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3rd POV
The radio station didn't look like much from the outside—just a squat brick building off a side road outside Houston, with a blinking red sign that read:
"KIKK 95.7 – Real Country, Real Texas."
But inside, it buzzed with life—phones ringing off the hook, tape reels spinning steadily, and the soft hum of classic country drifting through the halls like perfume.
Georgie Cooper adjusted the collar of his denim jacket as he stepped through the door. His boots echoed sharply on the linoleum floor, each click oddly grounding. In the glass reflection beside him, he caught a glimpse of himself—messy hair, tired eyes, and a crooked grin that hadn't quite faded since last night's gig.
A woman in a headset approached with a clipboard. "You must be Georgie. Lord, you're taller than I imagined."
He gave a light chuckle. "People tend to say that a lot."
She smiled and pointed down the hallway. "Studio B. You'll be on with Randy. Just be yourself—and no cussin'. It's a live mic."
Georgie smirked. "Got it. Mama didn't raise no outlaw with a foul mouth."
Fenley, walking beside him, chuckled softly. The kind of laugh that meant both amusement—and pride.
She was the one who showed up last night and told him flat-out: "You're doing the broadcast. Prime time."
Strike while the iron's hot, Rosie had said.
Fenley agreed. And now, here they were.
Georgie didn't have superpowers. He wasn't Tony Stark with impossible tech, or some magician casting spells to make the world fall at his feet.
All he had were his voice, his body, and the raw fire of momentum building beneath his boots.
And if he let this moment slip—out of fear, out of doubt—he'd be betraying every person who believed in him.
His family.
Himself.
And George S.—the man who'd given him a stage, a spotlight, and 50,000 hearts to break with just a single note.
As they approached the studio door, Georgie inhaled deeply. His fingers flexed—half nerves, half anticipation.
Fenley caught the movement. "You okay?" she asked gently.
"Yeah," he said. "Just makin' sure I remember who I am before I open my mouth."
She tilted her head, offering a soft smirk. "Well, in case you forget—you're the kid who made the Astrodome fall in love last week. That ring a bell?"
Georgie let out a half-laugh. "Ain't never gonna live that down, huh?"
"Nope." Her eyes gleamed. "Now go in there and charm the hell outta Houston."
The red ON AIR light above the studio door glowed faintly—still off. Georgie looked at it, then turned to her with a quiet smile.
"All right then. Thanks," he said, meeting her gaze.
Fenley nodded slowly, her smile turning sly.
"Well, if you really wanna thank me…" she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, biting her lower lip and shooting him a look that could melt a steel mic stand.
Georgie's mouth twitched, eyes narrowing with both heat and disbelief. "You want it again, huh?"
His voice was low—half teasing, half warning.
His mind flashed back to last night. That punishment he gave her. Over-the-top, rough, reckless…
And yet Fenley didn't just take it. She liked it. She begged for more. She soaked for it.
Now she was giving him that same look again—eyes gleaming, body language loose and wicked.
She gave him the slightest nod, followed by a wink that could only be described as criminal.
Georgie held her gaze for a beat too long before stepping back. "...We talk about that later," he muttered, clearing his throat and turning on his heel.
Fenley laughed behind him as he walked away, boots tapping with rhythm and weight.
In just a few seconds, he'd step behind the glass.
And she'd be watching him from the other side.
The door to Studio B swung open with a soft click, and the scent of old leather, vinyl, and cheap coffee hit Georgie like a wave.
The room was dim but warm, lit by an old desk lamp that cast a golden glow across the console. At the far end of the room, a man sat hunched over a mug of coffee, steam curling around his tired face.
His eyes were half-lidded, the kind of weary only earned by years of graveyard shifts and long playlists—but behind that fatigue was the unmistakable aura of a radio veteran.
A man who had weathered storms—both on air and off—and had the voice that could hush a bar fight or soothe a sleepless soul at 3 A.M.
He looked up when Georgie stepped in.
For a split second, the man's brow furrowed in confusion—until recognition dawned. Of course. That smile. That hair. That walk like he owned every honky tonk in Texas.
The man rose slowly, setting his mug down with practiced care. "Hello," he said, offering a firm handshake. "Are you our guest for today?"
Georgie took his hand with a polite nod, that signature crooked grin spreading across his face.
"Thank you, sir. You're so kind. Ahh no, actually…" he said, scratching the back of his head in faux confusion.
"I just wandered in off the street. Thought maybe y'all needed someone to sweep the floor or somethin'."
Randy blinked.
A pause.
Then another blink.
He turned slightly, peering through the glass at the sound engineer, who was already chuckling behind the control board.
From the through of glass came a sharp voice, half-annoyed, half-amused.
"Georgie, stop playing around! You're going live in three minutes!"
Fenley stood with her arms crossed, one brow arched in the way only a woman who really knew you could manage. There was a you're not as cute as you think smirk tugging at her lips.
Randy tilted his head back toward Georgie. And suddenly, it clicked.
A slow grin spread across the man's face. One honed over years behind the mic, but still capable of genuine delight.
"You little shit," he muttered, shaking his head with a grin. "Had me thinkin' you were lookin' for janitor work."
Georgie grinned wider. "Or maybe… I'm the long-lost illegitimate son of the station's founder. Here to claim what's rightfully mine."
Randy stared at him.
Then glanced at the engineer again.
The engineer just held up two fingers: two minutes to live.
Randy groaned. "Great. I'm about to go live with a smooth-talkin', floor-sweepin' cowboy prince."
Georgie offered a slight bow. "Name's Georgie Cooper, sir. Real honor to be here."
They shook hands again—this time with genuine warmth.
"Tch. If you weren't the guest of honor today, I'd beat your smart-ass down," Randy muttered.
Georgie smirked. "Sure, sure. I can see the six-pack buried somewhere under all that dad-bod insulation."
Randy snorted. "This?" He patted his belly proudly. "This is the body of a man who's fed three kids and survived one divorce."
Georgie now smile warmly at him. "Then I respect the hell outta that."
Something shifted in Randy's face—just slightly. No sarcasm. No deflection. Just a moment of real appreciation.
"...One minute," called the sound engineer.
Randy snapped back to the console, reaching for his headset. "I assume you already know the rules."
"No cursing, no selling protein shakes, and don't bore the listeners." Georgie replied smoothly, adjusting his mic like he'd been doing this since birth.
Randy stared. "...Smart-ass."
"Gifted," Georgie corrected, smirking.
Behind the glass, Fenley rolled her eyes and mouthed, Behave.
The engineer began the countdown.
Five… Four… Three…
Randy leaned forward, back straight, voice shifting like a gearshift on a classic Chevy. Smooth. Confident. Country.
Two… One…
The red ON AIR light blinked on.
Randy lit up with it.
"Hello, Houston!" he boomed.
—--------
*3rd Pov
At the Cooper residence, the scent of fresh toast and brewed coffee lingered in the air as Mary and Connie sat at the kitchen table, a small radio set between them.
Morning light spilled through the windows, painting the room gold—but Mary's face shone even brighter. Her smile was soft, proud, and almost dreamy.
Connie, for once, wasn't being sarcastic or biting. She was just enjoying the music on the radio.
Country music filled the space, the station still playing its morning rotation before the main event.
"Do you think Georgie's going to be okay?" Mary asked quietly, glancing at George Sr. as he entered the room with Sheldon and Missy trailing behind him.
But anyone looking at Mary's face could tell—she wasn't worried. She was glowing. Like a mother waiting to see her child on stage… again.
"How long's this music gonna keep going?!" Missy whined, arms crossed. "I wanna hear Georgie already—so I can brag to everyone at school!"
Sheldon scowled. "Brother is going to be fine. But how long must we wait before I am officially late for school?"
George Sr. grunted, clearly not in the mood for complaints. But instead of snapping at Sheldon, he answered Mary's question first.
"He'll be fine. We've already seen him sing in front of thousands. One radio host is nothing compared to a stadium full of screaming Texans."
Connie raised her mug, gesturing toward George Sr. like she was giving a toast.
"He's right. Let's not forget… that boy's the grandpa of this house."
Mary shot her a look, but chose peace. She simply sipped her coffee and waited.
George Sr. chuckled, taking his seat. "Honestly? I didn't believe it either at first. Georgie on the radio? But then Fenley dropped by with the contract and the rundown. It's real. We're not dreamin'."
Sheldon, now seated beside Mary, looked at his dad with narrowed eyes.
"Technically, Georgie will be on the radio as a guest, not as a host. There is a clear distinction."
He sighed dramatically. "How long are we planning to listen? I refuse to compromise my attendance record for what amounts to a glorified talk show."
George Sr. gave him a tired look. "I already called Principal Peterson. Told him we're all comin' in late."
Then he smiled, glancing at Mary and Connie.
"I also told him to turn on the radio. KIKK 650. He said he would."
Sheldon raised an eyebrow. Of course he did.
And without invitation, he launched into full explanation mode:
"KIKK 650 is a daytime-only AM station that transmits at 650 kilohertz with a directional antenna. During daylight, AM waves travel through groundwave propagation—essentially hugging the Earth's surface. Given that Medford is approximately 130 to 150 miles from Houston, we are well within range of its 250-watt signal."
"No one Cares, Sheldon!" Missy groaned, "I'm totally telling everyone that's my brother! I'm gonna be the coolest kid in school!" Missy said, bouncing in her seat while Sheldon scowled beside her.
Mary leaned in and kissed the top of Sheldon's head. "Thank you, Shelly. That was very informative."
Sheldon gave a small, surprised smile and leaned into her side, momentarily soothed.
Then—the music on the radio cut.
A beat of static.
And then, a deep southern voice filled the room:
{"Good mornin', Houston!"}
The Cooper household froze.
{"You're listening to KIKK 95.7—Real Country, Real Texas—and this morning, we've got ourselves a very special guest…"}
Randy's voice hesitated, like he didn't quite believe the words he was about to say.
{"…The man who rode a horse for his entrance at George S.'s concert… Georgie Cooper, folks."}
The whole family blinked at once.
"…He doesn't believe it," Mary muttered, lips pursed.
"For sure he didn't see it with his own eyes," George Sr. agreed with a snort.
"Shush, you two!" Connie snapped, waving a hand toward the radio. "Please i wanted to enjoy listening the radio right now."
{"Howdy, Houston. Thanks for having me. I'm still not sure this ain't a dream."}
Mary clutched her mug tighter. Her eyes glistened.
"Oh, honey…" she whispered.
Missy jumped from her seat like she just touched a live wire.
"THAT'S HIM! THAT'S HIS VOICE!"
Sheldon blinked. "Well, obviously. You think they cloned him just for the radio?"
George Sr. smirked, not saying anything—but his chest swelled just a little.
{"Hey cowboy,"} Randy's voice came through the speakers, playful and curious, {"I gotta ask. You rode that horse like you owned the whole Astrodome. What was that like?"}
The Cooper family chuckled at the way he said it—half disbelief, half admiration.
{"Well, Randy,"} Georgie drawled smoothly, {"her name's Silver, and she only agreed to carry me 'cause I promised not to embarrass her."}
Connie snorted. "Damn horse nearly gave me a heart attack."
{"Alright, alright, I'll admit—I wasn't there. Emergency on my side, okay?!"} Randy shot back, defensive.
{"I didn't say anything, Randy."} Georgie's tone dropped, calm and quiet, like he was making a point without saying it out loud.
Connie and Missy burst out laughing. Even without seeing his faces, they could picture Georgie's deadpan glare.
{"Yeah yeah, I can feel those judgmental eyes…"} Randy muttered. Then he perked back up. {"Anyway—rumor has it, there were a lot of kisses during your set? What's the deal with that?"}
Before Georgie could answer, Randy repeated:
{"Kisses, Georgie? You startin' a revolution out there?....Or maybe a cult?"}
Georgie's laugh came through, low and amused.
{"Well, I guess they got lost in the music. I'm grateful for that. I just sang with everything I had… and when the song ended, they were still kissin'."}
{"And to be clear—Randy,"} Georgie added with a smirk in his voice, {"you missed it. You weren't there. So maybe don't question what you didn't witness."}
{"I said it was an emergency!"} Randy barked, flustered.
{"Yeah, yeah. Sure. I'm deeply flattered by your absence."}
The sarcasm in Georgie's voice made the entire Cooper kitchen erupt with laughter.
George Sr. shook his head, grinning. "That boy turned a concert into a damn love story."
Sheldon, arms crossed, mumbled, "Emotionally manipulative lyrics override rational behavior in large crowds. It's psychology."
Connie raised her brow. "It's called charm, Moonpie."
The room filled with another round of chuckles as the family leaned in closer to the radio.
{"Now—Georgie,"} Randy said with a shift in tone, {"I'm readin' somethin' here. Says there was a moment during your last song… people started prayin'? Is that true?....I have feeling you really creating a cult right now!"}
There was a short pause. Then Georgie's voice returned—gentler now.
{"Yeah…but no! I am not creating a cult or something here! That was during my song 'God's Country'. It's about loving your hometown, your roots. Feeling God in the dirt beneath your feet. I wrote it for people like us."}
He paused, then added softly:
{"...And for my mom, actually."}
Mary gasped.
Randy's voice dropped into a teasing tone:
{"Aw, mama's boy!"}
{"Oh, shut up."} Georgie muttered, his voice warm but embarrassed.
Mary clutched her chest, beaming with joy. George Sr. and Connie exchanged smiles but didn't say a word. They didn't need to.
Then, Randy grew quiet—sincere.
{"But seriously—I gotta say this."}
Georgie didn't interrupt.
{"What you pulled off at the Dome? That wasn't luck. That was an artist showin' up with somethin' real. And the whole damn stadium felt it. I aint there, but if what i read here is true, then you really an amazing young man!."}
{"Well,"} Georgie said lightly, {"I couldn't disappoint Mr. George S. after he gave me that stage, right?"}
Randy laughed.
{"We'll talk more about that later, but first—let's hear the song that started it all. Stay tuned, folks. Georgie Cooper ain't done yet."}
The radio shifted into the opening notes of 'Real Good Man'.
The Cooper family sat in peaceful silence, bathed in sunlight and pride.
Until—
"Can we go to school now?" Sheldon deadpanned, shattering the mood.
"SHELDON!" the whole room shouted in unison.