Page 2 of Unholy Confessions
"Your dad's going to notice," she says finally as we hit the highway.
"He's not home." The words come out bitter. "He's not supposed to be home for another few days. He has stuff to do with the tour that yours doesn't." I mention her dad, a member of Black Friday, along with mine.
"RJ..."
"Don't." I grip the steering wheel tighter. "I don't want to talk about it."
But that's not entirely true. I do want to talk about it, but only with her. Montgomery is the only person who's ever really listened to me, who's ever seen past the whole "son of famous musicians" thing to whatever mess I actually am underneath.
We pull into the parking lot of the chicken place, and I can see through the windows that it's busy inside. Good. The noise will give us cover to talk without everyone staring at us. Being Garrett Thompson's son means I can't go anywhere without people recognizing me, and tonight I just want to be a normal sixteen-year-old kid eating chicken fingers with his best friend.
Except Montgomery isn't just my best friend anymore, is she? Not with the way my heart races when she smiles at me, or the way I catch myself staring at her lips when she talks. Not with the way every other girl at school seems boring compared to her.
"Come on," she says, already getting out of the truck. "I'm buying."
"Like hell you are." I follow her toward the entrance, my pride stinging a little. I was raised to always treat a girl the way my dad treats my mom, and if they knew she was paying for her own food? I'd never hear the end of it.
She laughs – actually laughs – and the sound makes something in my chest ease up. "Fine, tough guy. You can buy mine. But I'm getting banana pudding too."
"Deal."
Once inside, we place our order, and then head to find a place to sit. We find a booth in the back corner, away from most of the other customers. Montgomery slides in across from me, and I try not to notice how the light from the neon sign makes her skin look like it's glowing. She's wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy, but she looks better than any girl has a right to look.
"So," she says as we wait, "want to tell me what that fight was really about?"
I shrug, picking at the napkin dispenser. "Same as always. Some asshole running his mouth."
"About what?"
"About my family. About how everything's been handed to me on a silver platter." I look up at her. "About how I don't deserve anything I have."
Her expression softens. "You know that's not true."
"Is it?" I lean back against the booth. "I mean, think about it, Gum. My parents are famous, so I get opportunities other kids don't. I have money, so I can afford things they can't. I drive a truck that costs more than most people's houses. Meanwhile I have trouble concentrating and can't sleep at night. Maybe they're right."
Her eyebrows raise at the concentration and not-sleeping comment. Fuck I didn't mean to say that out loud.
"They're not." Her voice is firm. "You think having famous parents makes your life easier? RJ, you're sixteen years old and you're so angry all the time that you're getting in underground fights just to feel something. You think that sounds like an easy life?"
They call our number, and I'm grateful for the interruption. Getting up, I escape her gaze and make my way to the counter. Her words hit too close to home, and I'm not ready to unpack all that yet.
We eat in comfortable silence for a while. The fingers are good – spicy and greasy and exactly what I needed. Montgomery keeps stealing my fries, which should annoy me but doesn't. She's been doing it since we were kids, and it's one of those things about her that feels like home.
"EJ's band is playing at The Lounge next week," I say eventually, trying to change the subject to something less heavy. "He hasn't told Mom and Dad yet."
"Really? That's a big deal." She pauses with a fry halfway to her mouth. "Are you going?"
"Probably not." I take a sip of my Coke. "I wasn't invited."
"Oh." She sets the fry down. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I mean, it's not like I expected anything different." But it's not fine, and we both know it. It stings like hell that my own brother doesn't want me around for what might be the biggest night of his life so far.
"Maybe he just assumes you know you're invited," she suggests, a small smile spreading across her face. "You're his brother."
"Yeah, well, being related to someone doesn't guarantee anything." I finish my chicken fingers and lean back. "Trust me on that one."
Montgomery reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. "Hey. Look at me."
