about asking a wolf to guard the hen house. What the hell?”

“He doesn’t care about what they did to you,” Michael says. “He just cares that they show up, shut up, and do what he says.”

The worst part is—it’s not even surprising. It’s exactly the kind of thing my father would do. Turn a blind eye if it suited him. Pretend history doesn’t exist if it keeps the machinery running. Why would he stick up for me or at least be a little loyal. He didn’t care. I have one living parent and he doesn’t see me as his son. He sees me as a spare to the spare to his cow kingdom.

“I swear,” I growl, getting to my feet, “I’m gonna show all of them. I’m gonna make it big. Bigger than they are, bigger than that damn farm. They’ll be eating their words when they see my name on something real. A tour. A record deal. Anything. When my voice is on the radio, I hope they are filled with regret. I’m not going to remember them at all, but they’re going to be stuck listening to me when they’re in their fancy trucks or hanging out at a bar. When their girlfriends want to dance to one of my songs or claim one of my ballads as ‘their’ song, it’s going to kill them. And I’m going to laugh all the way to the bank.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to that man, Jack,” Michael says. “You don’t have to live your whole life trying to spite him. Do it for you, not to get back at him. And screw Trent and Aiden. These guys are fine on the farm, but they are real pains in the ass.”

“Cocky as hell,” Caleb chimes in. “Screw ’em.”

I know they’re right.

But I don’t say it.

I change the subject instead, talking about what does make me happy. “It’s a good spot. Crowd’s been steady. People seem to like the music.”

Caleb whistles. “Look at you, man. Bar gigs and everything. You’re practically famous.”

I smirk, shaking my head. “Not exactly. But it’s something. Last week, they actually asked for an encore. Ended up playing two extra songs.”

Michael laughs. “Damn, bro. You’re killing it out there.”

“Mostly,” I say, hesitating. “Had one song that kind of flopped the other night, though. Still working it out.”

“You’ll get it,” Caleb says. “You always do.”

I nod, staring at the deck and trying to pretend my father’s betrayal doesn’t matter. “Yeah, I will. It’s just weird, you know? Playing in front of people who actually care about what you’re doing. I’m not used to it.”

“What else is going on?” Michael asks. “Make any friends?”

“A couple,” I say.

“Anyone special?” Caleb asks, and I can hear the grin in his voice.

I don’t take the bait. “Just the usual crowd.”

“Uh-huh,” Michael says, dragging out the words like he knows something I don’t. “No one keeping you company after your sets?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They both laugh. Damn them for knowing me too well.

“All right, all right,” Caleb says finally. “We’ll stop giving you a hard time.”

“Good,” I mutter. “Because there’s nothing to give me a hard time about.”