Reckless

Chapter 2

The woman places the coffee on the table and moves back a few paces. I laugh a little, and she cocks her head again.

“You could have put something in this.”

She shakes her head. “What a sorry state the world is in when you think I’m going to drug you, and I think you’re going to pull an axe from the back of your pants.”

“It’s always best to be cautious.”

“I’ve got a sixth sense for these kinds of things. So, I didn’t put any drugs in your coffee. It’s safe.”

I laugh again. She grabs two fold-out chairs and sets them up, indicating with her hand for me to sit. After watching me pull back a chair, she pulls back the other and sits down across the table from me. I could jump up and grab her if I wanted to, but I lean back instead, taking the coffee with me so she doesn’t feel threatened.

“Why didn’t you call someone to come pick you up?”

“Lost my phone.”

“It really isn’t your day, huh?”

I’m not sure what it is about her, but a part of me wants to tell her the truth. I won’t, because she doesn’t need my bullshit, and the anonymity right now is nice. I can give her some truth.

“Life is kind of shit right now.”

She lifts her leg and rests her foot on the edge of the seat, wrapping one arm around her shin. She doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face tells me to go on.

“The people at the party say they’re my friends, but… I’m realizing they’re not. I walked out to get some air, but I didn’t stop. Right or wrong, I don’t want to call any of them.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” she says, and sounds genuine. “But you’re in trouble out here without a phone. There isn’t a rest stop for another five miles.”

Five miles? Damn. “You know this area?”

“This is my third time along here, so yeah.”

“You travel a lot in the RV?”

“Three months out of every year, I hit the road.”

“By yourself?” I frown. “Is that safe?”

She wiggles the mace at me. I’m still not convinced that is enough.

“Sometimes, I like to step away and clear my head, see everything differently, and get my equilibrium back.”

It’s like she is speaking the language no one else around me has been able to understand.

“It’s funny," she goes on. "I do it to get away from the mundane day to day, but end up working more because I’m so inspired.”

“What kind of work?”

“I’m a writer,” she says.

“Of books?”

She laughs, and it’s like the sun has split the skies even more. I’m so intrigued by this woman, I want to ask her a hundred questions, just to hear the sound of her voice.

“Yes, I’m an author.”

“You can pretty much write anywhere. You could ride around in your RV all year.”

“As nice as that sounds, three months is enough.”

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago originally.”

Not where she lives now. Fair enough, she doesn’t want to tell a stranger where she lives. I get that. I wait for her to ask me what I do, but she doesn’t. She’s playing with the mace, rolling it in her palm.

It could come across as threatening, but she is the least threatening looking person I’ve ever met.

“My assistant always tells me she is happiest when I’m on the road.”

“Because she gets some peace and quiet.”

“No, the opposite. I end up writing more. She loves reading my work.”

“That must make your publishers happy.” I take a drink of the coffee and sigh. It’s rich and dark. She never asked me how I take it, luckily black and bitter is my poison.

“Nope, I don’t have anyone to answer to. Not anymore.”

When I frown, she lowers her leg and crosses it over the other one instead.

“I used to be traditionally published, but the restraints and the demands they put on me were killing my creativity, so I went indie.”

Am I still passed out on the ground beneath the stars? How else is this woman real?

It’s like she has stepped inside my warped head, telling me how to fix everything. As she continues talking, I look over at the RV. It’s never appealed to me to do something like this, probably because I spend so much time on the road, but this is different.

This is on her terms.

“Now no one can tell me they don’t like my characters, or I need to change the ending. Or that the whole process is so slow, I can only put out two books a year. Because of that, my creativity is flowing and some of the things I see while I’m out here, the fresh air, who knows, it makes me want to write.”

“Sounds amazing,” I say, turning back to face her and drinking more coffee. “You left your drink inside?”

“Couldn’t carry yours, my weapon and my drink at the same time. I weighed it up and decided I could finish my coffee after I’ve ensured you won’t kill me.”

I run a hand along my jaw line, feeling the scratch of stubble as I look back towards the lake. She shifts a little in her seat but doesn’t make any move to get up. The long night of walking is catching up with me. I’m exhausted.

“What are you going to do?”

“About what?” I ask.

“You really are delirious, huh,” she tilts her head again and her hair falls over her shoulder like a waterfall. “What makes you not want to tell your friends about how you’re feeling?”

The sudden change of subject jolts my focus back to her face. Staring into her eyes, the desire to be honest overtakes me again.

“The people back there don’t care.”

“Hate to break it to you, but they don’t sound like good friends.”

“They’re not really friends. The one guy I was with last night, he’s been a bit of an ass about how I've been feeling lately.”

“So you ran?”

“I guess I did.”

“And what do you plan to do now that you ran?”

“Well, like you said, it’s five miles to a rest stop, or seven back to that life.”

“Are they really that bad?”

I can’t answer. My band mates are fine. We get on and they’ve stood by me. But they're not here. For the most part, Cody is an okay manager. He’s more concerned about losing money with us not performing than the way it's been affecting me.

“Maybe you need to run further,” she suggests.

“Maybe.”

"But in a safer way," she adds.

We stare at each other again. I’ve no idea what the fuck is happening right now, or if it’s all in my head. We’re not moving, not speaking, just drinking each other in.

A few months ago, I would have offered to rock her world in ways other than via music. It’s not that I’m changing as a person that stops me from asking. Somehow I know it would be the wrong move to make with this woman.

The more I stare at her, the more my mind works. Hearing her talk about her own ways of coping with the stresses of everyday life has opened my eyes to something unintended.

“Are you hungry?” she breaks the silence.

“Famished actually,” I say with an embarrassed look.

“I think I can trust you.”

“You think?”

“Well, I do have lots of knives inside the RV.”

“And your trusty mace,” I let out a nervous laugh.

“How about you set the table and I’ll get some food?”

“Okay,” I get up and follow, but she points to the side of the RV. I stop, confused. Guess she still isn’t comfortable with me coming inside.

She moves over to the middle of the van and grabs a handle, giving it a twist and a tug. She pulls it up and reveals some cupboards and a small microwave oven. And a sound system.

“Sweet,” I smile genuinely.

“Cutlery and condiments are in there. I’ll grab the ingredients. Could you pull out the table?”

She shows me what she means, and I pull out a retractable counter, letting two legs drop down to support it.

Fuck, this thing is awesome. No wonder she likes riding around in it. I search the cupboards while she goes inside to grab what we need, then I go over and set the table.

Music starts playing, and I almost drop the saltshaker I’m holding. I turn and spot her looking through the window. She grins at scaring the shit out of me.

“Funny!” I yell and her head tips back on a laugh.

I carry on setting two places and listen to the music. It’s definitely not Yungblud again. Or the kind of music I usually listen to. It’s heavy on the string instruments and piano.

A male voice starts to sing, then a second harmonizes along with it. They sync so well. Standing still, holding onto a bunch of napkins, I listen to the music. Setting everything down, I walk over to the RV and peer at the display on the panel. It reads, ‘ Burn The Ships’ by For King & Country.

I’ve heard of these guys, but never listened to their music before.

“Here.”

I turn to see her coming over, balancing everything in both arms. If I was an axe murderer, now would be the time to pounce. Lucky for her, I’m not.

I stay back, letting her set things down. She has everything she needs to make eggs with spring onions and spinach, and two bottles of water. I gratefully accept the bottle she hands me and lean back against the RV, while she starts prepping the food.

My eyes drift back to the scenery, the scents of nature and the food filling my senses, along with the harmonious voices of the men singing. There is nowhere else I’d rather be right now.

“What’s your name?” I ask suddenly.

She glances over her shoulder at me as she is setting a bowl in the microwave.

“Krista.”

For a second, I consider giving her a fake name, but something about how she is looking at me tells me lying would be a huge mistake.

“Jude.”

“Nice to meet you, Jude.” She goes back to finishing off the food as I pop the top on the bottle, and drink down half the water.

“Hope you like eggs. I need to stock up at the next rest stop, so it’s a limited menu.”

“I’d eat the rubber off the tires right now.”

That sweet laugh fills the air again, and she goes back to humming along to the music. She lets me know there are plates in one of the drawers beneath the pull-out table, so I set them out as well, by which time the eggs are done. My stomach grumbles.

“When did you last eat?”

“No idea.”

“You’re a reckless one aren’t you,” she comments as she passes me.

My eyes are drawn to her ass, and it takes a few moments for my brain to catch up. She said reckless . Is she hinting at something?

I narrow my eyes and walk around the table, but she is busy dishing out the eggs.

When she looks up at me, I try to read her expression. She looks no different from before. Was that really a throwaway comment? I let it go because I’m starving and the eggs smell good.

We sit down and eat. For something so simple, I’m almost moaning as the food hits my tongue. She doesn’t look up, but I notice her smile down at her own plate.

“What are you going to do now, Jude? I mean, metaphorically we can talk about taking the left or right turn back to the hotel or into the unknown, but you can’t wander around out here indefinitely.”

“Good question.”

“I’ve always been a big believer in taking hold of your destiny. Do what’s best for you.”

“What would you do?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I can only say what I would do under my own circumstances. I don’t know yours,” her brows dip a little. “There is a whole wide world out there. You don’t have to conform to anyone else’s demands. You do you.”

If only I could take that advice. I could. If I had the guts to. I’ve taken the first step, so to speak, walking away last night. Have I got the courage to keep going? And where the hell will it take me?

I don’t want to give up on Reckless Soul. That has never been in question. After this hiatus, getting my head on right, I will go back to the band. To do our fans right, be better performers, like we were before my head went to shit.

Krista is right in one sense. It’s what the therapist recommended, too. Complete distance from the life that was breaking me down. I’m not ready to spill any of those truths to her. There may be this strange connection between us, something I can’t explain. It doesn’t mean I can dump my shit at her door.

“Where are you headed next?” I ask, after wiping my mouth with a napkin and folding it on the plate.

Those eyes read me so easily. She knows I’m deflecting, yet she doesn’t pry.

“South Dakota.”

“That’s one state over, right?” she nods. I’ve played hundreds of shows in North and South Dakota, but I can’t bring that up. Not that there is much point. I didn’t exactly get to see any of it.

“It’s beautiful country, slightly different terrain than round here but gorgeous all the same.”

“Do you travel the same route each year?”

“I try to mix it up. I’ve done the south, and the east coast a few years back, more of a city tour than this. I prefer this. It’s more peaceful.”

Anyone who knows me will tell me it’s crazy to be jealous about this. They’d ask how could I long to do what Krista does when I practically do that with the band. It’s different. Totally different.

“Where are you from?” Krista asks, before scooping the last of her eggs into her mouth.

“Ohio originally, but I’ve lived in LA the last twelve years.”

She nods and looks past me a moment, her expression thoughtful. “We’re kind of neighbors.”

“We are?” I lean back, finishing off the coffee.

“I have a place in Santa Ana.”

“Windy,” I note.

She laughs again. “Sometimes, but it’s an amazing city.”

“It has a lot to answer for when my backyard is full of sand,” I point out, referring to the infamous Santa Ana winds that send dust storms down the coast.

“I’m sure there are far worse things to worry about in LA.”

She’s not wrong. Although my house is sheltered away from everything. It’s like a damn fortress, to be honest. You need secret service level clearance to get in. Or you might as well.

It’s a far cry from this.

We’ve sat here for the last hour in this quiet wilderness. I’m not worrying about people coming over to interrupt me, to try and grab hold of me, take my picture or intrude on my life. It’s peaceful.

Krista eyes me over her mug and then sets it down. “I have to get going soon.”

“Oh, right.” I’ve never felt disappointed like this before.

The thought of her driving away forever is messing with my head. I don’t want her to. But how do I stop her? She has her life. I have mine. This is a momentary reprieve from the shit storm. An eye opening one at that. An hour in her company has got me thinking way more positively than I have the last year.

We get up and start clearing away the dishes. I pause by the steps to the RV. The sink is right by the door where she sets everything down, then comes back out.

“What are you going to do? You’ve got about ten minutes to decide before I leave.”

“Are you offering me a ride?”

“To the next rest stop,” she makes a point of saying. “If it’s what you want?”

“Should I be worried about the weaponry inside?”

“Yep," she laughs.

Looking back down the road in the direction of the hotel, I come to a decision. Fuck knows where I go from here, but Krista’s right. I don’t have to conform to what anyone else wants of me. I can get myself back to civilization and then disappear. In a more controlled manner. Or something. Part of me knows if I go back to Cody, that won’t happen, even if I want it to.

“I’m really sorry to ask,” I rub the back of my neck.

“What?” she asks in concern.

“I’ve drunk a lot of coffee…”

“Oh, God,” she laughs. “Right. Okay, well, I guess you’re coming aboard. There is a bathroom past the kitchen.”

“Are you sure? I could go in the woods.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for a bear eating you or getting poison oak on your butt.”

“Neither one of those sound appealing.”

“No, they’re really not.”

She steps into the RV. And I follow her. I’m still a tiny bit worried she is really good at hiding she’s a rabid Reckless fan.

That would be my damn luck.