Camryn
My stomach knots as I stare at the picture on my tablet. Damn it, I should know better than to look at the pictures posted on the internet, but when I open Facebook and it’s at the top of my newsfeed, it’s hard to ignore. Long, brown hair and big boobs in a slinky red dress wrapped like a vine around my man is not how I wanted to start my morning. No, the plan was to sip my coffee and read a book while enjoying my first day off in three weeks. We’ve been run ragged at work, and I needed a mental health day to recoup.
When I grabbed my iPad off the table, my finger seemed to hone in on the Facebook tab as I snuggled into the couch. Then, BOOM! There it was, right in my face, ruining my whole relaxing morning of vegging out. I wonder if this was before or after he texted me back that his dreams are always sweet. And did she make them sweeter after getting him off? Shit, I hate feeling this way.
Quit looking at the damn picture, Camryn. Stop looking at how she’s clinging to him while he has that sexy ass grin on his face. He doesn’t seem to mind her hanging on him.
Maybe that’s what he wants, for you to see this and know you never had a chance. Why would you even think you could measure up to that? the little voice in the back of my mind whispers, sounding suspiciously like my sister.
“No, he wants me to trust him and be honest. I’ll just ask him when I talk to him today.”
If you talk to him, the little voice nags on. You haven’t talked to him in days. Why would today be any different?
“We’ve both been very busy,” I defend.
Sure, blame it on that. If he really wanted to talk to you, he could have. Quit making excuses.
“Damn it, I will talk to him.” When I realize what I’m doing, I throw the tablet on the couch with disgust. “Great, now I’m freaking talking to myself. I’m going nuts.”
My phone ringing on the kitchen counter breaks me out of my pity party. Elation and fear course through me, wondering if it’s him calling. Wiping my suddenly damp palms on my flannel pajama pants, I shuffle to the counter and see Sarah’s face smiling at me from the screen. Swiping my thumb across the bottom, I accept the call.
“Hey, Sarah,” I say, despondent.
“What the hell is wrong with you this morning? Did I wake you up? I waited until after nine.”
“No, I’m up.”
“Then what is it?”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“Girl, I may not have known you for years, but I know your tone of voice, and it’s telling me something is bothering you.”
“Okay, you’re right.”
“Spill it, girlfriend.”
“It’s Isaac,” I begin before she interrupts.
“What about him? Did he do something stupid?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I answer, confused.
“What happened?”
“A picture on Facebook.”
“A picture? On Facebook?” she asks, drawing the words out.
“Yeah.”
“What kind of picture?”
“It was a picture of the band after the concert last night.”
“Okay, and?”
“There’s a girl wrapped around him like a damn vine.”
“Is he wrapped around her?”
“What? Of course not!” I snap.
“Then what are you worried about? If this bothers you, you are not cut out for dating someone in a band. The more famous they are, the worse it gets.”
“Great.”
“If I got pissed off for every picture that gets posted of Keith with another woman when he’s out playing at the bars, honey, that’s all I’d ever be. It’s just part of the ride.”
“How do you deal with it?”
“I trust my man. I love him and know he loves me. Trust is key.”
“That’s the problem,” I mutter.
“You don’t trust him?”
“God, I want to.”
“But?”
“I know what his past is like.”
“That’s your hang up, not his, honey.”
“I know.”
“Has he given you any reason to doubt him since he told you he wants to be with you?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you trust him?”
“I don’t know,” I huff.
“Yes, you do. You just don’t want to own up to it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t major in psych?”
“No, I couldn’t listen to people whine all day,” she laughs. “Your hang up is you.”
“Probably,” I groan out.
“You have to believe you’re worth being loved, Cam.”
“But—”
“No buts. I don’t know who got these damn ideas in your head, but they need to be strung up. Or maybe drawn and quartered. I’m not sure which torture would be appropriate.” I can just picture her sitting there tapping her finger on her chin as she decides, a devilish gleam in her eyes.
“Get your ass up and dressed. We’re going to lunch and out for a little retail therapy. And I don’t want to hear one thing about your diet,” she hisses like it’s a dirty word. “It can be your cheat day or whatever. I’ll be there in two hours. Be ready.”
“Yes, drill sergeant,” I bark out.
“That’s more like it,” she laughs as she hangs up.
Now, what the hell am I going to wear?
Isaac
Rolling off my bunk is not the way I wanted to wake up this morning—or is it afternoon? I crashed hard last night. Sitting up on the floor, I spot my phone beside me. The quiet murmur of voices is almost drowned out by Brett snoring in his bunk. As I make my way to the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus, I scroll through my contacts, hit Red’s contact, and pray she picks up. I need to hear her voice.
“Hello?” she answers, breathless.
“It’s damn good to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad you called.” The relief in her voice is evident, which worries me.
“Of course, I’m gonna call. I was hoping you’d have to some time to talk. I know you’ve been working your ass off.”
“I’m actually off today. I told my boss I’d probably lose my mind otherwise.”
“Good. You need to take a break. So, what’s the plan for today?”
“Well, I had planned to just veg out and read, but Sarah is taking me out for retail therapy to get me out of my pity party.”
“What pity party?”
“Um…” I can picture her biting her bottom lip as she mulls over how to answer.
“Come on, Red. We said honesty was important.”
“I know,” she breathes out. “It was a picture on Facebook this morning.”
“Of?”
“You guys last night.” There’s more to it than that.
“And?”
“A girl was standing next to you with her hands on you.”
“Oh, honey, she just snuck into the picture last minute during this press thing. I couldn’t throw her off me like I wanted to.”
“Did you want to?” she asks, timid. My heart drops to my knees at her tone.
“Red, I had already told her no a couple times before that picture was taken. Some of these fans are just pushy and don’t know when to take no for an answer,” I reassure.
“That’s what Sarah was trying to tell me. It comes with the territory.”
“Unfortunately, it does. I’m trying to minimize it as much as possible, but we can’t alienate our fans either. It’s a hard line to toe.”
“I understand.”
“And I’m sorry, but there are going to be pictures or comments that are going to make you uncomfortable.”
“I don’t want you to change for me, Isaac.”
“This isn’t changing, it’s growing up. Before you, I would have taken any pictures those girls wanted. And I would have taken the one in the picture up on her offer. Now, it doesn’t hold the appeal. I’d much rather be talking to you than getting my rocks off with them.”
“Are you sure?” The insecurity in her voice tears at my heart.
“I’m positive. You’re the only one I want.”
In the background, a knocking sound breaks the silence.
“Hey, I better go. Sarah’s here, and I know how she gets when she’s hangry.”
“I’ll call you again tonight before we go on. That okay?”
“Sure. We’ll be back by then.”
“Talk to you then. Y’all be safe.”
“You too. Bye.”
Pounding on the flimsy door separating the bathroom from the next room startles me, and I nearly drop my phone.
“Hurry up, man. I gotta piss!” Brett yells from the other side of the door.
“Hold your fucking horses,” I throw back as I stand up. As I open the door, the cheap wood stops short.
“Son of a bitch!” he bellows, holding his nose with both hands, bloodshot eyes watering.
“What the hell were you standing there for, dumbass? You know the door opens that way.”
“I guess I wasn’t thinking,” he replies, voice muffled by his hands.
“Are you bleeding?” I ask, though I don’t see any red dripping from between his fingers.
“I don’t think so. Just throbs like a bitch.”
“Go take care of business, and I’ll get you an ice pack or something,” I say, passing by him toward the front of the bus.
“What was that about?” Derek asks as I walk into the galley kitchen.
“Brett was standing in front of the bathroom door when I opened it. Smashed his pretty nose.”
“Hope the dumbass gets black eyes,” Jason rumbles from his seat before taking a drink of Dr. Pepper.
“It would serve him right after the stunt he pulled last night,” Derek replies, taking a sip out of his chipped coffee cup.
“Yeah, it would,” I sigh as I grab a plastic baggie out of the cabinet and fill it with ice. “But we need him to sing tonight and he’ll sound like shit if his nose is swollen.”
“Maybe the groupies will leave him alone because he’s disfigured,” Derek jokes.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath. They’ll want to kiss it and make it better,” Jason groans.
“Let’s see if we can minimize pretty boy’s swelling for tonight.”