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At one time, long before fame, maybe he could have imagined it. But now he doubted he could find someone who loved him and wanted a life with him. While this was the life he wanted and the one he chose, it tended to hurt the people around him. He thought again of May and his mother. He hadn’t seen his little sister in four years and his mother seemed disappointed every time he talked to her, so he talked to her less and less. That’s how he felt: like a disappointment.
Sterling didn’t want a fling. He couldn’t imagine getting married. This left him in a constant state of isolation, even when some nights he stood on stage in front of thousands of people.
Maybe if he left this life, things could be different. For the past year, Sterling had seriously considered quitting altogether, or pulling back and reinventing his sound and coming back with a more acoustic-indie vibe. But he had insecurities with this too. Would someone still want him if he was Sterling James, former rock star? Or Sterling James, homebody and hermit?
Most of the time, he shoved all these thoughts to the back of his mind. But Reese had brought them all back to the forefront. Knowing that she had talked—even if she was joking—about getting married when he first met her, and seeing the attraction so evident in her eyes … he wasn’t sure that having her on this tour was a smart idea.
Especially considering the way his own body had reacted when he stepped close to her. He hadn’t anticipated his racing heart or how hard it was not to let his gaze fall to her lips as he told her that she wasn’t his type.
He winced, thinking of that comment. It had been a little harsh. Maybe necessary to keep the distance, but he could have softened it a little. Or just left it at the fact that he didn’t want to get married. He hadn’t missed the way hurt flashed across her eyes or how she tried so hard to hide it.
Before that, though, he had to hold back laughter a few times in their conversation. Reese was cute and funny. Quirky. There was something endearing about the way she couldn’t seem to help the words that fell out of her mouth.
Though he could have done without hearing that her co-worker said his music was derivative. Sterling didn’t disagree, but it was hard to hear. One more reason to consider a re-brand. Maybe if Reese was that good at her job, she could help him with that. If not, he could send her home. Win win.
Spring in Nashville meant that the sun was fierce. Sterling pulled on his aviators as he paced the parking lot. No matter how much money he made, he continued buying sunglasses at the Dollar Tree. He had something like twenty different pairs stashed on the tour bus, in his house, and in his car. He even had a pair in his guitar case along with his picks. They had a calming effect and he paced around the bus, letting his heartbeat steady.
“Yo, Sterling!”
He turned to see Moby, his lead guitarist crossing the lot, pulling his suitcase behind. Sterling smiled. “I see you decided on a change in style for this leg of the tour. Nice hair.”
Moby rubbed a hand over his short afro, tattoos visible on his lean forearms. “Got tired of the dreads. Too heavy, man. Trying the natural look, but our stylist may kill me. You look stressed. We haven’t even started moving yet. What’s up?”
Without thinking about it, Sterling had pulled the pick from his pocket and spun it in his fingers. “You’ll see when you get on the bus.”
Moby grinned. “Does this have anything to do with your new lady manager?”
“It’s not Morgan I’m worried about. Unless you’re trying to date her. Then we might have a problem.”
“You staking a claim?”
“Hardly. She’s like my sister. You can date her, but if you hurt her …”
“Okay, okay. Got it. So, what’s the problem?”
“She’s not the only woman on the bus.”
Moby laughed and rubbed his palms together. “That can only spell drama. What about the other one? Is she single? Hot? Are you going to tell me to back off there, too? You may be the star, but you can’t call dibs on all the women.”
The question shouldn’t have irritated Sterling as much as it did. He wanted to say yes—she was single, very attractive, and Moby shouldn’t even look at her.
“Nope. She’s free. Though she may not be on the tour long. Already on very thin ice with me. She’s doing my social media and if she can’t help fast with my image and stuff, she’s out.”
“That’s cold. Well, I best be getting in there so I can get to know her before you kick her to the curb. Are you sure, though? You look a little …”
“What?” Sterling snapped.
“Nothing. I’ll tell you later,” Moby said, smiling again. His good humor was one of the reasons Sterling had kept the guitarist on his band for the last three years. But today, Moby’s happy mood irritated him. “Hope you work through whatever this is before we get rolling. Don’t want to start the tour with Night Sterling.”
“Shut up!”
Sterling looked for something to throw as Moby walked away laughing, but there was just empty parking lot. Whatever mess was in his head, he needed to move past it. And fast.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. His mother. He should probably answer this now rather than trying to find a quiet spot to talk while on tour. Frankly, he was surprised that she was calling him at all. He had a voicemail from her earlier that he hadn’t listened to yet. To him, family was synonymous with guilt.
“Hey, Mom.”
“James! I’m so glad to hear your voice. Did you listen to your messages?” Her voice had an extra edge of desperation, which usually meant that she needed money.
