Page 77 of Fame and Obsession

“You have a lot of layers to you, you know that?” I tilt my head as if seeing him for the first time.

“Don’t spread it around. I have an image to uphold,” he jokes, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “So, what about you?”

I stiffen. “What about me?”

“Any traditions in your family?”

Not unless you consider assault and battery as a tradition.

“No.”

“Not even a holiday tradition?” he probes. “Something special with your parents, maybe?”

I think for a moment. “Strawberries.”

“Come again?”

“Strawberries,” I say louder, curling my feet underneath me in a protective position. “My mom would always take me strawberry picking on special occasions. My sister hated the heat, so it was just something my mom and I did together.”

It’s pathetic that’s the best memory of my childhood I have to offer.

“That’s it? That’s all your memories?” he asks, giving me a pity stare.

“Do you live with your entire band?” I hate pity, and this conversation is leading to somewhere I don’t want to go with him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t push me.

“Just two. Ty plays the drums and Zane is our lead guitarist. I play rhythm guitar.” He smiles as if reading my mind. “Tanna is our bassist, but she’s only nineteen. Plus, she’s a girl, so she has her own place with some friends.”

I cast a surprised glance his way. “You’re not lead guitar?”

“Why? Just because I’m lead singer, I have to be lead everything?”

“No, I didn’t mean…”

A grin breaks across his face, and he chuckles. “Just kidding. Nah, Zane kind of takes the lead with arrangement a lot of times. You wouldn’t guess by looking at him, but that guy’s a poetic master.”

“Poetic prick, maybe,” I huff, placing my feet on the coffee table. “If he’s the same asshole who made me want to drown in a puddle of piss and die that first night.”

“Don’t put much thought into anything Zane says. He has a thing with outsiders.”

“You’re not that damn famous.” I cover my mouth, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that!”

He laughs. “Yes, you did. And you’re right. We’re not world famous...yet.”

Awkwardness settles between us again. “Did your other guitarist live with you? The one who died?”

“Yeah, but he had a serious girlfriend, so he was never around.”

“Why didn’t he just move in with her?”

“Lilly’s family is devoutly Catholic,” he explains, moving to the chair beside me. “Living together before marriage is a big sin.”

I snort. “As opposed to a little sin?”

He throws his palms in the air. “I don’t know. A no-no is a no-no when it comes to Catholic sex. People do it, but don’t talk about it.”

“That’s a crock of shit.” I rub my temple, cursing myself for cracking the door to my past and inviting him in.

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