Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Ryan
Knox
What’s in your hand?
Ryan
My phone
Knox
Smartass.
Knox
Your other hand
Ryan
It’s a rose quartz stone my granny gave me years ago.
H e’s standing on the other side of the room, but I pull the stone out of my pocket and hold it up for him.
Knox
Was it hers before it was yours?
Ryan
No, she gave it to me to take on all my travels.
Knox
Why? Does it have some sort of meaning?
My face is heating.
My heart is racing.
He’s watching me while he waits for me to reply.
It shouldn’t be, but it’s kinda hot that we’re chatting in a room full of people who are none the wiser.
Ryan
They say it represents healing and unconditional love. I miss her, so it’s a way of carrying her with me wherever I go.
Knox:
That’s really nice
Ryan
Do you have any lucky charms or pre show rituals?
If he can ask questions hopefully, I can too? I’m flinching inside, waiting for his reaction.
Knox
Nah. Not really.
Ryan
No lucky penny in your pocket?
Knox
More like a pocketful of unlucky ones.
Well, shit.
Not sure where to go with that, in a way that doesn’t feel like I’m prying into his personal life so, I switch gears.
Ryan
What’s your fave thing about performing for your fans?
Knox
These days not much. I used to love the escape. Now it all feels like bullshit. People screaming at me but they don’t know a thing about me.
Ryan
Is that on the record or off?
Knox
Off
I look up from my phone just in time to see him curse something under his breath. Shaking his head, he shoves his phone in his pocket and storms out of the room.
Shit!
What have I done now?
Luckily, the rest of the room is distracted, and nobody notices me taking off after him.
Spotting him down the hall, I run to catch up, grateful to be in my Chucks and not heels.
“Knox!” I say without yelling, but loud enough for him to hear .
He doesn’t acknowledge me, so when I reach him, I tug on the sleeve of his leather jacket. He shrugs me off him.
“Hey, I had to ask. I can’t tell if you like me enough to speak any other way than professionally. I needed to make sure. I would never want to assume something is on the record if it’s not.”
Finally stopping, he turns to face me. His hand runs through his dark hair, holding it away from his handsome face for a moment before he releases it. Shoving his hands in the front pocket of his jeans he says, “You’re right. And I’m sorry about that. I haven’t been fair to you.”
Holy shit. Did Knox McKinnon just apologize?
To me?
Whoa.
I shrug. “I get where you’re coming from too. I’m sure you haven’t always been treated fairly by the press in the past.”
“Still. I’m sorry.”
“No worries. I’ve been treated worse by those nowhere near your level of success.”
There’s no excuse for his previous behavior, but I have been treated much worse.
He leans his shoulder against the grey concrete wall, arms crossed over his chest. He’s waiting for me to continue, but I’m not sure if he wants me to speak to him professionally or personally, so I go with my gut.
“Off the record. I’m sorry you no longer find joy in your music.”
After an excruciatingly long moment of silence, he replies. “It’s not the music, it’s the people. Well, it’s me, not them. I still love the studio and playing with the guys, but the public persona and the undeserved adoration. That I could use a break from.”
“Still. I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“You going into the studio anytime soon?”
“Nah. There isn’t really a lot of studio time on the horizon for a band going on an indefinite hiatus. This is pretty much it for the foreseeable future. The guys have families to raise.”
“What about you? You going back home?”
“Which one?”
“Goose Hollow.”
He shifts so his back is against the wall, his eyes to the ceiling. While he internally wrestles with whether or not he wants to answer my question, I rest my back against the wall as well. Maybe it will be easier for him to open up if I’m not staring at him.
“I miss it, but it comes with a lot of... stuff.”
“I understand. I feel the same,” I commiserate.
“About going home to your family?”
“Yep. It’s complicated.”
Why is talking to him so easy? Why do I want him to ask me why it’s complicated when I’ve never talked to anybody about my family?
“I get complicated.” He doesn’t inquire further.
“Still off the record. What do you miss most about home?”
“Family. Quiet. Freedom.”
“What’s your favorite place in Goose Hollow?”
“My cabin. Specifically, my ass on the porch swing at my cabin.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. He really loves that porch swing.
“It’s a great porch swing.”
He stiffens and looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “Excuse me?”
“The cabin on the lake, right?”
“Excuse me? How do you know where my cabin is?”
“C’mon. Of course, I know you have a cabin on the lake. Everyone does.”
He pushes off the wall, tension radiating from his body. His hands fist at his sides and he’s seething when he speaks again.
“Very much off the record. How exactly do you and everyone else know about my cabin?”
“Goose Hollow is a small town. I know I’m younger than you, but my sister and Cal go way back and Daisy and Mia are two of my closest friends.
In fact, Daisy and I were paddle boarding on the lake a couple summers ago when I was home for a visit, and we may or may not have stopped by and used your bathroom. ”
His hands are in his hair. If he’s not careful, he’s gonna rip those beautiful locks right out of his head.
I’m so confused.
“What in the world are you talking about?” he asks, desperate for me to make sense of his confusion.
“Wait. You didn’t’ know I was from Goose Hollow?”
“What the actual hell?” he spits, leering at me like I have three heads. “I don’t know any Staleys.”
“Staley is a pen name. My last name is Jameson. My sister is Rebecca. She owns The Hollow on Main Street. You know, the coffee shop?”
“Your sick grandfather, is Mr. Jameson? Former mayor of Goose Hollow?”
“Yes... that’s my pops,” I confirm slowly, unsure why he’s so angry and confused right now.
“Why didn’t you say anything? This is pretty fucked up, Ryan. You know that, right?”
“What are you talking about? Everyone knows. I’ve known half the people on this tour my entire life.”
“Well, you’re a stranger to me,” he spits.
He’s seething and I don’t understand how I’m the bad guy here.
“Knox, I kept nothing from you. You never asked me where I was from, and I figured you knew. How was I supposed to know you were the only person who didn’t know I’m from Goose Hollow?”
“Fucking journalist.”
Once again, he storms off.
This time I don’t run after him.