The Rocker's Muse

“What happened?”

He looked at me like I should’ve known the answer. “I left for California…”

“I know that. But I mean…what happened before you left?”

“I told her I wanted to make things work long distance, but she didn’t seem to want the stress of that, didn’t believe it could work. Nor did she want to come with me—being in high school and all that. She was always supportive of my musical aspirations, but she didn’t want to leave home. And I guess she didn’t truly trust me, even though she could’ve at the time.” Tristan looked away. “I loved her. Or I believed I did, as much as you can believe you love someone at that age. And despite her worries, I wouldn’t have cheated on her, if she’d told me she wanted to make it work.”

“You think you would’ve remained faithful all these years?”

“If we had stayed together, yes.”

“Sixteen is so young to make decisions about your future.”

“Yeah…but you know how it is when you’re that age. You feel a lot older.” He shook his head. “Sometimes being sixteen feels like yesterday.” He turned to me and laughed. “For you, it practically is.”

I rolled my eyes. “I feel like sixteen is a lifetime ago. It was before…everything. Before everything that changed my life,” I murmured. “I wish I could go back to sixteen.”

He moved closer. “Yeah. I’m sorry if I reminded you of that stuff again.”

“Do you know what became of Cheyenne?”

He sighed. “I tried to keep in touch with her those first couple of years, but we drifted apart. She stopped calling me back, and I took the hint. By the time the boy-band thing happened, I’d pretty much scared her off for good.”

“Hold up.” My eyes went wide. “Boy band?”

“You didn’t know about that?” Tristan chuckled.

“I didn’t.”

“It was when I was a teenager, before I met Atticus and Ronan. These other guys and I mostly played private events and never achieved the kind of fame we wanted. Not only was I singing, I was dancing back then, too. Had bangs so freaking long you couldn’t even see my eyes, and baggy pants that looked like you could fly away in them. They hung halfway down my ass.”

I giggled. “I can’t picture you in a boy band.”

“Try not to.”

“I’m doing just the opposite right now.”

“Promise not to laugh, and I’ll show you a photo.”

“I can do no such thing.”

He found his phone anyway and pulled up an image from the Internet of the old band. They had matching outfits and were all kneeling with their fingers pointed toward the camera.

“Sexy, right?” He chuckled.

You couldn’t even see his beautiful eyes with those crazy long bangs.

I snorted. “I prefer you now.”

“Well, you, Emily, were probably all of what…three years old when this photo was taken?”

“That’s kind of crazy.”

He took the phone back. “I sometimes forget how damn young you are. I don’t feel that much older than you. I don’t know if that’s a testament to your maturity or my immaturity.”

Just then my phone chimed. It was a text from Layla asking if I was okay. Shit. She’d expected me to return by now, and it was irresponsible of me not to have thought about checking in. But I had a habit of forgetting my head whenever I was with this man.

“Layla is asking why I haven’t come back. What am I supposed to tell her?”