Page 11 of The Only Thing That's Real

Hanging with the kids. At dinner, where I seat myself at the opposite end of the table. Never across from her. Always doing my best to avoid the risk of eye contact. If only I could master not looking at her. Especially at the damn gym in her tiny tight shorts and sports bras running on the treadmill. She runs four miles every day. She’s a monster in the gym, and my workouts have been suffering from the distraction of her.

“You’re the only asshole who seems to have an issue with her.”

I shrug in reply. Hoping if I don’t engage further, we can change the subject.

“Knox, respectfully... get over yourself. I know you havesome seriously messed up stuff to deal with right now, and I get that things are changing with your career. But, dude, your mood is impacting the band. You’re alienating everyone, but the kids.” He throws his napkin on the table, sitting back in his chair. “Yes, you’re physically present, but you’re not really here. You need to find some way to compartmentalize the shitshow you’ll deal with at the end of August and what’s happening right now. This might be it. The last time you get to do this with them. They’ve been your best friends since grade school. You can trust them to listen. Hell, in this situation, they’re likely to have much better advice than I can give you.”

What he says is true. Of course, I can trust them. I would trust them with my life, but I’m not ready to trust them with my shame. How do I look them in the eyes only to watch all their respect for me fade away? Mia’s given me a choice and I’ve been too chickenshit to make the right one.

“Eventually.”

“Well, until then, get your shit together. Be the asshole we all know and love and not this new Eeyore brand of asshole none of us recognize. And for the love of all that’s holy, be nice to Ry. She’s doing her job. A job we asked her to do. Please remember that. At the rate you’re going, she’s going to title her first piece ‘Grumpy Old Man.’”

“Shut up. I’m not that bad.”

My manager and lifelong friend stands to leave. “You are that bad.” He stops short of the door to my suite. “Team meeting tonight. I’m sure she’ll be there.”

“Of course she will. She’s fucking everywhere.”

“You already said that.”

“Suck a thousand dicks.”

“Dude, she’s writing a bio on. The. Band. And you’re the star of the show. You owe her your time. The sooner you get to it, the sooner you’ll realize she’s pretty fucking cool and you can start treating her like one of us, because she’s not going anywhere. I’m putting you on her calendar for Monday.”

With that, Trevor leaves me at the table in what feels like a time-out to think about what I’ve done. Or in this case, what I haven’t done. At least he’s given me a reprieve and I can put off time alone with her for another few days.

“Team meeting. 8pm. Sean’s room,” he reminds me again as he walks out of the room. His way of saying I don’t have a choice.

I’ll be there and so will she.

Chapter Six

Ryan

Marie insisted I have dinner with her, Sean, and the kids and then stay for what they call a team meeting after. It’s rare to get a home-cooked meal on the road, but Marie made a full spaghetti and meatballs dinner in the suite’s kitchen. It was delicious.

It felt like home.

As nice as dinner was, it seems I’ve been bamboozled, because it turns outteam meetingis code for karaoke night. They’ve transformed the Messing’s suite into a karaoke club. It’s dark except for the pulsating lights and what looks like the reflection of a disco ball dancing around the space. Throw in the professional sound system and the atmosphere feels completely different than it did an hour ago.

“Ryan, you’re up next. What are you goin’with?” Nick, Sean and Marie’s oldest, asks while his dad shockingly nails “Ice Ice Baby.”

Somebody has taken it upon themselves to put me on the list, because why wouldn’t I want to sing in front of one of the biggest music acts in the world? More specifically, in front ofhim. It’s one thing to get drunk with your friends and sing in a bar full of strangers, but there isn’t enough beer in Marie’s fridge to make singing in front of Knox McKinnon a fun night out with friends.

“Well, I’m hoping nobody notices. Someone added my name to the list against my will,” I answer, conspiring with the teenager. “I’m not very good.”

“Nice try. If your name is on the list, you have to sing. Them’s the rules.”

“But I didn’t write my name down. Somebody else did.”

“Yep, that’s the way it works. Usually, it’s your name and the song the person wants you to sing. You got lucky, you get to pick your song.”

“Vicious.”

He chuckles. “So, what are you gonna pick?”

“I have no idea. I should probably see what my options are. Hand me the tablet.”

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