“Do you see them anymore?” Kent asks, rubbing circles on the back of my wrist with his thumb. I’m not sure he’s aware he’s doing it, but it’s amazingly comforting.
“I drop by to see them every Christmas, but that’s only because Clay makes me.”
Kent frowns.
“Clay was always closer with them than I was,” I continue. “He still visits them once a month. I didn’t have a close relationship with them. I was grateful for all they did for me, but they were paid for it, and I never felt like more than a job to them, so no, I don’t keep in regular contact.”
“How long did you and Chris go out for?”
“From the time I was fourteen until I was nineteen.”
Shock splays across his face. “That’s a long time.”
“We were thrust together by our situation, and it wasn’t like a normal boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. We didn’t go out on dates or do any of the normal stuff. It’s more we were a lifeline for each other.” Air expels from my mouth. “It’s difficult to explain, but we needed each other, and we got one another through foster care after Clay was gone. After we aged out and moved in together, it all went to shit, and we broke up.” And that’s as much as I’m prepared to tell him at this juncture.
“And the other guy?”
“I met Lync when I was twenty-two when his piece-of-shit band was hired to play a birthday party at Ramshackle. We dated exclusively for a year until he got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to join Ruminate on tour.”
Kent frowns. “Should I have heard of them?”
I roll my eyes. “Duh. What rock have you been living under?”
“I’m not big into the music scene,” he says, pulling out his cell phone.
“Ruminate is signed to Torment’s record label. Please tell me you’ve heard of Torment?” They are only one of the biggest rock bands in the world.
He shoots me a caustic look. “I know Torment. I met Ryder Stone one time at a charity event I attended with my mom.”
“Well, Ryder’s younger brother Wilder plays lead guitar for Ruminate, and they’re the latest big thing. They opened for Savage Mania on their last world tour, and now they are headlining their own tour, so Lync landed on his feet.”
“Why’d you break up with him then?” His gaze flicks between me and his cell phone.
“I didn’t want to compete with groupies, and the long-distance thing didn’t appeal to me. Besides, I knew it had run its course.” Lync is a great guy, but he was never the love of my life.
Kent scowls, glaring at the photo on his screen. “It seems you have a type,” he drawls, flashing the pic at me. It’s a close-up of Lync on stage. His long dark hair is covering his face, and his head is down, his gaze focused on his fingers as they pluck the strings of his guitar in front of a massive crowd. “Should I lose my muscles, drop fifty pounds, and grow my hair longer?”
I can’t keep the smile off my face as I lean in closer, running my fingers through his messy hair. “Please don’t. I happen to like you just the way you are. Besides.” I rub my thumb across his lower lip. “Neither of my exes lasted the distance, so clearly theyaren’tmy type.” I press my mouth to his, kissing him quickly.
“But you still see Chris.” A muscle pops in his jaw.
“It’s complicated with Chris. We’ve practically grown up together, and he needs me. He’s not in a good place.”
“What does that mean?”
Air whooshes out of my mouth. “Chris is an addict, Kent, and I’m basically the only person invested in keeping him alive.”
We head back to the apartment after I drop that bomb because I’m not comfortable talking about Chris’s addiction out in public where anyone could hear us. But I want to have this conversation with Kent because I want to understand where he stands in this regard and whether I have cause to be concerned about his drug and alcohol use.
“You want anything to eat or drink?” Kent asks when we return to his place.
“Just some water, please.”
I flop down on the blue velvet couch, untying Selena’s sneakers. Kent hands me a bottle of water, claiming the seat beside me. He wolfs down a sandwich, watching me take sips of my water. I pull my knees up to my chest when he’s finished, twisting around so I’m facing him.
“How bad is it with Chris, and should I be worried about him around you?” he asks, leaning back in the couch and crossing one ankle over his knee.
“Chris would never hurt me. He never has.” Physically-speaking. But I’m not getting into all the ways my involvement with Chris has fucked with my emotional and mental well-being. “And it’s bad. He’s overdosed three times already. The last time was real touch and go.” Tears prick my eyes remembering it. My chest heaves, and I look down at my lap.
