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“Kids and everything,” he confessed.
A dark flush stained his cheeks. He’d probably deny it, but I noticed.
Brodie James as a dad?
I tried to picture it, and I was surprised at how easy it was. He’d be the fun one, the rulebreaker. And his kids would probably be hellions like him.
“I come from a big family, yeah? Four of us siblings, plus my parents, nieces and nephews, cousins. I love it. When I’m with them, it grounds me. They still treat me like the annoying but obviously best-looking James in the family. They have my back, no matter what happens with my life. And I have theirs.”
“I know what you mean. When my parents were alive and I’d travel back home, it felt like I could finally breathe again. All the pressure and stress from work took a vacation. I didn’t appreciate or realize just how much I was going to miss them. I miss coming home. I certainly wouldn’t call my Nashville condo that. It’s just a place where I sleep and do laundry. There are no memories or feelings attached to it. God knows, I never do any writing there; that should tell me something.”
“Writing?” Brodie asked.
I guess now was as good a time as any.
“You’re not the only one with secrets.” I sighed and took his hand again under the table. “I’m Corley Hewitt. I’ve been songwriting for nearly twenty years. It helped pay the bills while I was a road manager and before I started at Bandit. And I still love it.”
I paused and looked at Brodie.
“I can’t see your eyes, but your body language tells me that you’re not surprised about this.”
Brodie took a sip of his beer and nodded.
“I’ve known for a few years. One night, when we were rehearsing, you dropped off a new song for us to look at. But it wasn’t the final version; there were notes and edits, and I recognized your handwriting.”
“The guys know?”
“Nope. Only me. I don’t think they pay attention to things like your handwriting.”
No, they wouldn’t.
“But you did.”
“I did, and I do. I notice every single thing about you, Van.”
A shiver wracked my body.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.
“It was none of my business. If you wanted to tell me, you would. And now you have.”
“So—”
“So?”
“What do you think of my songs?”
Brodie burst out laughing.
Okay, that was not the reaction I was expecting.
I tried to pull my hand back, but he gripped it tighter.
“We’ve recorded what, seven of them over the past four years? What do you think? I love them. Especially your new stuff, like ‘Sideline.’ It’s more emotional.”
“Well, my muse is very inspiring,” I whispered and squeezed his hand.
Brodie’s cheeks flushed.
