One More Summer Read online

  One More Summer

  Dez Burke

  Copyright © 2019 by Dez Burke

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful mother whose mind was stolen by Alzheimer’s at the young age of seventy-two. I’m so sorry I couldn’t write you a happy ending.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Description

  1. Levi

  2. Levi

  3. Annie

  4. Levi

  5. Levi

  6. Annie

  7. Levi

  8. Annie

  9. Levi

  10. Annie

  11. Levi

  12. Levi

  13. Annie

  14. Annie

  15. Levi

  16. Annie

  17. Levi

  18. Levi

  19. Annie

  20. Annie

  21. Levi

  22. Levi

  23. Levi

  24. Annie

  25. Levi

  26. Levi

  27. Annie

  28. Levi

  29. Annie

  30. Levi

  31. Annie

  32. Levi

  33. Annie

  34. Annie

  35. Annie

  36. Levi

  37. Levi

  38. Annie

  39. Levi

  40. Annie

  41. Levi

  42. Levi

  43. Levi

  44. Annie

  45. Levi

  46. Levi

  47. Annie

  48. Annie

  49. Levi

  50. Levi

  51. Annie

  I. Call Me Sugar Preview

  1. Jade

  2. Sugar

  More Books by Dez Burke

  Acknowledgments

  Cover Model: Jeremy Mooney

  Cover Photography by: Golden Czermak

  Cover by: Clarise Tan

  Formatting: Cerys du Lys / Cherrylily.com

  Description

  We lived the best love song I ever wrote...

  I still see Annie every damn time I close my eyes.

  Her bare feet up on the dashboard of my truck.

  Laughing at my jokes.

  Sharing a beer when we weren’t old enough to drink.

  Way back then, we thought our summers would be endless.

  We spent our nights pulling passion from the stars.

  We loved so hard forever was a given.

  Then I left to chase music fame in Nashville.

  Never dreaming I’d lose her along the way.

  Now I’m back in town.

  She might be older, but she hasn't changed.

  Same sweet beauty with eyes like heaven.

  Same whirlwind who makes me throb.

  Same woman I hate myself for losing once.

  This time, I won’t leave without her.

  All I want is one more summer with Annie.

  I'll do anything to bring our music back.

  1

  Levi

  “It’s showtime, buddy! Move it! Let’s go!”

  My lead backup singer, Hank, grins at me before slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder and running out on stage. Taking a deep breath, I hurry right behind him followed by the rest of my band.

  The stadium filled with eighty-five thousand fans are already on their feet, waving their hands in the air and screaming for us.

  When I reach the center of the raised platform, I look out over the crowd and stop for a second to take it all in. No matter how many times I perform, the thrill of walking out on stage never gets old. It gives me chills every single time.

  I’m the luckiest damn man in the world.

  To be able to write my own songs and play my music is a lifelong dream come true.

  The fans are swaying in the warm June night and waving their brightly-lit cellphones side to side. Smiling, I slowly pick the notes of a chord and wait for the crowd to quiet down. When they do, I lean closer into the microphone to sing the opening lyrics to the number one charted song that made me an overnight country music star.

  As I sing, I try to ignore the enormous screens at the wings of the stage projecting my image. Sometimes when I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, I can’t believe it’s me.

  The black cowboy hat and worn leather boots I’m wearing have been with me since my first performance in a rundown bar on Broad Street in Nashville. Every time I step out on stage, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come in the past few years. From a small-town Georgia boy to a headline act at a huge country music festival.

  The vibrations of my band’s instruments rise through the soles of my boots. My whole body is tingling; half from the vibration of the music, and half from the thrill of performing.

  It’s day three of the four-day festival, and each seat in the stadium is filled by a county music fan who loves what I do.

  Tonight is everything I ever wanted.

  When I finish the last song, the stadium erupts into applause. I raise my hand in thanks, then gesture to my band members behind me. They wave to the crowd before we leave the stage. As soon as we’re out of sight, the next band has already taken our place on stage.

  I’m drenched with sweat, but on a high.

  I take my guitar off my shoulder and hand it to an assistant to store. She passes me my cellphone and wallet. I put them in my pockets and roll my shoulders to release the tension from the instrument slung around them for the last hour.

  My manager, Harry, appears from the wings with a huge smile and slaps me on the back. “Great show, Levi! Honestly, it was fantastic. The best one yet.”

  He’s wearing a blue jean jacket that is two sizes too small. A body that was once toned and fit is now on the heavy side and flabby from a life of fast food meals on the road. His thin red hair is slicked back with his own sweat.

  “Thanks, Harry,” I say.

  “You’re well on your way to becoming a superstar,” he says. “One of the big ones! In six months, you won’t even recognize your life. Hell, you might even be rich enough to buy your own yacht one day. And a private island in the Bahamas to park it on.”

  I laugh and take a second glance back towards the stage where I can still hear the roar of the crowd.

  “That sounds pretty damn awesome. How can it get any better than this, Harry? Are we living the good life or what?”

  His lips curve into a grin. “Trust me, it can always get better. We’ll finish up this festival, and then we’re back on the tour again. This summer will be huge! By the time we’re done, there won’t be a single American who doesn’t know the name ‘Levi Hamby.’”

  I chuckle at his glowing praise. “Thanks. You’ve always dreamed big enough for both of us.”

  “It’s easy when you’ve got talent like yours to work with,” he says, fawning all over me.

  I smile, but don’t read too much into Harry’s praise. I know better than to let it go to my head. He’s a well-known suck up in the music business.

  Before he represented me, he was managing another rising country music star and many others before him. As soon as their five minutes of fame wore out, he dropped them and went on to the next flashiest thing. In this case, me.

  Harry follows the buzz. When things start to cool down, he’s out the door in a hurry.

  Luckily for me, it seems I’m on top of the world tonight. Or at least the top of my world which is Nashville, Tennessee. The home of country music.


  Harry keeps chattering away while tugging me towards a VIP room where the ‘Meet and Greet’ pass holders are gathering to get my autograph and take photos with me. He tells me about his upcoming plans while we dodge the throngs of people filling the hallway.

  “See you back at the bus,” my backup singer Hank says, giving me a slap on the back as he quickly moves past me.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I call out. “You can’t leave me here alone with a room full of screaming women.”

  “Back to the bus for an ice-cold beer,” he says with a grin. “The fans are here to see you, not me. I’m just the sidekick. You’re the hero. Go get them, cowboy!”

  “Don’t drink all the beer,” I tell him. “Save me at least four.”

  “We’ll try,” Hank says. “Have fun, buddy.”

  Maverick, my guitarist, and Hank hurry down the long hallway and head for the tour bus while Harry follows me to the VIP room to meet my fans. I know the room will be packed tight with women holding cellphones and autograph books.

  I hadn’t been prepared for the success of my debut release, and even now, the heights of fame I’ve reached in just a few short years doesn’t seem real.

  At times I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find it’s all a dream.

  That I’m still a country boy on a farm back in Georgia, baling hay on hot summer days and driving around in a beat-up pick-up truck.

  The doors of the VIP meet-and-greet room fly open and the pass holders begin to file in. I blink at the sudden flash of cellphones and cameras and can’t protect my ears from the squeals of young girls and middle-aged women.

  “Levi! He’s here!”

  The event organizer manages to line them up into an organized queue. She motions for me to take my place in front of the festival backdrop for the required photographs.

  The first girl comes tottering towards me in heels and short blue jean shorts. Her hair is bleached a strange shade of blonde, turning it almost gray, and her blue eyes are wide. When she reaches me, she throws her arms around my waist with a delighted gasp and hugs me tight. I’m so accustomed to fans touching me at this point that I don’t even flinch.

  “I love your music!” she gushes. “I have both your albums.”

  “Thanks,” I reply with a sincere smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder and pose for the photo. The young woman giggles in excitement while waiting for the camera to flash. After the photograph, I take the autograph book gently out of her hand and sign it.

  Sometimes the fans are so overwhelmed with emotion when they meet me that they forget what they’re doing. It’s up to me to keep the line of women moving along swiftly. Before going on to the next person, I take a moment to ask her where she’s from.

  “Dallas, Texas,” she says, almost in tears, knowing her turn is over. “We drove all night to get here. We love you, Levi!”

  The next girl steps up and it goes on and on.

  One fan after another taking the place beside me for a photograph. When I played my first real show as an opener for a bigger artist, I’d been thrilled that anyone had wanted my autograph at all. Now, keeping a pen in my pocket is second nature.

  Soon my arm begins to ache from holding it around the shoulders of dozens of women for a thousand pictures, and the carpal tunnel is acting up in my wrist from signing my name. It would suck if I couldn’t play my guitar due to damage done from signing too many autographs.

  My cellphone starts vibrating in my pocket. The camera flashes again, then I quickly steal a moment to peek at the screen.

  It’s my brother, Cole.

  That’s unusual since he normally shoots a quick one-line text message instead of calling. I feel a stab of guilt in my stomach, but I don’t take the call. There’s still a line of fans waiting for a few seconds of my time. I can’t let them down. Without my fans, I’m nothing.

  My brother will have to wait.

  Cole will understand.

  He always does.

  2

  Levi

  After the meet and greet, I quickly make my way outside the arena to the band’s luxurious tour bus. It’s a huge double-story motor coach with all the high-tech fittings and expensive furnishings.

  On the top floor of the bus, there are beds for each band member, separated by dark curtains. In the downstairs of the bus, there is a living/kitchen area and a separate bathroom.

  Home sweet home.

  Or at least it’s my home several months of the year when we’re doing a concert tour.

  I open the mini-fridge under the counter and take out a beer, then sit opposite Maverick and Hank on the tan leather seats.

  Maverick does his best to play the part of an edgy country music singer but comes across as though he’s trying a little too hard. He’s wearing dark denim jeans and cowboy boots with detailed whirls and patterns on the leather. He never goes out in public without a dark cowboy hat that he wears low down over his forehead.

  Hank is a little bit older and wiser and doesn’t feel the need to work so hard. He’s also wearing blue jeans, along with a simple tight black t-shirt. Instead of a cowboy hat, he wears a baseball cap turned backwards.

  He still has his trusty harmonica arm strapped around his neck. He reaches up to unstrap the instrument and then rolls his head in small circles to loosen his muscles.

  “Our noble leader returns,” Hank teases. “Did you have fun fighting off all those women?”

  “Nah…it was just a few photos with the fans. Same old thing.”

  “Anyone special catch your eye? I saw a couple of women in the hallway that might make for an interesting meetup. They both had a nice, bootylicious ass.”

  “No such luck.” I rub a tired hand across my face. “Not that I was looking or would even care who was there. We’ve been on the road for weeks and I’m damn tired. I’m not interested in another hook-up right now. I don’t have the energy for it. Or the desire. The only thing I want to think about is getting back into the studio and making music again. God! How I miss that.”

  Maverick leans forward on his knees with a wistful expression. “How come there’s never any wild, crazy love for the guitarist? Someone want to tell me the answer to that? I’m single and available. Hank, maybe we should start doing our own meet and greets with the fans. Spread the love around the band a little more.”

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t seen any action on this tour!” Hank jokes. “I’m still blaming you and that hot redhead for the flat tire we got back in Jackson, Mississippi. I tried to get back on the bus after dinner and the whole thing was rocking side to side like an off-balance washing machine. Ka-thump, ka-thump.”

  I take a swig from my beer, grinning at the memory. “It was the steamed-up windows that gave it away for me.”

  Maverick is quite the lady’s man.

  Not that I can’t say I haven’t been guilty of the same thing myself. In the early days of my music career, I took full advantage of the opportunities I had to take my pick of the women lining up to meet me.

  Now, the thrill has worn thin. After a while, the revolving door of women feels cheap and leaves me wanting something more.

  “Can you blame me?” Maverick says, glancing from me to Hank defensively. “Back before I went on tour, I struggled to get any woman to look twice at me. Now, I’m walking in the limelight with the great Levi Hamby and fighting off the women. I need to take advantage of my luck with the ladies while I can. Besides, there’s a long dry spell coming up.”

  “Dry spell?” Hank says. “The second leg of the tour starts in a month. I’m sure you’ll survive.”

  “A whole month?” Maverick’s eyes widen. “A man has needs. I can’t go that long.”

  Hank rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “All I can say is that I can’t wait to go home to Misty.” He turns to me. “Touring is fun and we’ve had a helluva great time, but I miss my life. There’s a chance I might not be coming back on the second leg of the tou
r.”

  “Who wants to cut and go home now?” Maverick says. He gestures around the bus. “You’re nuts, Hank. This is the life other people dream of. A different town every night, a different girl. Who in their right mind would give that up for one woman? I’m telling you, Hank, you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. Levi is a rising star on his way to the very top. We can go straight up with him. You’d be the biggest dumbass in the world to quit now.”

  Hank shrugs his shoulders. “What can I say? Going on this tour has been the experience of a lifetime, but after a while, I’m ready to wake up every morning in the same bed. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired. Wait until you guys hit thirty-five and you might see what I mean.”

  Maverick turns to me. “You’re not for that domestic life either, are you, Levi? You and I are kindred spirits; nomads, made for life on the open road.” He locks his hands behind his head and leans back against the leather seats. “We get bored and restless after a while with staying in one place with one woman.”

  “I don’t know,” I say after a moment. “Maybe Hank’s got a point. After a while, it gets old. Groupies may have the sexy bodies, but a short fling with one of them only lasts as long as you’re in town.”