Page 23 of Unholy Confessions
We normally joke about this every time we leave one another. But this time the words I've just said to her hits a bit deeper than they ever have. It's never bothered me that I'm not the popular one of the two of us, but along with everything else happening within me, the last thing I want to do is get resentful.
In this moment, I'm jealous though. He doesn't have to say goodbye to his girlfriend every few weeks. Granted, he doesn't have one, but he also doesn't have to put himself through it. Not like I do.
"RJ..." Montgomery pulls back to look at me, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "You know that's not true, right? About being less popular?"
I force a smile, but we both know she's being kind. EJ's the frontman, the face everyone recognizes. I'm the guy who stands in the shadows with my guitar, content to let him have the spotlight. Or at least, I used to be content with it.
"It's fine, really," I say, kissing her forehead. "I prefer it that way."
But even as I say it, something bitter twists in my stomach. The cameras keep flashing, and I know by tonight there'll be articles dissecting every angle of this goodbye, wondering what Montgomery sees in the quiet Thompson brother.
"I love you," she whispers against my lips, and for a moment everything else fades away. Just her warmth, her vanilla perfume, the way she fits perfectly against me.
"I love you too." The words come out rougher than I intend, heavy with all the things I can't say in public. Like how much I hate these goodbyes, how they're getting harder each time, how sometimes I wonder if this distance is slowly killing us both.
We both know it's time to go, especially when her alarm goes off. Montgomery's grip on my shirt tightens.
"Go," I tell her, even though every instinct screams at me to keep her here. "Don't miss your flight."
She kisses me one more time, quick and desperate, then grabs her carry-on and disappears into the airport. I watch until she's completely out of sight, ignoring the cameras that are probably capturing every second of my pathetic longing.
My phone buzzes with a text from our driver: We've gotta go.
I pull my hat lower and make my way through the crowded sidewalk, trying to ignore the whispers that follow me. By the time I slide into the black SUV, my jaw aches from clenching it so tight.
"How'd it go?" EJ asks from the passenger seat, not bothering to turn around. He's scrolling through his phone, probably checking social media mentions.
"Fine." I buckle my seatbelt and lean back against the leather. "Just dropped her off."
"Cool. Radio station's about twenty minutes away. You ready for this?"
Am I ever ready for interviews? For sitting next to my golden boy brother while strangers ask us the same questions we've answered a hundred times before? For pretending I'm not slowly unraveling at the seams?
"Yeah," I lie. "Let's get this over with."
The radio station is smaller than I expected, tucked into a converted house in downtown Denver with a giant satellite dish on the roof. Inside, it smells like stale coffee and the kind of carpet that's seen too many spilled drinks. The host, a guy named Marcus with an overly enthusiastic handshake, leads us into a cramped booth lined with foam padding and outdated equipment.
"So we've got the Thompson brothers here, EJ and RJ from Grey Skies!" Marcus announces into his microphone with the kind of energy that makes me want to crawl under the soundboard. "Thanks for joining us, guys."
"Thanks for having us," EJ responds smoothly, leaning into his mic like he was born for this. Which, honestly, he probably was.
"Now, I have to ask the question everyone's curious about," Marcus continues, his eyes lighting up with that familiar gleam. "What's it like being the sons of Garrett Thompson from Black Friday and Harmony Stewart? That's some serious music royalty right there."
Here we go. The question that follows us everywhere, the reason half our interviews get booked in the first place. I shift in my chair and let EJ take the lead, like always.
"It's incredible, honestly," EJ says, and I can hear the genuine enthusiasm in his voice. "Growing up around that level of talent, that work ethic – it really pushed us to be better. The pressure could have crushed us, but instead it made us stronger. I thrive on it."
Marcus nods eagerly. "And RJ, what about you? Do you feel that same pressure to live up to your parents' legacy?"
I clear my throat, aware of how my voice sounds compared to EJ's confident tone. "It's... different for me. The pressure's definitely there, but I handle it differently than EJ does. I don't really thrive on it the same way he does."
"Really? Tell us more about that."
Great. Now I have to elaborate on why I'm the disappointment. "I guess I just prefer to stay more in the background. That's why I don't sing lead vocals, even though I can. I like being the foundation, you know? Letting the others shine while I hold everything together on the lead guitar line."
"But surely with pipes like your parents, you must have considered taking the mic?"
EJ jumps in before I can answer. "RJ's got an amazing voice, but he's being modest. He's the heart of our sound. Without his guitar work and song writing, we'd be nothing."
