Page 2 of Forever Country (Forever Bluegrass #24)

His mom rolled her eyes at him. “No, not that kind of help. I told you I’d let you make it on your own, but I won’t let you handle the business side of show business alone. I want you protected from predatory agents and labels.”

“Think about my brand and my influence on kids. Don’t misbehave or get arrested. I know all this, Mom.”

“That’s only part of it, Holt. The other very important part of show business is contracts.

Every song you sell comes with a contract.

Every recording deal comes with a contract.

You need to be knowledgeable enough not to be taken advantage of.

Therefore, I’m putting my foot down. You listen to Morgan, Henry, and Neeley Grace or you don’t go to Nashville.

” His mom crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.

This was not a fight he was going to win.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Holt took a seat and turned to their guests.

Morgan gave a PowerPoint presentation about contracts, royalties, accounting, various red flags, and predatory behavior.

Henry and Neeley Grace then spoke about the legalities of these contracts and what Holt would be held to and how he could lose all control of the music he wrote and recorded because of one legal clause in the contract that Morgan said was a red flag.

By the end of the hour, Holt was petrified that he was going to sign his life away and mess everything up.

“So, what do I do?” Holt asked, genuinely worried now.

His mom looked relieved that he was taking this seriously.

“People will use you because of your last name. I’m sorry about that,” she told him with a frown.

“We’ve shielded you the best we could to give you a normal life.

But as you step out to shine on your own, you’re going to have to learn to deal with this. Morgan?”

Morgan nodded and slid a contract over to him.

“This makes me your manager.” She then went over every word and Henry or Neeley Grace translated it into layman’s terms. “If you want, you can sign this and if anything comes up where someone is pressuring you to sign anything you simply give them my number and tell them to call your manager. The last paragraph here says you can end the contract at any time. I know I’m not a Nashville manager or agent, so if a good one approaches you, the transition of management will be seamless.

But the key here is good one . I have a list here of ones that have been vetted by your mother, her agent, and me.

” Morgan handed him a piece of paper with five names on it.

“You can reach out to them to see if they’ll represent you or I can even do that for you.

The important part is we want someone trustworthy watching your back and your rights as an artist. You can pick whoever you want to do that. ”

Holt took a deep breath. This was what he wanted.

He knew there was a business side to art.

He’d heard his mother working on negotiations to get movie deals or certain rights to books or to hire certain actors for her films. But he’d been focusing on the dream of being a singer and not the realities of it.

He needed to both dream and set up a strong foundation for his career just in case the right person heard him at the right time.

“I’d like you to do it until I can get a feel for these agencies.

I don’t want to rush into anything and I trust you to look out for me until I’ve learned more. ”

Morgan smiled at him and the tension left his mother’s face as Holt signed the contract.

“You can also use us as your lawyers if you need any legal help,” Neeley said, handing him her card.

“Like Morgan, we’re not entertainment lawyers, but we know enough about contract law to be useful.

And criminal law in case you have a little too much fun on Broadway,” she said, mentioning the street in downtown Nashville full of live music bars.

“Further, we have contacts in Nashville and can give you their information too.”

“And now,” Morgan said, standing up with Neeley and Henry, “you are all prepared to take Nashville by storm. We’re proud of you, Holt.”

Holt’s bag was already packed and ready to go.

His father and brother joined him and his mother as Holt loaded his bag and guitar into his pickup truck.

He was ready to hit the road. It was strange how he’d been ready for this forever, but now found it slightly hard to leave.

He’d be back in a week for graduation, but he knew at this moment, his life was changing forever.

“Let us know when you get to your apartment,” his father ordered as he wrapped Holt up into a hug.

“And if you have any hot single neighbors,” Knox teased.

Not that Knox needed help in that department.

Only Cassidy Davies had ever turned down both Knox and Holt’s advances.

Everyone at Keeneston High wanted to be the girl to catch Knox’s eye.

Cassidy had never cared, which was probably why they’d both wanted her.

“Check in every day or you will find me on your doorstep,” his mother threatened. Yet, it was a threat that was filled with love and gave Holt the courage to take this risk.

“I will. Love you, Mom.” Holt hugged his mother tight and pretended not to notice when she held on a little longer. “I’ll see y’all in a week!”

Three hours later, Holt was pulling up to his apartment.

It was nicer than most starving artists trying to prove themselves in Nashville got.

The one-year lease was his graduation gift from his parents.

Yet, in true mom and dad fashion, it was a studio apartment, not in the fanciest part of town but one of the safest.

The apartment was furnished so unpacking wouldn’t take long, but Holt was too excited to unpack. He grabbed his guitar, a stack of business cards with his name, email, socials, and phone number on it, and headed for Broadway.

The lights of all the bars were already on even though it wasn’t even dinner time yet.

Both sides of the streets were filled with people milling around.

Live music flooded the street from bars owned by some of country music’s biggest names.

Holt took one side of the road and started at the first bar.

It was time to pay his dues and find either an open mic night or someone to book him.

He walked down one side of Broadway, making friends with bouncers, bartenders, wait staff, and bar managers—half of whom were also trying to become singers.

He turned at the end of Broadway and began to go up the opposite side.

Darkness was falling, the bars were getting full, and more and more people filled the sidewalks as open-air party buses full of bachelorette parties were moving along the street.

It took several hours, but Holt hit up each and every bar. Tomorrow he’d hit the ones off Broadway. However, by the time he made it home to his new place he had the schedule for three open mic nights and even managed to get signed up on time for two of them.

Days turned to weeks and then to months.

The internship with Harlan helped Holt make contacts in the city where any bit of luck could be your big break.

He worked on writing songs and even sold several.

Every week was full of songwriting, open mic nights, and finally getting hired to perform on Friday afternoons at a bar.

Five months later that turned into Friday nights and that’s when he saw his social media presence growing and agents starting to approach him.

Morgan never steered him wrong and saved him from more than one rookie mistake, so Holt never found a reason to change managers.

Eighteen months after moving to Nashville Holt was drinking his hot tea as he waited for his set to begin on a busy Saturday night.

He was privately celebrating that he’d potentially sold another song that morning.

It was under negotiation. Right now, the buyer, who was staying anonymous until negotiations were over, wanted to think about it overnight.

However, he knew it would sell. It was the best song he’d written so far.

“I said, I’m not interested. Leave me alone.” A woman’s angry voice penetrated the loud music from where Holt was leaning against the far wall of the bar watching the act before his perform.

Holt turned to find a woman in her thirties surrounded by some obviously drunken men.

Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail sticking out the back of the baseball cap she had pulled down low on her head.

She was in jeans, a T-shirt, and an open pink and white flannel shirt over it.

She was clearly not looking for attention as she hugged the back wall near Holt.

“Hey,” Holt said, pushing off the wall and standing to his full height of six feet two. “The lady said to leave her alone.”

“Or what?” one of the guys slurred drunkenly. “You going to do something about it?”

“Yeah, I am.” Holt stepped between the woman and the three men. “I’m going to be a gentleman, which you men ought to be. I’m asking you again to back away and get back to enjoying your night without this lady’s attention. Can you do that?”

Holt could feel the air shift. He knew a fight was coming. It wasn’t the first one he’d seen at the bars, but it would be the first one he was actively involved in.

The guys looked at each other and chuckled at the idea of Holt stopping the three of them. He felt a hand on his arm and then heard a voice. “Just call security. I don’t want you hurt.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about, ma’am,” Holt said a moment before he sensed the punch coming from the right.

He pushed the woman back, ducked, and leveled the man with one punch before taking another out with a kick that sent him flying onto the dance floor.

Holt did that on purpose to gain security’s attention before taking a blow to the ribs from the third man.

That was the only punch any of them got in.

Holt grabbed the man’s collar and took him down with a solid cross.

Security swarmed and the crowd glanced over, but were too busy cheering as the singer wrapped up their last song to pay attention to the three men being hauled out of the bar.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked as Holt turned to check on her.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Nothing I’m not used to playing football with my friends and family. The question is, are you okay?”

“I am thanks to you. What’s your name?”

“Holt Everett, ma’am.” Holt glanced at the stage. “Sorry, I have to go. I’m glad you’re not hurt, and I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

“Nothing I’m not used to,” she said, mimicking his earlier statement.

Holt frowned. “But you shouldn’t have to be used to it. That’s the problem. Well, I hope your night gets better.”

Holt jumped on the stage as the crowd cheered. He fed off their energy and delivered a fantastic set. He was still vibrating with excitement as he exited the stage to grab his water from the bar. People were patting him on the back and a couple of women even asked for autographs.

“That was really good. Why don’t you have a record deal?” the woman he’d rescued earlier asked as she approached him after people began to drift off and leave him alone.

“I’ve been offered some, but the terms were not favorable to those of us who write our own music.”

The woman nodded and asked for a water as she pulled out her cell phone. Holt turned and watched the stage as the woman paid attention to her phone. She kept her head ducked and her hat down low.

“I was checking out your socials,” she said after a little bit. “You’re from Kentucky. So am I.”

Holt smiled at that. “Really? Where from?” For the next five minutes they talked about their home state until Holt’s phone vibrated over and over and over again in his pocket.

“I’m sorry. This is so rude, but she wouldn’t call so many times in a row unless it was important.

” Holt plugged one ear with his finger as he answered the phone. “What’s wrong, Morgan?”

“Just a little something that will take you away from us for six months.”

Holt frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I just got off the phone with Paisley Collins’s agent. She’s the one buying your song and she wants you to be her opening act on her tour!”

Holt was dumbfounded. Could this be it? Could this be his big break? “But I don’t even know Ms. Collins. Why would she want me on her tour?”

“Excuse me,” the woman said to him as Morgan said she didn’t know, but it checked out. It wasn’t a prank. “Excuse me, but you’re wrong.”

“Hold on, Morgan.” Holt smiled at the woman. “I’m sorry, can you give me a minute?”

“Sure, but you’re wrong. You do know Paisley Collins.

” She lifted the cap and pulled back her brown wig, exposing a swath of blonde hair.

Holt felt his jaw go slack with shock. Country’s biggest female artist was standing in front of him in a wig and he hadn’t looked twice at her.

“And I’d be honored if you’d go on tour with me.

Because you, Holt Everett, are one hell of a songwriter, singer, and a good guy.

I can’t wait to watch your career take off. ”