“Going after what makes you happy, or what could make you happy, is so important. I know sometimes you don’t always believe it, but you deserve to be happy, Segan. You’re not doing her memory or yourself any justice by not doing what you’ve dreamed about for so long.”
Reaching over, I grab a tissue from the box on the end table beside the couch. Tears I’ve tried to hold back for so long fall hot down my cheeks as I think over everything she’s saying. Think over everything I’ve always wanted.
“We’re about out of time for today,” she says softly. “But I’d really like for you to think this over this week, and maybe even jot some feelings that came up or anything this conversation sparked for you. We can discuss them next week. That sound okay?”
Nodding, I raise from the couch. “Yeah. Thank you, Dr. Edison.”
Part Two
Theme Song:
In Your Loveby Tyler Childers
16
SEGAN
Seven Years Later
“Thank you, Nashville! You’ve been fucking incredible. Goodnight, y’all!”
The crowd roars as I toss my guitar pick into the audience before spinning—albeit shakily—on my heels and heading off stage with the rest of the band. This was my final show on the world tour. It’s always fun to wrap up a month’s long tour at home.
Sweat drips from my face, my clothes sticking to my body like a second layer of skin. My heart’s pounding in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. The adrenaline from being on stage in front of thousands of fans is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s been years, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.
Pushing open the door to my dressing room, my eyes quickly scan the area, finding my best friend and guitarist, Voss, waiting for me on the couch in the far-right corner, a bottle of my favorite whiskey and two shot glasses in front of him.
A grin slides on my lips as I cross the room, taking a seat beside him. “What a fucking great final show,” I murmur as I pull out my phone, sifting through my notifications.
Voss unscrews the cap to the whiskey, making quick work of pouring us each a tall shot. “Fuck yeah,” he agrees. “Nashville is easily one of my top five places we’ve ever performed, and not even because it’s our home venue.” Handing me my shot, he lifts his in the air, clanking the two together. “Cheers, man.”
Tossing it back, the amber liquid heats its way down my throat, into my chest. The taste is smooth and rich, and even from just that one shot, my mind quiets, even if only marginally. Voss and I throw back a few more, shooting the shit for a while before Wade, my drummer, comes back to get us. Being it’s the last show of the tour, we’re going out to Neon Dreams Saloon for a private whiskey tasting event with a couple dozen fans.
It's something we always do after our final show. I’ve been touring close to four years now, and we’ve always started and ended the tour here in Nashville.
Being raised in the type of community I did in Utah, then moving to Nashville, was a wild fucking ride. The people, the sights, theenergy, are all so different. There’s much more acceptance and love here, and way less judgement.
It’s like growing up, I always had this bone-deep feeling that I wasn’t meant to be where I was. I knew it in my gut I was supposed to be somewhere else. Utah was never my home, despite living there for twenty years. Moving here was like waking up. It was finally feelinghome, and it’s never been anything I could explain, because prior to packing up my entire life and moving here in the middle of the night on a random Wednesday, I’d never been here. Hell, I’d never even been outside of Utah before, so feeling this overwhelming sense of belonging and homeyness upon arrival was weird.
Moving to Nashville quite literally saved my life. And coming home after a long tour always makes me oddly emotional and sentimental about that fact.
“Y’all ready to go?” Wade asks, his drawl always thicker the more tired or drunk he gets.
I toss back one last shot, slamming the glass down on the table before rising off the couch. “Yup, let’s do this, boys.”
Neon Dreams Saloon is a place we frequent any time we’re home. The owner, Chesney, was one of the first friends I made when I got here. I rented out the apartment above the saloon for the first two years, and helped behind the bar on weekends until I signed with my label,Nashville Country Music Sound.
In fact, it was this very same spot that got me noticed by the label in the first place. When I first got here, I was nervous and confused, and kind of lost. I was less than a year post-suicide attempt, and I had just gotten out of my second extended stay in a psychiatric hospital, and I was an anxious fucking mess.
I was anxious about leaving my hometown, even though I was miserable there.
Anxious about starting over somewhere brand new, where I knew no one.
And despite my best efforts, I was still angry at myself.
Still angry at Lana for everything she put me through, and everything she left me with in her wake.
I needed an outlet for my feelings that didn’t result in me with another blade in my hand. Because no matter how good I felt leaving the residential program in Utah, the niggling of worry in the far back of my mind was still there, that one day I’d wind up back where I started, only this time I wouldn’t make it out alive.
