Reckless

Chapter 7

The walk into town only takes me ten minutes and a few people politely greet me when we pass. It’s a whole different world from LA. It’s nice.

After wandering for a while, checking things out and keeping my head down as much as I can, I spot the music store. My heart lifts when I see the acoustics on display in the window. This is promising.

My pulse picks up a bit when I go inside, worrying I’ll be recognized in here, but the guy behind the counter is in his fifties, at a guess, and doesn’t seem to know who I am.

The smell of wood and old records takes me back as I peruse the wall of guitars. They have some decent brands here and I walk the length of the store, checking them out.

The store owner comes over and helps me take a few down to try out. He’s impressed when I play some chords, and enthusiastic about having someone here who knows about guitars. They’re expensive, and I wonder how he does business in such a small town. When he hands me his card, I see the web address. He must have a lot of online business.

We talk for a while, and I settle on a Larivee OM-40 with a blonde wood body and mahogany neck. It’s a gorgeous guitar and will be an amazing addition to my collection. The owner is thrilled because this is over two grand's worth of guitar. He sets me up with a case, and I throw in a few picks, some notepads and pens and a guitar strap.

Once it’s all stored, I put the case over my back and head out. It’s nearing midday. I’ve spent close to an hour and a half in here. Before I leave, I take a snapshot of the storefront and unpack the guitar to take one of that too. I know a few musicians who would appreciate what is on offer here.

I send the photo of the guitar to Solene.

Solene

Wow. That is gorgeous, Jude. How does it sound?

Jude

Not played it yet but can’t wait

Solene

Banged her yet?

Jude

It’s not like that. And fuck off

She sends some more texts, which I ignore, but I’m not mad.

I go in a few more stores but get paranoid people are looking at me, so head to the park I’ve passed twice and wander around. I’m surprised I haven’t got bored yet. My fingers are itching to play the guitar, so I find an out of the way bench, get it out and tune it to my liking.

About ten minutes into playing, I look up and see a couple watching me. The woman opens her purse, and I put up my hand. She thinks I’m busking? God, if she knew my bank account was obscene, she wouldn’t be offering me her five dollars.

We go back and forth a few times, but I don’t have the heart to turn her away when she continues to insist. I thank her. I don’t want to take anyone else’s money, so pack up.

That is when I spot Krista. She’s standing on the edge of the park looking over with an amused expression. The guitar is back in its case by the time she gets near.

“Are you hustling these good people?”

“It was unintentional. I needed to play. I tried to say no, but she insisted.”

“Well, lunch is on you then.”

We head out of the park, and she takes me to a diner I’ve passed a few times. We get a quiet booth, and a server takes our order at the table. It feels rude to sit here with a hat on, so I risk taking it off.

“Did you get much writing done?” I ask when the server has dropped off our sodas.

“About three thousand words. That’s not bad for a couple of hours.”

“Seems like a lot to me.”

“My projected word count is a hundred and thirty, so…”

“Wow, that’s a lot.”

“It’s second nature. Is it the same for you, writing songs?”

“When the muse is there, sure.”

“Is that an issue?” Krista sips her soda through the straw, drawing my eyes to her mouth. Fuck.

“On and off. We all write for the band, so when one of us is having an off day, the others pick up the slack,” I frown. “I don’t think there has ever been a time when we’ve all been off our game. At one point or another, we’re creating.”

“Do you think that is why you’ve come to this point, because you don’t switch off?”

Is it? I rub a hand over my mouth and place my elbow on the table. I need to shave. Before we head back to the RV, I should stop off and grab what I need. I didn’t bring anything with me to Bill’s party because I figured it was one night.

“Like our output was our downfall?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that but, if you have tons of material, the logic says you put it together and create music to put out at a fast pace.”

“Maybe,” I shrug. Some of what we write doesn’t go to the producers, but a lot of it does. It’s an interesting take, that’s for sure.

Our food is delivered and we both tuck in. Krista definitely has an appetite. I like it.

We chat a little more about our next few stops. She has it all planned out, down to the very last detail. I suppose that is the best way to do a road trip. Our tours are always planned to death. We can’t afford to go off track, given the schedule.

“Do you ever deviate from what you’ve planned out?” I ask, pushing my empty plate away. That was one of the best burgers I’ve eaten in ages.

“Sometimes,” she muses. “It depends where I’m passing through if there is something I haven’t seen before. Or if I’m having a slow writing day. Other times, I set up wherever I’m parked and read, or catch up with friends. Or video call my PA to go through stuff when I’m unable to switch off. I go with the flow, I guess. I try not to take for granted that I’m able to do this. Many people don’t get the opportunity.”

She finishes up and says she wants to call in at the bookstore before we go back. I’m intrigued, so ask if she minds me tagging along. She’s surprised but doesn’t say no.

The bookstore is much like the music one. It’s not a big-name place, it’s independent and there is a small cafe on the upper mezzanine floor. Krista goes off to browse through one section while I head to another. I’m not a big reader, so nothing but local history books interests me.

After a while, I grab a coffee and sit by the balcony, looking over to where Krista is walking around. She already has a stack of books under one arm, which makes me smile.

She stops and talks to people as she moves between the shelves. There is an air of excitement around her, especially when she grabs a book for her pile. She’s passionate about this, it’s not a trait you often see in people. Most people I come across are overworked and not enjoying what they’re doing.

At the sound of a woman squealing, I look over the rail and see Krista with two women. I half rise to make sure she is okay, but she’s smiling. They recognize her.

It’s kind of ironic she’s the one recognized. It makes a change to be the anonymous one. She talks with them for a while, signs their books and takes pictures. She’s gracious through it all.

Lately, I’ve wanted to get off stage and back on the bus. I’ve forgotten what it’s like for the fans, the high I used to get meeting and talking to them. Now we can’t even sign autographs without dealing with the darker side of the fandom. So many of them are reaching out and trying to grab at us. It makes it harder to want to put myself in those situations.

As the women head off, Krista goes to the cash register to buy her books. I head down to help her because she’s gone overboard. All those books will be heavy. I almost offer to pay but she won’t appreciate it.

“My, aren’t you a tall drink of water?” the cashier says, looking at me.

Krista gives me an anxious look, but I smile politely, letting it roll off my back. She doesn’t mean it the way the other women who harass me do.

“You’re a lucky lady,” she says to Krista as I pick up her bag of books.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one,” I wink, earning a funny look from Krista. “Shall we head back?”

“Yeah, thanks so much,” Krista says to the cashier.

“Anytime, Krista. And please, next time you’re in town, let us know. We’d love to host a reading or signing.”

“I’ll get my assistant to contact you,” she smiles, then looks up at me.

With another smile at the cashier, I put my hand on Krista’s lower back, guiding her away, then open the door when we reach it. She doesn’t mention the woman’s insinuation we’re together, or me adding to it. And she doesn’t say anything about me touching her back. It wasn’t a conscious thing, it was almost instinctive.

“Does that happen often?” I ask as we stroll back.

“Fans coming up to me? Not really, but if you put yourself in an environment where you're known, I guess there is a higher likelihood of it happening.”

“How do you feel about it?” I ask, curious. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“You saw?”

“I was upstairs and heard them squealing.”

“They did not squeal,” she nudges me with her elbow.

“Yeah, they did. They were thrilled to meet you.”

“It’s great meeting the fans,” she says. Her expression changes when she catches my eye. “It’s not the way it happens to you.”

“Nope. Bodyguards and restraining orders for me.”

It’s obvious she wants to ask. I shouldn’t have said it, but it’s not like it hasn’t been in the news.

“What’s the plan this afternoon?” I change the subject.

“Another night here. It’s a nice place. Tomorrow we’ll be crossing into South Dakota.”

“So, chilling at the RV?”

“Or taking a walk through the trails. There is a good one that goes to a pretty lake. I’m sure it’s fresh water if you need a drink.”

“Hilarious.” I narrow my eyes at her as she laughs. It’s infectious and I can’t help joining in.

I stare for longer than she does, her attention going back to the road ahead. Fuck, this woman is doing all kinds of things for my head. Nothing else. Nope. Not going there.

Back at the RV I ask if I’m good to take a shower, only then remembering I wanted to buy a razor. Krista gives me a towel and I slip into the bedroom. The bed is made, nothing out of place. One thing I’ve noticed about her is how tidy she is, in everything except her writing. The laptop and notepads are always spread out across the table.

In the bathroom, I set down my wash bag and look at my reflection. I’ve avoided it the last few days. Not wanting to see how fucking drawn I look. I’m surprised to see the difference. I’ve had a few good meals, been out in the sun a little more, without the LA smog to dilute it, so my skin is more sun kissed than normal.

The stubble isn’t that bad, it changes my face. Perhaps that is why no one has noticed me. I usually keep clean shaven.

It’s more like Krista in here, with her toiletries and make-up laid out. It smells like cherries, a scent that has become synonymous with Krista.

I start the shower and strip off. It’s a little tight but I’m used to it from our tour buses. After washing my hair, I pick up her body wash and pop the lid, giving it a sniff.

It’s all kinds of wrong when I imagine her in here, soaping herself up with this. The urge to squirt some in my hand and use it on my cock almost takes me over. From what I heard last night, the walls are thin.

I set it down and use my body wash, soaping up and rinsing off. I’m not sure how it works with the water tanks, but I should learn. I doubt me standing under the water for ages is going to help.

The space in the bathroom is too small for me to get dried and dressed, so I wrap the towel around my waist and slip into the bedroom. Making sure the door is still shut, I get dried and step into some shorts and a t-shirt I bought yesterday. I can hear music coming from the other room.

I smile when I realize it’s the Pearl Jam album from last night. She must have downloaded it. I left my phone on the desk in her room, and it pings as I am about to head back out.

It’s a news notification, not a text or email. The last thing I need is to be reading anything about the band. Especially as there has been a mixed reaction to us cancelling shows.

People are supportive, but there are the usual assholes who think we’re entitled shits, who should be able to stay switched on permanently, because that is what we’re paid for. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read that statement.

This headline has me frowning. ‘ Lead Singer of Reckless Soul Missing.’

“What the fuck?” I mutter, opening the article.

I step back and sit down on the bed. It’s accurate, which means someone at Bill’s party leaked what happened. They don’t know Cody found me, or that management is aware of where I am, at least, what I’m doing. No one knows the itinerary because I didn’t get it from Krista before I joined her.

It’s another reminder I can’t do anything without the goddamn world reporting on it. I’ll lose my shit if anyone gets wind of where I am, or more importantly, who I’m with. The last thing I want is to bring that to Krista’s door. I’m hoping moving around every day will keep them off my back. But this doesn’t help.

I can’t stay in her bedroom forever, even if the thought of lying down under the covers and shutting everything out is appealing. The bed is made, but there is still a lingering smell of her. Immersing myself in that is hard to pull away from.

The dulcet tones of Eddie Vedder, and the surprisingly sweet tone of Krista’s voice singing along, eventually draw me out. She jumps when I pull the sliding door back, putting a hand to her chest and going quiet.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I say.

“I can’t carry a tune,” she cringes.

“From where I’m standing, it sounded fine. Good even.”

“Bull,” she rolls her eyes, but her cheeks pink a little. It’s cute. “So,” she grabs a hoody. “Do you want to hike, or are you staying here?”

“Yeah, I’ll come. There’s gonna be a lot of walking the next couple of weeks.”

“It’s good for you.”

She’s said that once before, but she’s right. It has to, in part, be why I’m looking and feeling better. Aside from her company, obviously.

Krista eyes my footwear but must find them acceptable because she gathers everything we need, puts on a backpack, and heads for the door.