#this takes place in like september i'm just very late tysm

[trashydemigodmess]

"I'm done filling a cup with a hole in the bottom, I'm taking an axe to the tree. The rot at the roots is the root of the problem, But you wanna blame it on me." - the tree, maren morris

“They want me to do what?” Dex had to clarify, hear the words one more time just to be sure. He was holding his phone close to his ear, clutching it, really, as he sat on the couch, fingers ice cold.

Marla, his manager, was always confident and collected. She was kind when needed, and firm when needed. A stronghold of a ship in any storm. Yet, she was hesitant as she repeated herself, “He’s receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award at the CMA’s this year. They want you to be part of the big honorary presentation. Ideally, they’d love for you to be one of the performers that sings one of his songs.”

The CMA’s. the Grammys for Country Music. The biggest event of the year. Growing up, the month of October was often overshadowed with award show prep and press for his father for the November event. Dex had even walked the red carpet a few times himself. There was always some sort of big achievement award. Lifetime or Decade or Icon. The wording changed but it didn’t matter. The presentation was always the same. A group of just as famous artists would take turns singing the songs of whoever the award was going to, honoring them, their legacy, and their contribution to the genre. It was always touching. And easy marketing fodder. Of course they wanted him to come back, of course they knew it’d made for a great story; The wayward son returning home. It felt almost as pandering as their desperate Taylor Swift jokes each year. If they couldn’t get Taylor, maybe they could get Dex Finley to come out of retirement for his father.

His ears were ringing. Ever since he got to New Athens it felt like Dex had been planting roots, growing stronger and surer of himself everyday, shedding all the old leaves and branches and growing them back anew. But, there were still a few stragglers, branches he was scared to let go of just yet. He knew this one would come back to bite him eventually, he’d just hoped maybe it’d take a few more years.

“And it’d fit perfectly with the timing of the single dropping.” Dex said quietly, a stoic wiseness in his voice as he rubbed his temple. It’d been almost a year now, quietly working, head down, happily lost in the throws and joys of his own creativity. He’d signed with a record label, with mild murmurs and fanfare across the internet at the news. And between subtle weekend trips to LA, quiet zips into New York City, and working with Carly producing in his own makeshift studio, a full album was about eighty percent finished. The first single had been picked out and was planned to be released in November. Then based on the response, some small pop up shows come the new year, and the album in early Spring.

“Yes.” Marla continued, putting her manager voice back on, “It’d be a perfect little bow to send off the last of your old image you’re trying to shed, while also being a perfect first performance for a comeback. The two of you don’t need to fully make up, or for you to even like it, but it’d do the job.” Despite being on the phone, she lowered her voice like it was a secret, “But, you and I both know you don’t have to say yes. We can find plenty of other promo for the single rollout instead. I’d just be remiss if I didn’t at least pass the invitation along.”

Dex sunk into the couch. “Does he know about this? Or is this just some Producer-induced idea for ratings?”

“He had to okay the list of possible performers and make any adjustments before they reached out. So…yes. He’d know you’re an option.”

Thinking about his father always left a twisting, uneasy feeling in his stomach. Keith Finley was never an angry man. He was known for a lot of things: his iconic love songs, his signature white cowboy hat, his passionate love for University of Texas football, but anger wasn’t one of them. Dex had never heard his voice go above a concerned, slightly raised tone. He was the reason Dex was an insufferable hopeless romantic, why he knew how to cook, and he'd kiss every cut and scrape Dex endured before putting a bandaid on it. The first lesson he taught Dex upon becoming famous was to always say thank you, even to the smallest of helpers, and always remember their names if you could. Dex had looked up to him, and more than anything, he taught him how to be kind, respectful, and generous. Which is why his slow descent into whatever he was now felt all the more jarring.

However, he’d been unusually silent the past six months. What once was an ignorant social media post or Twitter rant every few months was now a sight nowhere to be seen. Dex guessed he’d gotten a new Publicist who finally took his accounts away from him. But either way, it still left him uneasy, unable to gauge what this meant or how it might go. At least the bigoted behavior was steady and reliable.

He realized too late that he was already chewing on his lip, leaving it chapped and raw. “Who’s said yes so far?”

“Uh,” He heard her rustling some papers. Marla rattled off a list of names that made Dex squint, skeptical. Dex’s godparents were to be expected, but everyone else? Very opposite of his right wing, conservative home base. It reeked of a desperate, PR re-branding. A narrative he was unsure about contributing to.

But, something small in the back of his heart tugged ever so slightly. The stupidest, tiniest sliver of hope. Dex held his breath, then exhaled.

“I’ll do it.”