“I delivered your shit. It was cheaper to drive the bus here than it was to have it shipped. Even the plane tickets are less expensive than hiring someone to bring the bus here to Ohio.” Lawrence hooked his fingers on his front pockets. “We didn’t use the facilities, but I’d have someone go over the bus. Clean it, get it ready to sell…find out how much it’ll cost to get your name removed or you’re stuck with this hunk of junk. Your clothes, guitars, bank shit…all of that is in the bus. As of right now, you rep yourself.”
“How nice.” He had his guitars. The rest of the world, save for Mick, could go to hell, but he had his means to make music. He had his channel for creativity. Good. Only one of the guitars was worth much, but the other two had high sentimental value.
Lawrence hesitated. “Evan, I wish you’d have gone through me when you decided to lose your mind. I can’t clean up what I don’t know fell apart. You could’ve been true to yourself and kept your sexuality private. This is a business, not a confessional. You could’ve had a boyfriend and just played it off as a friend or an assistant.”
“I’d be lying,” Evan said. “Besides, my songs were mostly confessionals. Why not live what I’m singing?”
“No one wants a gay cowboy,” Lawrence growled.
“Funny. If you look on the internet, you’ll see gay cowboys with as little clothing as possible and lots of muscle are quite popular,” Evan said. “It’s all about authenticity. I can’t be someone I’m not. I’m a country boy and I’m gay. So I’m not right for the mold. I don’t care. I’m happy.”
“You’re crazy and not going to make it in the business any longer. The fans want Evan James, the man who sings of heartbreak, fast women, drinking too much to deal with his feelings and has that tear in his voice. They want the fantasy that they could sleep with you,” Lawrence said. “You’ve alienated half the audience.”
Evan removed his ballcap long enough to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then replaced the hat. “I sing songs and make music. If the tune is good, then who I am shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“Then get the hell out of country music.”
“I have.” And he hated it.
“Good. I’m glad,” Lawrence said. “I do hate to see this happening, but there was no stopping it.”
“Oh?” He didn’t get the impression Lawrence hated much of anything concerning him, except losing the income.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this. You have talent and you’re electric on the stage. Those live shows are special, but fans won’t get behind you now,” Lawrence said. “Unless you can somehow put out a new record that’s above your ability, you’re finished.”
“I beg to differ.” Even if he had no idea how he was going to get anything recorded, much less written, while he lived on the farm.
“Then prove it,” Lawrence said. “You won’t get help. If you thought it was hard before to make it, then you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“I’ll take my chances.” He saw no point in arguing with Lawrence. He wasn’t going to change his former manager’s mind. The best Evan could do was prove him wrong. He’d never be top tier, but he could be famous again.
“Good luck.” Lawrence clapped Evan on the shoulder. “As I said, your things are in the bus and it’s paid for. Good luck in your future endeavors. I hope you get another chart topper.”
“Thanks.” He watched Lawrence and Arnold climb into the back seat of the taxi. He hoped he wasn’t footing the bill for their ride, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
Evan swept his gaze over the bus. He’d spent so many hours in the vehicle. It’d been his home and served him better than any apartment or house at the time. He never had to move his shit or pick it up because it went with him everywhere. He ran his fingers over the letters of his name. He’d been someone once.
He stepped into the bus and breathed in the stuffy scent—dirty socks and too many bodies in a small space. He should open the windows and air the thing out. His things were put away and his three guitars waited on the spare bunk, tucked into their cases. The photo collage over the couch remained. His jewelry and hats were in the drawers. He picked up his favorite guitar and took it from its case. He’d missed the simple instrument. It had been his connection to Cedarwood, home and his family. Mostly his grandmother.
“What’s this?” Mick joined Evan in the bus. “When did this arrive and where are we going?”
“Just now.” Evan blinked back tears and held up his guitar. “My former manager dropped my stuff off, so I’m officially on my own, but I can make music again.”
“You’re not on your own.” Mick grinned. “You’ve got me.”
“True, but I don’t have my career.” He fiddled with the neck of the guitar. “I’ll have to move the bus beside the shed. It can’t sit in front of the house.”
“You’ll get your music going again and we’ll figure out how to move this behemoth.” Mick laughed. “It might be worth filming so we can laugh at ourselves later, but we’ll do it. Want me to help you carry your stuff inside?”
“I’ll get most of it later.” Evan froze. Shit. He wanted Mick to think he was strong, but he felt weak when he dealt with Lawrence. “Did you hear the exchange with my manager?”
“I heard some.” Mick toyed with the knob on one of the cabinets. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m embarrassed.” It wasn’t every day a man had his tour bus delivered to his house and his manager insulting him in his front yard. “I’m surprised you’re back. You acted so strange when I admitted I love you.”
“First, you’re in a unique situation. You’ve done nothing wrong and
