I know this thread kind of died but my friends mother works for a publishing company and she is interested in my book. I'd love y'alls thoughts on this excerpt before I agree to anything. I don't want to set myself up for failure.
(and yes, I know copyright. I've got the different version of names in mind but wanted y'all to know who it's based off of)
My computer won't let me attach a file so a spoiler will do.
(and yes, I know copyright. I've got the different version of names in mind but wanted y'all to know who it's based off of)
My computer won't let me attach a file so a spoiler will do.
[
Drink a Beer
~ LK
Based on a True Story….
Disclaimer
Inspired by true events, this story is a work of fiction. Some characters are fictional, and others are dramatized. Events, timelines, and dialogue have been altered or imagined for narrative purposes. The story is not intended as a definitive or a truly factual account of any individual’s life.
Content Warning
This novel explores themes of family loss, grief, and mourning following a sudden death. Readers who have lost loved ones may find certain scenes emotionally intense. Please take care while reading.
In loving memory of Chris, Kelly, and Lee.
Prologue
November 1996
The night air felt soft and warm coming through my hotel room window. The way late fall could only feel in South Georgia. I could hear crickets humming steadily in the distance outside, and everything smelled of pine and peanut dust.
Outside the moon was hanging low in the sky, casting a soft golden yellow over everything, making the fields outside the window look as if they were dipped in honey. Chris, my older brother came up to Columbus to keep me company for the day before the band got up here for our gig tonight. He currently lays with his boots crossed at the ankles, sprawled out on my bed, staring at the ceiling listening to me tune my guitar to Lionel Richie’s ‘Stuck on You’.
“You really ready for this, little brother?” he asked me about my moving to Nashville in three weeks with Micheal Carter, my best friend, to chase my country music dreams.
“I don’t reckon anybody’s ever quite ready for Nashville,” I said, picking at the wrapping on my beer bottle nervously, unsure of what he was going to say. “I mean… I’m ready to try. Does that even count?,” I asked him chuckling.
He huffed out a laugh. “It’s more than most folks ever do, Luke.”
I just watched him for a second after that – taking in his huge smile and bright eyes just thinking about my future. He always looks so excited about life in general, something I lot of people weren’t. I can tell he wants this for me, so bad. And that he can’t wait to see it happen for me too.
“I just…” I swallowed around the lump of nerves beginning to form in my throat. “I don’t wanna let y’all down is all.”
Chris looked over at me again, and he had that look on his face – the one that always made me shut my mouth and listen to what he had to say.
“You think chasin’ somethin’ you love is lettin’ us down?”
He shook his head.
“Luke, you don’t go do this, that’s lettin’ yourself down man,” he paused for a moment, “and that would let me down more than anything in this world.”
I didn’t say anything. My throat was becoming just too tight, for a whole different reason.
He nudged at my shoulder. “Hey, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!”
“You’re gonna go up there,” he said, voice firm, pointing to the Northwest, “And one day, you’re gonna call me from a tour bus so fancy Mama won’t even let her shoes touch the floor. And I’m gonna be back here tellin’ everybody in Lee County holdin’ up a magazine with your face on the cover sayin’, ‘Yep Luke Bryan’s my little brother, and he even done yet.’”
I just laughed, because that sounded like one hell of a dream.
“Yeah, well… We’ll find out, I guess.”
“No, Luke,” he said firmly. “We will, stop telling yourself that.”
Chris leaned back on his hands, eyes on the line of trees across the street out the window. He got quiet for a minute—real quiet—the kind that always meant his wheels were turning deep inside. Normally it makes me a tad bit afraid, but I think I know what he’s going to say.
Then he exhaled and started talking like he’d been holding this in for years.
“Luke… you listen, and you listen good. You think too darn small,” he said, pointing at me, shaking his head like he was disappointed in me, but I could see he was proud at the same time, looking in his eyes. “You keep lookin’ at Nashville like it’s this big, scary mountain. But I swear to you, little brother, when you get up there, folks are gonna hear you and wonder where in the boondocks you been hidin’ out at.”
I blinked at him, caught off guard, because that isn’t where I thought this conversation was going to go.
But Chris wasn’t done.
“You got this thing about you,” he went on, his voice soft but steady. “I can see it. You walk into a room and people instantly start paying attention to you, even if you’re just standin’ there tunin’ your guitar. Hell, half of Lee County shows up at y’all’s shows even though they’ve heard ya play the same list of songs a hundred times. That’s somethin’ God puts in a person Luke.” He looked me in the eye. “He’d want you to do something with it too, don’t ya think?”
My throat tightened even more at that.
“I know you’re scared; any normal human being would be. I know you’re thinkin’ you ain’t ready, or good enough, or that you’re gonna get up there and folks’ll laugh you right off the stage, but that ain’t gonna happen. They’ll only be laughin’ if you make em’. You’re built for havin’ somethin’ to say, ‘cause lord knows you always do even when you shouldn’t. You got heart. You got grit. And you got somethin’ most people don’t ever find no matter how hard they look—a purpose and a passion for country music.”
He nudged at me again, but it wasn’t playful this time. It was brother-to-brother, and I know he ain’t stoppin’ until he knows I got the point. And I couldn’t have become more choked up at what he said next.
“One day, you’re gonna write a song that saves somebody, Luke. You’re gonna sing something that moves a whole crowd to tears, that most all people could relate to. You’re gonna stand in front o’ thousands of people, and they’re gonna scream your name like you’re the only thing in the world that they came to hear. I’m going to go the bar after workin’ and you’re gonna come out of those speakers, everyone is gonna holler and get up and dance, and I can announce at the top of my lungs ‘that’s my little brother’ to everyone. You’re gonna make Mama proud enough to brag to every lady at the grocery store and church for the rest of her days. And I’m tellin’ you right now—when that day comes? You had better call me. First. Before anybody. ’Cause I’ll be sittin’ by the phone waitin’ for your call the whole time, promise.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe for a second.
His belief in me felt bigger than the night sky itself. And it meant more to me than anyone would ever know. He was becoming someone that meant the most to me. And just then I knew I couldn’t do this without him, I just couldn’t.
But Chris just smiles back at me—soft, warm, and certain like.
“That’s who you’re gonna be, Luke. I’m tellin’ ya. And that’s why you got to go to Nashville,” he told me. He seemed so sure, something I wasn’t.
He finally sat up, patted his pockets for his keys, and sighed.
“Aight… I’d better head back to get to the Halloween party. Samantha’ll skin me alive if I’m late for one of these shindigs again.”
I watched him walk out the door still sitting in disbelief, and for a minute the room felt way too big, and too quiet. I sat there, guitar across my knees, replaying every word he’d said. “We will, Luke… we will,” I whispered to myself finishing my beer.
Eventually the night crept in, slow and endless, and I just kept thinking about what Chris said all threw preforming at Neyami Road, our bands gig, and suddenly found myself becoming so excited for Nashville and where life is heading for me.
*******
It was close to midnight by the time I made it back to my hotel room in Columbus, Georgia. The hallway smelled of old carpet and cheap detergent, and my ears were still ringing from the amps after our gig. I kicked off my cowboy boots, dropping onto the edge of the bed my hands still shaking from all the adrenalines. My fingers were sore from playing the guitar all night, my voice half gone from singing, but I was wired – on a preforming high and still thinking about the conversation I’d had with Chris this afternoon, still feeling ecstatic and excited about my move.
I made a mental note when I see him tomorrow at the buying to point to reassure him I wasn’t going to let him down, that he was right and I was going to chase every dream I had with my buddy Micheal Carter, in three weeks in Nashville.
Hell, I’d even run into him out front of the damn post office on my way out of my hotel here in Columbus earlier today. What he was doin’ going to the post office only like twenty minutes after our chat, who in hell knows. I couldn’t help myself from thinking that was such a Chris thing to happen. He’d just laughed when he’d seen me coming down the sidewalk.
“Damn Luke. Look at you. Nashville bound hotshot,” he’d called at me, lookin’ me over from hat to boots. “Sunglasses and all.”
“I ain’t a hotshot nothin yet,” I muttered, but couldn’t hide my smile. I’ll never get over him calling me that.
“You are and you know it… Luke you really got to think more about your career trajectory,” he stated, making air quotations, saying the words with a dramatic flair that sounded just silly with his accent.
I just laughed. “You’re such a liar.”
“Maybe. But a charming one,” he said winking, then nudging at me with his shoulder. “Listen, I know I give you hell, but I’m real proud of ya, Luke. Real proud.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Compliments from Chris always made me feel too big for my own skin. It was like an honor to me to receive one as his little brother. “Remember what we talked about earlier, yeah?”
He cracked another crap eaten grin at that, probably trying to lighten the mood on purpose. “But before you go off and become Mr. Famous Country Singer, rotten peanuts still need shovelin’ at the buying point.”
I snorted out a laugh. “You’re not wrong there.”
“Never am,” he stated, putting a box in his truck, slamming the tailgate shut. “Alright, I best be headin’ back now.” He leaned in close, giving me a brotherly hug. “Love ya Luke.”
“Love you too,” I said automatically, but truth be told I didn’t want that conversation to end. Chris made me feel so much better about this whole Nashville thing. He gave me the hope that wasn’t there if he didn’t tell me this stuff. He made me finally start believing in myself.
I’d just set my guitar aside on the nightstand and pulled my boots off when somebody started knocking on my hotel room door snapping me out of my suddenly melancholy mood. Not just knocking – pounding. Fast. Hard. Urgent pounding. I felt my stomach knot up tight before I even touched the doorknob.
I opened it surprised to find Tim Williams and his wife Catherine – longtime family friends of the Bryans, folks who were basically kin to us. But the second I saw their faces; I felt my stomach drop straight to the floor.
Tom looked very pale. Catherine’s eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying for hours, my gentleman instincts making me give her a hug. She just smiled back at me sadly, before looking to her husband for a brief second before turning back to me.
My first, honest to God thought, was that Chris had finally proposed to Samantha. I don’t know why. Maybe because the last thing he said here was he had to get back to Sam before she “skinned him alive.” Or maybe because he’s been talking about her all day, or maybe I just needed it to be good news. I just wanted something exciting to be happening for Chris to have in his life too. He deserves to have that.
I just grinned back at them, stupidly, being the good ol’ Georgia boy that I am. “What’s goin’ on guys? Don’t tell me Chris finally asked Samantha,” I said seemly happily. “That dog, I knew was head over boots in love with her.”
They just exchanged a serious look between them for a moment, then Catherine started crying again, and hopes of that being true started evaporating like the water in the Muckalee on a summer day.
Catherine opened her mouth twice before any sound even came out. “Luke,” she said barely above a whisper, gasping threw the tears, voice breaking, “Honey, you need to pack your bags, you need to go home now,” she told me her whole body shaking and voice stuttering.
I knew something bad had happened, something really bad. But I didn’t want to believe that, wanted some good news! Everything was going great in life, moving to Nashville – finally connecting with my brother after all these years, I don’t want anything to change.
“They eloping or something? Is Mama upset about it?,” I asked still in denial with myself.
Tim swallowed hard, quickly rubbing the back of his neck, like he couldn’t get the words to come out.
“There’s been… an accident,” he said, looking me in the eyes. I just stood practically froze in the doorway, shaking my head before he even finished, already refusing the idea.
My smile dropped from my face like a sack of peanuts; my heart was lurching in my chest. “What? Who? Is everyone okay?”
They both shook their heads at the same time. I just stood there, waiting for something, anything.
Tim tried again. “It’s Chirs… and Samantha. They were drivin’ home… from the Halloween party…” I waited for the rest. They’re at the hospital, they’re pretty banged up but okay, they need you home. But instead, Tim’s face crumpled. “… they didn’t make it out, son. I’m so sorry Luke, they’re gone.”
And just like that… the call Chris promised he’d be waitin’ on back home, was one I would never get to make.
Chapter 1
It felt like my whole world crumbled down right before my eyes. Tim just stared at me for a beat, standing in the doorway for too long before he put his arm around Catherine, pulling her close, but I didn’t hear what he said to her over the echo beginning to get louder to my ears. I faintly heard him say, “I’ll let you pack in peace. We’ll be waitin’ in the car, whenever you’re ready.” He nodded at me once before starting down the hall. The door shut behind him with a soft click. The room started spinning, feeling too big, everything seemingly happening in slow motion. It suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
I just stood there, my back to the door for a long time without moving. My hands were shaking, but I couldn’t hear them. My ears started ringing, like they did when I stepped off the stage not three hours ago, sensitive from the amps. Except there wasn’t any noise at all, just quiet. Thick, heavy quiet that pressed in on my chest until it felt hard to breathe.
I don’t remember packing. I faintly remember staring at my guitar case. Zipping up my bag. It was like my body had taken over and my mind had checked out completely. Shirts went into the bag. Jeans. My boots. Those things didn’t matter, but my hands kept moving anyway.
Chris is gone.
The words just kept repeating themselves, they didn’t make sense yet. They just sat in my chest like dead weights, like they haven’t figured out what they were supposed to do with themselves.
When I finally stepped out into the parking lot, the night felt wrong. Too warm. Too normal. Overly comforting. And that’s the last thing I wanted. The hotel sign, Motel 8, buzzed overhead, and somewhere down the road a pickup truck backfired. Proof to me that life was still happening and I had to sudden urge to yell at it for not stopping and waiting up for me.
I put my bag in Tim’s truck subconsciously and threw myself in the backseat. Tim just turned the key, not saying a word to me.
The drive back to Leesburg blurred together. The road stretched on and on. Life out the window of the truck black and empty, the yellow lines glowing in the headlights. I looked at the dash and noticed to radio wasn’t on.
Chris always had the radio on. I wanted the radio on, damn it.
“Turn the damn on the radio on,” I barked angerly, unsure of where it came from. “It’s too damn quiet in here.”
Tims hand slapped the volume so fast it shocked me. Catherine started crying again but when country music started flowing out the speakers, I immediately recognized it as Shenandoah’s ‘Two Dozen Roses’. It brought me a little bit of calm, something I’d thought nothing could give me. But it brought back memories with it, ones that would stick with me forever.
Chris and I – we always listened to the country station. Didn’t matter what we were doin’ – workin’ at the mill, fishin’,… The songs, we’d hear them once and fall in love with ‘em. He always needed noise everywhere he went. He’d sing along loud and proud, like the person he was. Completely off-key. He sounded God awful, but he didn’t once care about getting the words right. He’d just laugh when I’d tell him to hush up and just listen.
“Hell naw,” he’d say, continuing to tap on the steering wheel. “If you don’t sing it wrong every now and then, where’s the fun?” The memory hit me out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, taking me back to that night driving down New York Rd goin’ to the Flint to go catfishin’. And it hurt to high heaven. I could see him clear as day in my mind, one hand on the wheel, the other beating to the music on the dash, his voice squeaking and cracking on the high notes. Well, most every note. I almost smiled, I wanted to smile.
Then it hit me.
I will never hear his voice again. Not singing. Not laughing. Not calling me “little brotha” like it was the most important title in the world a man could ever have. And he was right, it was one. The realization landed hard, stealing the air from my lungs. My chest was heaving like I’d been running.
The road stayed quiet. No one pasted by us. Neither Tim nor Catherine spoke. The world didn’t seem to notice that mine was over.
Nashville felt like a joke now. A stupid, childish dream I’d let myself believe in because Chris believed in it first. The thought of it made my stomach twist. How could I go chase something like that when the person who made it all make sense was gone? I couldn’t, it was pointless.
By the time we pulled into the driveway back home, the sky was starting to lighten just a bit at the edges from daybreak. The house looked the same as it always had, but it felt different, like it belonged to someone else now.
When I walked through the door mama was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in. The house felt empty and lonely. She looked smaller somehow, folded in on herself, her hands wrapped tight around a mug of tea that you could tell had long since gone cold. Her eyes were red and swollen, but dry—like she’d already cried everything she had in her.
She looked up when she heard me walk in, and for a second I saw relief flash across her face. Then it crumbled.
“Oh, Luke,” she whispered, standing up and pulling me into her arms by my biceps.
I didn’t cry. I wanted to. God knows I wanted to. But nothing came. Someone in the family had to be strong. I just stood there, letting her hold me, staring over her shoulder at the familiar kitchen—the counter Mama wiped down a dozen times a day, the calendar still turned to October, Chris’s handwriting scribbled in the corner where he’d written tonight’s party down and hadn’t erased it, and he never would.
Kelly, my older sister was there too, sitting on the couch with Lee beside her, rubbing her back. Her eyes were red like Mama’s; her face streaked with tears she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. She stood up when she saw me and hugged me tight, like she was afraid if she let go, I might disappear too.
“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying, over and over, like the words could somehow fix it. But nothing could fix it.
The following days, everyone moved around me carefully, like I was made of glass. And it bothered me. Neighbors came by. Family friends. People I’d known my whole life. Bring meals, flowers, sympathy cards now lined the shelves. They all said the same things, soft and gentle and well-meaning.
“Chris was so proud of you.”
Every time I heard it, it felt like a punch to the gut.
Was.
Not is. Was.
I’d never realized how much weight a single word could carry until that moment. It followed me through the house, echoed in every room, settled deep in my chest. I wanted to correct them. Wanted to tell them they were wrong. That he still was. That he always would be. My heart wanted me to think he could come back. But he’s not, ever.
But I didn’t say anything to them.
Walking into the living room downstairs, Chris’s boots were still by the door, untouched and lonely looking… as much as shoes could look lonely. Mud was still caked along the soles, laces half undone like he’d kicked them off without thinking, eager to make the announcements he always made half running through the door. I can still hear his voice, announcing Mr. Palmer’d agreed to let us hunt in his field, or that he and Sam were going steady now. His jacket was still hung on the hook by the wall, the one he always grabbed on his way out and threw there on the way in for supper, even when Mama told him he didn’t need it cause it was summertime.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch them. Nobody could.
That afternoon blurred into evening. At some point, I found myself sitting on my bed, my phone in my hand. I stared at Michael Carter’s name on the screen for a long time before hitting call. I knew I had to do it, that I absolutely couldn’t go. But I knew Micheal had been looking forward to this, and now it wouldn’t happen.
He answered on the second ring.
“Luke? Man, how’d the show go?” he asked right away, sounding happy and excited.
I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat felt like it might choke me if I tried to speak. “Micheal… I—” My voice cracked, and I had to stop, and take a breath. “There was an accident… Chris died.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. “Oh, Luke,” he said quietly. “I’m so damn sorry,” he paused. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t go,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “Nashville—I can’t do it. Not now. Not ever. I can’t go. I can’t do it without him.”
Michael didn’t argue. He didn’t try to convince me otherwise. That it was the hurt talking, or I would regret it later. He just let the silence sit between us.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Whatever you need, brother. I’m here. You know that.”
After we hung up, I sat there for a long time, staring at nothing on the wall. The house creaked and settled around me. Somewhere down the hall, I could hear Mama crying again, sounding all soft and broken like, trying to talk to someone.
My guitar leaned against the wall in the corner of my room. I’d always kept it there, always within reach. I’d never gone more than a day or two without picking it up, without playing something—anything to practice.
I stood up slowly and crossed the room, my boots thumping on the hardwood floor as I went. I picked it up slowly and my fingers brushed the strings once, accidentally, and the soft hum that followed felt wrong. Like a voice that didn’t belong here with me, in my room.
“I can’t do this without you, Chris,” I whispered.
I set the guitar back down gently and turned it so it faced the wall, like if I couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see me either. That I wouldn’t think about it, if it wasn’t there.
Days passed. Then weeks. Time moved in a strange, uneven way—too fast and too slow all at once. I avoided music entirely. If the radio came on, I turned it off, which made no since because I’d wanted to hear it that night he died. If someone mentioned Nashville, I changed the subject. I didn’t want to hear about dreams or futures. Because Chris didn’t have one. He got it taken away from him when he was only twenty-six years old… much too soon.
Mama moved through the house like a ghost these days, doing things just because they needed to be done, not because she wanted to. Kelly tried to hold everything together, but I could see the cracks. Lee stayed close, quiet and steady and strong, helping where he could.
I woke up this morning with sweat all over and tears running down my face from a moment emotions took control of me at some point in the middle of the night. When I walked into the kitchen; the coffee pot was still warm on the counter. Somebody had turned it on out of habit, like it was just another morning. I stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out how the world could still smell like coffee when Chris was dead, which makes no sense. The past few days everything has angered me, simple things. Like someone touching his chair or moving his things, and stupidly simple things like turning the coffee pot on in the mornin’ which was always Chris’s job.
“Luke are you hungry?” Kelly asked from the kitchen head in the refrigerator pulling me from my thoughts well I stared out the window at nothing. For some reason that question rubbed me wrong, so I snapped back. “No Kelly, I don’t want anything!” She just looked back at me with a surprised look on her face; she knew that behavior isn’t normal for me.
After staring at me for a second she spoke the words I never wanted to hear come out of my family mouths. “Luke, is this about Nashville?” she asked gently.
I looked back at her, my anger still there, but I tried to keep it together, for my family. But hurt that she would even ask that and assume at a time like this I would even be considering Nashville.
“Kelly, you think that damn matters right now?” I paused, looking her in the eye so she’d know I meant business. “The hell it don’t. I have already called it off. I’m not going to leave you guys, I can’t. I’m not going. Ever.” As I said he words Kelly looked shocked and looked over and just then I heard Mama gasp from the doorway. I turned to look at her behind me. She had big tears welling at her eyes, her hand covering her mouth, shaking. She must have overheard our conversation from the living room. After a moment of taking her in her sadly shocked features, I couldn’t stand there and face her any longer. “I’m sorry Mama,” I whispered turning and practically running up the stairs to my room.
Everywhere I looked, there were reminders that haunted me. His jacket. His damn wallet is still sitting on the side table at the doorway that I’ve spent hours just staring at from the sofa. I remember the day Daddy gave him that wallet, and it meant the world to him. I remember the day he lost it and Daddy wanted to skin ‘em alive. But thank God he found it in the truck. From then on up until now every time he walked in that door he’d announce his presence and whatever announcement of the day he had, followed by an “and I brought my wallet.” I could hear his chuckle that echoed in my head. Something that feels way too big to carry right now.
I told myself it was over. That big dream I had… died with him. It got buried the day we put my older brother in the ground, a sickening amount of years too soon. That this was just the way things were gonna be now. I excepted it walking through that door the night of the accident, that it wouldn’t happen. It truly hurt me to think my family thought I would be mad about Nashville at a time like this. My brother died. The only thing I need to focus on is being with my family and comforting Mama. I’ve excepted that in sixteen years I’ll just be the average man living in Georgia, working at the buying point. That’s all my future holds…. And I believe it, even though deep down I hope it’s not true.
Chapter 2
Eighteen Years Later…
The roar starts long before I ever see the stage.
It seeps through the concrete walls of the arena, rattles the steel beams overhead, hums up through the soles of my boots like the building itself is alive. Forty thousand people—give or take—packed in tight, restless, waiting on a voice they already know by heart.
Mine.
I stand in the tunnel, lights flashing beyond the curtain like heat lightning over a Georgia field, sweat already gathering at the back of my neck. The air smells like metal, electricity, and anticipation.
“Two minutes,” someone calls from behind me.
The band is buzzing—laughing, pacing, tugging at cords, checking their in-ears for the tenth time. One of the guys grabs my sleeve and grins like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You hear that crowd tonight?” he says. “Might be the best one yet.”
That’s what they say every night. And most nights, they’re right.
The Kill the Lights tour has been rolling for three weeks now—city after city, night after night. Sold-out arenas. No empty seats. No quiet moments.
As I climb the stairs toward the curtain, something taped to the fabric catches my eye.
A magazine cover.
People. Glossy. Bright orange.
SEXIEST MAN ALIVE 2014
My name is splashed across it in letters so big they still don’t feel real.
I snort under my breath, heat creeping into my cheeks. That photo is sitting in grocery stores, gas stations, waiting rooms all over the country. I don’t read them—but I know they’re there.
Cole Swindell, the opening act for this year, claps me on the back as he passes.
“Go get ’em, man.”
And then he’s gone, swallowed by noise and light.
Somewhere backstage, my manager is talking—after-parties, tomorrow night’s stadium setup, radio hits. The band is debating how my jeans are gonna look under the lights.
All of it sounds like it’s coming through water.
Smiles. Laughter. Harmless.
Truth is, I’ve learned how to play the part.
Then the lights drop.
The scream that follows hits me like a wave—raw, loud, physical. My heart slams against my ribs as muscle memory takes over. I step forward.
Heat. Noise. Light.
Faces stretch into the darkness like stars I’ll never touch.
The first chords ring out—clean and loud—and the place detonates.
For ninety minutes, I give them everything. Every mark. Every cue. I move when they scream. I smile when they scream louder. I watch thousands of hands in the air, mouths forming words I once wrote thinking nobody but me would ever hear them.
They know every word.
When the final note fades and the lights burn white, I bend forward, hands on my knees, breathing hard as confetti rains down. I always sign one piece—every night—and wonder who ends up with it.
The band crowds around me, adrenaline high, slapping backs, laughing.
“Hell of a night,” my drummer says.
It always is.
Later, in the dressing room, the noise fades to nearly nothing.
I sit alone, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My phone buzzes nonstop beside me—interviews, headlines, praise I don’t open.
And in the quiet, a thought slips in. Uninvited. Familiar.
Chris would’ve lost his mind if he could see this.
I can picture him like he’s standing there—arms crossed, leaning back, shaking his head with that proud grin he never tried to hide.
Told ya, he’d say.
He called it. To the letter.
And he never got to see it.
The thought tightens something deep in my chest. It always does.
Because what nobody walking out of this arena knows is that between the lights and the noise, I still drift back to a warm Georgia night.
A smelly hotel room in Columbus.
My brother stretched out on a bed, staring at the ceiling, telling me exactly how my life was gonna turn out—so proud, so certain.
Everything I have now came from a promise I made to him back then.
One I never got the chance to keep.
The door swings open.
“Luke,” James says, leaning against the frame with a bottle of water. “One of these nights, you’re gonna throw your back out doin’ whatever that thing is you call a dance.”
I snort. “It’s called rhythm. You should try it sometime.”
I picture James attempting it and immediately feel nauseous.
“Actually—don’t. Please. Spare everyone.”
“That ain’t rhythm,” one of the sound guys fires back. “It’s a liability.”
“I saw a woman faint mid-shake,” James adds, tears in his eyes. “Didn’t you, Michael?”
Why is my team like this?
“There’s no sense in flatterin’ yourselves,” I say, grabbing my water. “They ain’t here for y’all anyway.”
That earns a chorus of boos and laughter.
It’s been this way for years now. The moves. The jeans. The headlines I pretend not to see. The memes everyone feels obligated to show me.
Some of ’em are pretty funny.
Then the screen lights up.
THANKS FOR COMING TO SEE THE SEXIEST MAN IN COUNTRY!!!
Oh hell no. I don’t think so…
Michael whistles beside me. “Still can’t believe that one.”
“Me either,” I mutter. “Who’s responsible?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, suddenly very interested in the exit.
Coward.
By the time we reach the buses, the teasing dies down. We talk logistics—call times, the next city. Real stuff.
Just before splitting up, James gets one last shot in.
“Just don’t pull nothin’, Luke,” he says. “We ain’t stoppin’ the show if you throw your back out mid butt-shake.”
“That’s a lie,” I fire back. “Y’all’d leave me out there gettin’ smothered by a three-hundred-pounder in a mini skirt and hot-pink cowboy boots.”
James howls all the way to his bus.
I smile. Like I always do.
But later, alone in mine, something tugs at me again.
It happens more than I admit.
My mind isn’t here tonight.
Seven Years Earlier…
The phone rang too late.
I was half asleep in my bunk when I answered. Mama was crying—rushing through words like if she slowed down, the truth might crush her.
Kelly was home. Doing laundry. Same thing she always did.
They were supposed to be at Tils Jr.’s baseball game. Kelly was bringing him. She never showed.
Kelly never forgot anything. She wasn’t careless.
They found her on the laundry room floor. Unconscious.
By the time anyone got there, she was gone.
Just like that.
Kelly was a great mother to those kids. She and Lee were the kind of parents everyone else secretly wished they were. She never missed a game, a dance recital, or one of my shows.
Not once.
And suddenly, she was gone.
No warning. No goodbye. No explanation.
They never figured out why. Not then. Not ever.
We stayed strong for the kids—we had to. They’d lost their mama.
But Mama…
I don’t know how much a heart can take before it gives out.
Watching her lose another child felt like watching the worst thing that can happen to a person happen in real time.
Chris had been gone ten years by then. Ten years to learn how to breathe around the hole he left.
Kelly’s death ripped us right back open.
Like no time had passed at all.
]
Drink a Beer
~ LK
Based on a True Story….
Disclaimer
Inspired by true events, this story is a work of fiction. Some characters are fictional, and others are dramatized. Events, timelines, and dialogue have been altered or imagined for narrative purposes. The story is not intended as a definitive or a truly factual account of any individual’s life.
Content Warning
This novel explores themes of family loss, grief, and mourning following a sudden death. Readers who have lost loved ones may find certain scenes emotionally intense. Please take care while reading.
In loving memory of Chris, Kelly, and Lee.
Prologue
November 1996
The night air felt soft and warm coming through my hotel room window. The way late fall could only feel in South Georgia. I could hear crickets humming steadily in the distance outside, and everything smelled of pine and peanut dust.
Outside the moon was hanging low in the sky, casting a soft golden yellow over everything, making the fields outside the window look as if they were dipped in honey. Chris, my older brother came up to Columbus to keep me company for the day before the band got up here for our gig tonight. He currently lays with his boots crossed at the ankles, sprawled out on my bed, staring at the ceiling listening to me tune my guitar to Lionel Richie’s ‘Stuck on You’.
“You really ready for this, little brother?” he asked me about my moving to Nashville in three weeks with Micheal Carter, my best friend, to chase my country music dreams.
“I don’t reckon anybody’s ever quite ready for Nashville,” I said, picking at the wrapping on my beer bottle nervously, unsure of what he was going to say. “I mean… I’m ready to try. Does that even count?,” I asked him chuckling.
He huffed out a laugh. “It’s more than most folks ever do, Luke.”
I just watched him for a second after that – taking in his huge smile and bright eyes just thinking about my future. He always looks so excited about life in general, something I lot of people weren’t. I can tell he wants this for me, so bad. And that he can’t wait to see it happen for me too.
“I just…” I swallowed around the lump of nerves beginning to form in my throat. “I don’t wanna let y’all down is all.”
Chris looked over at me again, and he had that look on his face – the one that always made me shut my mouth and listen to what he had to say.
“You think chasin’ somethin’ you love is lettin’ us down?”
He shook his head.
“Luke, you don’t go do this, that’s lettin’ yourself down man,” he paused for a moment, “and that would let me down more than anything in this world.”
I didn’t say anything. My throat was becoming just too tight, for a whole different reason.
He nudged at my shoulder. “Hey, look at me when I’m talkin’ to you!”
“You’re gonna go up there,” he said, voice firm, pointing to the Northwest, “And one day, you’re gonna call me from a tour bus so fancy Mama won’t even let her shoes touch the floor. And I’m gonna be back here tellin’ everybody in Lee County holdin’ up a magazine with your face on the cover sayin’, ‘Yep Luke Bryan’s my little brother, and he even done yet.’”
I just laughed, because that sounded like one hell of a dream.
“Yeah, well… We’ll find out, I guess.”
“No, Luke,” he said firmly. “We will, stop telling yourself that.”
Chris leaned back on his hands, eyes on the line of trees across the street out the window. He got quiet for a minute—real quiet—the kind that always meant his wheels were turning deep inside. Normally it makes me a tad bit afraid, but I think I know what he’s going to say.
Then he exhaled and started talking like he’d been holding this in for years.
“Luke… you listen, and you listen good. You think too darn small,” he said, pointing at me, shaking his head like he was disappointed in me, but I could see he was proud at the same time, looking in his eyes. “You keep lookin’ at Nashville like it’s this big, scary mountain. But I swear to you, little brother, when you get up there, folks are gonna hear you and wonder where in the boondocks you been hidin’ out at.”
I blinked at him, caught off guard, because that isn’t where I thought this conversation was going to go.
But Chris wasn’t done.
“You got this thing about you,” he went on, his voice soft but steady. “I can see it. You walk into a room and people instantly start paying attention to you, even if you’re just standin’ there tunin’ your guitar. Hell, half of Lee County shows up at y’all’s shows even though they’ve heard ya play the same list of songs a hundred times. That’s somethin’ God puts in a person Luke.” He looked me in the eye. “He’d want you to do something with it too, don’t ya think?”
My throat tightened even more at that.
“I know you’re scared; any normal human being would be. I know you’re thinkin’ you ain’t ready, or good enough, or that you’re gonna get up there and folks’ll laugh you right off the stage, but that ain’t gonna happen. They’ll only be laughin’ if you make em’. You’re built for havin’ somethin’ to say, ‘cause lord knows you always do even when you shouldn’t. You got heart. You got grit. And you got somethin’ most people don’t ever find no matter how hard they look—a purpose and a passion for country music.”
He nudged at me again, but it wasn’t playful this time. It was brother-to-brother, and I know he ain’t stoppin’ until he knows I got the point. And I couldn’t have become more choked up at what he said next.
“One day, you’re gonna write a song that saves somebody, Luke. You’re gonna sing something that moves a whole crowd to tears, that most all people could relate to. You’re gonna stand in front o’ thousands of people, and they’re gonna scream your name like you’re the only thing in the world that they came to hear. I’m going to go the bar after workin’ and you’re gonna come out of those speakers, everyone is gonna holler and get up and dance, and I can announce at the top of my lungs ‘that’s my little brother’ to everyone. You’re gonna make Mama proud enough to brag to every lady at the grocery store and church for the rest of her days. And I’m tellin’ you right now—when that day comes? You had better call me. First. Before anybody. ’Cause I’ll be sittin’ by the phone waitin’ for your call the whole time, promise.”
I felt like I couldn’t breathe for a second.
His belief in me felt bigger than the night sky itself. And it meant more to me than anyone would ever know. He was becoming someone that meant the most to me. And just then I knew I couldn’t do this without him, I just couldn’t.
But Chris just smiles back at me—soft, warm, and certain like.
“That’s who you’re gonna be, Luke. I’m tellin’ ya. And that’s why you got to go to Nashville,” he told me. He seemed so sure, something I wasn’t.
He finally sat up, patted his pockets for his keys, and sighed.
“Aight… I’d better head back to get to the Halloween party. Samantha’ll skin me alive if I’m late for one of these shindigs again.”
I watched him walk out the door still sitting in disbelief, and for a minute the room felt way too big, and too quiet. I sat there, guitar across my knees, replaying every word he’d said. “We will, Luke… we will,” I whispered to myself finishing my beer.
Eventually the night crept in, slow and endless, and I just kept thinking about what Chris said all threw preforming at Neyami Road, our bands gig, and suddenly found myself becoming so excited for Nashville and where life is heading for me.
*******
It was close to midnight by the time I made it back to my hotel room in Columbus, Georgia. The hallway smelled of old carpet and cheap detergent, and my ears were still ringing from the amps after our gig. I kicked off my cowboy boots, dropping onto the edge of the bed my hands still shaking from all the adrenalines. My fingers were sore from playing the guitar all night, my voice half gone from singing, but I was wired – on a preforming high and still thinking about the conversation I’d had with Chris this afternoon, still feeling ecstatic and excited about my move.
I made a mental note when I see him tomorrow at the buying to point to reassure him I wasn’t going to let him down, that he was right and I was going to chase every dream I had with my buddy Micheal Carter, in three weeks in Nashville.
Hell, I’d even run into him out front of the damn post office on my way out of my hotel here in Columbus earlier today. What he was doin’ going to the post office only like twenty minutes after our chat, who in hell knows. I couldn’t help myself from thinking that was such a Chris thing to happen. He’d just laughed when he’d seen me coming down the sidewalk.
“Damn Luke. Look at you. Nashville bound hotshot,” he’d called at me, lookin’ me over from hat to boots. “Sunglasses and all.”
“I ain’t a hotshot nothin yet,” I muttered, but couldn’t hide my smile. I’ll never get over him calling me that.
“You are and you know it… Luke you really got to think more about your career trajectory,” he stated, making air quotations, saying the words with a dramatic flair that sounded just silly with his accent.
I just laughed. “You’re such a liar.”
“Maybe. But a charming one,” he said winking, then nudging at me with his shoulder. “Listen, I know I give you hell, but I’m real proud of ya, Luke. Real proud.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Compliments from Chris always made me feel too big for my own skin. It was like an honor to me to receive one as his little brother. “Remember what we talked about earlier, yeah?”
He cracked another crap eaten grin at that, probably trying to lighten the mood on purpose. “But before you go off and become Mr. Famous Country Singer, rotten peanuts still need shovelin’ at the buying point.”
I snorted out a laugh. “You’re not wrong there.”
“Never am,” he stated, putting a box in his truck, slamming the tailgate shut. “Alright, I best be headin’ back now.” He leaned in close, giving me a brotherly hug. “Love ya Luke.”
“Love you too,” I said automatically, but truth be told I didn’t want that conversation to end. Chris made me feel so much better about this whole Nashville thing. He gave me the hope that wasn’t there if he didn’t tell me this stuff. He made me finally start believing in myself.
I’d just set my guitar aside on the nightstand and pulled my boots off when somebody started knocking on my hotel room door snapping me out of my suddenly melancholy mood. Not just knocking – pounding. Fast. Hard. Urgent pounding. I felt my stomach knot up tight before I even touched the doorknob.
I opened it surprised to find Tim Williams and his wife Catherine – longtime family friends of the Bryans, folks who were basically kin to us. But the second I saw their faces; I felt my stomach drop straight to the floor.
Tom looked very pale. Catherine’s eyes were red and swollen like she’d been crying for hours, my gentleman instincts making me give her a hug. She just smiled back at me sadly, before looking to her husband for a brief second before turning back to me.
My first, honest to God thought, was that Chris had finally proposed to Samantha. I don’t know why. Maybe because the last thing he said here was he had to get back to Sam before she “skinned him alive.” Or maybe because he’s been talking about her all day, or maybe I just needed it to be good news. I just wanted something exciting to be happening for Chris to have in his life too. He deserves to have that.
I just grinned back at them, stupidly, being the good ol’ Georgia boy that I am. “What’s goin’ on guys? Don’t tell me Chris finally asked Samantha,” I said seemly happily. “That dog, I knew was head over boots in love with her.”
They just exchanged a serious look between them for a moment, then Catherine started crying again, and hopes of that being true started evaporating like the water in the Muckalee on a summer day.
Catherine opened her mouth twice before any sound even came out. “Luke,” she said barely above a whisper, gasping threw the tears, voice breaking, “Honey, you need to pack your bags, you need to go home now,” she told me her whole body shaking and voice stuttering.
I knew something bad had happened, something really bad. But I didn’t want to believe that, wanted some good news! Everything was going great in life, moving to Nashville – finally connecting with my brother after all these years, I don’t want anything to change.
“They eloping or something? Is Mama upset about it?,” I asked still in denial with myself.
Tim swallowed hard, quickly rubbing the back of his neck, like he couldn’t get the words to come out.
“There’s been… an accident,” he said, looking me in the eyes. I just stood practically froze in the doorway, shaking my head before he even finished, already refusing the idea.
My smile dropped from my face like a sack of peanuts; my heart was lurching in my chest. “What? Who? Is everyone okay?”
They both shook their heads at the same time. I just stood there, waiting for something, anything.
Tim tried again. “It’s Chirs… and Samantha. They were drivin’ home… from the Halloween party…” I waited for the rest. They’re at the hospital, they’re pretty banged up but okay, they need you home. But instead, Tim’s face crumpled. “… they didn’t make it out, son. I’m so sorry Luke, they’re gone.”
And just like that… the call Chris promised he’d be waitin’ on back home, was one I would never get to make.
Chapter 1
It felt like my whole world crumbled down right before my eyes. Tim just stared at me for a beat, standing in the doorway for too long before he put his arm around Catherine, pulling her close, but I didn’t hear what he said to her over the echo beginning to get louder to my ears. I faintly heard him say, “I’ll let you pack in peace. We’ll be waitin’ in the car, whenever you’re ready.” He nodded at me once before starting down the hall. The door shut behind him with a soft click. The room started spinning, feeling too big, everything seemingly happening in slow motion. It suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
I just stood there, my back to the door for a long time without moving. My hands were shaking, but I couldn’t hear them. My ears started ringing, like they did when I stepped off the stage not three hours ago, sensitive from the amps. Except there wasn’t any noise at all, just quiet. Thick, heavy quiet that pressed in on my chest until it felt hard to breathe.
I don’t remember packing. I faintly remember staring at my guitar case. Zipping up my bag. It was like my body had taken over and my mind had checked out completely. Shirts went into the bag. Jeans. My boots. Those things didn’t matter, but my hands kept moving anyway.
Chris is gone.
The words just kept repeating themselves, they didn’t make sense yet. They just sat in my chest like dead weights, like they haven’t figured out what they were supposed to do with themselves.
When I finally stepped out into the parking lot, the night felt wrong. Too warm. Too normal. Overly comforting. And that’s the last thing I wanted. The hotel sign, Motel 8, buzzed overhead, and somewhere down the road a pickup truck backfired. Proof to me that life was still happening and I had to sudden urge to yell at it for not stopping and waiting up for me.
I put my bag in Tim’s truck subconsciously and threw myself in the backseat. Tim just turned the key, not saying a word to me.
The drive back to Leesburg blurred together. The road stretched on and on. Life out the window of the truck black and empty, the yellow lines glowing in the headlights. I looked at the dash and noticed to radio wasn’t on.
Chris always had the radio on. I wanted the radio on, damn it.
“Turn the damn on the radio on,” I barked angerly, unsure of where it came from. “It’s too damn quiet in here.”
Tims hand slapped the volume so fast it shocked me. Catherine started crying again but when country music started flowing out the speakers, I immediately recognized it as Shenandoah’s ‘Two Dozen Roses’. It brought me a little bit of calm, something I’d thought nothing could give me. But it brought back memories with it, ones that would stick with me forever.
Chris and I – we always listened to the country station. Didn’t matter what we were doin’ – workin’ at the mill, fishin’,… The songs, we’d hear them once and fall in love with ‘em. He always needed noise everywhere he went. He’d sing along loud and proud, like the person he was. Completely off-key. He sounded God awful, but he didn’t once care about getting the words right. He’d just laugh when I’d tell him to hush up and just listen.
“Hell naw,” he’d say, continuing to tap on the steering wheel. “If you don’t sing it wrong every now and then, where’s the fun?” The memory hit me out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, taking me back to that night driving down New York Rd goin’ to the Flint to go catfishin’. And it hurt to high heaven. I could see him clear as day in my mind, one hand on the wheel, the other beating to the music on the dash, his voice squeaking and cracking on the high notes. Well, most every note. I almost smiled, I wanted to smile.
Then it hit me.
I will never hear his voice again. Not singing. Not laughing. Not calling me “little brotha” like it was the most important title in the world a man could ever have. And he was right, it was one. The realization landed hard, stealing the air from my lungs. My chest was heaving like I’d been running.
The road stayed quiet. No one pasted by us. Neither Tim nor Catherine spoke. The world didn’t seem to notice that mine was over.
Nashville felt like a joke now. A stupid, childish dream I’d let myself believe in because Chris believed in it first. The thought of it made my stomach twist. How could I go chase something like that when the person who made it all make sense was gone? I couldn’t, it was pointless.
By the time we pulled into the driveway back home, the sky was starting to lighten just a bit at the edges from daybreak. The house looked the same as it always had, but it felt different, like it belonged to someone else now.
When I walked through the door mama was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked in. The house felt empty and lonely. She looked smaller somehow, folded in on herself, her hands wrapped tight around a mug of tea that you could tell had long since gone cold. Her eyes were red and swollen, but dry—like she’d already cried everything she had in her.
She looked up when she heard me walk in, and for a second I saw relief flash across her face. Then it crumbled.
“Oh, Luke,” she whispered, standing up and pulling me into her arms by my biceps.
I didn’t cry. I wanted to. God knows I wanted to. But nothing came. Someone in the family had to be strong. I just stood there, letting her hold me, staring over her shoulder at the familiar kitchen—the counter Mama wiped down a dozen times a day, the calendar still turned to October, Chris’s handwriting scribbled in the corner where he’d written tonight’s party down and hadn’t erased it, and he never would.
Kelly, my older sister was there too, sitting on the couch with Lee beside her, rubbing her back. Her eyes were red like Mama’s; her face streaked with tears she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. She stood up when she saw me and hugged me tight, like she was afraid if she let go, I might disappear too.
“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying, over and over, like the words could somehow fix it. But nothing could fix it.
The following days, everyone moved around me carefully, like I was made of glass. And it bothered me. Neighbors came by. Family friends. People I’d known my whole life. Bring meals, flowers, sympathy cards now lined the shelves. They all said the same things, soft and gentle and well-meaning.
“Chris was so proud of you.”
Every time I heard it, it felt like a punch to the gut.
Was.
Not is. Was.
I’d never realized how much weight a single word could carry until that moment. It followed me through the house, echoed in every room, settled deep in my chest. I wanted to correct them. Wanted to tell them they were wrong. That he still was. That he always would be. My heart wanted me to think he could come back. But he’s not, ever.
But I didn’t say anything to them.
Walking into the living room downstairs, Chris’s boots were still by the door, untouched and lonely looking… as much as shoes could look lonely. Mud was still caked along the soles, laces half undone like he’d kicked them off without thinking, eager to make the announcements he always made half running through the door. I can still hear his voice, announcing Mr. Palmer’d agreed to let us hunt in his field, or that he and Sam were going steady now. His jacket was still hung on the hook by the wall, the one he always grabbed on his way out and threw there on the way in for supper, even when Mama told him he didn’t need it cause it was summertime.
I couldn’t bring myself to touch them. Nobody could.
That afternoon blurred into evening. At some point, I found myself sitting on my bed, my phone in my hand. I stared at Michael Carter’s name on the screen for a long time before hitting call. I knew I had to do it, that I absolutely couldn’t go. But I knew Micheal had been looking forward to this, and now it wouldn’t happen.
He answered on the second ring.
“Luke? Man, how’d the show go?” he asked right away, sounding happy and excited.
I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat felt like it might choke me if I tried to speak. “Micheal… I—” My voice cracked, and I had to stop, and take a breath. “There was an accident… Chris died.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. “Oh, Luke,” he said quietly. “I’m so damn sorry,” he paused. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t go,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “Nashville—I can’t do it. Not now. Not ever. I can’t go. I can’t do it without him.”
Michael didn’t argue. He didn’t try to convince me otherwise. That it was the hurt talking, or I would regret it later. He just let the silence sit between us.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Whatever you need, brother. I’m here. You know that.”
After we hung up, I sat there for a long time, staring at nothing on the wall. The house creaked and settled around me. Somewhere down the hall, I could hear Mama crying again, sounding all soft and broken like, trying to talk to someone.
My guitar leaned against the wall in the corner of my room. I’d always kept it there, always within reach. I’d never gone more than a day or two without picking it up, without playing something—anything to practice.
I stood up slowly and crossed the room, my boots thumping on the hardwood floor as I went. I picked it up slowly and my fingers brushed the strings once, accidentally, and the soft hum that followed felt wrong. Like a voice that didn’t belong here with me, in my room.
“I can’t do this without you, Chris,” I whispered.
I set the guitar back down gently and turned it so it faced the wall, like if I couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see me either. That I wouldn’t think about it, if it wasn’t there.
Days passed. Then weeks. Time moved in a strange, uneven way—too fast and too slow all at once. I avoided music entirely. If the radio came on, I turned it off, which made no since because I’d wanted to hear it that night he died. If someone mentioned Nashville, I changed the subject. I didn’t want to hear about dreams or futures. Because Chris didn’t have one. He got it taken away from him when he was only twenty-six years old… much too soon.
Mama moved through the house like a ghost these days, doing things just because they needed to be done, not because she wanted to. Kelly tried to hold everything together, but I could see the cracks. Lee stayed close, quiet and steady and strong, helping where he could.
I woke up this morning with sweat all over and tears running down my face from a moment emotions took control of me at some point in the middle of the night. When I walked into the kitchen; the coffee pot was still warm on the counter. Somebody had turned it on out of habit, like it was just another morning. I stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out how the world could still smell like coffee when Chris was dead, which makes no sense. The past few days everything has angered me, simple things. Like someone touching his chair or moving his things, and stupidly simple things like turning the coffee pot on in the mornin’ which was always Chris’s job.
“Luke are you hungry?” Kelly asked from the kitchen head in the refrigerator pulling me from my thoughts well I stared out the window at nothing. For some reason that question rubbed me wrong, so I snapped back. “No Kelly, I don’t want anything!” She just looked back at me with a surprised look on her face; she knew that behavior isn’t normal for me.
After staring at me for a second she spoke the words I never wanted to hear come out of my family mouths. “Luke, is this about Nashville?” she asked gently.
I looked back at her, my anger still there, but I tried to keep it together, for my family. But hurt that she would even ask that and assume at a time like this I would even be considering Nashville.
“Kelly, you think that damn matters right now?” I paused, looking her in the eye so she’d know I meant business. “The hell it don’t. I have already called it off. I’m not going to leave you guys, I can’t. I’m not going. Ever.” As I said he words Kelly looked shocked and looked over and just then I heard Mama gasp from the doorway. I turned to look at her behind me. She had big tears welling at her eyes, her hand covering her mouth, shaking. She must have overheard our conversation from the living room. After a moment of taking her in her sadly shocked features, I couldn’t stand there and face her any longer. “I’m sorry Mama,” I whispered turning and practically running up the stairs to my room.
Everywhere I looked, there were reminders that haunted me. His jacket. His damn wallet is still sitting on the side table at the doorway that I’ve spent hours just staring at from the sofa. I remember the day Daddy gave him that wallet, and it meant the world to him. I remember the day he lost it and Daddy wanted to skin ‘em alive. But thank God he found it in the truck. From then on up until now every time he walked in that door he’d announce his presence and whatever announcement of the day he had, followed by an “and I brought my wallet.” I could hear his chuckle that echoed in my head. Something that feels way too big to carry right now.
I told myself it was over. That big dream I had… died with him. It got buried the day we put my older brother in the ground, a sickening amount of years too soon. That this was just the way things were gonna be now. I excepted it walking through that door the night of the accident, that it wouldn’t happen. It truly hurt me to think my family thought I would be mad about Nashville at a time like this. My brother died. The only thing I need to focus on is being with my family and comforting Mama. I’ve excepted that in sixteen years I’ll just be the average man living in Georgia, working at the buying point. That’s all my future holds…. And I believe it, even though deep down I hope it’s not true.
Chapter 2
Eighteen Years Later…
The roar starts long before I ever see the stage.
It seeps through the concrete walls of the arena, rattles the steel beams overhead, hums up through the soles of my boots like the building itself is alive. Forty thousand people—give or take—packed in tight, restless, waiting on a voice they already know by heart.
Mine.
I stand in the tunnel, lights flashing beyond the curtain like heat lightning over a Georgia field, sweat already gathering at the back of my neck. The air smells like metal, electricity, and anticipation.
“Two minutes,” someone calls from behind me.
The band is buzzing—laughing, pacing, tugging at cords, checking their in-ears for the tenth time. One of the guys grabs my sleeve and grins like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You hear that crowd tonight?” he says. “Might be the best one yet.”
That’s what they say every night. And most nights, they’re right.
The Kill the Lights tour has been rolling for three weeks now—city after city, night after night. Sold-out arenas. No empty seats. No quiet moments.
As I climb the stairs toward the curtain, something taped to the fabric catches my eye.
A magazine cover.
People. Glossy. Bright orange.
SEXIEST MAN ALIVE 2014
My name is splashed across it in letters so big they still don’t feel real.
I snort under my breath, heat creeping into my cheeks. That photo is sitting in grocery stores, gas stations, waiting rooms all over the country. I don’t read them—but I know they’re there.
Cole Swindell, the opening act for this year, claps me on the back as he passes.
“Go get ’em, man.”
And then he’s gone, swallowed by noise and light.
Somewhere backstage, my manager is talking—after-parties, tomorrow night’s stadium setup, radio hits. The band is debating how my jeans are gonna look under the lights.
All of it sounds like it’s coming through water.
Smiles. Laughter. Harmless.
Truth is, I’ve learned how to play the part.
Then the lights drop.
The scream that follows hits me like a wave—raw, loud, physical. My heart slams against my ribs as muscle memory takes over. I step forward.
Heat. Noise. Light.
Faces stretch into the darkness like stars I’ll never touch.
The first chords ring out—clean and loud—and the place detonates.
For ninety minutes, I give them everything. Every mark. Every cue. I move when they scream. I smile when they scream louder. I watch thousands of hands in the air, mouths forming words I once wrote thinking nobody but me would ever hear them.
They know every word.
When the final note fades and the lights burn white, I bend forward, hands on my knees, breathing hard as confetti rains down. I always sign one piece—every night—and wonder who ends up with it.
The band crowds around me, adrenaline high, slapping backs, laughing.
“Hell of a night,” my drummer says.
It always is.
Later, in the dressing room, the noise fades to nearly nothing.
I sit alone, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My phone buzzes nonstop beside me—interviews, headlines, praise I don’t open.
And in the quiet, a thought slips in. Uninvited. Familiar.
Chris would’ve lost his mind if he could see this.
I can picture him like he’s standing there—arms crossed, leaning back, shaking his head with that proud grin he never tried to hide.
Told ya, he’d say.
He called it. To the letter.
And he never got to see it.
The thought tightens something deep in my chest. It always does.
Because what nobody walking out of this arena knows is that between the lights and the noise, I still drift back to a warm Georgia night.
A smelly hotel room in Columbus.
My brother stretched out on a bed, staring at the ceiling, telling me exactly how my life was gonna turn out—so proud, so certain.
Everything I have now came from a promise I made to him back then.
One I never got the chance to keep.
The door swings open.
“Luke,” James says, leaning against the frame with a bottle of water. “One of these nights, you’re gonna throw your back out doin’ whatever that thing is you call a dance.”
I snort. “It’s called rhythm. You should try it sometime.”
I picture James attempting it and immediately feel nauseous.
“Actually—don’t. Please. Spare everyone.”
“That ain’t rhythm,” one of the sound guys fires back. “It’s a liability.”
“I saw a woman faint mid-shake,” James adds, tears in his eyes. “Didn’t you, Michael?”
Why is my team like this?
“There’s no sense in flatterin’ yourselves,” I say, grabbing my water. “They ain’t here for y’all anyway.”
That earns a chorus of boos and laughter.
It’s been this way for years now. The moves. The jeans. The headlines I pretend not to see. The memes everyone feels obligated to show me.
Some of ’em are pretty funny.
Then the screen lights up.
THANKS FOR COMING TO SEE THE SEXIEST MAN IN COUNTRY!!!
Oh hell no. I don’t think so…
Michael whistles beside me. “Still can’t believe that one.”
“Me either,” I mutter. “Who’s responsible?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, suddenly very interested in the exit.
Coward.
By the time we reach the buses, the teasing dies down. We talk logistics—call times, the next city. Real stuff.
Just before splitting up, James gets one last shot in.
“Just don’t pull nothin’, Luke,” he says. “We ain’t stoppin’ the show if you throw your back out mid butt-shake.”
“That’s a lie,” I fire back. “Y’all’d leave me out there gettin’ smothered by a three-hundred-pounder in a mini skirt and hot-pink cowboy boots.”
James howls all the way to his bus.
I smile. Like I always do.
But later, alone in mine, something tugs at me again.
It happens more than I admit.
My mind isn’t here tonight.
Seven Years Earlier…
The phone rang too late.
I was half asleep in my bunk when I answered. Mama was crying—rushing through words like if she slowed down, the truth might crush her.
Kelly was home. Doing laundry. Same thing she always did.
They were supposed to be at Tils Jr.’s baseball game. Kelly was bringing him. She never showed.
Kelly never forgot anything. She wasn’t careless.
They found her on the laundry room floor. Unconscious.
By the time anyone got there, she was gone.
Just like that.
Kelly was a great mother to those kids. She and Lee were the kind of parents everyone else secretly wished they were. She never missed a game, a dance recital, or one of my shows.
Not once.
And suddenly, she was gone.
No warning. No goodbye. No explanation.
They never figured out why. Not then. Not ever.
We stayed strong for the kids—we had to. They’d lost their mama.
But Mama…
I don’t know how much a heart can take before it gives out.
Watching her lose another child felt like watching the worst thing that can happen to a person happen in real time.
Chris had been gone ten years by then. Ten years to learn how to breathe around the hole he left.
Kelly’s death ripped us right back open.
Like no time had passed at all.
]
