Page 5 of Forgotten

So I’d left. I’d packed my bags that night and got in the car to drive to Tulsa. Mom was beside herself upset, but I calmed her by telling her I would be near Dad and that I would call every night. That turned into Tamara callingmeevery night, but it appeased her. She knew I was safe. She just didn’t know why I’d left. No one did.

As far as I was concerned, Charlotte died in that Louisa County Fair. April arrived in Tulsa and until tonight, hasn’t let Jesse have more than a few moments of thought.

But now, sinking into the tub, the wine warming my chest, all that pain and loss came right back like it was yesterday.

It turned out Charlotte wasn’t dead after all. She was just hiding, deep in a locked room, with all the pain Jesse had caused.

Chapter Three

Jesse

Two years ago

Another show, another hotel, another fitful night’s sleep.

That’s what I had to look forward to, and while I could acknowledge that it was the least enjoyable part of the lifestyle, at least I was able to enjoy the other parts too.

My brothers were surprisingly supportive of this eight-week tour, pitching in to cover my responsibilities and encouraging me to focus on the tour. Even Luke, which surprised me the most. He was always pretty unimpressed by my music career, and often I got the impression he thought I was just going through a phase. But now that I’d been rocking and rolling and honky-tonking for over a decade, he seemed to be a little more content with knowing it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

Still, this might be my last good shot.

At thirty, I was pushing the edge of the window for superstardom to come. Either it was going to happen soon or it wasn’t going to happen at all. Not that I really needed superstardom, since I was happy just to be able to get paid to play music, but it seemed to be all anyone else used as a barometer of success. That included my fellow bandmates.

Only Kevin stuck with me through all the different changes sinceThe Hitmen. Now known asThe Jesse James Galloway Band, the change had come gradually but completely over the last few years, pushing the guys who wanted to be the star orwanted to work less out. Kevin, who had recruited me forThe Hitmen, stuck by me, though. He said he wanted to be there when I hit it big.

It was Kevin who set us up with our manager, Flynn Moody. Flynn was an excitable city boy through and through. Born and raised in L.A., Flynn promoted himself as a legacy manager, whose family had managed multiple major acts, enough to impress us all, at least. We’d signed with him four months ago, and he’d immediately set up this tour.

Flynn was calling me as I pulled into the hotel, driving my trusty Ford truck the entire eight weeks rather than ride in the equipment bus like a couple of the guys did to save money. I liked the peace and quiet of my car after a show, where I could go over the performance in my head and if I had my phone set up, listen to it and critique myself as I drove.

“Howdy,” I said after swiping the call button right.

“Jesse, how are you, bud? Have you gotten to Tulsa yet?”

“Just pulling into the hotel,” I said. “Looks pretty swanky.”

“Oh, it is,” Flynn said. “I was just there myself last week. Absolutely top-notch place. The boys are staying on the fourth floor, but I couldn’t get six rooms together, so you got moved. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Ah, well, it’s only for the night,” I said. “I don’t have to do a bunch of stairs, do I?”

“Oh, God, no,” he laughed. “You’re going to take the private elevator. You’re on the top floor.”

“The top floor?” I asked. “Like the presidential suites and stuff?”

“Only the best for the star of the band,” Flynn said. “Get used to this kind of treatment, bud. This is how things are going to be.”

“Sure, sure,” I said. I’d heard that before. Plenty of times, from two other managers, in fact. Both of them flaked on us at various points, usually after they had sapped all the money they thought they could from us before providing anything of value.

“Just head on in and give them the name Jesse James Galloway.”

“So I tell them my name?”

“Wait, you mean to tell me your middle name is really James?” Flynn asked, sounding shocked. I rolled my eyes.

“We’ve talked about this before,” I said. “Yes, my dad named me Jesse James. It was his brother’s name, so it wasn’t really about the gunfighter…”

“Right, right, I remember now,” Flynn lied. I knew he was lying because he’d said that before as well. “Well, tell them your name then, and they will direct you up. You have a per diem of $100 so whatever you want on the late-night menu is up for grabs. I suggest their turkey sandwich, though.”

“A hundred-dollar turkey sandwich?” I asked.

---