(HEY I WOULD JUST LIKE SOME INPUT ON THIS EXCERPT FROM MY STORY. I KNOW IT'S CONFUSING BECAUSE IT'S SOME RANDOM PART, BUT I WANT TO MAKE IT BETTER! THANKS!)
From Little Rock, Arkansas to Denver, Colorado it was a nine hundred and forty mile trip. Considering the lengthy distance, it would take us two days, maybe longer, to reach our destination in driving mode. That meant that the band had three days off to rest before putting on another show in Denver Friday night . . . and that also meant sharing a van with four guys all day long for three days straight.
I had hardly spoken at all to Jayson Porter since we had left Little Rock. I spent most of my time entertaining the children in our back room on the bus, and Jay never seemed to be out interacting when I was. Despite how small the bus was. Somehow I didn’t mind. It felt less awkward without one more person to try and befriend.
Fortunately, Chris was kind enough to rent us individual hotel rooms each night so we could all have a break from each other. He also agreed to take responsibility for the children at night so I could have a break. On our second night of traveling, the kids were with their father and I was with Wade watching TV in his hotel room. We were on his bed, snacking on room service turkey sandwiches, when Wade suddenly spoke up.
“So what’s the deal, Kace?” he asked as he flipped through the channels on the TV. “Are you going to tell me why you hate Jay so much?”
“I don’t hate Jay.” I said, slightly started at his accusation. I had only known Jayson Porter for three days, and I had barely spoken to him at all during the entire drive.
“Could’ve fooled me. And probably him, too.” Wade said. I watched the channels on the TV skim past our eyes like a freight train. He wasn’t even paying attention; simply holing the down button with his middle finger as it skipped through the channels. I grabbed the remote from his hand and switched the TV off. Wade sighed and folded his hands on his stomach.
“I don’t hate Jay,” I said again. “It’s just . . .” I faltered, unable to think of an immediate excuse. I didn’t have to ponder it for long. Wade sat up, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Are you scared?” he asked. “Are you scared of getting hurt?”
My first reaction was to deny it, to argue how absurd the question was. I had always been a very independent, outspoken girl with plenty of friends and a good life, but Wade’s words struck something in me that was exactly right. Although my friends had always been there for me, relationships had never been my strong suite. I had been in unfortunate guy shambles too many times to count, and I swore once that I wouldn’t open up anymore to guys. It had seemed like the best way to protect an already shattered heart. But Jay? Did I really think of Jay that way? Is that why I was so uncomfortable around him? Most of all, did I really think I even had a chance with him?
“Yes,” I admitted, trying to keep my voice from showing too much emotion. “I am scared. Is that such a crime?”
“If you want to die an old hag with ten too many cats,” Wade joked.
“Dogs,” I interrupted. “Ten too many dogs. And what do you know, anyway? Aren’t you engaged? Where’s your fiancé, Wade?”
Wade took my hand in a brotherly, reassuring way. I knew for a fact that neither one of us found it as more than just a sweet gesture. Although Wade was extremely attractive, charming, and sweet, not once since I had known him had I thought of him as more than some-what of a brother, and I knew the feeling was mutual. After all, he was head over heels in love with a woman who he would soon marry, and there was someone already on my own mind
“Lauren is back home. She’ll be visiting me in a few weeks, for your information.” Wade said with a playful grin. I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling Wade shift, just barely, next to me.
How will you ever find love if you never take a chance?” he asked. I laid my head on his shoulder, suddenly feeling fatigued and annoyed all at the same time. Jayson Porter wouldn’t leave my mind, and right then I could finally admit to myself. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about him since I had met him; I thought about him a lot. More than necessary, in fact. But did that change anything? Jay wasn’t making any more of an effort to befriend me then I was him, so what was the big deal? Why were these feeling swimming around in my heart, and how was I supposed to get rid of them?
“I don’t even know the guy,” I said. “And I feel like he’s perfectly content with that, Wade. I’m not going to strain myself over it.”
“Suit yourself,” Wade said. “But you could very well be making the worst decision of your life.”
“Or the best,” I whispered, taking a deep breath. “No doubt the very best.”