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“Are you ready to head back home?” Naomi asks me.
“Yes and no,” I answer honestly. “I’m excited to be in my own bed again and working on my album. But also, this has been some of the best months of my life. Getting to fall asleep in one city, waking up in the next, playing shows almost every night. I love it.” And then I add, “And I’ll miss being around Walker.”
“What about me?” Boone asks, hand pressed to his chest in mock insult.
“I’m going to be seeing you all the time, you idiot.” I plan to spend some time in Vegas while Boone does his residency.
“I’m glad you came on this tour.” Naomi reaches across the table and pulls my hand into hers. “I can see a change in you, and I’m proud of you.”
I’m proud of you. Words I wanted to hear my entire life from the ones who were supposed to love me most but never did.
But Naomi looks at me with such warmth, such care, that I feel a lump gather in my throat. I take in the two of them sitting across from me, two people that always welcomed me, never judged me, and always supported me. They’ve shown me that blood isn’t family and the people who want to show up, will.
“Thank you.” My voice cracks. It feels good to know that through everything, I have people by my side. Something I’ve longed for since I was in youth groups growing up and never felt like I quite fit in, that no one really understood me.
A loud bang at the front of the bus has us all whipping our heads toward it, seeing the front door crash into the wall behind it. Boone starts to jump up from the table, ready to confront whoever is barging in when a thick head of dark hair with the smallest green tint to it appears over the ledge.
“Hey, man, scared the shit out of us,” Boone calls out to Walker as he walks up the last step.
All it takes is one look at his face to know something is wrong. His shoulders are tight, mouth in a thin line, fingers drumming rapidly against his pants.
“Did you run here or something?” Boone teases, but when Walker doesn’t even crack a smile, his face falls flat.
“I need to talk to you,” Walker says, attention lasered in on me, words rushed. He puts his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath.
Boone and Naomi sit awkwardly, watching Walker’s chest heave and look back and forth between him and me.
“We’ll be in the back,” Naomi says, standing and pulling Boone out from the booth, taking him down the hallway with her. But Boone stops her for a moment, grabbing a bag of sour candy from the top cabinet before allowing her to drag him away.
“Is everything okay?” I turn my attention to Walker.
“It was Reid,” Walker says, and I wrinkle my forehead, confused.
“What?”
“The source. The close source that confirmed everything in the article and added that you have been going out to clubs and afterparties across the tour.”
I blink, dumbfounded. Why the hell would Reid do that? I’ve barely said five words to the guy the whole time we’ve been on the road.
“How do you know?” I ask.
Walker laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “He told me. This morning in our meeting with Arun.”
I rear back, trying to figure out his motive but coming up blank. I’m surprised, but not just by the fact that Reid did it. But also that while I’m confused, anger is nowhere to be found.
Maybe that’s because Walker seems pissed off enough for the two of us.
Or maybe I’m just already becoming desensitized to people saying things about me in the media.
Or maybe because I didn’t really have much of a relationship with Reid to begin with to mourn.
“Oh.”
“I’m so sorry, Scar.” He pulls me into his chest, letting out a loud sigh.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“I just hate that you have to be around him for the next two weeks still.”
