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I noticed that he didn’t mention Derek, and was grateful that he didn’t.
“So, yeah, if I wanted them to stay healthy – and if I didn’t want to eat pizza and Hot Pockets 24/7 – then it was up to me.”
“I’ll have to put that in the article,” I said without thinking about it – and then felt a stab of grief and loss.
My big chance at a career, and I had fucked it up.
Ryan looked over and saw me physically wilt, saw the pain on my face.
“Kaitlyn,” he said quietly, “there’s no reason you can’t still write it.”
I shook my head ‘no.’ “That’s over with. Done.”
“No, you’re just not under Glen’s thumb anymore. That’s the only difference.”
That, and writing anything about Derek would feel like scraping broken glass over my heart.
But I kept that one to myself.
“
Rolling Stone’s
not going to take the article,” I said morosely.
“You walk into any music magazine’s office with an article that interviews… all the members of the band, you’ll sell it in a heartbeat.”
I noticed how he paused and said ‘all the members of the band’ to avoid saying ‘Derek.’
I loved him for that.
Platonically, I mean.
After weeks of putting up with a boyfriend who signed women’s bare tits in front of my face, it was nice being around a man who cared about my feelings.
“Don’t give up just yet,” Ryan said softly. “You’ve got all the time in the world now. Take it at your own pace, when you’re ready.”
Tears started to blur my eyes – but for the first time, it wasn’t because of Derek. It was because of Ryan’s kindness.
I smiled gratefully, and he smiled back.
“Alright, let’s eat this before it gets cold,” he said, and took the dishes to the table.
15
Dinner was wonderful. We ate at the dining room table in front of the massive bay window, and watched the sky turn pink and purple over the mountains as we got buzzed off the bottle of wine.
The food was excellent. The chicken was tender, the spices were just right, and the vegetables tasted wonderful.
“Are these fresh?”
“Yeah, Mrs. MacCruder keeps a garden. Most of the vegetables came out of it.”
“That’s amazing… this is like a little paradise.”
He nodded. “It is. That’s why I really wanted to keep it. It’s a great place to come and chill out, and it’s one of the few places I have to get away from the insanity.”
After five weeks on the road, I had an inkling of what he meant.
I helped him do the dishes and load the dishwasher.
“What do we do now?” I asked as we finished up.
“Um… well… there’s a TV in the den if you want to watch television. Or we could watch something On Demand.”
That sounded a little out of character for Ryan. He was out in the middle of the wilderness after just finishing a grueling tour; I doubted the first thing he wanted to do was turn on HBO.
“Is that normally what you do?”
“No. Almost never, actually.”
“So what do you do?”
He looked embarrassed. “Mostly play music… sing… compose a little.”
“You sing? I mean, I know you sing backup on a lot of the songs, but… you sing by yourself, too?”
He seemed super self-conscious. “I’m not as good as Derek.”
“The way I feel right now, I could never hear Derek’s voice again and it would still be too soon.”
He grinned, relieved.
I looked over at the piano. “Can you play me something?”
“Only if you promise to tell me when you’re bored.”
“Deal.”
I nestled into one of the comfy leather sofas with a fourth glass of wine as he sat down in front of the piano.
“What do you want to hear?” he asked.
“…you choose.”
He thought for a minute. As he did, he started to play lightly, his fingers dancing over the keys, warming up.
Damn – he was
good.
