Then again, that so wasn’t what she’d planned for this conversation to be about. Who Wyatt had slept with in the past—and who he was going to sleep with whenever this thing between them was done—was none of her concern. Even if, right now, it kind of felt like it should be.
Determined to cut off that train of thought before it could do any more damage, she focused on bringing the discussion back around to what she really wanted to talk about. Something that had absolutely nothing to do with beautiful blondes with incredible bone structure and even more incredible bodies. And wings…
“These blog owners—the ones who have tumblrs dedicated to you—they’re pretty intense.”
“It’s rock and roll,” he answered with a shrug. “It’s intense by definition.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, rock star, tone it down a bit.”
He looked offended. “I’m just saying, rock is an intense musical genre. If you wanted something a little more bubblegum, you should start working with a boy band or something.”
“Wow. Arrogant and disdainful. I’m so impressed. And I’ll have you know that a lot of boy bands have really talented members.” She batted her eyes at him for a moment, daring him to say more, before she settled back against the pillows and pulled up one of the tumblrs she’d just been visiting. “But seriously, the fans who run these sites seem to know everything about you and the others.”
“They don’t know anything. They know what we tell them, what we let them see. But the real stuff, we keep that shit buried deep where the fans can’t get to it.”
Which was exactly the opening she’d been looking for. “Like what?”
“What do you mean? You’re from the label—you should know this better than anyone.”
“I do. But I’m talking about you specifically. What do you keep buried deep?”
He quirked a brow at her. “You mean besides the fact that I was doing more than an ounce of heroin a day before I checked into rehab this last time?”
God, that was so much worse than she’d envisioned. An ounce a day? She’d read up on heroin addiction the first time Wyatt had gone to rehab, had learned more than she’d ever wanted to about the hell of getting clean. But she’d also learned a lot about what the human body could tolerate, and shooting up an ounce of the pure stuff was way more than most people could handle. The fact that he’d been doing that to himself, to his body…it made her want to pull him close, to hold on tight so he could never hurt himself that way again.
All she said, though, was, “I get that you tried to keep your addiction quiet as long as you could—your basic human right to privacy with that is absolute. Or it should be, no matter who you are.”
“That’s not really how it works, though, is it?”
“No, not really.” She sighed, rested her head against his shoulder. “Is that why there are all these conflicting stories about you? Because you don’t want anyone to know any truths? So it’s easier to hide the painful stuff?”
He stiffened a little, but she pulled him closer, held him tighter, and eventually he relaxed when he realized she wasn’t going to push. “If there are ten stories out there instead of just one, and I don’t deny or confirm any of them, then no one actually knows what’s going on with me. Or, that’s the theory, anyway.”
“It’s a good theory.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes.”
“It’s worked so far. I mean, I’m from the label and in charge of your social media message and even I don’t know what the truth is.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been lying to myself and everyone else so long that sometimes I don’t think I do either.”
She didn’t like the sound of that, even though she knew admitting it—coming to grips with it—had probably been a big part of rehab for him. But she hated the way he implied that he was inherently untrustworthy, because she didn’t think that was true. Sure, the addiction had made him that way. But she had seen him with his boys, had seen the way he tried to protect them, the way he struggled to be good enough for the band and his friends. Those were not the acts of an untrustworthy guy.
It was as much a realization for her as it was for him, and she could feel her resolve crumbling a little bit more, could feel herself falling even harder for him despite all the warnings and assurances she’d been giving herself. Because in a lot of ways that mattered, Wyatt was trustworthy and that…that was her own personal kryptonite.
The knowledge freaked her out more than she wanted to admit, even to herself, and she went back to poking at him because it was easier. And because she wanted to know. “So, tell me the truth, then.”
His gaze, wide and wary, flew to hers. “What do you mean?”