Libby

I haven’t wrapped my head around this yet. I’ll pretty much be with Knox seventeen hours a day, every day. I scheduled myself to stay at a hotel after every show, but sometimes that isn’t realistic. If the show gets delayed, or we’re running behind on time, we’ll have to crash on the bus while the driver gets us to our next destination. Some of his shows only have a day between them, so we’ll be pressed for time.

“First stop, Vegas,” I say. He’s playing at the MGM Grand Garden Arena tomorrow night.

“First stop, Vegas,” he repeats, sitting on the other end of the sectional.

He doesn’t seem excited about going to Vegas like most people are. I’m personally not a big Vegas fan, either, but that probably has to do with the fact that my dad would go out and have a good time while I stayed in the hotel bored out of my mind.

“Where’s your favorite place to perform?” I ask.

“Houston.”

“That’s where you grew up, right?”

“It is.”

“Why is it your favorite?”

“I feel like there’s a personal piece of me still there, you know? I used to go back to the spot I was playing when Thomas discovered me. It seems surreal to go from that to this.” His hands go out to gesture to the massive bus we’re in. “It was my favorite spot to think, although it’s a bit hard for me to go there now without people asking for autographs.” He pauses, scraping a hand through his hair. “Secret of the day. I bought ten acres out of the city there for when I finally decide to retire.”

“Really? I can’t see you giving up the limelight to hang out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’ll keep my house in LA but go to Houston when I want to clear my head from the madness. If by crazy chance I end up having kids, that’s where I want them to grow up. I don’t want privileged brats who think everything should be handed to them.”

His words hit me like a slap in the face. Is that what he’d think of me if my dad didn’t lose anything and still paid my bills? “Not all kids who grow up with wealthy parents are spoiled brats.”

“You’re absolutely right. I’ve spoiled my little brother, well at least tried to, and he doesn’t act entitled at all. He’s studying law and likes to stay out of the spotlight. Instead of buying him expensive shit and taking care of him the rest of his life, all he asked me to do is help with his education, which I’m happy to do.”

I’m surprised his brother isn’t trying to ride his coattails. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” I feel dumb not knowing it. “He sounds like a great guy with a good head on his shoulders.”

“He is. Easton is five years younger than I am. You’ll meet him when we’re in Houston. I tried to get him to come on tour with me, but he’s taking summer classes and doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“Not that I know of.” He gives me a look, waiting for more of an explanation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad has illegitimate children running around we don’t know about, but as far as right now, I’m an only child.”

“What about your mom?”

“She hasn’t been around since I was four. She was a D-list model that assumed having a baby with my dad was her meal ticket to a fabulous life and fame. It didn’t go according to plan. She tried to rape him in child support and then would spend the money on plastic surgery and clothes. My dad got pissed and took her to court for custody. As soon as the checks stopped coming in, she stopped coming around.” I shrug. I had dreams she’d come back when I was younger, but I’ve given up on that idea. She didn’t even bother getting in touch when the news broke about my dad’s tax troubles and his prison sentence. “What about your dad?”

“Similar story to your mom’s. He was MIA for as long as I can remember. I don’t even have his last name. When he was around, he was drunk and used to beat my mom. He didn’t claim me until I became famous. He even went to magazines and sold his story to them. He got in contact and started asking for money. I paid him off to keep his mouth shut and stay away from me.”

“Oh, the joy of having opportunist parents.”

He raises his beer bottle in the air. “To those of us with fucked up parents.”

I laugh and do the same, except with a glass of wine. “To those of us with fucked up parents.”

We both finish off our drinks, and Knox gets up to grab another. “You want a refill?”

I shake my head. “What should we do now?”

“We can watch a movie? Or Netflix?”

I look at him with excitement. “Let’s Netflix binge!”

“Netflix what?”

“You’ve never heard of Netflix binging?” He shakes his head. “It’s when you start a new show with like a gazillion episodes and watch them non-stop.”

“Oh, you mean kind of like Netflix and chill? I’ve heard of that before, but as far as I know that’s code word for fucking.”

“We’re not Netflix and chilling. We’re Netflix binging. Two totally different things.”

“With the same result?”

“Negative.”

“I like Netflix and chill better.”

“That isn’t happening.” I grab the remote. “So what do you like? Cheesy? Dramatics?”

“Put on your favorite.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive. Show me how Libby Netflix binges.”

I turn on Friends, and we start to Netflix binge.

I’m not sure how many episodes I make it through before dozing off.

* * *

My eyes flutter open, and the only light is a faint one coming from a desk lamp. I softly yawn and blink a few times while I make out the figure sitting behind the desk.

“What time is it?” I ask, stretching. How long had I been out?

Knox raises his wrist to look at his watch. “A little after two.”

“Why are you sitting alone in the dark?”

“I’m doing some writing.” He grins. “And looking at you. I’ve decided you’re my muse for the song.”

I cover my face with my hands. “Well stop looking at me.” I can only imagine what I look like right now. Did I snore? With my luck, I probably snored, slobbered, and talked about him in my sleep. “You need to get to bed. You have a show tonight.”

He shakes his head and keeps scribbling on the paper. “I’m on a roll right now with this new song, so I’ll be up for awhile. You can have my bed if you want.”

“No, this couch is pretty comfortable.”

“You’re lying, but that’s okay, you’re the one who’s missing out on the giant, comfortable bed with sheets that smell like this rock star.”

I roll my eyes. “Dear God, it probably smells like BO and herpes, so I’ll have to pass.”

“You know what I like about you?”

“My boobs?”

“Those are fantastic, yes, but I like that you’re straight up with me. Not too many people are. They tell me what I want to hear, which can get old at times.”

“I’m sure it’s a very complicated life having people constantly kissing your ass.”