I smiled at Roscoe’s sweet gesture and waved off all offers of snacks and drinks. I was still full from our late dinner. Roscoe stepped back after promising to be nearby if I needed anything.
Pulling out my phone to keep my hands busy, and maybe not look like a loser, I realized we hadn’t taken any pictures together. And I hadn’t taken any pictures of the festival. Or with Monica after her show.
What was wrong with me?
This was an epic life moment, and I had nothing to document it.
Maybe it had been posted on social media. But before I could look it up, someone sat in the chair next to me.
Jacob. Ben’s Dad-ager.
Oh joy.
“So you think you have him hooked, huh?” His lip curled in disgust. “You know his bankability is entirely down to his fuckability. What are all those teenagers and young adults going to think when he’s draggingyoubehind him everywhere?” He paused and leaned closer to me despite me trying to shrink away. He followed my dodge until he leaned so close I could smell what he’d had for dinner. Beef, I was guessing. “It’s going to kill his sales, and then we’re going to befucked.”
I flinched as his last word blasted me with spittle.
What the hell?
“Jacob!” Roscoe barked behind us.
I turned in relief. Roscoe loomed behind me, then he stepped between mine and Jacob’s chair.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be.” It was phrased as a question, but the tone in Roscoe’s voice made it more of a command. “The kid made it clear, she’s hands off.”
I felt like I’d wandered into Wonderland, and everyone knew their parts except for me.
After tossing me one last glare, Jacob pushed his chair away with a harsh screech. Once he’d stomped away, I was able to breathe somewhat normally. I was used to Lydia coming at me, but I knew to expect it, so I could brace myself. Jacob had just blindsided me.
And maybe the blissful day had lowered my shields more than I knew.
I turned to thank Roscoe, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was trained on all the comings and goings.
And I felt so very alone.
I tried to enjoy the moment—when would I ever be here again?—but the ugly scene with Jacob had stolen all my energy. I just wanted to hole up in a bedroom with Ben and lose myself in him. And maybe dream about calling Monica’s manager tomorrow.
I didn’t understand why we were here, and I really wasn’t all that excited to hear Reuben Bello. Most rap I’d heard was full of angry, misogynistic music. Not really my cuppa.
So many loooong minutes later—an eternity really—Roscoe pressed a hand to my back before quickly dropping it. “It’s going to start in a minute. You’ll want to move a little closer to get a better view.”
I really didn’t. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to listen to Reuben yell about being an asshole. But Ben was excited about whatever was going on, and I wanted to be here for him.
My smile probably looked fake as hell, but I still walked to where Roscoe had gestured then accepted his offered ear plugs with a more enthusiastic smile. They wouldn’t muffle all the sound, but it was better than nothing.
“This is the story of a boy chasing fame,” a voice whispered over the sound system, “before it was all fucked up by a bitch!” The same voice yelled before a driving rhythm joined in.
Ben ran out on stage, a microphone in his hand.
Ben was onstage rapping.
I felt like a total moron.
My Ben was Reuben Bello.
I’d spent the whole day with Reuben Bello.
And I never knew.
