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Thirty minutes later, we are sitting at a booth with coffee in hand, waiting for our biscuits and gravy to arrive.
I’m seated beside Graham with Langford, my oldest brother, and Weston across from us.
“What the hell happened?” Langford asks just as our plates hit the table.
I wait until the waitress is finished batting her eyelashes at us and moves on to assist another table before I answer.
“My publicist took off to Fiji with his new wife for two weeks and left me to my own devices. That’s what happened. The traitor,” I grumble.
“It was his honeymoon, Garrett,” Graham points out.
“I know. I was at the wedding.”
“You’re right. What an asshole,” Weston adds.
“That’s all I’m saying,” I grumble.
“So, your publicist gets married, and you end up in jail. Are you telling us that you can’t manage your own life for a week?” Langford gives me his disapproving big-brother scowl.
I shrug. “It was two weeks,” I press.
Langford just stares at me.
I sigh. “Some chick I spent a weekend with in Key West after a country music festival in Orlando is trying to say that her newborn is mine. She went on a talk show, demanding a paternity test,” I begin.
“And is it?” Langford asks.
“Is what?” I ask around a mouthful of food.
“The baby. Is it yours?”
“No. That festival was a year and a half ago. I used protection. That kid was born three weeks ago. There’s zero chance it’s mine, but the girl has photos of us together that she chose to share with the press and all over social media. She just wants fifteen minutes of fame and is hoping I’ll throw hush money at her to make it go away.”
“That sucks, bro,” Weston says.
I shrug. “It comes with the territory. Nothing my publicist and attorneys can’t handle.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here, sleeping on a futon,” Weston points out.
“That didn’t cause the trouble. Not directly anyway. Tatiana and I were enjoying ourselves at a concert after-party in Los Angeles, and some chick pulled one of the tabloid headlines up on her phone in the restroom. Tatiana lost her shit. We got into it at the bar, and she—not I—started throwing bottles and flipping tables, making a huge scene. I got us out of there as fast as I could because every-damn-body has a camera on their phone nowadays, and I knew it was gonna be front-page news. I dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of the place. I managed to get us through the crowd and into my car, but I’d had a little too much to drink, and when a vehicle full of fans or paparazzi started chasing us on the freeway, I put the pedal to the metal. There was no way their Subaru was going to catch my Corvette; however, the policeman in the Charger could and did,” I confess.
Langford shakes his head in disappointment.
“So, that’s where the DUI comes in,” Graham surmises.
“Yep. And the bar owner was pissed about the damages. The label was pissed about the entire thing. I had gone to jail for the night, and Tatiana went on an interview parade, crying about my infidelity and her broken heart. Oh, and apparently, I’d hit some guy and ‘injured’ him on my way out of the bar with Tatiana.”
“Are y’all still together?” Weston asks.
“Hell no. I told her I wanted out that night and refused her phone calls when I was released from jail. That’s why she went on such a tear with the media.”
Graham laughs. “That’s not how she tells it. According to her interview in Country Today, she cut you loose, and you begged her not to leave you.”
I cut my eyes to him. “I don’t give a shit what she tells the world. I’m just glad it’s over. I have enough crazy to deal with.”
“How did you end up here?” Langford asks.
“The label told me to get out of town while everything blew over. The problem is, I have a new album due soon, and it’s not finished. I need to be in the studio and preparing for my fall tour, but they think damage control is in order, and they’ve put it all on hold. Truth be told, I think they might be looking at their options to get out of my contract.”
Langford lets out a long breath. “Shit, little brother, that sounds painful.”
“It’s not been a picnic,” I agree.
“And you haven’t even had to face the wrath of Sara-Beth and Hilton yet,” Weston agrees.
I groan. “I know. I’m sure they will rip me a new one.”
They all nod.
“You guys want to ride over to the office with me when we finish here?”
“No way,” Weston bellows.
I look to Graham and Langford.
They both shake their heads.
“Sorry, bro. Work awaits,” Graham says.
“Thanks, assholes. It’s great to see you guys too,” I scoff.
“I’ll go. I’d love to watch Mom take a switch to you.” Langford changes his mind.
Perfect.
