Wow. I’m blown away to discover one of my favorite songs was written by the man sitting next to me. He’s squirming in his seat, likely uncomfortable with the adoration plastered on my face.
“So, Pansy’s an unusual name. There’s gotta be a story behind it,” he inquires, cutting through my thoughts.
“There is.” I frown. Of all the things to talk about, they always ask about my name.
“Care to share?” he pushes.
“Not really.”
Shaking my head, I stare out at the dark, desolate road. We’ve been driving for over an hour, and the sun set not too long ago. It dawns on me that taking this shortcut wasn’t smart because there aren’t many rest stops, and I need to pee.
“C’mon, you promised not to talk, and that’s all you’ve been doing. The least you can do is answer my question.”
“Fine,” I relent. I guess he’s right, considering I almost hit him. “My mom was following tradition. My grandmother had this whole flower/nature thing going on with her daughters’ names. My mom was Rose, my aunt was Lily, and my oldest sister is Ivy.”
She’s the smart one, a neurologist, and the one to ream me out for all my screw-ups. Our mom passed away when I was twenty-two, and she’s since appointed herself my mother.
“Then there’s Poppy.” She’s the one with a heart of gold. “She’s in Africa building schools. Daisy’s next, she’s a model in Europe.” The beautiful one. “That leaves me, the youngest, and the one stuck with the oddest name.” I chuckle weakly.
“Pansy isn’t stupid, it’s unique.”
That’s what my mom would say. Pansies were her favorite flower, and she said she had girl after girl, but the name never fit until me. She used to say, “Pansies are beautiful, unique, and resilient like you, my girl.”
I miss my mom. I should be satisfied with what she thought of me, but it isn’t easy when others think you’re the flighty one, the stupid one. I could go on, but this line of thinking only puts me in a foul mood.
I need to be positive for Silas, to make it up to him. He’s having a hard time if his deep sighs and clenched jaw are any indication.
“Whatever. So, tell me, why you were hitching?”
Like me in response to his inquiries, it’s evident he doesn’t want to talk about it. His fists curl, and he turns toward the window. Stealing a few glimpses while his attention’s diverted, it’s hard to miss how good-looking he is.
He’s got the whole hot-rock-star thing down to a T with his long hair, piercing eyes, and neatly trimmed beard. His faded blue jeans mold to his toned thighs and his black t-shirt fits his solid chest perfectly.
He’s casual, his clothes like a second skin. Both wrists sport thin brown leather bands, and his long fingers tell their own story with callused tips from playing the guitar.
Clearing his throat, he turns to me. My attention is on the road, but his heated gaze blazes a path along my skin.
“I had news that the guys didn’t want to hear. They got angry and kicked me off the bus.”
“What did you say?” I ask, without caring that I’m prying.
“Um…” He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. Our eyes lock, his gaze measured, considering if he can trust me. “I, uh, I told them I want out of Trojan.”
For most people, they might need a minute to gather their thoughts, a moment of silence. Not me. Like a bull seeing red, I barrel ahead.
“What? No!” I shriek without considering how judgmental I might sound. “I mean, sorry, you do what you have to, but you guys are wildly successful. Why would you end it all?”
“I’m not telling them to end Trojan; I’m walking away. They can go on without me and find another lead singer.”
“Not possible.” I can’t imagine they’d find someone more talented than the songwriter of “Only.”
He chuckles. “You don’t even like our songs. You can’t say that.”
“Yes, I can. You’re hugely talented. Why would you walk away from it all?”
“I don’t want the fame. It’s taken me so far away from why I started the band.” He sighs like he’s released a huge burden by saying it out loud.
“What would you do then?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. Something to do with music, but what, I’m not sure.”
“Wow. And your band didn’t take the news well?”
“That’s an understatement. I’ve never seen them so pissed at me, and we’ve had our moments. All three of them wanted me off the bus. It didn’t help that Jared was out of his mind on molly. He threatened bodily harm. Even though I tried to resist, I never stood a chance. It was three against one. The fuckers left me on the side of the road with no phone, no water. They didn’t even care how the hell I was going to get home.”
“Is that where you’re headed?”
“Yep. We just finished our North American tour, our contract’s up for renewal, and I figured now was the time to tell them. They were already talking about getting back into the studio to write another album. I couldn’t listen to it.”
He tugs at his bun and wild golden tresses tumble to his shoulders. Usually, I don’t go for guys with long hair—only women should have long hair—yet for the life of me, I can’t make sense of that logic as my heart flutters at sexy Silas Palmer with golden locks framing his handsome face.
He’s exquisite, and nothing like Cody, my ex-boyfriend of two years. He’s shorter than Silas by a few inches, wider, stockier, and his white-blond hair is less than an inch from his scalp. I wouldn’t say Cody was my type either, but his boyish charm got me.
A lot of good that did me. He ended up sleeping with his boss, a woman twenty years older and married. I have no clue what’s going on in his head, and while I felt humiliated, I didn’t love him. That was evident when I discovered them in our bed. Sadly, I’d been using him.
He had a condo, a steady job, and could be fun, whereas I’d dropped out of my second college program. Yes, you heard me—college at my age, and no medical or legal degree to show for it.
Since graduating high school, I’ve tried to figure out what I want to do with my life. At twenty-seven, I couldn’t argue with Ivy when she said I should have that figured out by now. She’s right.
Thankfully, I spot a rest stop ahead. It’s only a gas station and convenience store, but it’ll have to do. We’re about two hours from our destination, I need to pee, and I’m starving.
“I’m stopping here.” I turn into the parking lot.
“Good idea, I’ve gotta piss.” He jumps out before the car comes to a complete stop and by the time I turn off the ignition, he’s already inside.
When I return with my stash of food, Silas is leaning on the car. I wanted something warm, but all they had were nasty hot dogs that were more decayed than the walking dead. As I near him, he pops the final bite of a dog in his mouth. Yuck.
“How could you eat that? Gross.” I shiver.
“It wasn’t that bad.” He shrugs.
“Don’t complain to me when your stomach aches. I don’t want to hear it.”
We hop into the car and pull onto the road again as Silas delves into the plastic bag.
“So, what’d you get?” He names each item he pulls out of the bag. “Twizzlers, salt and vinegar chips, Sour Patch Kids, peanut M&Ms, water. You didn’t get any protein—how do you expect any of this to fill you up?”
“What are you talking about? The peanuts will.” I don’t need him criticizing my food choices. “Can you please open the chips for me?”
While he disses my lack of nutrition, he has no problem eating my food. We snack and chat about nothing and everything—movies, what we like, what we don’t. He confesses he hasn’t seen a movie in over three years, then talks about touring and the lifestyle he leads. While at first it might be glamorous, it would be exhausting after a while.
Then the topic of food comes up, more specifically our favorite foods. No surprise, the pound of sugar I just consumed is an anchor in my belly. Why is it when you’re starving, food pops into your mind? It’s pure torture.
As he licks the salt from his fingers, the smacking of his lips gets my attention, and the pink tip of his tongue swirls around his finger as ripples of excitement shoot through my stomach like he’s licking me.
Eyes on the road, Pansy. Eyes on the road.