Page 7 of Reckless

“When did you last eat?”

“No idea.”

“You’re a reckless one aren’t you,” she comments as she passes me.

My eyes are drawn to her ass, and it takes a few moments for my brain to catch up. She said reckless. Is she hinting at something?

I narrow my eyes and walk around the table, but she is busy dishing out the eggs.

When she looks up at me, I try to read her expression. She looks no different from before. Was that really a throwaway comment? I let it go because I’m starving and the eggs smell good.

We sit down and eat. For something so simple, I’m almost moaning as the food hits my tongue. She doesn’t look up, but I notice her smile down at her own plate.

“What are you going to do now, Jude? I mean, metaphorically we can talk about taking the left or right turn back to the hotel or into the unknown, but you can’t wander around out here indefinitely.”

“Good question.”

“I’ve always been a big believer in taking hold of your destiny. Do what’s best for you.”

“What would you do?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“I can only say what I would do under my own circumstances. I don’t know yours,” her brows dip a little. “There is a whole wide world out there. You don’t have to conform to anyone else’s demands. You do you.”

If only I could take that advice. I could. If I had the guts to. I’ve taken the first step, so to speak, walking away last night. Have I got the courage to keep going? And where the hell will it take me?

I don’t want to give up on Reckless Soul. That has never been in question. After this hiatus, getting my head on right, I will go back to the band. To do our fans right, be better performers, like we were before my head went to shit.

Krista is right in one sense. It’s what the therapist recommended, too. Complete distance from the life that was breaking me down. I’m not ready to spill any of those truths to her. There may be this strange connection between us, something I can’t explain. It doesn’t mean I can dump my shit at her door.

“Where are you headed next?” I ask, after wiping my mouth with a napkin and folding it on the plate.

Those eyes read me so easily. She knows I’m deflecting, yet she doesn’t pry.

“South Dakota.”

“That’s one state over, right?” she nods. I’ve played hundreds of shows in North and South Dakota, but I can’t bring that up. Not that there is much point. I didn’t exactly get to see any of it.

“It’s beautiful country, slightly different terrain than round here but gorgeous all the same.”

“Do you travel the same route each year?”

“I try to mix it up. I’ve done the south, and the east coast a few years back, more of a city tour than this. I prefer this. It’s more peaceful.”

Anyone who knows me will tell me it’s crazy to be jealous about this. They’d ask how could I long to do what Krista does when I practically do that with the band. It’s different. Totally different.

“Where are you from?” Krista asks, before scooping the last of her eggs into her mouth.

“Ohio originally, but I’ve lived in LA the last twelve years.”

She nods and looks past me a moment, her expression thoughtful. “We’re kind of neighbors.”

“We are?” I lean back, finishing off the coffee.

“I have a place in Santa Ana.”

“Windy,” I note.

She laughs again. “Sometimes, but it’s an amazing city.”

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