Page 1 of Country Heat

CHAPTER ONE

Cash

“Cash, they’re waiting for you!” my manager Bret shouts as he bangs on my door. I can hear all one hundred thousand of them out there, roaring like an ocean as I roll my eyes and slowly get up. “Cash! Get the fuck out here!CASH!!”

I take one last swig from my bottle and one last haul from my cigarette before crushing the butt into the ashtray.

“Don’t fucking do this to me again,” Bret shouts in between pounds on the door. “Or you can find yourself a new goddamn manager!”

I open the door to his red puffy face. “You’ve been saying that for the past twenty years.”

“Yeah,” he says as he turns around with a grunt. “So, you can imagine how fucking fed up I am with your bullshit.”

The crowd is going nuts. They’re screaming out there, waiting for me. Fucking idiots.

“What is this shit again?” I ask as I follow Bret to the stage. We’re not going the same speed at all, so he has to double back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He clenches his jaw and grabs a fistful of his hair, looking like he’s going to rip it out. The poor fuck. It hasn’t been easy being my manager for the past two decades. I should fire him to put him out of his misery. It would be the humane thing to do. He’s definitely made enough money off me over the years to retire in luxury. Maybe he’s a masochist who loves the pain. Maybe he’s afraid he’ll get bored roaming around his mansion with no one to scream at. Or maybe he’s just addicted to me.

“This is the goddamn Tennessee Country Festival,” he says, staring at me like I’m a total moron.

“We’re in Tennessee?” Shit. I thought we were in Texas.

“Yes, we’re in Tennessee!” he shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “The biggest country festival in the world! Three days! Over fifty artists performing! Over one hundred thousand people in attendance. Hello?!?”

“We need Cash on stagenow,” a severe-looking woman says as she comes running over. “He was supposed to be on seven minutes ago and it’s throwing everything off!”

“He’s going on now,” Bret says, trying to calm her down. “Sorry about that.”

A member of my crew hands me my guitar and I throw it over my shoulder like it’s a part of me. After all of these years, it feels like an extension of my body. Like another limb.

I walk up the steel steps and get a glimpse of the crowd. So many of them. They look so happy. So excited. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that.

Bret grabs my black shirt just before I’m about to step on stage. “You have the setlist?”

“Shit, no.”

My band is already on stage. The bass guitarist is looking at me like ‘What the fuck?’

“Here,” Bret says as he hands me a cue card with the songs on it. I take one glance at it and want to throw up.

The same fourteen songs. Over and over and over and over and fucking over again.

Ihatethese songs. I fuckingloathethem.

Sometimes I wish I would go deaf so I wouldn’t have to hear them ever again, but I know that’s not true. Every single note is burned into my brain and they’ll still be playing on repeat until the wonderful day that I die.

Until then, it’sUp Shit’s CreekandHometown Hunnyon repeat for me.

I sigh as I turn back to the stage.

“Cash!” Bret calls out. I turn to him. “A little enthusiasm this time. Please.”

I grunt and then shuffle onto the stage.

The crowd is deafening. Over one hundred thousand morons screaming at me.

Shut the fuck up, I want to scream.All of you.

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