“Sure, come in.” I step aside and then remember I’m not alone.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Mae gets off my bed and winks at us.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to chase you away. I can come back tomorrow.”
“Nonsense,” Mae says. “I see Rayne every day. I can survive without her for one evening. Especially if you two have things to talk about.” She gives him a quick hug, and a moment later the door closes behind her.
Easton and I are alone, but something is different. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it makes me uncomfortable.
“Are you all right?” I reach out a hand, my fingertips brushing his, and breathe a sigh of relief when he immediately slips his fingers between mine.
“I am now.” He sounds relieved and I have to smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I think so. Today has worn me out.” He gently pulls me close and caresses my face.
“Why, what happened?” My fingers slip under his sweater; I need to feel his skin.
He hesitates briefly and bites his lower lip.
I wait and gently stroke his bare skin.
“Have you been reading those articles? About... us?”
I tense up. “No.”
I don’t even need to ask to know he has.
“Why not?” he asks quietly.
“Because I know none of what they’re saying is true. None of it.”
“What if it is?” He sounds so insecure that it breaks my heart a little.
“What did you read?” I ask, even though I don’t really want to know. But I have to, because whatever it was, it’s bothering him.
“A few things about you and your parents.” I shiver, but don’t get a chance to ask him more before he quickly moves on. It’s probably better that way. “Also some things about us. They say our music video is only popular because you’re in it. And that I’m using you.”
“But you know none of that is true, right?”
Easton is silent, the kind of silence that means he wants to agree but isn’t entirely convinced. I stroke the back of his neck, nestling against him and breathing his familiar scent.
“When I was little, I didn’t know my dad was famous. Mom always took me to his concerts, and I’d wear these huge headphones, but I never realized that all the people there were there because of my dad. How could any kid understand that?” As I remember how Mom showed me pictures of us, me in her arms with huge headphones on, my eyes fill with tears. But I also haveto smile. It’s a beautiful memory. “It took me years to realize who he was. My parents always tried to keep me out of the public eye as much as possible. Even though we lived in LA, we were just outside the city. Even as a child, I preferred being at home to anywhere else.”
Easton’s hands move from my face to my hair. He’s still silent, waiting for me to continue. Which I do. But I’m not really sure what I’m trying to tell him.
“Eventually, of course, I got curious. Google is a gateway to hell when you’re in the public eye. I read so many things about my parents that at some point I didn’t know if I really knew them anymore. Which is absurd, because of course I knew my parents. Much better than those fake journalists who’ll write anything to generate clicks. It took me a long time to realize that it wasn’t good for me to read what was on the internet. Not just about my parents, but about myself too. It started when I hit puberty. So much crap was being written that it was hard to bear. So I made a clean break and stopped reading all of it. It was really difficult at first, but eventually I got used to not Googling certain things. What I’m trying to say is that none of what you’ve read is true. They have no idea. The music video is popular because it’s great. The song is great, and sure, we were a little lucky. Maybe the timing was just right, who knows? It doesn’t matter, the important thing is that it’s working.” I stand on tiptoes and wrap both arms around his neck, looking him straight in the eyes to make sure he not only hears me but also understands me. “The idea that you’re supposedly using me is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard.”
His blue eyes flicker. “So you don’t believe it’s true?”
“Not for a second. I know you, Easton.”
He leans his forehead against mine, his breath brushing my skin as he sighs. “I hate that I worry about stuff like this. And I hate that I feel bad because sometimes I think I should be able to do this without you. But I don’t want to do it without you. Does that make sense? It doesn’t, does it?”
“Yes, it does.” I stroke his lips with my thumb. “It makes a lot of sense to me. I think thoughts like that are normal when you work in a creative field. But Easton, you can do anything, with or without me. You write amazing songs, I know that.”
“You too,” he whispers. I don’t know why, but I’d rather pretend I didn’t hear him.
