Travis, however, was anything but. He couldn’t help the way he kept glancing at Bailey every time he shifted his hands on the steering wheel. The veins in the back of his hand flexing and dancing under his skin.
“I thought the rule was that everyone up north was rude. But so far, you guys have proven me nothing but wrong,” Travis commented casually. On tour, the locals he’d met and worked with had all been curt and short. The town of Holdengate was quickly destroying any stereotype he’d created in his mind.
When Bailey glanced at him, that warmth returned, and he only hoped it didn’t reflect in his face.
“There’s always an exception to every rule.”
How deep does that exception go?
“Why haven’t you asked me about what happened?” Travis questioned and held his breath.
Another glance, another flush of heat, though Travis didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or shame or excitement that Bailey was looking in his direction again.
“Do you want me to ask you about what happened?”
And I thought I was good at deflecting.
“I don’t know,” Travis admitted honestly.
“Well, you let me know if you find out. Though I’d be prepared for the kids to ask.”
“Kids?”
Travis didn’t do kids.
“Yeah. The music program. For kids,” he said with a quirk of his lips.
“Oh.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“With what?”
“If the kids ask. If not, I can talk to them before introducing you and let them know.”
“They’re kids though, will they even recognize me?”
Bailey rolled his eyes and scoffed, “You’re Travis Cherry, dude. Of course they know who you are.”
Travis wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “Well… I guess I don’t mind then. You don’t need to talk to them beforehand. It’ll be okay.”
“They’re a little… more blunt than some of the kids you’d meet today, I imagine. Just be prepared for anything.”
“I can handle it,” he assured him. Hell, he’d dealt with the paparazzi for the better part of ten years. He could handle a few kids.
BAILEY
That thing everyone said about your idols not living up to their expectations?
Bailey wished it wasn’t the truest thing he’d ever heard.
When he’d first held Travis Cherry’s hand, he wished it hadn’t been out of fear the guy would face-plant in the snow. But he guessed there were worse ways to meet people.
Everyone had to hit rock bottom at some point, and then there was nowhere to go but up.
As the road rumbled beneath them, the rock salt flinging up to ping and smack off the underside of his truck, he was violently aware of the rock star crammed into the tiny space with him.
The rock star he’d idolized since the start of his career. The rock star who had only created a passion for music within Bailey that he hadn’t been able to let go of.
The rock star whose rock bottom he’d witnessed only the night before.
The rock star he was about to introduce to a bunch of kids he’d been teaching for the past four years. And yes, it was the same rock star the kids knew he’d had a raging crush on since his debut.
If anyone was nervous about the meeting, it was Bailey. Any of the kids could slip up and blurt whatever they wanted, and that was the last thing Bailey needed. Maybe he should have given them more of a heads-up. He’d at least sent an email to the group letting them know he’d be bringing a guest, but maybe he should have done more.
Imagining their reactions, he smiled to himself as the truck rocked up over the curb when he pulled into the parking lot of the college.
“So what kind of music program is this?” Travis finally asked.
Bailey didn’t even know where to begin to describe the group of kids he worked with, so he shrugged. “I think it’s best you see for yourself. I will say that it’s more about bringing the kids together than the music itself.”
The sound of the doors slamming served as a response as they got out of the truck. Snow crunching underneath their boots, they grabbed the guitars from behind the seats and then Bailey led the way into the building.
“They should have salted, so we don’t need to worry about falling. But if you do…” He glanced over with a smile. “Don’t sue.”
He wasn’t sure if he imagined the answering smirk on Travis’ face. “Deal.”
Bailey grabbed the handle of the first door they came to and stepped back, motioning Travis forward. Even through the bulky jacket, he noticed the strength in his arms as he hoisted the guitar out in front of him. To fill the silence, Bailey kept talking as he walked beside Travis down the hallway.
“This is the Art Andrew’s Building, named after one of the art teachers that ended up making a huge impact on her students through music and art. She died about five years ago or so.”
He glanced behind him when he didn’t hear a response, but Travis was busy studying the paintings by faculty and students that lined the wall.
Voices carried through the hall, growing louder the farther they walked, and Bailey couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips. “They’re rowdy today,” he observed as giggles and laughter broke through the halls. “Means they’re in a good mood. Probably excited to see you,” he continued, and bumped his elbow into Travis’s.
He offered a simple nod, and Bailey studied him a little closer. Was he nervous about meeting the kids?
“I know this is a music program, but if you’d rather not play you don’t have to. Just do what you’re comfortable with.”
“Deal,” Travis offered quietly, and Bailey shrugged.
He’d leave Travis to the kids—they could pull anyone out of a funk.
At the last door in the hall, he grabbed the handle and tugged, voices and laughter exploding into the corridor with fervor. They quieted as the door clanged, and he poked his head in with a grin.
“Don’t stop on our account,” he greeted, and then walked through, shoving it open for Travis as well.
Their voices dwindled into silence, eyes wide and a few mouths agape, but not for long. Within seconds, they burst back to life, shouting questions that blended together like a smoothie of excitement.
“Wait, that’s our guest?”
“Is that really Travis-fuckin’-Cherry?”
“Oh my god, is this really happening?”
Amongst the shouting, Bailey risked a sideways glance at Travis, who seemed unfazed, before Bailey sat his case down and brought both pinkies to his lips, whistling loud enough to make them wince.
“Hey! That’s not how we greet a newcomer, is it?” he inquired pointedly. “And Frankie, watch the language.”
“Sorry,” the kid muttered. Dressed in skinny jeans, an obscure band tee, and too many belts to be functional, Frankie rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. Bailey didn’t take it personally, Frankie was just a sassy little shit and no one was going to change that.
“Guys, this is Travis Cherry, and he’s here to… hang out for a bit.”
“We know who he is, Bailey. Is he going to play for us?”