Apparently, that was not my smartest move. Locke looks like he’d rather run the car off the road than talk about his rock star client.
He begrudgingly states the obvious. “He’s a 20-something train wreck that could probably use a shower and should definitely stop playing into the rock star stereotype. You know, all this throwing TVs out of hotel windows, smashing guitars, and getting so drunk he can barely remember the words to his own songs? It’s not cute up close.”
“Butheis very cute.”
Locke shakes his head, chuckling to himself. “Every girl your age seems to agree.”
“Can you blame us?” I sigh, trying not to swoon at the thought. “All that angst and self-loathing? The accent? It works.”
I pause for a moment, looking out at the vast expanse of desert illuminated only by the car’s headlights.
“Not to mention his personality. His whole ‘fans are family’ thing. Most celebrities are so fake, you know? But not him. Every time he speaks, you can just tell he’s being genuine. And the lyrics? God, it’s like he’s bleeding on stage for everyone to see. Yet somehow it makes you feel better about your own mess. He’s reckless, sure, but it’s kindof… beautiful? Like he’s not afraid to set himself on fire just so the rest of us don’t feel so alone.”
Locke scoffs softly, eyes narrowing at the stretch of road ahead. “Wow,” he says. “Maybeyoushould be his publicist.”
Then he goes quiet. The silence drags on for miles, and I start to wonder if I struck a nerve.
His jaw flexes right before he speaks up again. “He’s not a hero, Arden. He’s drowning. Drowning himself in all the temptations of celebrity. Women, booze, drugs, power. All of it will eat a person alive if they can’t control themselves. The only reason he hasn’t disappeared completely is that people like you keep believing in him.”
I wasn’t expecting that response. I blink a few times, staring at Locke as he drives. Yes, Jaxon sings about struggles, heartbreak, and anger, but he’s smiling and laughing in every interview. Cracking jokes on social media. Nothing in how he presents himself would ever hint at that level of self-destruction.
“Anyway… tell me aboutyou. About Lexi. How’d you two end up living together? What does she do for work?”
His questioning snaps me out of that train of thought. “Careful. If you ask too many questions, I might think you actually care.” Locke tries to hide the way the corner of his lip turns up but fails miserably. “We’re stuck in this car for a few hours. Might as well get to know each other.”
I consider that statement for a moment, then shut it down. “Nope. I don’t talk about my past. Especially not with you. As for Lexi, she works in HR. Or porn. Can’t remember which.” I give him a shrug, redirecting my stare out the passenger window.
A few seconds of silence pass. I sneak a glance at Locke, and his jaw looks tight. He doesn’t look angry… maybe frustrated? Annoyed? Which only makes me wonder what he really expected from me in the first place.
“Cute.” The word comes out dry. He’s not impressed. Not fooled by me. His eyes stay on the road, but I’m scared to look at him too closely for fear that he’ll see right through me if he glances over.
“Most people at least pretend they want to be understood,” he finally says flatly. “I thought maybe your speech about Jaxon was the start of us being real with each other, but if you’d rather lie than trust me with something simple, that’s your choice. Just don’t be surprised when I stop asking altogether.”
Chapter 12
LOCKE
Her perfume fills the car, clinging to the leather, and to me. The sweet scent is intoxicating, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep pretending it doesn’t affect me.Good thing I’m sitting right now.
We finally approach L.A. and are greeted by an onslaught of bumper-to-bumper traffic. A sea of brake lights flaring in endless red lines. “Home sweet home,” I say dryly, as the car slows to a crawl amidst the chaos.
Arden’s been quiet since our clash earlier, but there’s a spark in her eye now, faint but unmistakable, even as we roll to a dead stop.
This part of the city isn’t glamorous. Industrial blocks rise on either side of us, with tacky billboards scattered between them, and a thick layer of smog clouds the sky. It’s pure Gatsby, the ash heap before the golden lights of Hollywood.
I watch Arden take it all in. “What do you think?” I ask, half-expecting another smart-ass remark instead of the truth.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she says coolly. “Lexi and I drove out here once, after graduation. The first night we slept in her car, in a grocery store parking lot, until a cop kicked us out. Spent the rest of the night parked at the beach, waiting for sunrise. The next night we found a club, met some guys, and did what eighteen-year-olds with horrible judgment and nothing to lose do.”
Her voice flattens. “That’s how Zoe happened.”
A faint smile tugs at her mouth again. “Guess this town really left its mark.”
I blink, then nod once. “That’s… a hell of a souvenir.”
She lets out a soft laugh, almost a sigh. “We were idiots, but somehow it worked out okay.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable, just the silence of two people too drained to fill it. Despite the silence, my mindwon’t stop circling her. The fragment of her past she just shared, the pieces of her present I’ve already observed, and that first night I saw her… it all blends together. I picture us in the same bed again, even knowing she’s nowhere near ready for that. Not when there’s nothing in it for her this time.
