When Rodney asked the band to start the song over and he sang his first note, the audience went wild—screaming, crying, and jumping out of seats. Meanwhile, a stream of urine dripped down Jack’s leg, pooling inside his boot.
* * *
Dee sat in the front row of the Alabama show wearing the same dress she’d worn to the concert in California. She had no idea how Rodney had managed to get her a front row seat with no money or identity, but he’d overnighted the ticket to her with a note saying she had to attend.
The fans around her went crazy when he strolled out on stage. Goose bumps covered her arms, and when he began singing his most famous ballad, her eyes filled with tears. She’d been so busy with her political office, she hadn’t given herself time to grieve the final ending of their relationship.
She would do it tonight. What better place than here, at his resurrection?
I can’t let him go! her heart cried with each stanza he sang. But she had to obey her common sense. They were on completely different paths and would only make each other miserable if they tried to stay together.
Standing up there in a white linen shirt, he looked almost biblical. Making love to him on the houseboat had been the most amazing experience of her life. One she’d always remember.
He was finally free—to be whoever he wanted, live wherever he wanted, and do whatever he wanted. She wouldn’t take that away from him.
When the song ended, he stood with his arms raised while the crowd cheered and screamed. The big grin on his face told her he’d missed this life, or at least part of it.
“I’m back,” he said with a little laugh in his voice.
The crowd lost it all over again, including Dee.
“And do you know what else is back? Breeze. Thanks to my little brother, Jack, for keeping things together while I recovered,” Rodney said, wrapping his arm around his brother’s neck in a fake hug.
Boo! He’s a phony! He’s not you! the audience yelled.
Jack had stood there like a frozen statue throughout the song. He finally wriggled loose of Rodney’s hold and ran offstage. If he’d had a tail, it would surely be tucked between his legs.
Good riddance, Dee thought. No wonder Rodney had wanted her to see the show in person.
He directed the band to do another song. He must have realized the audience needed time to digest what it had just seen. Dee let his beautiful voice flow through her.
They may have no future together, but she’d always enjoy his music. She just wouldn’t play it too often because it would make her sad.
“I have an announcement,” Rodney said after the song ended. “Contrary to the rumors lately, Breeze is not gonna die.”
Everyone cheered.
“It’s going to be better than ever,” he continued, “but there are going to be a few changes. Now, hear me out.”
“Tell it, Rodney,” someone yelled out.
“First of all, we’re about good music. Nothing else. Can I hear a hell, yeah?”
“Hell, yeah!” everyone chanted.
“Here’s what we’re not. We are not about hate. We are not white supremacists, and we are not going to play at any more hate rallies.”
The audience reacted, but it was mixed. Overall, it sounded positive. To Dee, his words sounded even better than the music.
Next, Rodney stepped back to the flag on the backdrop. “You see this flag?”
The crowd went crazy again.
“It means a lot of positive things to me,” he said, pointing his microphone at the band. “To us. And we know it means a lot of good things to you. For instance, that you love listenin’ to good Southern rock played by some hell-raisin’ Southern boys. Am I right?”
Yes! Hell, yeah! Right on!
“My brother dragged it through the mud, but it does not stand for hate. It does not mean racism. Not to me. Not to us.” He stepped up front again. “So, I need you to do me one little favor.”
Anything, Rodney! Anything!
“Don’t use that flag for hate. If you’ve got hate on your mind, don’t play our music. Because that ain’t what we’re about.” He paused. “And, please, don’t take the flag away from us, either.”
His bluesy-southern voice sounded more poignant than ever, giving her chills. His face, framed by a spotlight, had never looked so angelic. The man had so much soul, charisma, and hold over his audience, he could be a preacher. His disappearance had only increased his power. He could do so much good with it. She couldn’t wait to write the racial education book they’d dreamed up on their fishing date.
The band started playing their slowest ballad, and Rodney bowed his head.
“Anybody posting racism or hate in our social media groups will be dropped. I know I’ll lose some of you because of what I just said, but that’s okay. I’ve lived in poverty, so I’m not afraid to lose a few fans.” He raised his chin. “I’d rather be a man who stands by what he believes than a suck-up.”
Tears ran down Dee’s cheeks. Oh, Rodney. You did it! He’d finally stood up to Jack and his fans, and he’d done it all for her. Or, maybe he’d done it for himself. It didn’t matter. She loved the hell out of him for putting everything on the line.
He paused. “Something else you may not like? We’re going to tour a little slower. I almost died, and feeling lousy isn’t any fun. I want to be around a long time and enjoy life a little. Because that’s worth a hell of a lot more to me than money.”
Claps of approval answered him.
“That about covers it.” He adjusted the brim of his new black cowboy hat. “Except for one more thing. The most important thing in my life, actually. I’ve got— Had…a woman in my life. A
