Kellan only had time to nod at her before she was whisked away. Kellan looked back at me and I shrugged. At least she hadn’t kissed him on the lips again. Maybe she actually would respect his wishes.
The next several days were a blur of traveling, fans, interviews, acoustic performances, and Taskmaster Tory. I couldn’t decide if having a handler was helpful or a gigantic pain in the ass. Everywhere we went she was right there, keeping everyone in line and on focus. Remembering some of the troubles Matt used to have when he’d solely managed the group, I did appreciate how difficult her assignment was—just wrangling Griffin was a full time job—but she had an edge of bitchiness about her that got on everyone’s nerves.
And she was constantly interrupting tender moments between Kellan and I. Consciously or subconsciously, she found ways to keep us apart while we were in public. Our short second of PDA in the lobby of the L.A. radio station was the last moment we had for a while. We didn’t even get to sit on planes together. But through the chaos, we still found time to appreciate each other. Kellan said we had to, otherwise none of this was worth it. I agreed. We passed romantic notes back and forth, and Kellan slipped me rose petal messages when Tory wasn’t looking. I wasn’t sure where he was getting the flower petals—hotel lobbies, street vendors, green rooms—but whenever he handed me one, it brightened my day. You’re hot, I love you, I want you, and my personal favorite, Marry me.
It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Nick had instructed Tory to keep us apart on purpose. He wouldn’t want anyone catching on to the fact that Kellan and Sienna weren’t really an item. And that’s what the world firmly believed after Kellan’s L.A. radio interview. Combined with the photo of their momentary lip lock, the general consensus was that Kellan was “doing” Sienna; the gossip sites were smoldering with completely fake details of their hot relationship.
The buzz around them was so intense, I could almost feel the vibration in the air everywhere we went. Luckily, Sienna parted ways with the D-Bags after Los Angeles, so no more fuel was being added to the fire, but Kellan was still asked about her at every interview. Every time she came up, Kellan dodged the question as best he could. A week into the promo tour, the are-you-or-aren’t-you question was so predictable, that Kellan and I started laughing about it when we did get a chance to be alone. It was all we could do at that point. Roll with it, or roll over.
Leaving the last interview for the day, Kellan laid his head back on the headrest of the rented SUV we were traveling in. “I’m so tired,” he murmured. We were halfway through the tour, making our way up the east coast.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I grunted some sort of agreement. Endless shuffling around was surprisingly wearisome. I just wanted a hot bath, a good book, and a long nap . . . all with my very comfortable Kellan-pillow, of course.
Everyone else in the car was exhausted too. Matt and Evan were quiet as mice as they sat behind us, Griffin was sitting by the driver, snoring from what I could tell. Eyes closed, I halfheartedly listened to the radio. When a familiar song came on, I quietly started singing along. When I realized what I was singing, my eyes shot open and I stared at Kellan in shock. He looked over at me with a furrowed brow. “What . . . ?”
His voice trailed off as he heard it too. It was his voice coming through the speakers. Kellan twisted to the driver, leaning forward on the seat. “Hey, man, can you turn that up?”
The driver turned the knob and Kellan’s voice boomed throughout the car. I squealed into my hands as I bounced on my seat. Matt and Evan started freaking out in the backseat. Griffin snorted awake, heard his bass line playing, and instantly joined in the ruckus we were making. I couldn’t even hear the song anymore over everyone laughing and hollering.
Tory had told us that the D-Bags’ song with Sienna was in heavy rotation all over the country, but we’d been so busy flying here and there and everywhere, that we hadn’t heard it on the radio before. There was something surreal about hearing Kellan’s voice coming through the speakers.
I turned to Kellan. “You’re on the radio!”
Wide-eyed, he shook his head. “I know! What the hell?”
Tossing my arms around him, I squeezed him as tightly as I could. He was doing it. He really was doing it. And I couldn’t have been happier. Seconds later, everyone was on their cell phones, calling someone to let them hear the tail end of the song. I was sure most everyone but us had already heard the song on the radio before—I knew my mom, Jenny, and Anna had, since they’d called me squealing about it afterwards—but this was the boys’ first moment, and they wanted to share it. Matt called Rachel, Evan called Jenny, and Griffin called my sister. Kellan called his dad, and I . . . called Denny.