Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I’m just kidding. I was the idiot who walked into the men’s room. Served me right.” My eyes traced the ink at the base of his neck, just peeking out from his white T-shirt. “Anyway, I probably would’ve recognized you from the Internet if you hadn’t had that long beard.”
“That’s exactly why I had the beard. I grow one every recording season when we don’t have to perform. It helps me not be recognized in public. I hated having to cut it before the tour.”
“Makes sense.”
Tristan opened another drawer and finally pulled out the ibuprofen. “Ah! Got it.” He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.
“Thanks.” I cracked open the bottle and took a sip before downing the meds. “I’m surprised you’re alone tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve heard you guys have a different girl every night on hotel stops.”
“Wow.” He scratched his chin. “A different girl every night. I think my dick would fall off. Where are you getting your information?”
“I don’t disclose my sources.”
He shrugged. “Some nights I just want to be alone. I do have to write music at some point, rest my voice, get sleep.”
I nodded. Now the papers scattered over his bed made sense. “You write a lot on the road?”
“I write whenever inspiration strikes, but being on the road is actually when I’m most creative. Late at night on the bus, when everything goes quiet? That’s what I like best about touring. That’s my favorite time to write.”
“That’s my favorite time of the day lately, too. There’s something so relaxing about staring out at the moving darkness.”
He cocked his head. “What do you do?”
“On the bus? Read or listen to podcasts…”
“Sorry, I meant in general. What do you do when you’re not held captive by a tour for four months?”
“Not much of anything, actually. I’m trying to find my place in the world at the moment. I just graduated from Nevada State University.”
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-two.” I’d googled his age but asked anyway. “How old are you?”
“Almost thirty-eight. Old as fuck, right?”
“You don’t look thirty-eight. I would’ve guessed, like, thirty.”
“What did you study at Nevada State? Blowing smoke up people’s asses?” He winked.
I laughed. “It’s true. You look younger. But I majored in communications.”
“Nice.”
I shrugged. “Well, it’s been challenging finding a job with such a broad degree.”
“You’re in a good position,” he assured me. “I envy you.”
“Envy me?” I drew my brows in. “Why?”
“You’re a blank slate with your whole life ahead of you. Some days I wish I could go back and start over.”
“Why would you want to do that? You’re a huge star. If you did even one thing differently, you might not be where you are today.”
“Where I am today isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.” He sighed. “Don’t get me wrong—I’m very grateful for it all. But there’s always a price to pay for fame. Like giving up your privacy.”
“Yeah. I’m seeing that. You guys can’t go anywhere without being mobbed.”
“You clearly don’t give a shit who I am, though. I need that sometimes.” He smiled. “Your innocence is refreshing, Emily.”
Innocence? “I may be young. But I’m not innocent.” I scoffed.
“I don’t believe you. I can see it in your eyes. You’re innocent as hell.”
“You’re not a good reader of people, then.”
Tristan crossed his arms. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve done, and I’ll believe you.”
No one had ever asked me such a direct question before. And something about looking into this man’s eyes made me want to answer honestly.
So I did. “I killed someone.”
CHAPTER 4
TRISTAN
I blinked. “You…killed someone.”
She muttered something and shook her head, looking down at her feet. “I can’t believe I told you that.”
“Well, I asked, and you certainly delivered. But I do think it warrants an explanation. That’s not the kind of thing you blurt out without further details, you know?”
She finally looked up at me. “I killed my mother’s boyfriend—accidentally. It was in self-defense. Or rather, in defense of my mother.”
Shit. I swallowed. “What happened? I mean, leading up to it?”
“I’d come home early from school. Walked into the house and found him choking her. She was gasping for air. I pleaded with him to let her go, and he wouldn’t. I was sure he was going to kill her.” She took a deep breath. “I grabbed a bat from my brother’s bedroom and knocked him over the head with it. I didn’t mean to kill him. But apparently, I hit some spot on the back of his head…” Her words trailed off.
“When did this happen?” I asked softly.
“My senior year in high school. So a little over four years ago.”
“Holy fucking shit. That’s a lot to go through.” I shook my head. “Are you okay? I mean, mentally?”
“Not really.” She looked down at her feet again. “I still feel guilty about it. And I have a savior complex sometimes. Any chance I get to help someone, I take it. You witnessed a bit of it tonight. I think I feel like I have to do good deeds to make up for the horrible thing I did.” She closed her eyes briefly. “Henry, my mother’s boyfriend, was an asshole. But he had kids. They no longer have a father. Even if he was a terrible person, I took him away from them. They didn’t deserve that.”