I was about to throw my guitar across the room when my ears perked up.
My fingers still moved gracefully over the heart of my guitar as I heard one of the rawest and purest voices sing from beside me.
“We met in chaos, oh, sweet chaos.
I promised I wouldn’t give in to you, even if just for a few.”
Before I knew what was happening, my heart grew inside my chest. A warm vine started to wrap itself around the thing that beat so deeply inside the contents of my ribs. Something awakened inside of me.
My fingers stopped moving as I stared at Brooklyn, her eyes closed, her mouth opened with beautiful words pouring out. Her cheeks were a light pink with small pieces of her auburn hair framing the roundness of her face. She was beautiful before she sang, but now? Now she was stop-you-in-your-tracks stunning. The innocence that poured off of her, the silent beauty that seemed to surround her essence, the way she laid herself out there—her voice bare and real.
“Did that make you feel something?” I was snapped out of my trance when I realized that Brooklyn was talking to me.
I cleared my throat, removing my fingers from my guitar. Did that make me feel something? Yeah, all the wrong fucking things.
I shrugged, unable to produce words.
“Do you want to know what it made me feel?”
I slowly nodded, keeping my eyes trained to her eyes and no place else.
“It made me nervous. That’s what I was feeling when I sang. But it didn’t make you nervous, did it?”
I swallowed roughly, as if I’d just gobbled down a handful of rusty nails. “It didn’t make me nervous. No.”
Brooklyn shifted beside me, adjusting her dress. “Exactly my point. Just because you feel something when you sing a certain verse or song, doesn’t mean the rest of the world is feeling the exact same way. Words are words. It’s all about how you react to them. Everyone is different; everyone feels things differently. The way you feel is justified by you, and you alone. Just like the way I feel is justified by me, and me alone. Stop worrying about what someone else is going to think of your music, and just do it.”
Silence passed between us. There was commotion in the front of the bus, but it seemed like the second Brooklyn and I came back to this room and shut the door, it was just her and me. Nothing could penetrate the walls we were building.
Desperate for an escape out of the intimate conversation, I mumbled, “What are you? A Nike commercial?”
The apple of Brooklyn’s cheek lifted, then she smacked my arm. I jolted away and couldn’t help the smile crawling along my lips. “I hate you,” she said through her own grin.
I smiled back at her, my eyes roaming over her raised arm ready to smack me again. Just then, Rod knocked on the door and opened it without hesitation. First, he looked at me, confusion flickering on his face. Then, he trailed his eyes over to Brooklyn who was on her knees with her arm over her head, seconds from hitting me. He cleared his throat as he tore his eyes away from the scene. I could read his expression clear as day. He was curious. He was curious about what we were doing back here and why the hell Brooklyn and I were smiling at each other.
I quickly wiped the happiness off my face.
“So, I have a feeling that you still haven’t given Carissa a suggestion for tomorrow night.”
I flicked an eyebrow up, confused. “For what?”
Rod shuffled on his feet, placing his hands on his hips. “Jamison’s charity birthday? You know, the whole reason that Carissa kept calling you last night.”
And just like that, my poor mood was back. I angled my head back and stared at the ceiling. Fuck. How did I forget that? Brooklyn—that was how.
“Can you get me out of it?”
Rod gave me a look. The look. The look your grandma gave you when you burped during Sunday dinner. “Reid, you haven’t shown your face anywhere since…”
My jaw tightened as the lightness in the air was sucked out of the room. “You can say it. Since Angelina went off the deep-end. Yeah, I know.”
Rod looked surprised when the words flew out of my mouth, and honestly, I was, too. I glanced over at Brooklyn, but she kept her face emotionless, almost appearing bored with the conversation.
“If you want the rumors to stop about Angelina, if you want her out of the press, you need to make an appearance, and you need to have someone on your arm so they’ll stop. I don’t usually like to agree with Carissa, but I do on this one. It’s promo at its finest.”
I groaned, knowing very well they were right. There were still some tabloids that continued to dig for information about Angelina. They liked to spread rumors and had tons of speculation, and her parents wanted her out of the spotlight. If I gave them this, if I somehow got the attention off of Angelina and her being tied to the hottest musician of today’s time, maybe they’d be more likely to give me something in return, like—oh, I don’t know—her location or maybe some fucking information regarding what the hell had happened.
“You’re right. I need to go.”