Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Ross
Having Wynter back is great, but we have less than forty-eight hours together.
And a lot of those hours are spent doing things without her.
Performing. Soundcheck. Band meetings.
All necessary but extremely frustrating.
I just want to hang out with her. Take her to bed. Talk to her. Make love to her on a chair overlooking the city. Shower together. Continue getting to know each other.
And we do some of that but not all of it. Certainly not enough of it. And she never complains.
“I’m going with you to the airport,” I tell her on Sunday after breakfast.
“You are?” She looks confused.
“There’s a hotel shuttle so why shouldn’t I ride along?”
She smiles. “Well, I won’t complain about any extra minutes we get to spend together.”
“We have to talk about that,” I say, pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoodie.
“I might quit my job,” she blurts.
“Yeah?” I look up in surprise. “You’re gonna do that travel nursing thing?”
“I reached out to a recruiter, and she said she’d get in touch on Monday. That doesn’t mean I’m getting the job but I was an E.R. nurse for nine years, so I’ve got the qualifications and experience.”
“You know I don’t care where you work or how much you make, right?” I reach for her hand and she nods.
“I know. But I care. I want to pull my weight. I took time off when Harley needed me so I felt okay taking money from her then, letting her support me, but it’s different now. You and I have to start out as equals.”
I nod. “I understand that. I just want you to know that you don’t have to be miserable just so you can match my salary or whatever.”
“I don’t know what your salary is,” she stage whispers, eyes twinkling.
“To be fair, I don’t know what yours is either,” I reply, chuckling. “But my regular salary, as the band’s tour manager, is one fifty. Plus bonuses at the end of every tour.”
“My current salary is ninety grand. No bonuses.”
“We’re still in the same ballpark.”
“I was making a hundred and fifteen at the hospital, but I thought it would be a worthwhile trade-off for less stress. Turns out, I gravely underestimated the stress working in an office setting.”
“Don’t worry about money, okay?” I reach. “They’re paying me a fuck-ton to do this lead singer gig. I can afford to take care of both of us while you’re figuring out what you want to do.”
“I don’t have debt,” she says. “My only bills are my car insurance, gas, cell phone, stuff like that. I don’t pay anything to live at Harley and Tommy’s.
Obviously, I have to eat but I’ve put away a nice nest egg.
I just don’t want to blow through it because it’s supposed to be for a down payment on something. ”
“You don’t need to touch your money,” I say firmly. “I mean it. Hell, quit your job and come be with me for a while.”
“Harley said the same thing,” she admits. “I could quit and then come on tour until I find a job.”
“That works for me. And you’ll have no bills here.”
“I have to think about health insurance. Once I quit, I won’t have it, so I’d have to buy CObrA or something.”
“Let me talk to Sasha, see if there’s a way for us to add you to the label’s plan. We’d have to pay but it wouldn’t be anywhere near what you’d pay for CObrA.”
“Is that possible?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I have to ask. Let me find out and then we’ll reassess.”
She moves closer to me. “You’re sweet.”
“I do my best.” His phone buzzes and he looks down. “Christ. There’s a shipping issue and this is one thing Pete can’t handle. Shipments are in my name. Dammit.”
“Go. Do your thing.” She smiles. “I’ll be here until you get back. Or maybe with Harley.”
“All right. Should only take me about ten minutes.”
I kiss her, long and deep, until we’re both breathless. Then I grab my room key and head out. Glancing back, she’s already on her phone, probably texting Harley. This would be so much easier if she was here on tour, not flying back and forth every so often.
Somehow, I have to make that happen.
Unfortunately, ten minutes turns into three hours.
Z had to have one of his guitars repaired—his favorite guitar—and it got held up in customs because the only person he wanted working on it is based in Europe.
Somehow, it got caught up in a battle for payment and since it was in my name, I had to be the one to sort it out.
In the end, the guitar still won’t arrive until tomorrow and Wynter had to leave without me.
We didn’t get to say goodbye in person, though I texted her, and we still don’t know when we’re going to see each other again.
I pull up my calendar, looking for breaks in the schedule.
There isn’t a significant break for another month.
This week is busier than usual too, because Kingston is seeing the Seattle specialist tomorrow morning.
That means we’re not leaving for Spokane until later in the day.
Luckily, it’s not a long flight. We’ll play there Tuesday and then head to Vancouver, British Columbia on Thursday.
At that point, it’s almost back-to-back shows. The only day off in the next two weeks is Monday—a week from tomorrow—and the one after that.
It’s a good thing I’m singing for Kingston because that many dates, so close together, will wreak havoc on his vocal chords.
And that’s not me wanting to stay in the spotlight just a little longer.
We’ll know more after his appointment tomorrow but my gut tells me Kingston is going to be out longer than anticipated.
Maybe six to eight weeks. And at that point, the band will have to decide if they can continue with a different lead singer.
Me.
If I’m good enough—enigmatic enough—to fill in for Kingston Knight for an indefinite period of time.
Imposter syndrome is a real thing.
It can knock you sideways when it hits, right along with insecurity, guilt, and myriad other negative emotions. I’m aware of the how and why, but getting past it is something else entirely.
How do you convince yourself you’re worthy?
The last week has been a rollercoaster. Extreme ups and downs that have left me a little out of sorts. Not to mention, getting involved with a woman—actually considering an exclusive, long-term relationship—for the first time since Clara.
There have been women but those weren’t relationships. They were distractions. Minor interruptions to my very practical, organized life.
The last week has blown everything I’ve done for the last nineteen years wide open.
Professionally, musically, and emotionally.
I’m all over the place and doing my best not to let it freak me out.
The worst part is that I have no one to talk to.
I can talk to Wynter but she’s struggling too.
To trust in me, to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up, and probably a bunch of other things I’m not aware of.
I can talk to Pete or even the guys in the band but I feel like I have to be careful with them.
I’m never going to be the permanent singer for Onyx Knight.
And I don’t want to be.
Kingston is better than I’ll ever be. Not to mention, younger and better-looking.
I’m not being self-deprecating. There’s nothing wrong with me in general, but I’m not him. Kingston Knight is, according to women and tabloids all over the world, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. He’s barely thirty with his whole life ahead of him. Meanwhile, at forty-two, I’m inching toward middle age.
No remarkable assets, though I’ve invested my money wisely.
No family to speak of.
No wife or kids or anything to show for the last twenty years.
Just work, a little money, and more work.
What does that say about me?
“Hey.” Kingston finds me in the lobby waiting for a delivery.
“Hey.” I glance at him. “Nervous about the appointment tomorrow?”
He shrugs. “A little.” His voice is soft, a whisper really, since that’s the only way he’s allowed to talk at the moment. “You look like a man with a lot on his mind, though.”
I nod. “Yeah. The last week has made me think about things I stopped thinking about a long time ago.”
He smiles. “Care to share?”
Do I?
I hesitate. “This is weird to talk about. Especially to you.”
“Because you want my job.”
“What? No! I just—”
He stops me, putting a hand on my arm. “It’s okay, man. I’d say you were a liar if you didn’t. What musician doesn’t want to be me? Us?” There’s no concern or anger in his expression. Just a solemn understanding.
Maybe he is the one to talk to.
“I don’t necessarily want your job,” I say carefully.
“I love working for you guys so that’s only part of it.
It’s more about remembering everything I lost. Gave up.
Whatever you want to call it. And now there’s a chance to rebuild.
My life. The career I thought I was going to have.
Falling in love. I’m fucking scared, King. ”
He nods, like he already knew those things. “Of course you are.”
I stare at him. “Where do I go from here? In a week, a month, whatever it is, you heal and I’m no longer necessary.
Great. I’m not mad. I love running the tour.
But then you guys gave me something else to think about.
I mean, does anyone truly give a shit about Ross Rockit?
Sure, the crowd is excited to see me every night.
We’re having fun playing both your music and mine, but they’re excited because it’s Onyx Knight with Ross Rockit.
I don’t think Ross Rockit on his own is much of a draw. ”
“You don’t know that.” His soft voice is somber. “And just because the offer is there, it doesn’t mean you have to do it. Everything can go back to exactly what it was before.”
I pause and look at him for a long minute. “That’s just it, man—I don’t think it can.”