Page 16 of Goodbye Note

“Don’t worry, star boy, I’ll teach you.” I sipped my drink, unable to take my eyes off of him.

“The right one will.” My brother’s words echoed in my head.

Don’t get your fucking hopes up, I tried to tell myself.

Why did this feel like it was written in the stars?

And why was Val always fucking right?

“What are you thinking about?” Arik asked.

“A lot of stuff.”

“Like?” He traced a finger over the VIP band around my wrist.

“What made you come to my show?” I said carefully, not sure how far I could push this or really what I could say. I didn’t want to freak him out if he was that type of guy because I did genuinely want to be friends.

I hated the way I was sometimes and how scared society was of it. I wasn’t attracted to men or women. I was attracted to people and personalities and maybe a little what I made up about someone in my head. But with Arik, it was so much more. He felt a little more real than the rest of the world. Like he was the only one in bold while the rest of us lived in muted tones. I wanted to feel as alive as he felt all the time.

“I tried to write an email, but I’m no good with words. I can’t get them to come out right.” He dropped his attention to his glass on the bar top, spinning it slowly.

“The songwriter is no good with words?”

He shrugged. “Not when I want them. They come when I don’t need them.”

I understood it. Art was forever finicky. “What was your email going to say?”

Arik hesitated. “That I wanted to see you again.”

My voice caught in my throat. Was this a friend thing or more?

I didn’t dare think he was gay, did I?

“Why is that?” I asked with a slick confidence I didn’t really feel.

He shrugged and shook his head. “That night.” That night in-fucking-deed. “I want to be friends—is that a weird fucking thing to say? Fuck. I just made it weird.”

I laughed. A hint of social anxiety from the guy who exuded confidence made me feel a little better. “It’s not weird. I like that you’re forward. Especially in this job, it’s hard to know what people want from you, and we aren’t even that famous.”

“You’re way more famous than we are. I’m sure you get it more than we do.”

I stared at the side of his head. “Are you kidding me? You have this die-hard fan group. I think they’d kill for you. It’s like a damn mob. And look how good your first major record label album is doing. I heard it’s almost double platinum.”

He nodded. “Chicago is like that for our own.”

“I’m jealous. It took us a lot of touring to build up to that, and no matter how much work we put in, we’ll always be accused of only being famous because of my parents.”

“Anyone who’s heard your music would know better. It’s good. What makes you feel like that?”

“I don’t know, some days it still feels like we are on the edge of disappointing everyone. Like if we aren’t better with every single and every show, they’ll leave. They are always sitting on the fence in case I don’t live up to my father. Or my mother, for that matter,” I added as an afterthought.

“What makes you feel that way?”

“I don’t know. But it doesn’t feel like your fans. Your fans seem to be frothing at the mouth for you.”

“You just got off touring with a massive band, you’re headlining Warped, and I’ve heard you’re going to be headlining your own tour come fall. And I was in the pit for your set. I’d say your fans are pretty rabid.” He downed the rest of his drink.

I dug in my pocket for the other tickets, throwing down a couple more while picking up my forgotten drink. “Maybe it’s me.”

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