A Very Merry Bromance (Bromance Book Club #5) (74)

He squeezed her tightly. “You don’t have to go to D.C. or Michigan or even that damn tree house to run away from this family, Gretchen. You just have to stop wishing that people who will never appreciate you will someday wake up and beg you to stay. And if Colton is the person I think he is, then the only place you need to run to is him.”

The salty sting of tears made her blink rapidly. “He is,” she said, voice thick as she stepped from Jack’s embrace. “The person you think he is.”

Jack cocked a smile. “Then what are you waiting for? Start running, honey. And don’t you dare look back.”



* * *



? ? ?

J. T. Tucker was about to puke all over his scuffed-up Converse shoes.

Colton almost felt sorry for him when the kid walked into Old Joe’s that afternoon, pausing just inside the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. J. T. carried his guitar in a soft-sided case slung over one shoulder and all his anxieties in a gnawed lower lip.

Colton could sympathize. If he’d been invited to meet with Brad Paisley when he was eighteen, he’d have been too nervous to speak a single word, much less sing.

Duff opened a bottle of Bud in front of Colton. “Go easy on the kid. He still thinks you’re something special.”

“Go easy on me. Where’s the good shit?”

“I told you. That’s only for people I like.” He smiled when he said it, though.

Colton slid from his barstool and lifted a hand. J. T.’s eyes were as round as a banjo as he shuffled closer, as if he was about to be granted his wildest wish. Sometimes, Colton could barely remember what that was like—to be at the beginning of it all, nothing but talent and a guitar and big-assed dream.

The kid practically gulped as he held out his hand. “Mr. Wheeler?”

“Colton,” he corrected, shaking J. T.’s hand. A lot of people called him “Mr. Wheeler,” but that coming from the mouth of someone who had a nervous habit of picking at the scab of a still-healing zit on his chin made him feel as if he actually belonged in Silver Sneakers. “Thanks for coming to meet with me.”

J. T. showed the first signs of life. He snorted. “Are you kidding? Thanks for even knowing I exist.”

“I heard you in here a couple of weeks ago.”

“I know. I saw you. I almost shit my pants.” He blinked. “Sorry, I mean—”

Colton chuckled. “Don’t worry. Takes a lot more than some foul language to upset me.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Colton motioned toward the empty booths with his beer. “Let’s have a seat.”

J. T. set his guitar case on the floor before sliding into the booth. When it careened sideways and banged on the floor, he nearly jumped clear out of his seat. Poor kid was about to burst a blood vessel. Colton decided to take mercy on him. “No need to be nervous. I called you, remember?”

“Right. Sorry.” His fingernails found the scab.

“You’re an incredible talent, J. T.”

J. T.’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. “You—you think so?”

“I do. Don’t you agree?”

He shrugged, clearly unsure how to respond.

“First piece of advice,” Colton said, leaning his arms on the table. “Own your gift. Believe in it. This town is full of people who are going to do everything in their power to make you doubt yourself and tell you you’re not good enough. Shitting on other people’s dreams is practically its own industry in this city. Don’t make that easier by agreeing with them.”

J. T.’s head nodded up and down in rapid tremors. “Okay.”

Colton drummed his fingers on the table. “Good. So do you want to know why I called?”

“Yes.” The word came out a squeak.

“I’d like to work with you.”

J. T. turned gray. And then green.

Colton puffed out a laugh. “You okay?”

“You—you want to work with me?”

“I do. I’d like to collaborate with you. I have some new stuff that I’m going to be taking to my label, and they’ve asked me to work with a songwriter on some other stuff I already submitted. I’d like that to be you.”

J. T. damn near fainted. Colton tried not to laugh. “Put your head down for a minute.”

“I—I’m okay.”

He didn’t look it. Colton caught Duff’s amused eye and motioned for some water. Duff rolled his eyes but brought it over anyway. He was smiling when he left the table.

“Drink it,” Colton said, sliding the glass across the table. J. T.’s hands shook as he gulped it down.

“Here’s the thing, though,” Colton said as the kid recovered. “I need you to think about this before agreeing to anything.”

“What’s there to think about?”

“A lot, actually. You’re going to have a lot of opportunities. Don’t just grab the first one that comes along unless it aligns with the vision you have for your career.”

J. T. nodded, but it was clear by the empty look in his eyes that he didn’t quite understand.

“It’s okay if you’re not sure what that vision is yet.”

“Did you know?”