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She isn’t laughing at me. She’s looking at me thoughtfully, but her smile holds no judgment.
“When did you start doing this?”
I shrug and walk back to my swing, catching it and sitting down, joining her in a soft sway as we talk. “It was after high school, but I can’t pinpoint the first time I did it. It’s been too many years. Before I started doing this, I would feel really restless after a show—like I had all this energy and no idea what to do with it.”
“Seems like it’d be very rock and roll to do drugs and have sex.”
“Probably, but I’ve never done drugs and…” Fuck, I don’t want to admit this to her, but I also don’t want to lie to her or hold anything back. Rubbing my shoulder and fighting my embarrassment, I confess, “I might’ve done the sex thing when we first started getting attention. I got wrapped up in everything, and it took me a while to get my head straight. Fame kind of fucks with you. Suddenly you have all these people who give you attention and want to be around you, hear what you have to say. It’s not until something serious happens that you realize how fake it all is. I’m not proud it took Kasen’s downward spiral for all of us to realize that no one actually cared about us—not really. They cared about what we could do for them.”
“That’s sad,” she says softly.
I nod. It is sad, but it’s the truth. Rock stars are only as valuable as their next big hit.
I lean my head on the chain holding the swing and look at her. It’s dark, but there are enough streetlights nearby to show her face clearly.
“I’ve never told anyone outside the band about this,” I confess. She looks at me, and I gesture to the playground. “You’re the first. I know people would think it’s silly and childish, but that’s kinda the point. My mom never took us to the park growing up. She was always too high. And since Tristan is two years younger, I always felt like I needed to look out for him, so I never felt like I got to be a kid. But this…” I glance around, taking in the park and the swings before my gaze lands on her. “This is my chance to be silly and act like a little kid with no one around to judge me.”
“Have the guys ever come with you?”
I shake my head, my eyes never leaving hers.
“So, just me then?”
My voice gets soft and low and catches in my throat before I can finally say the words, afraid that maybe our friendship isn’t advanced enough for me to be this vulnerable with her. “Just you.”
She reaches her hand out, and I immediately take it in my own. She squeezes it gently, her hand soft against mine. “So, should we see who can swing the highest?”
A grin stretches my cheeks, and my heart soars. “You’re on.”
13
My feet barely make a sound as I cross the grass toward Will and see Rex, his rescue pit bull, pumping his legs at a frantic pace to chase after a stick Will just threw.
“That is one spoiled dog,” I say.
My brother turns and smiles at me. “Hey, Becks, what are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know. Just thought I’d take a stroll.”
“Really?” he asks doubtfully.
“No, not really. I was driving to your house and noticed you when I passed by the park.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that makes more sense.”
We stand together quietly while Will continues to throw the stick every time Rex brings it back. Finally, I break the silence.
“I’m worried about you, Will.” He’s not been the same since his fiancée died in a car accident a few years ago.
I’ll be honest, I hated Candace. I thought she was using my brother, and he let her have too much say over his life. It caused a huge rift between us—the biggest one we’ve ever had, which made me hate her even more. But regardless of my feelings, her death broke something in Will, and he’s never been the same.
He turns to me. “Nothin’ to worry about, Becks.”
I look at him, my brows pinched with concern. “Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.”
He glances at me, then back out at the grassy field, his jaw clenched tight with anger, but then another look passes across his face, a mix of maybe guilt and devastation. Is he thinking about Candace again? Why can’t he see how horrible she was? That he deserves so much more? That he deserves to be happy?
“The look on your face is why I’m so worried about you,” I admit. Maybe if I point it out, he’ll finally see it too.
