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“Looks like you can talk all the shit you want behind my back but not to my face? Fucking coward.”
Reid steps forward, as if he’s going to bulldoze right through me.
“Don’t you touch one fucking inch of her,” Walker spits from behind Reid, watching the interaction closely but not intervening.
I hold my hand up to him, letting me deal with this. Although I don’t know what else there is left to say. There’s no love lost between Reid and I; hell, I barely know the guy. He made it clear he was never interested in getting to know me, and I never cared enough about him to push it.
My heart isn’t hurt in this situation, but when I look around Reid’s shoulder at the man standing behind him, eyes blazing with fury on my behalf, it’s him that my heart aches for. Because Reid has been like a brother to him for years. I don’t want their relationship to completely go up in flames because of me.
And I don’t want Nikolai and Hayden to be collateral damage either.
So I take one final look at Reid, staring into his lifeless eyes that he refuses to train on me, and say, “I don’t know what you were trying to get at by talking to that reporter and honestly, I don’t care. Just keep my name out of your fucking mouth moving forward. We both care about the same person, so let’s not make him choose.”
With that, I step aside and Reid stalks back to his bunk and pulls the curtain closed without another word.
Long gone are the days of video game tournaments in the back, movie nights up front. No foam football being tossed around the small space, no general chatter that used to take up the airspace.
It’s been quiet, everyone sticking close to their bunks, headphones constantly over ears. The bus used to feel like home, the guys creating a familial environment with their banter and liveliness.
Now it feels cold, even as we’ve made our way back to a warmer climate.
I dreaded leaving the darkness of my bunk this morning to venture out and see the familiar scenery of Charlotte, North Carolina. The reminder that Walker and I will be driving a little under two hours today to go back to my hometown in South Carolina to reunite with my family for dinner this evening, followed by my niece’s baptism in the morning. Then we have our show in Charlotte and just one final performance in Atlanta and the tour is over.
I hugged Walker a little tighter this morning, knowing that our time on the road together was coming to an end, and that we’ll never have an experience like this again. I savored the way he tangled his fingers through my hair, wrapping the strands around his fist and pulled my head back, angling my face toward him for a kiss.
While I have faith we’ll make our relationship work even when we’re not together all the time and things like distance and our careers keep us apart from time to time, I already miss the moment we’re in right now.
Okay, well not right now right now.
Because Arun is currently handing over the keys to one of the tour’s SUVs for us to drive to meet up with my family. Walker fiddles with them of course, filling the quiet afternoon air with the jingling of metal key rings sliding against each other.
I pull at the collar of my jacket, a long black overcoat that is definitely too hot for this weather but makes me feel safe, protected, hidden from view. I settled on a bit of a more conservative wardrobe by my standards this morning. Black jeans with no wear or tear to them, short sleeved black, flowy blouse with an open neckline that could lean a little provocative for my family's taste, if not for the sheer necktie detail that hangs over the front. Matched with my coat and a pair of nicer black boots than my usual clunky ones, I may look like I’m dressed for a funeral but at least it seems fitting for the occasion of going back to the place that killed my soul.
Only being slightly dramatic.
Walker also decided to dress a little more conservatively. He would never tell me because he doesn’t want to add to my stress, but I can tell he’s anxious. His fingers haven’t stopped tapping, knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since he woke up. While that’s not normally anything unusual for him, I can tell by the slight shake in his pinky and the gnawing on the inside of his mouth that it’s not his typical fidgeting.
My mouth turned down this morning when I saw him walk out from the back room, dressed in a forest green button down with sleeves all the way down to his wrists, the tattoos I adore covered, fingers absent of their usual rings. While I appreciated the way the shirt hugged his arms so tightly I think the fabric could pop at the seams at the smallest flex, I hated the way he seemed to be trying to hide part of who he is for my family.
He refused to change his shirt, so he’s standing in front of me, opening my car door like a gentleman with it on, the color making his eyes shine. But he did add his rings back on, and I shoot him an approving look.
As soon as we get settled and started on the road, music playing softly throughout the car, Walker reaches over and grabs my hand tightly, pulling it to rest on the console between us.
I stare at him appreciatively, loving the way he falls back into the driver's seat, one hand slung over the top of the wheel so casually, dark sunglasses settled on the bridge of his nose. His hair is swept back off his forehead, waves tumbling back and wrapping around his ears, the hint of green all but gone. He looks completely effortless and devastatingly sexy.
Walker glances over at me, noticing me checking him out. A smirk touches his lips. “You like what you see?”
“Mhmm,” I answer, shifting in my seat so I’m angling toward him. I reach out and twist a lock of hair around my finger. “You can hardly tell we ever dyed your hair. We’ll have to do it again soon. What color do you think next?”
“What about purple? Then we can match.”
I make a gagging sound, smiling at the laugh it pulls from Walker’s chest. “We’re not going to be one of those couples.”
“The guys would never let me live that down, either,” he says. “I’m not sure. Maybe we stick with the same thing. I liked it. And I know you did too.” He shoots me a knowing look. “But it’s probably for the best that it’s faded out for tonight.”
The smile melts from my face. “Don’t say that. I don’t want you to think you need to change yourself to impress them. Because I hate to tell you this, but you probably aren’t going to anyway. And I don’t care about their opinion of you, because I don’t even care about their opinion of me.”
But as those last words leave my mouth, they taste wrong and something twists in my gut. That’s not entirely true, as much as I’d like it to be. I’ve been trying to free myself of the weight of caring about what my parents, their church, that community think of me, and while I definitely have come to terms over the years that the vision of who they want me to be versus who I am will never align, there’s always a little voice at the back of my head yearning for approval somewhere deep down.
