Chapter 4
Imagine my surprise when, about a month later, I got an email from that same publicist—about the same topic.
Braden had changed his mind.
The email was simple: “Roxy, if your offer still stands, Braden is open to an interview, provided your previously stated parameters are still in place.”
I’d long moved on and forgotten about it.
In fact, I was in Austin, Texas, at the time, doing a piece on the music scene there.
But I was waiting in the airport to board my plane and decided to check my email—and starting laughing out loud when I read it.
Not because it was funny, but because I was excited.
I loved my job—and it was moments like these that made me relish every aspect of it.
I would have enjoyed the job anyway, but interviews like these helped me really connect with the human beings under the rock god facades.
Those moments were rare…and cherished and often what distinguished me from my colleagues.
I could feel the eyes of the woman sitting next to me in the waiting area questioning my sudden outburst, so I just looked at her and smiled. Then my eyes shifted back to my phone so I could tap out a quick reply to arrange the details.
And then I spent the entire flight writing out potential questions to ask Braden Mitchell about that momentous event in his life—not only asking things his fans would want to know but trying to keep the conversation safe, eliciting responses that Braden himself might want to talk about.
Putting myself in that mind frame, thinking of Braden as a whole human being, not just as a rock star, reminded me of that old crush I’d harbored when Riot was a new band on the scene.
I’d always fallen hard for the bands whose music I loved and there were certain artists I’d crushed a bit on.
Usually meeting them in person dampened any desire I might have continued to feel, which was why I now understood the old saying don’t meet your idols.
The first few times I’d met rock stars I’d admired, I’d been utterly disappointed—not by their humanity.
Some of the first stars I’d interviewed absolutely basked in their fame and played the role to the hilt, treating everyone around them like second-class citizens.
Others, like Zack, struggled with demons while leaving untold damage in their wake.
But Braden? The first time I’d met him, even through Zoom on my laptop, opened my eyes, showing me that he was truly a caring soul. And that had made him hotter than hell in my book. He was the kind of guy I’d break my no-dating-rock-stars rule for.
Instead, I’d done that for a douche like Dean, the exact kind of guy I should have avoided.
Putting myself back in that old place, though, reminded me of just how much I’d grown to like Braden.
But that didn’t matter. I’d gotten burned with Dean and I would not go there again. My relationship with Braden would be merely professional. I could not cross that line again.
Besides, this interview was for Braden, and I hoped that it could be a bit of a catharsis for him. For me, I knew it was going to be huge and exclusive…but I had to contain that shit so I could continue being a respectful, empathetic reporter who wanted the best for everyone involved.
The story would be what Braden needed it to be and nothing more.
I would have flown anywhere to conduct this interview—but Braden wanted to come to me.
Although the publicist didn’t say why, I figured it was because he didn’t want what he was doing to be obvious either to his bandmates or anyone watching the band closely.
So, during a two-day break in their concert schedule, Braden flew to L.A.
I reserved the sole conference room in Ferocity’s office downtown and, with the help of the office assistant, had on hand coffee, bottled water, and light snacks.
When Braden arrived a few minutes early, the office assistant led him into the conference room and I stood from the spot I’d chosen to cross the room and shake his hand.
“Braden, thanks so much for agreeing to this interview.” His hand in mine was warm and strong—and I’d forgotten just how good looking this man was.
Zack and Cy’s personalities often overpowered their bassist’s, but up close, I remembered why I’d found him so appealing—and why there were plenty of women out there who pined for this man.
In fact, after the fallout from the wedding, plenty of female fans on social media were quite vocal about their disdain for Dani and their yearning to comfort Braden.
My hope was to give his thoughts and feelings a voice—not just for all those fans who really cared but also for the ones who hadn’t considered it much.
Braden just nodded and said, “Thanks for asking.”
“Please sit wherever you like.” Although I’d been temporarily sitting at one particular side of the table, I planned to move based on where he chose.
I did not want to sit directly in front of him because I knew, from my short tenure as an interviewer, that facing him straight across would immediately put us in a more confrontational posture, the last thing I wanted.
Instead, I would either sit next to him or at a diagonal to create a more intimate, relaxed feeling.
I wanted us to feel like friends, not enemies—and that sometimes meant literally sitting on the same side of the table.
“Would you like any coffee or water? Or a snack?”
“Water would be great. Thanks.” When he sat near the corner of the table, I breathed a sigh of relief, because when he saw my laptop open at the end, he naturally chose to be at a diagonal, which meant I wouldn’t have to so obviously rearrange myself.
Taking two bottles of water out of the bowl of ice, I grabbed a couple of napkins to use as coasters and walked over to the side of the table where my laptop was positioned.
Braden was dressed like he often seemed to be when he and the band were offstage—not like a rock star.
He wore plain blue jeans and a pale cream-colored sweater that made his light brown eyes seem to sparkle.
His shoes were black sneakers, a dead giveaway that he had dressed for comfort and not necessarily to impress.
Wanting to look the part of a professional, I’d worn a suit—black slacks and low heels with a white blouse under a black jacket and simple silver jewelry with only one earring per ear.
None of my tattoos could be seen. And I’d pulled my hair up into a bun at the back of my head, so the purple streaks were less noticeable.
Although looking like a rocker usually upped my cred with musicians, I wanted to look professional and trustworthy for this particular interview.
As I sat down, an almost unnoticeable sensation creeped into my shoulders, bringing back the old tension I used to feel when I’d been a rookie at this job, not so long ago.
The first few interviews I’d done had made my palms sweat, my fingers shake, and had made it hard to take a deep breath.
I didn’t have that strong a reaction now with Braden, but my shoulders remembered…
and I realized maybe I was a little nervous—because this interview was a big fucking deal.
You got this, Rox.
As he cracked open the lid to the bottle—and long before I turned on my recording app or looked at the questions on my laptop—I said, “Before we begin, I wanted to let you know that if there’s anything you don’t want to talk about, just let me know.
And if, at any time, you want to end the interview, just say the word.
No hard feelings.” I only hoped, if he did, that I’d have enough.
“Thanks.” He took a drink from the water and I thought I noticed his hand slightly shaking. Boy, did I know the feeling. But that might have been my imagination.
“I know the whole wedding narrative completely spun out of control—and fast. I’m sure it didn’t help that you had some press on site for the wedding, not to mention quite a few guests in the business who were more than willing to tell their side of the story to anyone who would listen.
But here’s the thing—no one has heard from Dani, except for her public apology, and no one has heard from you at all.
I want you to know we reporters respect your silence…
but I and I imagine your fans are interested in hearing your perspective.
I’ll be asking questions that shape the ultimate question, which is how have you handled this narrative that is no longer yours? ”
“That seems fair.”
Oh, yeah, I was definitely tense. When I let out a held breath at his response, I knew I was putting too much emotion into this interview. I’d meant what I’d said about letting him control the whole thing and walking away at any point—but I was investing too much of my heart into it.
This is just another interview, Rox.
I had to let go—because this interview was not mine. This was all up to Braden. It was the only fair thing to do and the only way I wanted to do it.
“Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“That’s fine.”
After pressing the play button, I quickly recorded my voice naming the subject—Braden—and the date before glancing at my notes and then looking at my interviewee.
“So…here’s the thing. You probably read a lot of the early articles I did—or maybe you didn’t, and I wouldn’t blame you.
But did you notice, like I did, that a lot of what was written then and since has been interpreting what your silence meant? ”
The way Braden turned his head told me everything I needed to know—that he could see that I’d meant what I’d said…
that I wanted to give him voice without sensationalizing anything about the article I’d eventually write.
The tension in his shoulders that had seemed to match mine now appeared to ease, while his hands relaxed, and his breathing seemed a little easier.
This would be a good interview.