Truth

“So, did you get in trouble?” Why do you care? Stop giving a fuck about her stupid, silly stories from her past.

She shrugged, pulling her light sweater around her body. “Not really. But her grandma did start locking up the alcohol after that.”

I chuckled while placing the bottles back in their rightful places. So, little Miss Goody Two-Shoes, who usually wore girly dresses with a bright smile on her face, wasn’t all that good when she was younger. Interesting.

Brooklyn tiptoed over to me and whispered from behind me. She was so close I could smell her sweet vanilla scent wafting around us. “So, now what?”

I turned my head just slightly. “Now, we wait.”

Just then, we heard the guys outside the main door to our suite. Brooklyn sucked in air, and I turned on my heel, pulling her by the hand and back into her room. Her hand was so small and soft in mine, my rough palm rubbing along the smoothness of her skin. As soon as we were in her room, I glanced down at her hand in mine and then instantly pulled mine back.

Have you lost your fucking mind?

Brooklyn’s cheeks turned pink, the small freckles on her cheeks almost glowing. I could feel a slight sense of her soft innocence caging me in, so I did the one thing I always did: acted like a dick to push it away. “What? Never held someone’s hand before?”

Then I snorted and turned toward the door, listening to see if Finn went to the bottles.

Brooklyn inched closer to me—so close I had to hold my breath so I stopped smelling the vanilla. It smelled edible, if I was being honest. Like the fucking birthday cakes that I’d only started getting when I moved in with Nana.

A loud grunt fell out of my mouth, and I looked down at my black Vans. “Did you seriously just stomp on my foot?”

Brooklyn turned her bright-green eyes toward me, a spark of fire flickering in the golden specks. “Yes.”

“Why?” I asked, giving her an intense look.

“For the rude comment.”

I bit my lip so hard it was bleeding. I was not going to give her the satisfaction of making me grin again. Not tonight.

I’d already given up too many smiles with her around.

There was something about her that unwrinkled a piece of my heart. Like the bent pieces weren’t so bent with her around, and that was obviously unacceptable. Completely intolerable. No fucking way was this woman going to piece me back together. There was no way in hell. If anyone was piecing me back together, it was myself. Me, myself and I. The King of Music. Reid King—the only person I’d ever rely on again.

“So?” Brooklyn asked, barely above a whisper.

I turned my head slightly back to hers, both of us close to the door to listen to the guys. I raised my eyebrows. “So what?”

She shifted her gaze back to the door for a slight second before peering up at me. “Are you going to answer the question?”

I played stupid. “What question?”

“What do your shows make you feel? Don’t forget we’re in the middle of a lesson, student.”

“A bogus lesson,” I mumbled and quickly moved my foot out of the way, just in case she tried to stomp on it again.

“You promised.”

“As did you.”

“And I’ll answer as soon as you do.”

I sighed annoyingly, leaning against the wall closest to the door. Brooklyn was still beside me, but I tipped my head back, resting it along the hard surface so I didn’t have to be in her space any longer.

A quietness fell upon the room, my heart thumping in my chest with a burning desire to cut the conversation short and retreat back to my own room. It amazed me that, last year, I could sit down and write several songs, but now, I could barely speak about how my music made me feel. It was like my feelings had disappeared. Like I’d somehow shut them off. But I knew this was a step in the right direction. Brooklyn’s lesson wasn’t bogus, and she knew that. She somehow knew I needed to do something, express myself in some way or another. I sighed again and continued to look up at the ceiling, my chest burning with each beat of my heart.

“They make me feel… alive.”