Page 47 of The Only Thing That's Real

Lifting to my toes, I check the peephole, and would you look at that? Knox McKinnon is in the hallway waiting for me.

Shit!

He’s waiting for me!

Scurrying to my luggage, I fumble through my cosmetic bag until I find my toothbrush and toothpaste. Racing into the bathroom, I brush my teeth, but don’t bother with make-up or even attempt to do anything with my hair. He’s likely about to threaten me with some sort of lawsuit. No need to get gussied up for the occasion. Besides, I’ve never been that girl. I’m certainly not going to change for a musician.

Wait? Are singers considered musicians?

Ryan, get your shit together! Focus! Find your clothes and get dressed!

I throw my suitcase on the bed and quickly discard yesterday’s clothes, replacing them with leggings, a Powell’s Books sweatshirt and Chucks. Grabbing shades, my room key, and my purse I take a cleansing breath and open thedoor, willingly walking into the firestorm I’m sure I’m about to face.

Pushing off the wall, he nods. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

We don’t speak while we wait for the elevator or on the way down to the lobby. Slipping on sunglasses, a baseball cap, and the hood on his black hoodie, he prepares himself before walking out into the public eye. Silence follows on our walk to the coffee shop a block away. He doesn’t speak until the bell rings above the door of the cafe.

“I ordered ahead. Go grab that spot in the corner and I’ll get the drinks.” His hand gently grazes my lower back as he walks away. A thrill I shouldn’t feel zips directly up my spine.

Doing as instructed, I slide into the booth and within seconds, he’s setting our drinks on the table and taking the seat across from me, his back to the rest of the cafe. I don’t dare mention that I hate coffee. Now doesn’t seem like the time.

Desperate to ignore the silence that followed him back to our booth, I take a sip, prepared to be disgusted, but as soon as it touches my lips, my eyes fly to his. This isn’t coffee. It’s a chai latte. How does he know I drink chai and not coffee?

If I weren’t so stubborn, I might say something, but he invited me here. If one of us is going to start a conversation, it’s not going to be me.

He’s not drinking his coffee. He’s back to examining my face. I don’t fidget or look away from his attention. Growing frustrated, I sit back in my seat, crossing my arms.

His chest rises and falls with a deep breath. “Thank you.”

I must still be half asleep, because I am certain I misunderstood him.

“Excuse me?”

“Thank you,” he says again as a small smile graces his face.

“For what?”

“For not making me feel like the monster I’ve felt like until that call last night. Knowing you overheard my most safely guarded secret nearly did me in.”

“Because you thought I would tell your secret to the world?”

“Yes, but no. That was in the back of my mind, but more than that, it wasyouknowing what a piece of shit I am. That you would know Mia thought I was such a disgrace, she never told me I was a father. You of all people thinking that of me was too much.”

“I’m not doing that kind of piece. I would never share any of it or let it affect my writing.”

“It’s not about the damn story. It’s about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, it’s all been about you.”

“I’m so confused.”

“You, Ryan. You’re all I’ve thought about when I’m not thinking about Sawyer. The moment I met you, I knew I had to keep distance between us, so I don’t fuck your life up, too.”

Not sure what to say to his confession, I keep my mouth shut, feeling like I’m in the Twilight Zone.

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