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“Because you’re a pretty decent person, Brinley, is that what you want to hear?” He runs his hands roughly back and forth through his hair. It’s a total mess, but bed hair totally suits him and it looks sexy as hell. He half-smiles and I see the faintest trace of his dimple.
“And?”
“And, you’re insanely talented, and my guess is you’ve had a rough start in your career. I remember what it was like trying to make a name for myself in this crack-whore of an industry. I remember not having two cents to rub together before the band really took off.”
“Sounds familiar,” I wheeze.
“Sometimes you feel like you’re hitting your head against a brick wall, getting nowhere, like you should just give up completely and go get a nine-to-five job that’ll pay the bills like normal people.”
I cough into my fist. “Yep.”
“Then other days, you can’t help but wonder if your next big break could be just around the corner. So, you keep working at your craft and you plug away at it, and you promote yourself wherever you can, and you spend money that you don’t have, on plane tickets to the other side of the state, for a gig that pays a pittance, all in the hopes there’s a small chance a label might be there, so you go for it. And fuck it, if it doesn’t pay off.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Yeah, that’s what happened to me.” He nods slowly. “That was the start of Cold Neptune right there. Just Quinn and I on a plane headed to Maine. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs, two second-hand guitars, and a cheap amplifier we found by the side of the road while we were handing out flyers.”
I smile, and Reed smiles back at me. Though this smile isn’t his usual ego-filled smile. This one isn’t a cocky smile. It’s genuine and earnest, and it makes my heart melt.
Reed has a beautiful smile.
And he doesn’t just smile with his lips, and he doesn’t just smile with his mouth. Reed Devlin smiles with his eyes too, and that’s my favorite part of all.
“Anyway,” he continues on with his story. “Some guy from a record label was at this gig, and they liked what they saw. They got us a few more gigs out of town and then secured us some recording time in the studio. I guess things just kind of snowballed from there.”
I fiddle nervously with the frayed cord of my fluffy robe. “I work really hard.”
“I know you do.”
“And yet some days it feels like things are never going to take off. I never stop trying. It’s just sometimes…” I shrug, and then cough again, wiping a hand across my face. My skin is damp and my eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of my head.
I feel like crap.
Reed stands to his feet, tossing the blanket aside. “How about you get back into bed and I’ll make us some breakfast? I got everything I thought you might like. Bacon. Eggs. You feel like pancakes? I got pancakes and berries too.”
He takes me by the shoulders and turns me around, my bare feet squeaking against the floorboards as we head back down the hallway toward my bedroom. I sigh softly as he leads me along, mostly because I like the way it feels to be cared for, and also because I like the feel of his hands on my shoulders. His hands are big and strong, and they’re really warm.
“Reed, I…”
“Yeah?” he says, pulling back the blankets on my mattress. He encourages me to lie down and when I do, he pulls the covers up over me.
And then he shucks off his shoes and lies down on his back beside me.
I don’t give it too much thought though, because the instant I sink into the mattress, I can already feel my eyes growing heavy again.
“I just… I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me,” I say softly, staring up at the ceiling because it’s only a double mattress, and he’s lying really close to me, and I don’t know where else to look. “Thank you for taking care of me last night, for waiting at the hospital with me. And I will pay you back for all the groceries, I promise I will. And for getting my car out of hock. And also for my medical bills.” Frowning, I rub my temples. It might take me a while, but I swear I’ll do it. “I’m never going to be able to thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”
He reaches across and takes a strand of my hair in his hand. With gentle fingers, he tucks it back behind my ear and when I turn my head to look at him, I’m tempted to lean my cheek against his hand just so the moment lasts a little longer.
Just then, his phone vibrates with an incoming text message. With an impatient look, he rolls to one side, swipes the phone out of his pocket and reads the message. A grunt. Then he shoves it back into his pocket again without answering it.
I briefly wonder who the message is from. Is it from a woman? I have absolutely no right to be jealous of another woman texting him. That’s insane. I mean, I’m definitely not his girlfriend. Are we even friends?
He’s never brought it up before, and I guess I’ve never thought to ask.
If my chest didn’t hurt so much I might ask him, but I think that can safely be a conversation for another time. You know, when there’s not so much phlegm involved.
“When did you buy the groceries?”
