She moves closer to me. “You’re sweet.”
“I do my best.” His phone buzzes and he looks down. “Christ. There’s a shipping issue and this is one thing Pete can’t handle. Shipments are in my name. Dammit.”
“Go. Do your thing.” She smiles. “I’ll be here until you get back. Or maybe with Harley.”
“All right. Should only take me about ten minutes.”
I kiss her, long and deep, until we’re both breathless. Then I grab my room key and head out. Glancing back, she’s already on her phone, probably texting Harley. This would be so much easier if she was here on tour, not flying back and forth every so often.
Somehow, I have to make that happen.
Unfortunately, ten minutes turns into three hours. Z had to have one of his guitars repaired—his favorite guitar—and it got held up in customs because the only person he wanted working on it is based in Europe. Somehow, it got caught up in a battle for payment and since it was in my name, I had to be the one to sort it out.
In the end, the guitar still won’t arrive until tomorrow and Wynter had to leave without me.
We didn’t get to say goodbye in person, though I texted her, and we still don’t know when we’re going to see each other again.
I pull up my calendar, looking for breaks in the schedule. There isn’t a significant break for another month. This week is busier than usual too, because Kingston is seeing the Seattle specialist tomorrow morning. That means we’re not leaving for Spokane until later in the day. Luckily, it’s not a long flight. We’ll play there Tuesday and then head to Vancouver, British Columbia on Thursday.
At that point, it’s almost back-to-back shows. The only day off in the next two weeks is Monday—a week from tomorrow—and the one after that.
It’s a good thing I’m singing for Kingston because that many dates, so close together, will wreak havoc on his vocal chords.
And that’s not me wanting to stay in the spotlight just a little longer. We’ll know more after his appointment tomorrow but my gut tells me Kingston is going to be out longer than anticipated. Maybe six to eight weeks. And at that point, the band will have to decide if they can continue with a different lead singer.
Me.
If I’m good enough—enigmatic enough—to fill in for Kingston Knight for an indefinite period of time.
Imposter syndrome is a real thing.
It can knock you sideways when it hits, right along with insecurity, guilt, and myriad other negative emotions. I’m aware of the how and why, but getting past it is something else entirely.
How do you convince yourself you’re worthy?
The last week has been a rollercoaster. Extreme ups and downs that have left me a little out of sorts. Not to mention, getting involved with a woman—actually considering an exclusive, long-term relationship—for the first time since Clara.
There have been women but those weren’t relationships. They were distractions. Minor interruptions to my very practical, organized life.
The last week has blown everything I’ve done for the last nineteen years wide open.
Professionally, musically, and emotionally.
I’m all over the place and doing my best not to let it freak me out.
The worst part is that I have no one to talk to.
I can talk to Wynter but she’s struggling too. To trust in me, to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up, and probably a bunch of other things I’m not aware of. I can talk to Pete or even the guys in the band but I feel like I have to be careful with them. I’m never going to be the permanent singer for Onyx Knight.
And I don’t want to be.
Kingston is better than I’ll ever be. Not to mention, younger and better-looking.
I’m not being self-deprecating. There’s nothing wrong with me in general, but I’m not him. Kingston Knight is, according to women and tabloids all over the world, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. He’s barely thirty with his whole life ahead of him. Meanwhile, at forty-two, I’m inching toward middle age.
No remarkable assets, though I’ve invested my money wisely.
No family to speak of.
