He raised a shoulder and continued to stare at me like he was trying to figure me out.
I licked my lips and looked away, suddenly feeling nervous. “I don’t drink much for medical reasons, and that’s all I’m going to give you on that one.”
Truly, I was allowed to drink, even with one kidney. The only thing was that it took a while to leave my system, and I didn’t like to be impaired for too long, and half of me felt guilty for drinking and putting my body through something that already had had enough.
“Fair enough.”
I brought my attention up to his and raised one of my eyebrows. “Your turn. Why don’t you go out with them? Or party after a show? Isn’t that what famous musicians do? I mean, haven’t you read the stories about Motley Crue and Def Leppard?”
He grunted. “Those guys were on a whole other level of partying. They were legends.”
I laughed quietly. “I know, but still.” I angled my head to the door. “Even if they’re not even close to being crazy partiers, why don’t you hang out with them afterwards?”
Reid swallowed hard, his body going a little tense. The muscles in his forearms teetered back and forth as he clenched his fists in his lap. “I used to, but I guess things just changed for me. I’m not all about that groupie sex life anymore.”
My mouth gaped. “Wait… that’s what they do after shows? I figured they were just hanging out and letting loose a little.”
He snorted. “Oh… they’re letting loose alright.”
My head was spinning. Why didn’t I realize this before? “With who, though? Like, you’re being serious about groupies? I thought that was only a thing back in the day with the rock bands.”
His mouth formed a straight line. “You’re naïve, Brooklyn.”
“I am not!” I argued, sitting up a little taller. “I just figured since they asked me to hang out with them after the shows that it was not some orgy fest.”
Reid shook his head, hiding another one of those grins. “You think it’s an orgy fest? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“This is getting totally off topic,” I said, feeling my face flush. “I’m sorry if I don’t understand the rock star lifestyle. I live a pretty boring life, Reid. Nothing like the life you live. To be honest, I think I’ve been in shock since I stepped foot on this bus.”
He huffed. “You should probably be thankful you have a boring life.”
“Why is that? To be as successful as you, to have the talent that you have and express it in such a way is amazing to me. I could never do that, no matter how boring my life gets.”
Reid’s head snapped over to mine, his honey-colored eyes deepening to the point that I felt stuck. Pinned to my seat. Like I was sitting in freshly poured concrete. The air around us shifted as we locked stares. His voice was quiet but coarse. “Even though this life comes with success, it comes with a whole lot more baggage than you’d think. What people see on the outside isn’t what goes on on the inside. Lies, deceit, pain—that all goes hand in hand with success in the music industry. It’s hard to find real people in this world, especially when everyone is just some type of replica of who they think they truly are.”
I gulped, still keeping my eyes locked onto his. I was walking a fine line between pushing and pulling. Did I want to push him away so the agony in his eyes went back into hiding? Or did I want to pull him in closer, get him to talk about what it was that was eating him alive? “Is that why your music is so deep and real? Because it’s the truth?”
“Yes,” he breathed, and I swore I could feel the words skitter over my skin, even from feet away.
“That’s why it’s so good, Reid. Can’t you see that?” I whispered, trying so desperately to get him to see that what I was saying was the genuine truth. “Your music is authentic. You’re authentic.”
“I was authentic, Brooklyn. Now I can’t even write one fucking verse. Not even a word.”
“Then start giving the truth, like you always have. Start writing down what you feel.”
All of a sudden, Reid’s posture stiffened, his eyes shifted away, and I knew right then, I’d lost him. I dug too deep. One minute, we were talking about crazy fans and his bandmates having orgies, and the next, we were going to an entirely different level of personal. Intimate. That’s exactly what it was: intimate. Talking about your deepest feelings was emotionally draining. I could tell that he was pulling away. But if he even gave our conversation a second thought—maybe not right away, maybe not even tomorrow—but if he ever revisited the conversation and thought back to what I’d just said—which was the truth—then maybe it would click. Maybe he’d use it and turn himself around. Maybe it was a step in the right direction.
Too much silence had passed between us. There was no noise other than our breathing in the small bedroom. I was a second away from getting up, but something made me stay.
He was the first to speak, even if it was barely above a murm
ur. “I feel nothing, Brooklyn. And that’s my problem.”
“Reid,” I said, my voice almost breaking. I’ll admit, I was feeling a little ballsy, maybe too ballsy, but this was completely new territory for us. Over the last week, we’d avoided one another, exchanged scowls, he’d roll his eyes dramatically and storm away when I’d ask if he did his homework, but right now, it was like he was throwing me an olive branch, and I was pulling it before I even had a firm grip.
Reid turned that distant look over to me, fear plain as day in his eyes.
I took a deep breath and asked, “What do you feel right now? Looking at me?” Reid continued to stare, his fists, once again, clenched in his lap. “Pissed? Annoyed? Irritated? Frustrated that I’m digging in your life, trying to push you?”