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3rd POV
Veronica sat inside her car, parked quietly in the school lot. The only sound in the space around her was the low hum of the radio—and Georgie's voice spilling through the speakers like a memory.
Real Good Man was playing across the airwaves, his voice weaving itself into the air, filling every corner of the car with something deep and steady. Something that belonged to him.
She'd already heard from Missy that Georgie was going to the radio station this morning. And last night, she'd telling her that Miss Fenley picking him up.
Knock knock.
A sudden tapping on her window snapped her out of the moment. Veronica flinched.
She turned her head, her brows already furrowed, and saw someone standing beside the car.
Her expression hardened instantly.
Still, for some reason she couldn't explain, she rolled the window down.
"What?" she said flatly.
It was Jenna—of course it was.
Veronica hated that she'd opened the window, but her pride kept her from rolling it back up. Maybe she wanted Jenna to see her. Maybe she wanted her to hear Georgie's song playing behind her like it meant something.
Jenna gave her a sly smirk, the kind that never meant anything good.
"What's with the attitude?" she said sweetly. "Ohhh… don't tell me Georgie left you behind this morning?"
Veronica said nothing at first. She could already tell Jenna came here just to dig into her. But even so, she didn't reach for the window switch.
"Shut up, slut."
Her voice was quiet, sharp, and venom-laced. Her glare was lethal—but Jenna didn't flinch. She just kept smirking like she had the upper hand.
Veronica exhaled slowly, then smirked right back.
"Georgie told me he had to go. It was urgent."
She didn't blink. Her voice didn't shake. The lie came out like it belonged to her.
Then, she tilted her head slightly and looked Jenna up and down.
"What about you? Don't know anything about it, huh?"
Bullseye.
Jenna's smirk faltered. The color in her cheeks shifted.
It was true—ever since the night Georgie got drunk, Kayla had gone silent. No more texts. No more updates. Jenna had lost her inside track.
Her jaw tightened.
"Oh yeah? I'm just a nobody, right?" she sneered.
Then the smirk returned, smaller now but biting.
"Tell me—has Georgie already gotten bored of you?"
Veronica didn't rise to the bait. She just stared, expression unreadable, eyes calm but cutting until she looked at her dashboard again with thoughtful expression.
Inside the car, Georgie's voice still played from the radio—steady and warm, like the only thing in this moment that made sense.
Veronica didn't even glance at her.
Her eyes were fixed on the dashboard, her tone so quiet it nearly vanished into the air.
"You know what?" she murmured, each word wrapped in ice.
"...You're just a jealous little ghost, haunting something you never had."
Then—slowly—she turned to Jenna.
Her stare wasn't angry. It was worse. Detached. Unbothered. Surgical.
"Georgie chose me."
A pause. A tilt of her head.
"And not once did he look at you—or your little entourage."
Her eyes flicked behind Jenna, toward the group of girls lingering in the distance.
"It's kind of pathetic... watching you try to matter again."
That was it.
No raised voice. No dramatic gasp.
Just words—quiet, clean, and lethal.
Jenna's lips trembled. Her fingers clenched into fists. The smirk had completely vanished.
She scoffed, but the sound cracked halfway through. Then she turned and stormed off, sneakers screeching against the concrete like they couldn't get her away fast enough.
Veronica watched her go in silence.
Then, with a calm that almost felt cruel, she rolled her window up—slow, steady.
Click.
As if on cue, Georgie's voice filled the car again, smooth and steady like nothing had happened.
{"What do you think, Randy?"} Georgie's voice carried through the speaker—warm, familiar, and sharp like a memory you didn't realize you missed.
{"…Now I really wish I'd seen that concert,"} Randy groaned, clearly regretting it.
Veronica let out a breath through her nose. A small smirk curved at the corner of her lips.
"Yeah, you should've been there," she whispered to herself.
"It was unforgettable."
She leaned back into her seat, her eyes fluttering closed as the memory returned—the lights, the sound, the way Georgie had looked at her from the stage.
{"Yeah, right,"} Georgie said again, his voice lower now, laced with just the right amount of tease—as if she could somehow see his rolling his eyes from wherever he was.
{"…Anyway,"} Randy cut in, regaining control.
{"I hear this song's dropping soon?"}
Veronica already knew.
She'd heard about the album. She'd listened to every track in the studio.
{"Oh yeah,"} Georgie said with a hint of excitement.
{"I've released a couple singles and an EP… but the full thing's comin' real soon."}
Veronica chuckled to herself.
Of course he sounded excited. He had every right to be.
She loved the songs—almost all of them.
But one had left a strange feeling in her chest.
Love You Anyway.
Something about it had stirred a question in her she hadn't dared to ask.
Was it about her?
Or someone else?
She pushed the thought away, afraid of what the answer might be.
{"What's it called?"} Randy asked, curious.
{"Cooper."} Georgie answered simply.
Veronica blinked, then laughed—soft, relieved.
Of course. Cooper.
Somehow, just hearing it grounded her. That name meant something to him. And maybe, just maybe, to her too.
There was a short pause on the radio. Two seconds of silence.
Then Randy sighed.
{"…Why?"} he asked, his tone exasperated but fond.
{"Because I wanted to."} Georgie replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sure, most debut albums were self-titled. It was common, especially for new artists trying to make their name known.
But Georgie had chosen Cooper.
Not Georgie Cooper.
Just Cooper.
Clean. Bold. Honest.
{"Why not your full name?"} Randy asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.
{"I figured you'd go with something flashier. Y'know—you're young, you've got the fire, the charm."}
{"Nah. This album… most of these songs are for my family."}
Georgie's voice softened.
{"I wrote them from what I felt. What I couldn't say out loud—so I sang instead."}
Veronica's chest tightened again. But not in fear.
This time, it was warmth.
He wasn't just chasing fame. He wasn't singing to be heard.
He was singing to remember.
To honor.
To love.
{"Achoo!"}
{"Bless you."}
Because it was a live broadcast, there was no editing, no retakes—Randy's sneeze echoed clearly across the airwaves, reaching every car, every kitchen, every living room.
{"Thanks. Now—back to you. Honestly, I gotta say... I really liked Real Good Man. That one hit me right in the chest."}
{"Well,"} Georgie replied smoothly, {"if you liked that one, you might love 'God's Country' even more once the album drops."}
There was a slight shift in Randy's voice as curiosity kicked in.
{"Now I'm really intrigued… You got it with you? I want to hear the song that made people pray in a stadium."}
Veronica raised her brows, lips parting slightly. She remembered that moment.
The stadium hadn't fallen silent—it had risen into something sacred.
And now, for a moment, the radio followed suit.
Silence.
Then Georgie's voice returned, calm and easy.
{"Lucky for you—we brought it along."}
Veronica already imagined Georgie grinned right now, and she is right.
{"Free advertisement, right?"}
Veronica laughed to herself after Georgie said that.
She could hear Randy snort through the mic.
{"Yeah, 'lucky for you'. I want to hear this song."} Randy grumbled with mock annoyance, and Georgie's laugh followed—deep, confident, unbothered.
{"Alright folks,"} Randy continued, {"truth be told, I've been dying to hear this one. Especially after reading those wild headlines."}
It sounded like the end of their segment was near.
{"Georgie, thanks for stopping by. And don't forget about me when you hit the big leagues."}
{"That's tricky, Randy…"} Georgie said with a grin in his voice.
{"I am a superstar already."}
That bold, smooth laugh filled the speakers.
Veronica grinned at the sound.
So sure of himself.
So him.
{"Well, now that's the real youngster talkin'. Alright folks—here it is: God's Country, by Georgie Cooper."}
Veronica closed her eyes, leaning back against her seat once more.
The soft strum of the opening chords filled the car like sunrise light through an open window.
—---
*Georgie POV
{"Now I'm really intrigued… You got it with you? I want to hear the song that made people pray in a stadium."}
Randy smirked at me from across the table—he knew exactly what he was doing.
This was the song. The one people kept whispering about ever since the concert.
I leaned forward and, without pressing the mic button, shot him a playful glare.
Mocking anger.
He grinned like a cat who'd just tipped over the milk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced through the studio glass. Fenley was standing by the door, talking to someone from the station—but she was watching us.
I didn't have to say a word.
She gave a single nod. No hesitation.
It was a green light.
{"Lucky for you—we brought it along."}
I spoke into the mic with all the calm I could gather, but my eyes stayed on Randy—narrowed.
{"Free advertisement, right?"}
This time, I smirked.
He almost choked trying not to laugh. The man tossed a sarcastic jabs my way, but I threw them right back—clean and sharp—until he had to surrender with a grin.
God's Country began to play.
The first chords hit—dark, grounded, and heavy with weight.
And just like that, the studio changed.
The room went still. The kind of silence you don't dare break. Even Randy leaned back in his chair, eyes wide for a moment, then slowly closing.
He was listening.
Really listening.
I didn't say anything.
I pushed open the soundproof door and stepped into the control room—a cooler space lit by analog meter lights and the faint red glow of the "ON AIR" sign still flashing above.
Fenley stood near the audio board, arms crossed. And beside her was a man I hadn't seen before.
Tall. Trim. Dressed in a dark tailored suit that said power without trying too hard. His presence was sharper than his haircut—and that was saying something.
He didn't turn to me right away. Just stared at the levels bouncing on the mixer like they were telling him secrets.
"So," he finally said, voice smooth but firm,
"this is the kid Rosie's been talking about."
Fenley glanced at me and smiled.
"Yes. This is Georgie Cooper. Our first artist."
She looked proud—but restrained.
"Georgie," she nodded to me, "this is Michael. PD of the station."
I stepped forward, extended my hand.
"Nice to meet you, sir."
Michael turned, gave me a long look before gripping my hand tightly. His eyes didn't blink.
"That song…" he said.
"Did you write it?"
I returned his stare and matched his grip.
"Yes. Every word. Every melody. It's mine."
There was a pause—five full seconds of silence.
Then he released my hand slowly.
"That's a good song, kid."
Fenley's expression didn't shift, but I saw it in her posture—satisfaction.
Michael stood straighter.
"Mr. Cooper," he said smoothly.
"You don't sing like someone your age. You sing like someone who's seen things."
I gave him a half-smile.
"Guess I've seen enough."
He studied me again.
"Do you want a CMA Award?"
He said it like it was nothing. But the weight in the air told me it wasn't.
This wasn't a test.
This was an offer.
A path.
And I turned it down.
"No."
Fenley's head snapped toward me. From the corner of my eye, I saw her jaw tighten. Even Michael's brows lifted slightly.
"I'm not in this for trophies," I said quietly.
"I just want my music to mean something. That's all."
The air in the room felt thicker now.
I could feel their disbelief—but I meant every word.
"Sure," I added, "a trophy's nice. Fame is fine. But my family's already proud of me."
Images flashed through my mind—George Sr. trying to act unimpressed, Mary holding her smile like it would burst out of her, Missy bouncing on her toes.
That was enough.
"But I do want to sing at the Super Bowl."
I added it softly, nodding slightly.
"That's the kind of stage matters to me."
Michael's mouth curled into something like a grin. He extended his hand again.
"You're an interesting young man, Mr. Cooper. Nice meeting you."
"Likewise, Mr. Michael."
He turned to shake Fenley's hand, gave her a look I couldn't read, then walked out the room without another word.
---
The silence hung for a second.
Then, the sound engineer—who hadn't said a damn word the entire time—finally looked up from his console.
"You're a stupid young man."
Fenley nodded solemnly.
"He's right."
I just laughed.
Didn't argue.
Didn't have to.
The door to the studio swung open behind me.
Randy leaned in, wide-eyed and grinning.
"Damn, kid—that was a hell of a song."
"Thanks. Hope you buy the album when it drops."
"How 'bout you give me a free copy?"
His grin got wider.
I gave him a deadpan stare, then walked out without answering.
"Come on!" he called after me.
"It was a joke!"