Chapter 7 #2
“Do you mean me?” I ask, my heart suddenly in my throat.
He shrugs.
“If I’m going to spend an evening in a tuxedo, drinking overpriced champagne and writing big fat checks, I at least want to have a good time doing it.
” He slips his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels as his gaze settles on me and a slow, easy smile tugs at his lips.
“And you’re the only person I know I’ll have a good time with. ”
“I…” I clear my throat. “You’re sure?”
He nods.
“Alright.” I turn my attention back to my phone to type the reply as Josh returns to his spot in front of the mirror to inspect the paint that has finally stopped running in rivulets down his torso. I cross the room to take a seat on the couch next to Max, who is video chatting with his wife.
Tyler and Dani stuck around after sound check because Eric was having issues with his in-ears, so with Josh distracted by his paint, I disappear into the background.
The greenroom before a show isn’t anything like I expected.
I thought it’d be chaos—adrenaline-fueled shouting, last-minute vocal warmups, and people taking too many shots—but it’s this weird mix of calm and anticipation.
Like a collective deep breath before jumping off a seaside cliff and into the crashing surf below.
It’s intimate in a way I didn’t expect, almost sacred, and I still have a hard time believing that I get to experience it.
That I get to be part of this little family they’ve created.
You act like they’re not going to forget you exist the second this tour is over.
I shift uncomfortably at the voice’s sudden invasion, popping my fragile bubble of joy.
They’ll forget about you.
You’re just a phase. A convenience.
You don’t belong here.
I curl my hands into fists and press my nails into my palms, trying to focus on what’s real. The laughter of Max’s daughter echoing from his phone, the sound of Josh tossing his paints back into the case, the warm lighting above us that makes everything feel less sharp.
“Earth to Kate.”
I blink, startled, and look up to find Kevin standing in front of me, one brow raised and a lazy grin on his lips.
“You looked like you were either solving a really hard math equation or planning a murder,” he says, taking a casual sip of his soda. “Had to find out which.”
I smile.
“For your safety, I’ll neither confirm nor deny,” I say. I lean in and lower my voice before adding, “but I can promise it wasn’t math.”
He laughs at my dumb joke and the voice in my head quiets.
I know it’s not gone, but it’s at least no longer so loud.
Kevin doesn’t know he’s just rescued me.
Reminded me that right now, I am part of this.
Maybe it will be a temporary thing and we’ll all part ways at the end of the tour, but for now, this is where I belong.
Even if that voice in my head keeps trying to convince me otherwise.
We’re about to pull out of the lot after the show when there’s a knock at the door to our RV. I hear our driver, Ed, open the door and there’s a brief conversation before Josh appears at the top of the stairs with a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“My RV isn’t starting. They’re calling in a mechanic, but since they don’t know how long it’ll take and we need to get going, I was wondering if you’d mind if I crashed in here?”
“Of course not,” I say. “Come on in.”
“Sweet,” he says, heading toward me. Dani pops her head out of the bunk she’s laying in and peels her headphones off.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Josh’s RV broke down or something. He’s going to crash here until it’s fixed.”
“Well, hey roomie,” Dani says. She puts her hand out for a high five as he passes her before pulling her headphones back over her ears and settling back into her bunk.
Josh tosses the duffle bag into one of the bunks across from Dani, and I expect him to climb in, but he turns and walks into the bedroom, flopping down onto my mattress.
“Alright,” he says, as I walk into the room, the scent of his now familiar bodywash hitting me as I move closer to the bed. “What are we watching tonight?”
“13 Going On 30.”
“Can’t wait,” he deadpans, tucking his arms behind his head and settling in.
“No one forced you to come in here, superstar,” I remind him as I crawl under the covers and press play. “There are five empty bunks in the hall.”
I’m still not sure how we ended up here.
Going through the list of 90’s and early 2000’s romantic comedies like we’ve formed an unofficial movie club, but I’m not complaining.
Hanging out with Josh is easy. Fun. As is watching him pretend that he hates these silly little movies.
He tries hard to feign boredom, roll his eyes, and make little noises of irritation, but I see right through it.
“Eh, I like hanging out with you,” he says with a shrug, snatching the bag of Sour Patch Kids out of my hand.
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I know you don’t know me that well, but that’s a good way to lose some fingers,” I say. He just grins, totally unfazed, and pops a candy into his mouth.
“Sharing is caring,” he says.
I reach for the bag and laugh as he moves it to his other hand, holding it just out of reach.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” I mutter. “Otherwise, I’d be throwing hands right now.”
“You think I’m pretty?” he asks, flashing that stupid cocky smile of his.
“Of course I think you’re pretty,” I say, rolling over and straddling him.
I watch as his eyes widen and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows slowly.
“Pretty fucking annoying.” I say, keeping my eyes on his and snatching the bag of candy from his hand before retreating back to my side of the bed.
Josh throws his head back against the headboard and laughs, the sound filling the room and tugging a smile out of me.
I settle back into my pillow, tossing a few of the candies into my mouth and Josh stretches out, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his stomach.
“Thief,” he says under his breath.
“Cry about it,” I shoot back. He snorts, his foot bumping mine in a half-hearted protest, his energy winding down as quickly as mine.
The movie plays on, and I can feel the chaos of the day slowly dissipate. Somewhere around the time Jennifer Garner is hosting a sleepover and dancing around to “Love Is a Battlefield,” my eyelids start to feel heavy. I let them drift closed and the sounds of the movie fade into the background.
I don’t mean to fall asleep next to Josh again, but I do, and when I wake sometime in the night, the bed is empty, the TV is off, and my glasses are folded on the bedside table next to the remote control and the remainder of the Sour Patch Kids.
He didn’t just let me sleep.
He took care of me.
Again.
It probably shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but I can’t fight the smile that comes as I drift back to sleep.