Page 2 of August Lane

Luke had been eighteen when “Another Love Song” was released as a single.

Between opening for bigger acts, performing at award shows, and recording gimmicky remixes, he’d probably sung it a million times.

“Not sure,” he answered, then grabbed a napkin from a holder.

He made a triple fold, the way his mother had taught him back when she had it together enough to care about that sort of thing.

“Every time I sing, it feels like the first.”

“Bullshit. You were struggling up there.”

Luke tossed the napkin on the table. “Sorry you were disappointed.”

“Me?” A deep, bully chuckle burst from David’s chest. “Oh, I’m not a fan. My buddies and I used to make fun of that song when it was popular. Sweet’N Low country is what we used to call it. For people who don’t really like the music.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder at the clock.

The conversation was getting meaner, and the smell of David’s martini was bothering him.

“To each his own,” he mumbled, instead of telling the guy to fuck off, that the song hadn’t been like that when it was written, and let’s see you get your heart ripped out onstage every night . “It’s getting late—”

“Like I said, I’m not a fan.” David drained his drink and shoved the glass to one side, far away from Luke. “I’m a manager. For Jojo Lane.”

Luke didn’t believe him at first. Jojo Lane’s manager randomly showing up at a Memphis bar sounded like the sort of delusional scenario he used to conjure up when he still had the hope of being rescued from career purgatory.

But nothing on David’s face revealed anything but impatience.

He was waiting for Luke to acknowledge his status as music royalty.

The way Jojo’s career was skyrocketing these days, he’d probably earned it.

Luke had been five years old when Jojo Lane released her first record, a six-song EP of acoustic country covers.

He got the album for his seventh birthday and had it on repeat for weeks.

His life was a cage back then. Jojo escaping Arcadia to follow her dream felt like a message she’d bottled up and sent directly to him.

It said keep playing that old guitar. Keep dreaming, even on the days it feels like this might kill you.

Everyone in his hometown knew Jojo’s story.

She was a former beauty queen, the first Black Miss Arkansas Delta Teen in the region’s history.

In 1994, a sixteen-year-old Jojo made national headlines for being a sign of racial progress in the Deep South.

People started calling her “little Lencola,” after the first Black Miss Arkansas.

But then word got out that Jojo had a one-year-old daughter.

While not technically against the rules, the scandal was enough to force her to relinquish her crown.

But she didn’t disappear for long. At nineteen, she moved to Nashville to pursue a music career.

The novelty of her race, paired with the local beauty queen scandal, gave her album more traction than it would have gotten otherwise.

One journalist called her an “obstinate rebel, determined to make room in industries that are clearly hostile to her presence.”

Jojo recorded more albums, earning her a small, devoted fan base but no radio play.

Her music was mainstream enough to be dismissed as pop and, sometimes, mislabeled as R&B.

But last year, Charlotte Turner covered Jojo’s song “Invisible” on her album.

A scathing op-ed about the optics of a white millennial superstar singing a song about being a Black woman who had been overlooked by Nashville sparked enough controversy to make Jojo’s original version go viral.

Suddenly she was everywhere. At the CMAs. The Grammys. Jojo was officially dubbed a Black country pioneer. Her new single, “Rewrite the Story,” had spent the last two months in the top five on the Hot Country Songs chart.

“You really work for Jojo?”

David nodded. “For over twenty years now.” He gave Luke an assessing look. “You’re from the same hometown, right? Went to school with her daughter?”

“Yeah. Au—S-She and I were… friends.” He flattened the end of the sentence, hoping David wouldn’t notice how badly he fumbled it. “Does Jojo have a show nearby?” he asked, eager to change the subject. “Is that why you’re here?”

“No, she’s in the studio. Working on the new album.

” David reclined in his unreclinable chair and propped his ankle on one knee.

This was a guy who’d never had an awkward conversation in his life.

Which meant he was either brilliant or a psychopath.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been home, hasn’t it? To Arcadia?”

Luke ran a hand over his hair and tried to focus through the fog that had settled over his thoughts. That’s what happened whenever someone brought up his hometown. His brain would try to protect him from the shit he used to drown in gin. “Yeah,” Luke said. “There’s not much to the place, is there?”

“That’s true. It’s definitely existential crisis country. Jojo hates going back but feels obligated because of family. You’ve got family there, too, right? Friends?”

The last time Luke spoke to his mother, she’d been so high that it took her half an hour to realize that it wasn’t his little brother on the phone. “We’re more of a Facebook only family.”

“You don’t have a Facebook. Or Instagram. Or fans with Facebooks or Instagrams.”

“You stalking me?” Luke scanned the room. The crowd was thinning, and the manager was giving him impatient looks. He still owed another set. “Look, tell Jojo I said congratulations on her success. Glad they’re finally giving her the attention she deserves.”

Luke pushed back his chair and stood. David cocked a brow and said, “Sit,” in the low octave people usually reserved for kids and animals.

“No,” Luke said, matching his tone. “You’ve got five seconds to say something to change my mind.”

There was a familiar shift in David’s demeanor. It happened when someone stopped seeing the kid on those old album covers and realized there was a tattooed, six-foot-two former football player standing in front of them. Not fear. Just a heightened awareness.

“I’m not stalking you. I’m vetting you. Making sure you’re not a tabloid nightmare before I offer to change your life.”

Luke didn’t sit down right away even though hope surged through him hard and fast. He couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t hitch his dead dreams to Jojo’s big moment because odds were this conversation wasn’t what it looked like.

Last week, he’d watched a newscast where the Tennessee lottery announcer read winning ticket numbers next to a cage of Ping-Pong balls.

The first few matched Luke’s birthday, and even though he hadn’t bought a ticket, his heart skipped a few beats anyway.

Now, it did that same pointless jig. Jojo’s manager offering to work with him was a long shot in a game he’d stopped playing.

Luke folded his arms and schooled his face into unreadable stone. “I’m listening.”

David smirked. “Well, this is different. Until now you’ve had the get-up-and-go of a surly Muppet. Is this broody thing the real you?”

“Still not hearing anything that makes me want to grab that chair.”

“Fine, fine.” David motioned to the bartender, pointed to Luke’s tonic water, and showed the man two fingers.

“I’ll need a clear head for this. Still trying to accept that I’m actually here, trying to convince you of all people to perform at one of the biggest events of Jojo’s life.

” He sighed. “It’s the Hall of Fame. She’s the first Black woman to be inducted.

Only a few people know it yet, but the news will break tomorrow. ”

Luke sat down again. The club manager jabbed at his watch, but Luke ignored him. Nothing could distract him from the man sitting across from him, claiming history was going to be made and that Luke was about to be a part of it. “The Country Music Hall of Fame?”

“That’s the one.”

Luke turned it over in his mind. Not Linda Martell.

Or Sister Rosetta Tharpe, the woman who’d inspired Elvis’s career.

Even though Jojo had been in the industry for twenty-five years, she was a bold and probably controversial choice.

It acknowledged that all those albums country radio had ignored for decades were real country.

They weren’t honoring history. They were rewriting it.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” David looked earnest for the first time that night.

“I don’t have to tell you how big this is.

They’re pulling out all the stops for Jojo.

International press, a streaming concert, and a new album release after her induction.

” David leaned forward. “This is legacy making. I need you to understand that.”

“I get it,” Luke said. “I won’t tell a soul until it’s out there.”

David leaned back, reclining again. “Good. Because Jojo wants to sing ‘Another Love Song,’ with you at her concert if you’re interested…” David looked around. “Who am I kidding? Of course you are.”

A sound burst from Luke’s throat, half shout and half “goddamn” that he muffled quickly behind his hand. He still didn’t quite believe what the man was telling him. “Why me?”

“Are there any other Black semi-famous country stars from her tiny speck of a hometown that I don’t know about? If so, I’d love more options.” David sighed. “She likes the song. It was one of the first covers she mentioned adding to the set list.” He paused. “You haven’t said yes.”

“I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever she wants.”

“I bet you will.” David studied him for a moment. “But like I said, I’ve been looking into you. Probably closer than anyone else has in years. I know about the drinking. And the rumors about your marriage.”