AllFreeNovel
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I’m standing on the sideline
Playing out my heart time
Sideline
I wandered forever
And never felt this way
Until the day you sang to me
Washed my tears away
I’m waiting on the sideline
Wanting you to be mine
Sideline
I swear, I read it two weeks ago, and my mind has been fucked ever since.
That’s when I decided, let’s do an impromptu concert in New Orleans. We could try out the new song and see what kind of reception it got.
Last time we toured the city, in the spring, I’d been approached by a charity about a fundraising concert.
So, me being me, I called them up, locked it in, and handed the rest to Van.
We’d just wrapped up a long-ass tour in Europe, and everyone in the band was tired, but when I suggested NOLA, the guys were all in. The city was a music and party lovers’ dream, and I was looking forward to performing here again.
Or I was.
Until I looked over and saw the stubborn set of Van’s chin.
I just knew that getting what I wanted—the song and the man—would be an uphill battle.
“I don’t think it’s the right song for you or the band. It’s a ballad. There’s another one here from a new writer,” Van looked away again and searched his bag. “It’s grittier, raw. It has sex appeal. Letting you read ‘Sideline’was a mistake.”
“It’s anything but!” I snapped back. “I want it. I feel the writer’s words, and I know just how it should sound. Me sitting on stage, my favorite Martin acoustic in hand. It’s different, but I love it. It’s soulful. And if the guys hate it, too fucking bad! I want it, and I’m recording it. The end.”
Van stood up and placed his hands on his lean hips.
He wore his usual uniform of dark jeans and a denim button down—a Canadian tuxedo, he jokingly referred to it.
Van was born and raised in Montreal and headed to Nashville when he was eighteen. Apart from being the band champion and a talented writer, he also spoke French.
I told you, he’s a sexy motherfucker.
I overheard Van when we did a tour stop in Montreal in the summer, and I nearly came just listening to him say, “Merci bien, mes amies.” I had to google it to find out what it meant. “Thanks very much, my friends” wasn’t sexy talk, but anything from Van’s mouth, especially in French, was the hottest thing ever.
I recently downloaded one of those language apps to learn French. Until Holls found out and teased me mercilessly for the past month.
“Brodie, I think I know by now what sells and what your fans are looking for. And this isn’t it,” Van replied, interrupting my musings.
“This is the song I want. It’s a hit. I know it, you know it.”
I got up off the sofa and got in his face. The gentle sway of the bus rocked our bodies back and forth like the magnetic push and pull that was always between us.
One more push and…
