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And yet, my feelings for Grey hadn’t changed. I knew in my heart that I still loved him. It was so complicated that I couldn’t work it out in my head because there was no doubt that I also wanted to be with Ghost. The confusion in my head ran around in circles, never resolving.
So, I had stayed away from Ghost, but the attraction had only grown more intense. As much as I tried to convince myself that those feelings were merely a rebound effect from my separation with Grey, I knew that these feelings for Ghost were something deeper than I wanted to admit.
Ghost and I hadn’t spoken much in the past week, but the tension between us was palpable. While avoiding Ghost, I’d gotten much closer to the other band members and even some of the crew. Part of that came from living on the road in close contact. It wasn’t always easy in the cramped quarters — only staying in hotels on occasion — but there was a camaraderie in the group that was easy to fall into. I’d been accepted by the friendly bunch and had grown to appreciate them as individuals.
The guys in the band either seemed to be sleeping, working, or partying, with not a lot of time in between. But I’d caught some of their free time interviewing them, eating meals with them, and just hanging out until I’d gotten to know each of them better. They were starting to feel more like real friends than subjects of my work assignment.
Within minutes, I would conduct my most important interview. There were some candidates for my ghost that could work, but attaching the ghost to the lead singer of Ghost Parker would be infinitely better.
My heart raced as my eyes darted across the pages, taking in the background information I had painstakingly dug up. I knew Ghost’s past was a sensitive topic, especially since he’d mentioned therapy during one of our previous conversations. Shit. I tapped my pen on my journal. I couldn’t let my confusing feelings for him cloud this interview. I needed to focus.
My growing feelings for him were becoming a problem in more than one way; they were certainly interfering with my professional judgment. Night after night, I watched him on stage, captivated by his charisma and talent. His presence was magnetic, drawing me in closer than I ever intended to get. The attraction was so strong that it had even begun to infiltrate my dreams.
Just last night, I dreamt that I was backstage, watching as he performed under the dim lights. His deep, wicked baritone sent shivers down my spine as he sang lyrics filled with raw passion. In the dream, he locked eyes with me, pulling me into his embrace before claiming my lips in a searing kiss that left me breathless. I awoke alone, flushed and craving more of him.
Shaking off the memory of the dream, I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves, determined to keep my personal feelings from clouding my judgment. I glanced over the questions I had prepared for the interview, debating whether to ask about his past. It felt intrusive, but I couldn’t deny that it was relevant to the music he created. And maybe his past would conjure up just the ghost I needed for this assignment.
“Ready when you are, sweetheart,” Ghost’s voice interrupted my thoughts, causing me to jump slightly. He leaned against the doorframe, dressed in black jeans and a tight-fitting blue shirt that showed off his toned muscles. His smoldering gaze met mine, and I felt my resolve waver.
“Okay,” I said, taking another deep breath. “Let’s get started.”
Without another word, he crossed the room and then sat down in an armchair to my left, waiting for my first question.
I began the interview with an easy one. “How did you get your nickname, Ghost?”
He’d been asked that question many times before, and I didn’t expect an answer any different from what he’d told reporters before, but I felt I had to ask. Maybe I’d get some nugget that dovetailed nicely with the secret story I was working on molding.
He paused for a moment, then looked me in the eye. “It’s a long story,” he said with a slight smirk, his voice low and raspy.
I felt my heart racing as I leaned in closer to hear what he had to say. He ran his fingers through his hair and chuckled softly. “The truth is, it started with my friends in high school,” he began.
He went on to explain that when he was younger, his friends used to tease him about his ability to disappear without anyone noticing. They started calling him Ghost, and it stuck.
He’d given me the standard answer, but something made me want to dig a little deeper. “Did you feel that you needed to be able to disappear sometimes?”
He shifted in his seat and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I just left when I got bored, that’s all. My friends weren’t that observant, I guess.”
I nodded. It felt like there was something there, but it didn’t seem like something I needed for my story, so I pressed on. “So, I noticed you have a record — that you’ve been convicted in several cases of disorderly conduct. Can you talk a bit about that?”
Ghost’s eyes narrowed, but he smoothly evaded the question. “You know, Remi, we all have moments in our lives when we lose control. It’s part of being human, isn’t it? But what really matters is how we learn and grow from those experiences.”
“Fair enough,” I continued, undeterred. “What about your family life? How has that influenced your music?”
His brow furrowed, and he bit his lip as if to hold back a sharp retort before answering with a clipped voice, “My family life has nothing to do with my music, Remi. This interview is supposed to be about my art and my career, not digging up skeletons from my closet.”
“Actually, Ghost, your past is relevant to the music you create,” I argued, trying to maintain my professional composure. “Your fans want to know about the real you, and they’ll be on your side if you open up to them. Don’t you think they deserve that much?”
He crossed his arms defensively, his jaw clenched tight. He was shutting down, refusing to answer my questions. But I couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, so I decided to push him further. This answer to the next question could be the entire key to my story.
“Did the suicide of your stepbrother, Adam Locke, affect your music?” I asked, wondering if I had crossed a line.
A flicker of intense sadness passed across his face, and I knew I’d hurt him deeply with the question. Within seconds, his expression shifted from shock and hurt to smoldering anger as his jaw set and his eyes narrowed.
The room seemed to freeze as Ghost’s piercing gaze bore into me. All the warmth drained from his face, replaced by a cold fury that sent chills down my spine. I knew I’d gone too far, but there was no turning back now.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Ghost exploded, his voice barely contained. “Where did you even find out about Adam? You have no business digging into my life like that!”
His temper was a force to be reckoned with, and I suddenly felt very small in the lavish hotel suite. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to formulate a response, but he didn’t give me the chance.
