When the table is set, Ryder plates the steaks, and we sit down to eat. A soft, balmy breeze wafts around us, and I take a minute to enjoy the view. Ryder’s house is stunning, and the height of luxury, but I’ve been surprised at how homey and comfortable it is. I was expecting a typical bachelor pad with minimal décor, leather furniture, and few personal possessions not comfy couches, brightly colored walls, a beautiful Shaker-style kitchen, and little personal touches everywhere from the hand-designed cushions and throws, to the musical inspired paintings and framed photos on the wall.
Most of the photos are with the guys from the band, some of them are with Rod and his family, and the rest are casual pics taken with other rock stars who are clearly friends. I’d pointed out a picture of Ryder and Garrett with the members from BAD. I’m a massive fan of their stuff, and seeing that photo, with all that combined hotness on display, gave me a little thrill. Ryder explained that Sawyer Weston is a good friend of his, and I’m happy he has good people in his life.
The one glaring absence is personal family photos, but that requires no explanation. It makes my heart ache for him though. I’m lucky Jill welcomed me into her family, or that would be me too.
Over the years, I’ve hated the fact that I had no photos of Ryder and me together. I’m not sure whether it would’ve brought me some comfort or added to my grief, but not having any record of our relationship, except for the permanent scars on my heart, made me unbelievably sad.
“Fuck, this is good,” Garrett mumbles, his mouth full of food.
Micah slaps him across the back of his head. “Have you no manners, you brute?” I smile, taking a sip of my beer. “But he’s right for once in his life. This is fantastic. Where’d you learn to cook like that?”
“I taught myself to cook at an early age because it was either learn how to feed myself or starve,” I truthfully reply.
“Shit. That sounds rough.” Micah’s features soften as he looks across the table at me. “Ryder mentioned he met you in juvie, but he didn’t explain the circumstances.”
Ryder’s fork clangs to the table. “For fuck’s sake, man. I told you that so you wouldn’t ask her anything to make her uncomfortable.”
I place my hand over his, smiling. “It’s okay, honestly.” I turn and face the other two guys. “I’m going to be prying into every aspect of your lives while I’m writing this bio, so it’s only fair you should know whatever you want to know about me.”
“What bra size are you?” Garrett quips, earning him a contemptable look from Ryder.
“Do not answer that,” Ryder says through gritted teeth.
“Relax.” I pat his hand. “He’s only trying to wind you up.” I poke my fork in Garrett’s direction. “Questions of a sexual nature are off-limits.”
“Along with flirting, touching, speaking to or breathing the same air as Zeta,” Ryder adds.
I shake my head, fighting a smile, wondering what it says about me that I love his jealous possessiveness. “Let’s not overreact. I meant what I said earlier.”
Ryder visibly relaxes, and I only realize our fingers are entwined when I spot Micah staring at our linked hands. It’s uncanny how being back in his presence seems so natural. How we reach out for one another without even thinking about it.
With a smile, I remove my hand from Ryder’s and pick up my beer. “While we’re being frank, I just want to let you know that Ryder and I have talked things through, and whatever issues we are dealing with won’t affect the recording of the album. And I’m sorry for all that shit in the limo earlier. It won’t happen again.”
“You don’t need to apologize to us,” Micah says, helping himself to another serving of slaw. “And Ryder already explained. We know you two have special history, and we don’t want to get in the way of that.”
I nod, popping a piece of steak into my mouth.
“Why were you in juvie?” Garrett asks, and for once, there’s no joking quality to his tone.
I’m expecting Ryder to jump in and criticize him, but he doesn’t interfere, and I appreciate that he’s letting me decide what I want to share. It’s not something that usually pops up in conversation, but I have no issue telling the truth. I’ve worked hard to rise above my background, and years of therapy have helped me accept that I did nothing wrong and I have nothing to be ashamed of.
I have their undivided attention as I explain about my mom, my stepdad, and the circumstances which led to my conviction and subsequent release. They tell me a little bit about their pasts, regaling me with stories of their first meeting, after Rod had auditioned for band members to support Ryder, and some censored accounts of their early days on the road.
After we’ve finished eating, Micah and Garrett clean up while Ryder and I take a walk on the beach. Daylight is starting to fade, and the sky is a beautiful dusky pink color as we walk barefoot side by side along the sandy shore.
“You guys seem to have a strong bond,” I say. “Has it always been like that?”
Ryder nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “After Rod discovered me busking, he whisked me to New York to meet with some top record producers, and I spent a few weeks recording some of my own stuff. When Rod sent the demo out, we got a lot of interest, but the message was clear—the labels wanted to sign a band, not a solo artist, so Rod talked to me about it, and he organized auditions. I handpicked the guys, and it was as much for their personalities as it was for their musical ability. I knew we’d be living in each other’s pockets, and it was important we all got on.”
“But you didn’t choose Scott from the outset.” I’m aware of the band’s history as it’s been well documented, and even though I’ve steered clear of media accounts of Ryder’s personal life—because looking at him with a succession of beautiful women tore strips off my heart—I’ve avidly followed the band’s career, and I’ve listened to every album they’ve released.
“Yeah, Marwen couldn’t hack life on the road, so he quit after six months and the label sent Scott to us as a temporary solution. I was worried he wouldn’t fit in at first because the rest of us were single and enjoying the, ah, perks of the job”—he runs a hand over the back of his head, looking a little sheepish—“whereas Scott was a few years older, and he was already engaged to Linda, but he’s an easy guy to get along with, and it actually helped that he was more mature. He’s managed to talk us down from some crazy shit over the years.” A knowing grin appears on his face as he pulls me back from the ocean’s edge when water rolls in. “We gelled, and we offered him a permanent place in the band, and here we are.” He shrugs, smiling at me.
“I’m glad you got to live your dream, and no matter how things ended with us, I was always so proud of you.”
Air whooshes out of his mouth as he walks us back a few meters. Plopping down on the sand, he pats the space beside him, and I sit. We both pull our knees up to our chests, staring out at the receding sunlight flickering across the gently lapping waves. “It isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he says. “Although, I’m not complaining, because it’s an incredible life, but it’s not all rainbows and unicorns.”
My lips twitch at his words. “In what way?”
