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I squint my eyes when he does the same, making it easier for the design to be seen.
“It’s the cover art for Lucid Unrest’s very first album,” I tell him.
“That’s seriously awesome,” he says, stepping up to the wall he hasn’t explored yet.
I busy myself by cleaning my newest treasure, wearing cotton gloves, of course, as he continues along the wall.
Watching him makes me want to spend even more time with him rather than act out to push him away and keep him at arm’s length.
He’s not done when he steps back, turning to face me.
He blinks rapidly. “My eyes are starting to cross.”
I grin at him, knowing he’s not saying it in an insulting way. He’s been paying so much attention to the bottle caps, that he’s experiencing actual eye strain.
“So,” I say, snapping the case closed on the Hippo Root Beer bottle cap. “I’m not addicted to drugs.”
He grins at me, his smile soft and a little regretful. “I’m sorry.”
Two words, neither followed by a long line of excuses or explanation.
I think it may be the sincerest apology I’ve ever gotten.
I have to look away from him before my emotions take over. He didn’t call me stupid or make fun of me for continuing something I started as a kid.
“Got anymore secrets?” he asks playfully, giving me an out for the lump forming in my throat.
I bite my lip, and a smile spreads across his face.
“These are seriously awesome,” he says, swinging his arm around to indicate the bottle caps hanging on the walls. “But if you tell me you’ve also been collecting something like used Q-Tips, I’m leaving.”
“That would be weird,” I say, as I cross the room and head back out to the landing.
I open the door across the hall and step out of the way.
“Holy. Shit.”
Chapter 7
Brooks
“Is this for real?” I ask as I step into the room.
“No,” Archer says, his tone joking. “It’s all a figment of your imagination.”
I chuckle as I inch in further.
The bottle caps in the other room were impressive, but this room beats it by a million miles.
“Hot Wheels,” I breathe.
This room is three times as big as the bottle cap room, and it is packed with tiny vehicles. They’re along the walls, on custom-made shelves and tables, organized by year of production from the looks of it.
“Do you own every one ever made?”
“Not quite, and it’s a hard one to keep on top of because they produce so many.”
“You should be sponsored by Mattel.”
He laughs. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
“I think it’s amazing,” I say with awe in my voice.
“That one is part of the Sweet Sixteen, the first group ever made,” he says when I bend to get a closer look at a tiny Camaro under a glass box.
“Do you have all sixteen?”
“Yes,” he says with pride.
Like he did in the other room, Archer stays silent as I move from one car to the next, trying to remember if I had any of them growing up as a child. I loved these cars when I was younger, but not to this level of obsession.
I don’t collect a single thing, and as I take in more of the room, I feel like I’m missing out. I like a good scotch and I’m willing to spend a mint on the ones I do like, but this level of dedication to anything has never been on my radar.
“You work with a lot of rich people?”
“I do,” I answer without looking back at him.
“See a lot of collections?”
“Mostly paintings, real cars… stuff like that. I can say with all honesty this, and the bottle caps, are more impressive.”
“I figured you’d think I was a dork. I just didn’t want you to think I was on drugs.”
I straighten then, turning to face him. “There’s nothing dorky about any of this.”
“Nerdy?” he asks, his lips tugging up in a smile.
I hold my finger and thumb an inch a part. “Maybe a little nerdy.”
His grin grows. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Think people wouldn’t appreciate a rock star that collects such things?”
“Might make me lose a few cool points.”
His face falls, and I can read the look easily. Recent events have left him feeling less than cool. The man is tortured by what people are posting about him online.
It can’t be easy for him. His fall from grace has been epic. He was at the peak of his career up until a week or so ago, flying high on the stardom over nearly two decades in the making. It didn’t take long for people to turn on him.
I researched the hell out of Archer Bremen last night when I went home. I scoured the internet, looking at every picture and video I could find. I was looking for the shift, the change in who he became, trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time when the shift started to happen, when he began the drug use, I assumed.
