Page 2 of Grumpy Bear

“I get that, but I’m from fucking Alabama.”

“They have beaches in Alabama.”

“Yeah, but not up north. I grew up outside Huntsville, not far from the Tennessee line.”

He hooked a thumb at the guitar case behind my seat. “Why not Nashville then? Luke Cody sounds like the name of a country music star.”

Why not Nashville? Once upon a time, ten years ago when I was seventeen, I’d hopped into a car with another cute guy who’d asked me that same question. It was the original proposition. “Yeah. I did the whole Nashville thing a while back. Tried forever to get a break. It’s just so saturated with singer-songwriters trying to make it, you know? Then I went out to LA…” With yet another guy who’d made me promises about making “our” dreams come true. It was the last time I let my life get absorbed into another man’s wants and goals. I was done with that. Never again. I shook my head. “Let’s just say LA ate me up and spat me back out. It’s a long story I’m not sure I’m ready to tell. I am writing a song about it though. So, I thought I’d give Edgewood a try.”

Austin grinned. “The Goldilocks of music scenes.”

“Exactly. Not too big, not too small. Good indie scene. College town.”

He held up a finger as if I were forgetting something important. “College boys.”

I chuckled. “I just want to play music.”

He slumped, sighing like a big puppy. “And I already convinced you to leave.”

“Naw, man. It’s all good.”

“You could play around the campfire.”

I sat back and closed my eyes against the sunshine for a moment, imagining it. “Playing around the campfire is definitely not a bad gig.”

We traveled through a twisting corridor of pine trees that opened every few miles on pastures with barns and farmhouses backed by blue mountaintops.

Suddenly, Austin announced our turn, barely slowed down, and shot through a gap in the guardrail onto rough gravel. For a second, I thought he was driving us off the side of the highway. He cackled as if he’d successfully performed some magic trick. “Told you it was hidden.”

The road curled through the woods, up and over steep hills, down past rocky creeks with tiny mossy waterfalls. Austin finally took an even more nondescript dirt road, nothing but wheel tracks through packed red Georgia clay. He claimed to know the way by landmarks. “These roads aren’t even on Google maps. GPS doesn’t do shit around here.”

I held on to the roll bar. “Then how are people supposed to find this place?”

Austin’s lively face fell still, his voice reverent. “If you’re meant to be at Bear Camp, you will find the way.”

“Like The Mists of Avalon?”

He shot me a quizzical expression like I might be insane.

“Marion Zimmer Bradley? Classic fantasy novel of the eighties? King Arthur from the women’s points of view?” I slapped his shoulder. “Dude. You told me last night you’re a huge sci-fi-fantasy nerd.”

“Ohhh.” He nodded gravely. “Yeah. No. That’s a line I use when guys say they like to read.”

I snorted. “That’s kind of a terrible line if it’s not true. What’re you gonna say when they start talking about books?”

“Talking?” He pulled a stank face. “I don’t stick around for that.” Before I could press him on it, he shushed me. “All right, Luke. I need to focus. There are some big guys up here at the gate. They’re armed, and you’re not on the list.”

“Seriously? Like, with guns?”

“Well, yeah.” He glanced over at my mouth hanging open. “What? It’s Georgia.”

2

Sawyer

“Now, I know you don’t want to hear this, but…” Jim paused ominously, waiting for me to give him my full attention.

This was already the last thing I wanted to hear from our general manager the day before the opening weekend of the season.