Nashville 3 - What We Feel (14 page)
Someone starts opening Champagne and several toasts are made by Rhys, Case’s producer and a few of the band members.
My eyes are drawn to a tall figure standing at the edge of the tent. The white-blonde short-cropped hair triggers instant recognition. It’s the guy from our first concert in San Diego.
He walks over to one of the tables now, picks up a plate, a couple of sandwiches, steps back and starts eating.
I should let someone know the guy is here. But what am I going to say? He was mean to me and he shouldn’t be here?
I’m trying to decide what to do when Case waves Beck forward.
“Come on up here, son,” he calls out. “Thomas, Holden, CeCe, y’all too!”
We walk through the crowd of people to the center of the tent where Case is waiting. Holden and Thomas thread their way in, standing on one side of Case, Beck and I on the other.
“I just want to say how proud I am of these four,” Case says. “They had about three weeks to put together what you’ve seen them do during this tour. It’s clear from the way all you fans have responded to them, you’ll be seeing a lot more of them.”
Whistles and clapping follow. Case hands the microphone to Thomas and asks, “Anything y’all want to say?”
Thomas clears his throat and then, “Thank you for the opportunity, Case. I’m not sure we could ever do justice with words our appreciation for the shot you’ve given us. And how much I admire you for who you are and what you do. You live your life by paying it forward, and if I ever get the chance to do for someone else what you’ve done for us, I hope I’ll be as generous.”
“You could start by paying it forward with me,” a voice calls out from the guests. “Jared Ryner.”
The name rings out in the otherwise silent tent. I look into the crowd and see that it came from the blonde guy from San Diego. My heart starts to pound so hard that I can feel it against my chest.
He drops the now empty plate onto the table, wipes his hands on his jeans. “Do you know how many years I spent in Nashville trying to get someone to give me a shot?”
People start to shift where they stand, uncomfortable and unsure of where this is going.
“Eight,” he says. “Eight years. Playing on street corners. Exit ramps off the interstate. Knocking on doors. Sending songs to record companies and never getting a call back.”
People are now starting to back away from the center of the tent, as if they all sense that something’s not quite right.
Somebody calls out, “Are you supposed to be here, Jared?”
The guy laughs then, as if something hysterically funny has just been said. “No,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “I suppose that’s the punch line to my eight years of working to get a break. I never actually belonged. There must have been some secret pass code no one ever bothered to let me in on.”
Another man’s voice rings out with authority, “Someone call Security and get him out of here.”
But Jared lifts the front of his shirt and pulls a handgun from the waist of his jeans. “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that,” he says, raising it up and firing it once through the top of the tent.
Screams erupt and people start to push and shove to get out. He points the gun at the center of the crowd and fires again. A man in a white shirt standing a few yards away from us tilts forward and then collapses onto the ground, blood spilling from his neck like water from a hose.
All around, women begin screaming. I am frozen where I stand. Holden steps in front of me and calls out, “Jared! Man, this isn’t the way. Put the gun down, and let’s go outside and talk.”
He looks at Holden and laughs. “Talk with you? The big hottie on stage? What would you and I have to talk about? No matter how good my music is, I’m never going to get the same chances as a guy who looks like you. How is that fair?”
“A man may die because of you,” Holden says, his voice calm and even. “That’s the next pressing thing on your list. You still have a chance to turn this around if you want to.”
“There’s no turning anything around now. It took me a while but I finally figured that out.”
I hear the wail of sirens in the distance. Holden steps back and presses against me, his body fully blocking me from seeing where Jared is or what he’s doing.
Case moves away from us and walks toward him. “Son. Come on. Put the gun down. You’ve taken this far enough.”
“I suggest you stop right there,” he says, pointing the weapon at Case.
Case raises his hands, saying, “Like Holden said, let’s go outside and see if we can work this out.”
“Don’t you see, Mr. Country Music Star,” he says, sarcasm underlining every word, “I’ve already got it worked out. Eye for an eye and all that. If I don’t get my dream, then it seems right that I cancel a few others on my way out. Am I the only one that makes sense to?”
Beck reaches out and grabs his dad, pulling him back to where we’re standing. “Get out of here, man! The police will be here any second.”
The sirens scream like they’re right outside the tent now. Car doors slam. I hear the sound of running. I step out from behind Holden and scream, “Go! Just go! End this now!”
Jared Ryner has a look on his face that I’ve never seen on the face of another human being. He’s not leaving this world alone. His eyes say it as clearly as if I have heard him speak the words.
It happens so fast there’s no time to say anything else, to move, or to run. He lifts the gun, fires, and Thomas slumps forward, then drops to the ground. I hear myself screaming, a wail I don’t even recognize.
Another shot, and Case goes down, falling backwards into the people standing behind us. The next shot takes Beck. He staggers and slumps to the ground next to his dad.
It is surreal now. None of this can be happening. I feel the bullet enter my body with the realization that I have been hit, only I have no idea where. My body is instantly infused with white-hot pain, and I drop to my knees. I hear a roar of fury, and realize that it has come from Holden. He is charging the guy, but the gun is lifting and I know what is coming. I hear my scream as if I am a million miles from it. I feel the earth tremble with my fury as Holden stops with the bullet’s impact. He stands for a moment, sways and then collapses.
Police are rushing into the tent, an entire force of them. Panic has taken over, and the screaming I now hear is not my own. I try to get up, lifting myself on one elbow. My face is wet, and I’m not sure if it’s with tears or blood.
I see the policeman body tackle the shooter, taking him down, down, down, but not in time to prevent Jared Ryner from putting the gun to his temple and pulling the trigger.
Next:
Nashville
Part Four
Pleasure in the Rain
By Holden Ashford
So I gotta a few things I need to say
Cause I never thought my life would turn out this way
Do you ever think about the choice you made
And what those who loved her have had to pay
Chorus
What you took from me you can’t give back
You took the sun
You took the stars
You took the ground beneath my feet
Man, you even took the air I breathe
Everything, that’s what you took from me
The roses she planted still bloom each spring
Now and then I sit in our old front porch swing
I look for her in places we used to go
They say the heart forgets but it just ain’t so
Chorus
What you took from me you can’t give back
You took the sun
You took the stars
You took the ground beneath my feet
Man, you even took the air I breathe
Everything, that’s what you took from me
Somewhere in all of this
Forgiveness has its place
But if you’d know then how this would feel
Would you have skipped that last drink
Never taken the wheel
Chorus
What you took from me you can’t give back
You took the sun
You took the stars
You took the ground beneath my feet
Man, you even took the air I breathe
Everything, that’s what you took from me
Oh, you even took the air I breathe
Everything, that’s what you took from me
Country Boys Don’t Wear Thongs
By Holden Ashford
Well, she left me for a GQ dude
Who models underwear for L.A. photo shoots
What the attraction was I couldn’t see
She said he had more Vogue than me
That he was confident enough in his masculinity
To indulge his inner femininity
That may be
But you won’t catch me
Paradin’ in the locker room
Over at the YMCA
In anything but boxer briefs, okay
Man, some things are just wrong
Yeah, country boys don’t wear thongs
She said she’d come back if I’d go out on a limb
And try to be a little more like him
I told her if that’s the deal breaker
He could just go on and take her
Since he didn’t mind the sheer downright impracticality
Of fabric in that one locality
And so you see
You won’t catch me
Paradin’ in the locker room
Over at the YMCA
In anything but boxer briefs, okay
Man, some things are just wrong
Country boys don’t wear thongs
Yeah, I reckon it takes all kinds
But I won’t be plowin’ with my John Deere
In skimpy little Calvin Kleins
Naw, that ain’t happenin’ here
You see, you won’t catch me
Paradin’ in the locker room
Over at the YMCA
In anything but boxer briefs, okay
Man, some things are just wrong
Country boys
Don’t you see, you won’t catch me
Paradin’ in the locker room
Over at the YMCA
In anything but boxer briefs, okay
Man, some things are just wrong
Country boys don’t wear thongs
No, country boys don’t wear thongs
That’s just wrong
By Holden Ashford
The sunny warmth of a pearl white sandy beach
Something you just know was meant to be
I hope you get to feel that
The gift of giving what you don’t have to give
Gratitude for another day to live
I hope you get to feel that
It’s what we feel
That makes the memories
It’s what we feel
That gives us history
The part that’s real
It’s what we feel
The stomach drop of a roller coaster ride
Knowing without a doubt that you did right
I hope you get to feel that
The joy of seeing an old friend you once knew
Taking the moment that’s in front of you
I hope you get to feel that
It’s what we feel
That makes the memories
It’s what we feel
That gives us history
The part that’s real
It’s what we feel
Stop and take it all in
When you look back one day
That’s how you’ll know where all you’ve been
It’s what we feel
That makes the memories
It’s what we feel
That gives us history
The part that’s real
It’s what we feel
That makes the memories
It’s what we feel
That gives us history
The part that’s real
It’s what we feel
Read Holden’s blog:
holdenashford.wordpress.com
Credits
What You Took From Me
Written by Inglath Cooper and Gabe Stalnaker
Produced by Jason Garner Productions, Inc. –
Nashville, TN
All rights reserved
Country Boys Don’t Wear Thongs
Written by Inglath Cooper and Gabe Stalnaker
Produced by Jason Garner Productions, Inc. –
Nashville, TN
All rights reserved
What We Feel
Written by Inglath Cooper and Gabe Stalnaker
Produced by Jason Garner Productions, Inc. –
Nashville, TN
All rights reserved
Dear Reader,
I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my story. There are so many wonderful books to choose from these days, and I am hugely appreciative that you chose mine.
If you’d like to try another of my books – Good Guys Love Dogs - for FREE, please click here.
Please join my mailing list for updates on new releases and giveaways! Just go to
www.inglathcooper.com
- come check out my Facebook page for postings on books, dogs and things that make life good!
Wishing you many, many happy afternoons of reading pleasure.
All best,
Inglath
ABOUT INGLATH COOPER
