Page 18 of July's Bad Boy: Blaze
Staring into my tea, I let the memories surface. "He was stubborn as hell, but he believed in this town when no one else did." I look up at Blaze. "He taught me that some things are worth fighting for, even when the odds are stacked against you."
"Is that why you stayed? For him?"
"I stayed because it's home," I say. "But I fight because of him, yes."
Blaze nods, his expression thoughtful. The firelight softens his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable.
"Your turn," I say. "Why are you really here? I've seen the stories. You don't strike me as the save-a-small-town type."
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You mean the bad boy of rock isn't known for his charitable work? Shocking."
"I'm serious, Blaze."
He sets his mug down and runs a hand through his damp hair. "You want the truth? I fucked up. Big time. My manager thought some good PR might help. Small town, music festival, heartwarming story."
"So this is all just image rehabilitation for you?" The thought stings more than it should.
"It was," he admits. "At first."
"And now?"
He meets my gaze, his eyes dark and serious. "Now I'm not so sure."
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. I've been prepared for charm, for lies, for manipulation. But not for this raw vulnerability.
"I used to think being seen by millions meant I mattered," he continues. "Lately, I'm not so sure."
"What happened?" I ask softly.
He looks away, into the fire. "I got everything I thought I wanted. The fame, the money, the adoration. And it was... empty." He laughs bitterly. "Turns out you can be surrounded by thousands of people and still be completely alone."
The pain in his voice resonates with something inside me. That same loneliness I've felt in a town where everyone knows my name.
"The PR mess," I prompt. "What was it?"
He sighs. "A girl overdosed at one of my parties. She was fine, but it was close. And I realized I didn't even know her name. She was just... there. Like all the others. Disposable." He looks up at me. "That's what fame does. Makes everything and everyone disposable."
The silence stretches between us, filled with the sound of rain and crackling fire.
"I'm sorry," I say finally.
"Don't be. It was a wake-up call I needed." He sets his empty mug aside. "What about you? Always been the town savior?"
I shake my head. "I left for college. Was planning to stay gone, actually."
"What brought you back?"
"My mom got sick," I say simply. "Cancer. I came home to help, Mom got better, and then... my brother was gone, my parents left, and someone needed to keep fighting for this place."
Blaze moves from the chair to sit beside me on the bed, careful to keep space between us. "That's a lot to carry alone."
"Says the guy with the weight of fame on his shoulders."
"Touché." He smiles, and for once, it doesn't seem practiced or performative.
I'm suddenly aware of how close we are, of the heat radiating from his skin, of how the blanket has slipped slightly from my shoulder. His eyes drop to the exposed skin, then back to my face.
"Grace," he says, my name almost a whisper.
