15. Kinsley
15
KINSLEY
Present—1989.
H e’s fucking late.
I look down at the dainty gold watch on my wrist that my mom gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Nash was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago to pick me up for dinner, and now he’s running late doing God knows what.
Huffing, I pace the front porch, kicking at small rocks and twigs to pass the time. I called my friend Matt at his restaurant downtown earlier to see if he could fit us in tonight. He owns Cedar Pine , a five-star restaurant. With it being a high-end establishment, many celebrities and politicians frequent it for its top-notch food and even better wine. It’s a hotspot in Los Angeles, to say the least.
Matt and I first met in English class in our freshman year of high school after I moved from Hart. His charming smile and geeky glasses made me feel at ease around him, and I had a gut feeling right then and there I could trust this man. And he proved me right. We got on like a house on fire and he even became close friends with Sadie.
At the time, I had no desire to trust a man after what I had been through years prior, but Matt showed me with his kindness and easygoing vibe that not all men were bad—just some.
After we graduated high school, the three of us went our separate ways. I got more acting roles, Matt worked toward opening his restaurant, and Sadie got into university to obtain a marketing degree. Despite being on different paths in life, we do our best to get together when we can and keep in contact.
I haven’t spoken to Matt in a couple of weeks, so I felt a little guilty calling him up to ask for a table on such short notice, but he reassured me I shouldn’t feel bad and he’s glad he’ll get to see me, even if it’s only brief.
Just another reason to love this man and his kind heart.
Headlights approaching from down the road capture my attention. I lift my eyes from the chipped wooden floorboards beneath my black flats as a vehicle pulls up along the curb in front of my house. The passenger window rolls down to reveal Nash sitting in the front seat.
With a huff, I hoist my black handbag up on my shoulder and march down the pathway. The crunch of leaves diverts my attention to where Mrs. Jones is standing in her front yard raking up leaves under the large oak tree in the middle of her property. Her kind eyes meet mine and she smiles, offering a wave with her wrinkled hand.
I slow my pace and return the gesture. “Good evening, Mrs. Jones.”
“Good evening, Kinsley.” Her eyes travel to the black Porsche 928 S parked on the street. A warm smile lights up her face as she turns back to me. “He’s a good-looking young man.”
My eyes widen in surprise. In the four years I’ve been living in this house, I haven’t spoken more than a few words of greeting with Mrs. Jones. We both have an understanding that we greet each other to be polite and friendly, but that’s as far as it goes. Hearing her call Nash Beck good-looking is the last thing I was expecting to come from this conversation.
“Uh, yeah, he is,” I murmur, fighting to keep my lips turned upright in a smile.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I’m not sure if a woman of her age keeps up to date with the entertainment industry and what’s hot in music currently, so she may very well have no idea about my fake relationship with Nash. Unless she has seen it on the six o’clock news, but that might be a stretch considering she is out in her garden around that time every night.
“He is,” I reply and shift on my feet. “Well, I better get going…”
“Of course,” Mrs. Jones says, her smile still firmly in place. “Be safe, and have a good night, Kinsley.”
My insides soften at her words. It’s nice to know that although I don’t converse with my elderly neighbor about the weather or whose lawn is better in the street, Mrs. Jones is kind enough to be concerned for my safety. It’s more than I could say for my parents.
I wave at her as I continue down the pathway to Nash’s awaiting car. “I will, Mrs. Jones. Don’t be out too late, okay?”
The older woman chuckles as she goes back to raking her pristine lawn. “Of course, dear.”
Nash’s eyes are on me as I swing the passenger door open and slide onto the cool leather seat. The scent of his woodsy cologne and nicotine invade my senses, as well as the all too familiar scent of whiskey. Glancing around at the interior of the car with its sleek black dashboard and fancy inbuilt radio I haven’t seen in most ordinary cars, I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to know it’s expensive.
“You’re late,” I say to Nash and turn to face him. His wild curls are a mess around his face and what appears to be purple bags are forming under his eyes. While he looks handsome in black jeans, a white T-shirt that allows his tattoos to peek through the thin material, and silver rings and necklaces as accessories, he also looks… exhausted.Drained, even. “I can smell whiskey. Have you been drinking?”
He blinks at me. “Yes. And?”
“You can’t be drinking and driving, Nash.”
Nash huffs as he pulls away from the curb and heads toward downtown Los Angeles where Matt’s restaurant is located. “I know. I just got caught up with something, that’s all. To say I’ve had a long day would be an understatement, so I needed a drink.”
I peer over at him. “How so?”Shadows move across his handsome features as we drive past streetlamps, making him appear more haunting than he already is.
“It’s not something I want to talk about, little devil.”
I fold my arms over my chest and turn in my seat to face him properly. His newly healed knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel and his eyes are laser focused on the road. I’ve seen what this man will do when pushed hard enough, but I’m not afraid of him. I never have been.
“Nash, we have twenty minutes until we get to the restaurant, and you’re going to tell me what’s on your mind whether you like it or not.”
The corner of his lip quirks up for a millisecond before it drops into a thin line. “God, you’re fucking stubborn. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I shrug. “All the time. Now, spill.”
Nash rakes a hand through his hair and grunts. “ Fuck . Fine. But don’t think you can push me like this any time you want, little devil. You caught me at a good time.”
Triumph courses through my veins at how easily he gave in to my nagging. I thought I was going to have to put up more of a fight considering how well he can bottle up his emotions.
He sighs and relaxes into the seat, his shoulders slumping and his grip on the steering wheel easing slightly. “Our music producer at our label dropped the bomb on us today that they’ve planned a surprise Dark Angel concert in one week at the Memorial Coliseum. It’s the biggest venue the band will perform at. But we only have one week to form a setlist and sell out every seat in that stadium.”
My eyes widen at his words. “Holy shit. That’s good, right? If the label thinks Dark Angel can sell out a venue in one week, then this whole facade must be working.”
Fucking hell, that was quick. I expected to see results from this fake relationship in a couple of months, not three weeks.
“Yes, it’s good, but it’s also a fucking nightmare.”
My face falls as the excitement I felt for Nash a moment ago slips away into the darkness. “What do you mean? This is great news for the band. I get it’s super last minute, but it’ll be a big step toward performing at larger venues in the future, right?”
Nash turns the steering wheel sharply, jolting me sideways as we join the traffic on the highway. “It’s a nightmare because everything is happening so fast. When we have shows booked for tours, it’s always in advance so I have time to prepare and make sure everything is in order, but when I only have a week's notice, I can’t do that.”
Glancing over at Nash, I see the worry in his eyes as he stares straight ahead. I’ve never known Nash Beck to be the worried type about anything, so to see him filled with anxiety over having to perform at a last-minute concert is a new side to him. One I never expected to see considering he is so confident and outgoing.
Or is it just a facade for something deeper?
His comment about having panic attacks before we walked the red carpet at the award show three weeks ago comes to mind. I thought it was a one-off comment to make me feel better or that maybe he was referring to when he was a child. Now I’m wondering if he knows how to stop panic attacks because he still gets them.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell him. All I can do at this moment is reassure him this little bump in the road won’t be the end of the world. “I’m not a musician, so I’m not even going to try to attempt to understand how you feel right now, but I will say I understand the overwhelming sensation of not being in control of a situation.”
Nash’s mismatched eyes dart to mine, holding my gaze. I’m helpless as I stare into the depths of his blue and green eyes, searching for the darkness he claims we both share. But in the blink of an eye, he turns to the road, breaking eye contact.
“I don’t have a control issue if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Everyone does,” I say and turn to look out the window. Tall buildings and pedestrians rush by in a blur as the rock music playing softly from the radio fills the small space. “We all want to be in control of our lives and what happens within them. So you can tell yourself you don’t have a control issue, but deep down, you do.”
Nash huffs in response and leans his elbow on the door handle, staring straight ahead. I smile to myself. He knows I’m right, and for once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback or snarky remark.
I managed to shut Nash Beck up and it feels good.
The rest of the drive to the restaurant is silent besides the soft rock music playing from the radio. Now and then, I felt Nash’s eyes linger on the side of my head. If he wanted to say something, he decided against it. I’m grateful for that because I am content to sit in silence.
When Cedar Pine comes into view, my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten in hours. I’m ready to devour Matt’s delicious food and drink a glass of wine.
Nash parks the car in front of the restaurant just as a man in a crisp black suit hurries over to us. I had forgotten Cedar Pine has valet parking.
I feel the cameras pointed at us before I see them. How the hell did the paps know we would be here? This was a last-minute decision, so are these guys just waiting outside establishments across the city in the hopes they would catch a glimpse of a celebrity to photograph?
Nash exhales sharply and swings his door open. “Let’s get this over and done with.” He hands the valet man, who appears to be around my age with acne scars and a wispy mustache, his car keys.
Flashing lights from the bushes next to the restaurant almost blind me when Nash walks around the car and opens the passenger door. He surprises me by extending his hand to help me out of the car. As I accept it and he hoists me out, I remind myself this is all an act for the cameras. My fingers shouldn’t tingle with warmth when engulfed by his large hand and a shiver shouldn’t race down my spine as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and holds me against his side, mostly protecting me from the cameras.
I breathe a sigh of relief when we step into the bright restaurant. Matt went a little crazy on the white and gold decor, but somehow, the pairing works. The silverware and candle stick holders on the round tables give off a luxurious vibe, but the plush cream chairs make the room feel cozy and quaint. Stunning artworks adorn the white walls, making it feel like I just stepped into an art exhibition.
Nash drops his arm from my shoulders and takes a step back. But not so far that the paps still taking photos through the glass door would think something is off.
“Thanks,” I murmur. Although, I don’t know what I’m thanking him for. “I just… the paps are always so fucking crazy. They’re relentless.”
The paps may be annoying, but at least they keep their distance from me, only taking photos from afar without getting too close. Likely because of my incident with a pap when I was eighteen. My vision clouded over as something inside of me snapped that day, forcing my hand forward in a blur. Once I had regained my vision, the guy who had been following me was scrambling away with his camera tucked under his arm while he nursed a broken nose.
To this day, I don’t know why I snapped. I think it had something to do with the BO emitting from him and the stench of fries clinging to his skin.
“Tell me about it,” he mutters as his gaze sweeps across the room. His shoulders stiffen and his jaw tightens.
Following his gaze, I notice everyone in the room is watching us intently without shame. They’re not even trying to hide the fact they’re openly gawking at us. This isn’t new for me since I get this kind of attention everywhere I go these days, but I don’t know why it has Nash so on edge.
“Kin!”
My eyes snap to Matt as he walks out from a corridor to the right with his arms outstretched and a larger-than-life smile on his face. His deep chestnut eyes are lit up with excitement as he approaches me. It’s as if his presence snaps the patrons out of their deep stares because they all go back to their conversations and eat the food in front of them.
“Matt,” I greet with a warm smile. Nash is still as stiff as a plank of wood beside me, but I try not to pay too much attention. Matt pulls me in for a tight hug but doesn’t linger too long. He must be aware of the paps standing right outside his restaurant. “Thanks for getting us a table at the last minute.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He grins as he takes a step back, his warm eyes meeting mine. He’s dressed casually in black trousers and a black long-sleeved button-up shirt. His dirty blonde hair has grown a lot since I last saw him, and is now long enough to tie back in a ponytail.
I place a hand on Nash’s shoulder, remembering I need to keep up appearances, even in front of my high school friend. “This is Nash.”
Matt smiles at Nash. “I know who you are. Nash Beck. Lead singer of Dark Angel. I love your stuff, man.”
“Thanks,” Nash mutters and wraps a hand around my waist, surprising me. “Is our table ready?”
Matt’s eyes widen as if he had forgotten the fact we are here for dinner and not a social catch-up. “Oh, yes! Right this way. I had my staff put you at a table in the back of the room for some privacy.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for his kindness and understanding of the situation. He knows how much I have struggled with the idea of privacy over the years and how I wish I could go unnoticed in this world. But sadly, that’s not my reality. It took many years for me to accept it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t still want as much privacy as this lifestyle will allow me.
A round table in the back of the room is set neatly with silverware and the same decor as the rest of the room. A small pot of black roses sits between the two plates and I can’t help but laugh.
Matt smiles at me as I slide into the chair across the table from Nash. “I knew you would like it. White and cream decor has never appealed to you.”
“Where did you even find black roses?”
“They’re fake.” He chuckles, his lips tipping up at the corners. “But they give off the illusion they’re real, no?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “I’ve missed you, Matt.”
“And I’ve missed you, Kin.” He places a comforting hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “Enjoy your dinner and let’s catch up soon, okay? I’m sure there is a lot to discuss.” I don’t miss the way his eyes flick toward Nash across the table, whose mismatched eyes are watching our interaction intently. “Just holler for me if you need anything.”
“Of course.”
Matt drops his hand from my shoulder and turns to walk away.
Silverware clinking against plates, soft chatter, and classical music fill the restaurant as I pick up the menu in front of me. Although I know the menu well, my eyes skim the words to see if there is anything new. When I spot a new chicken dish, I decide to order that instead of the usual creamy pasta I lean toward.
Nash clearing his throat makes my head snap in his direction. “What?”
He clicks his tongue and shrugs. “Oh, nothing. That loser had a raging hard-on for you if you didn’t notice.”
My cheeks flare at his choice of words for my friend. “Shut up, Nash. Matt and I are just friends, so whatever you think you saw is all in your head.”
He rolls his eyes and leans back in the plush seat. His knee bumps mine as he spreads his long legs, sending a bolt of heat through my body. “I know what I saw, little devil. He wants you.”
I roll my eyes. Matt is my friend, nothing more. Maybe his reaction stems from something deeper. Something that has happened in his past for him to think a man and woman can’t just be friends.
“I won’t tolerate you talking about my friend like that. We have been through a lot together over the years and I see him as nothing more than a friend.”
A snort sounds from across the table. “Okay, sure. I don’t think he shares the same sentiment.”
“Just shut up and look over the menu,” I huff. “I would prefer to get this over and done with so I can be as far away from you as possible.”
Nash’s sharp eyes meet mine from across the table and they narrow ever so slightly. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Blondie.”
Silence befalls us as Nash takes his ever-loving time to skim the menu before deciding he wants a beef dish. Our waitress comes by to take our drink order and I nearly choke on my saliva when Nash asks for an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. I have to remind him we are sitting in a five-star restaurant, not a rundown bar where drinking straight from a bottle is considered acceptable.
He settles on a glass of straight Jack and I order a glass of white wine just to have something to sip on. I need something to loosen the tension in my shoulders that comes with being in the presence of Nash Beck.
What do I even say to him? We don’t have much of anything in common besides listening to rock music. He’s a partier who loves to drink alcohol and do drugs, whereas I prefer to limit my alcohol intake and steer clear of drugs.
As if Nash can read my mind, his mismatched eyes find mine and he clears his throat. “So, ah… what’s your favorite… plant?”
My brows shoot up in response as I fight back a smile. That was not what I was expecting him to say. “My favorite plant?”
He shrugs. “Yeah.”
I shift on the seat and fiddle with the beaded bracelet on my wrist. “Well, I like Wisteria.”
“Why?”
“There used to be a massive Wisteria tree in the backyard of my childhood home. Growing up, I enjoyed running around beneath it and pretending I was in another world with my toys, living a totally different life.” I bite back a smile at the memory of young Kinsley running barefoot through the ankle-high grass with flecks of Wisteria coating the top of the blades, flying my Barbie doll through the air like she had wings and could travel anywhere she wanted. As usual, I was always right there beside her, imagining the next world we traveled to had a purple sky like the Wisteria tree overhead. It’s a core memory for me—one I’ll never forget.
“But unfortunately, the tree was cut down by the new owners when we left Hart and moved to Los Angeles when I got my first big break in a film.”
Nash regards me from across the table for far too long after I finish speaking, his intense eyes boring into mine. I want to ask what he’s thinking, but the words get caught in my throat. I have never told anyone that memory aside from Sadie and Matt. I never felt the need to because there wasn’t a person worthy enough of knowing. But with Nash, I just couldn’t help myself when he brought it up. It’s like my body has a mind of its own and can’t help but overshare with him.
“Hart… that’s in Michigan. So you’re originally from Michigan, then?”
I nod. “Born and raised.”
Nash holds my gaze, his eyes unblinking as his eyes roam over my face.
I clear my throat and take a sip of my wine. “What’s your favorite plant then?”
“Wisteria,” he answers without hesitation.
My eyes widen. “Really? Why?”
Nash shrugs, his eyes meeting mine. “Because you said you like it and the story behind why makes me want to like it too.”
I have to keep my jaw from falling open at his response. How can he just sit there with his lip quirked up at the side, his eyes intense as they regard me, and not know my heart is pounding uncontrollably in my chest?
Before I get a chance to respond, our waitress brings out our dishes and we settle back into silence. I barely notice when she gives Nash fuck me eyes and a wink as she places the plate in front of him. All I can think about as I eat the delicious chicken meal is Nash and what the hell this man is doing to my goddamn heart.
He can’t just say something like that and pretend it’s not a big deal because, to me, it is.
Wisteria holds a special place in my heart because it reminds me of my innocence and all I have lost to the industry and this fucked up world. But he doesn’t know that, and still, he wants Wisteria to be his favorite plant because the story of my childhood resonated with him.
Goddamn , what is he doing to me?
When we’re done with our meals, Matt approaches the table with a smile on his face. I force one onto mine, but it doesn’t feel quite right.
“How was the meal?” Matt asks, looking only at me. I’m sure he could sense Nash’s hostility toward him when we entered the restaurant, so I understand not wanting to engage in conversation with him.
“It was fantastic as usual,” I respond for both of us. “Thank you again for getting us in on short notice.”
Matt waves me off with a flick of his hand. “Anything for you, Kin, you know that. And please come around again soon. I would love to hear about whatever new project you’re working on and… other stuff.”
I know what he wanted to say. I want to hear the details about you dating Nash Beck . But I let it slide because he’s my friend and he has a right to know these things about me, especially when I trust him with my life.
“Of course,” I say with a genuine smile now, the shock of the previous conversation wearing off. I turn my attention to Nash who is twisting one of the many chunky silver rings around his middle finger, essentially flipping Matt off if you look close enough. “Are you ready to go?”
Nash stands from the chair and reaches into his pocket. He produces a black leather flip wallet overflowing with one hundred bills. More than you would see in any strip club. He tosses two bills onto the table and walks around to stand by my side. I try to hold back the gasp threatening to burst from my lips when his arm slips around my waist, his woodsy cologne engulfing me.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he answers gruffly. His fingers brush against my hip and a shiver races down my spine as heat pools in my core. Calm the fuck down, Kin . “Thanks for the meal.”
“Anytime. I’m sure I’ll see you around, Nash.” Matt eyes Nash’s arm around my waist before meeting my gaze. I can see the lingering question of what the hell is going on? pooling in his irises, but all I can do is smile and act as casual as I can.
“Have a good night, Matt, and thanks again for dinner. We’ll catch up soon, I promise.”
I wave goodbye to Matt as Nash and I exit the restaurant. The valet already has Nash’s Porsche waiting on the curb when we rush out of the building, my eyes burning from what feels like a hundred flashing lights trained on me.
Do these men just have nothing better to do with their nights besides stalking celebrities and bombarding them with photo after photo?
“God I hate them,” I grumble under my breath as I slide into the front seat. Thankfully, the windows are slightly tinted, so they won’t be able to get a good shot of me from this angle.
Nash slides into the front seat and slams the door closed behind him. A puff of air leaves his lips and I know he’s as frustrated with the paps as I am. He doesn’t say a word as he puts the car into drive and tears away from the curb so fast I fear I might have gotten whiplash.
“Woah, cowboy, calm down,” I mutter, shifting in my seat after having been thrown around slightly by the fast motion. “Are you really that eager to get away from me?”
“Not quite,” he answers, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. I wonder if that’s painful given how many rings line his fingers. “I just fucking hate being ambushed by those dickheads.”
I settle into the seat and nod. “I get it. They’re the worst.”
Silence settles over us again. I have a lingering question in the back of my mind that I have been wanting to ask Nash but didn’t know the right time to do it. Apparently asking when we’re in a confined space is my brain's first choice. “So… why do you get into lots of fights?”
Nash’s eyes dart in my direction for a moment before sweeping back to the road. “Why do you want to know?”
I shrug. “Because why not? Sometimes it feels like you’re in jail more than you’re not. At least, before we started this fake relationship.”
Nash huffs and tugs his lip ring between his teeth. I have to look away because the sight makes my stomach clench painfully with an emotion I would rather not feel.
“You’re testing my patience, little devil.”
“Come on,” I plead, turning in my seat to face him. The moonlight shining across half of his face darkens his sharp features. “I shared something personal about myself during dinner, so I think it’s only fair that you do the same.”
“That’s not how it works, Kin.”
“Yes, it is,” I counter with a huff, folding my arms over my chest. “Don’t make me beg, Nash.”
Nash’s lips quirk up into a smirk. “I think I would like to hear you beg, little devil. It would be like music to my ears.”
I roll my eyes and slap his shoulder, but not so hard it impacts his driving. “Please?”
He runs a hand through his messy curls, his other hand tightening on the steering wheel. “ Fuck . Fine. But if you tell anyone about this?—”
“I won’t,” I interject. As much as Nash gets on my nerves and can be an asshole, I would never share his personal information with anyone. It’s wrong on so many levels, and I understand his pain of trauma and how exhausting it can be to fight the demons lurking in the depths of your mind. “I promise.”
Nash blows out a short breath. “I had a shit childhood growing up, and didn’t have the most… loving parents in the world.” He turns the car swiftly onto my street, jerking me slightly. “And I… used to get bullied a lot in high school because of my mom’s job.”
As Nash parks the car in front of my house, I continue to watch the side of his face, unable to tear my eyes away.
He runs both of his hands through his hair and tugs at the roots roughly before letting the curls fall over his eyes and around his face. I can tell he’s struggling to get the words out by the way his mouth opens and closes, his chest heaving with each breath he takes.
I wonder how many times he has told this story, if at all?
“I learned very fucking quickly that the only way to deal with those assholes was by using my fists. My words were never enough, but my fists were able to get the job done. And although I hated my mother and everything she did to me, I couldn’t let those assholes—I couldn’t just sit back and?—”
Nash’s breathing becomes erratic and shallow as he tries to force the words out, but all he’s met with are puffs of air and broken syllables. The steering wheel creaks under his grip and his body is so rigid he could pass as being a statute in a museum.
“I couldn’t—I didn’t have a choice. It was the only way to?—”
My eyes widen as realization dawns on me—Nash is having a panic attack.
Without thinking, I lean across the center console, grab his face between my hands, and crash my lips against his, silencing Nash momentarily. His lips are soft and taste like beef and Jack Daniels, a combination that shouldn’t be good, but on Nash, mixed with his woodsy cologne, is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. But I won’t ever admit that to him. The lip ring pierced through his skin brushes against my sensitive lips and I have to all but hold back the moan bubbling in my throat.
Holy shit .
The kiss doesn’t last long before I pull away, but the absence of his lips and my need to feel them against mine again shocks me. My core is on fire and my mind is spinning with the need to kiss Nash again, but I force myself back into my seat and meet his mismatched eyes. They are alight with a fire I’ve never seen before and it fuels the flames in my core.
“Kinsley…”
“You helped me, and now I’ve helped you. Consider us even.” Nash is silent as I collect my purse from the floor and swing the passenger door open. “Goodnight, Nash.”
Silence follows me as I step out of the car and close the door gently behind me, trying as hard to not let on how my body is tingling with electricity.
When I step through the front door and lean my back against it, I exhale the breath I had been holding and screw my eyes shut.
Did I make the right decision by kissing him? It was clear he was having a panic attack, so I wanted to help him the same way he helped me. I mean, I hope it helped.
Does he feel it helped?
Either way, the more I kiss Nash, the more I start to wonder whether it’ll happen again. Hoping it’ll happen again.