#Moonstruck_A #Lovestruck Novel

by Sariah Wilson

  Only I wasn’t in my bunk.

  I was in Ryan’s bed.

  “Why didn’t you have your Epi-Pen on you?” Parker asked.

  At the same time, Fitz said, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Cole added, “It looks like somebody took a meat tenderizer to your face.”

  But no Ryan.

  And why did my current location not freak out any of my brothers?

  They were all talking at the same time, making it difficult to catch what was going on. From what I could tell, Ryan had brought me back and insisted that I sleep in his bed, as it was the most comfortable and would give me the most room, which my brothers thought was “very cool of him.” Then he had a doctor who specialized in allergic reactions come in and check me out, who pronounced me fine despite the large swollen welt over the sting site. The doctor had said that the welt might get bigger over the next two days, but it would go away.

  We were almost to the arena in Idaho, but Ryan had found a local band to fill in for us at the show. He hoped I’d be feeling well enough to perform once we got to Salt Lake City.

  My face still hurt a little, but I felt back to normal.

  Ryan, on the other hand, was anything but. When I found him in the lounge later and thanked him, he grunted out a response, never taking his eyes off the TV screen. It was not how he normally acted with me, and I wasn’t sure what to do.

  I called Angie to get her advice and was again met with squeals. “I saw the pictures! I need more information! Why did you star in Ryan’s new music video?”

  “Pictures?” I put her on speakerphone and then used the web browser.

  If we hadn’t been front-page news before, we were now. Literally the entire world knew.

  There was article after article about how Ryan and I were dating.

  It was the photo attached to those stories that made me feel like I’d just been sucker punched. Somebody had captured the moment of Ryan showing me the deer. I watched the animals with total delight.

  But Ryan didn’t face the deer. He faced me. And he looked at me like . . . I had captivated him. Like he wanted me. Like I was the only thing that mattered to him in the whole world.

  Or maybe I was projecting, because he certainly wasn’t acting like he wanted me now.

  I didn’t even ask Angie for her advice. I found out how my mom was doing (same) and said I’d call her later.

  Was this why Ryan was acting weird? The photos? Wasn’t that what he wanted to have happen?

  Over the next few days, as we traveled through Idaho and Utah, Ryan stayed away from me. Which wasn’t easy to do on a bus that size, but he somehow managed it. His discomfort with me made me completely uncomfortable. Made me not quite myself. For example, on the stage in Salt Lake City, I said, “Hello, Seattle!”

  I discovered fans don’t like it very much when you call out the wrong name of the city you’re in.

  During Ryan’s show, I stayed in the wings, wondering if he would want me to come onstage again to sing “One More Night.”

  He didn’t.

  Thanks to the photo and rampant rumors, I had to stay off social media. Because when Ryan had initially asked me to be his pretend girlfriend, it had seemed like no big deal. I’d thought, what could possibly go wrong?

  I quickly found out what could go wrong. The hatred of a million Luna-tics, for one. They attacked me online—all our videos had thousands of hateful comments. Apparently, it was all Parker could do to keep up with the vicious things put on our Facebook band page. He finally had to turn the comments off.

  Was that why Ryan had grown distant? Things hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped? Did he blame me for the negative online reaction?

  Some other part of me worried that I’d done or said something after I took the prescription at the medical center. Something totally humiliating that he didn’t know how to get past. I would have blamed it on the medication, but that wouldn’t have been why I did something stupid. My inhibitions had been lowered, and who knows? Maybe I’d tried to kiss him, which he didn’t want.

  I’d built up whatever things I’d felt at the music video into something they weren’t.

  I was way too embarrassed to ask.

  It didn’t help that I kept finding new and terrible ways of adding to that embarrassment. Like after the Salt Lake City show, all the guys went out, even Vince and Anton. I stayed behind, excited to have the bus to myself for the first time ever. I cranked up some loud tunes and danced around the lounge in a T-shirt and shorts.

  In the middle of executing a spin, I turned to see Ryan standing near the driver’s seat, watching me. I immediately blushed at being caught. I couldn’t read his expression. My heart raced, pounding hard against my chest. I took a step toward him, and he left. Just walked down the stairs and out into the night.

  Something had definitely changed between us. Ryan wouldn’t talk to me. We were never alone. There were no more offers for fake dates or to spend time together.

  Fitz even asked me if we were having problems, and he knew we weren’t really dating.

  Things were so bad that when the bus stopped the next day to refuel at a truck stop, I approached Diego.

  Since I’d joined the tour, Diego had kept his distance. I sometimes caught him watching me with a wary expression, like he didn’t trust me. Or just didn’t like me.

  He was smoking a cigarette, and I smiled, trying not to let the smell bother me or make me think about my father. “Hey.”

  “Maisy.” His expression was so cold. His body language screamed that he wanted to be left alone. He held his cigarette out toward me. “You want one?”

  Gross. “No, thank you.”

  He laughed. “I should have guessed. Smoking’s prohibited on the bus. I would guess I have you to thank for no coffee on the bus, either.”

  There was normally coffee on the bus? There hadn’t been since the tour started. Maybe that was why Ryan was grouchy. He missed his caffeine fix.

  But then I remembered that he said in one of his texts he’d given up caffeine. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t typically around for the other band members, though.

  Was I the reason for that? Had Ryan done that for me?

  “The only reason he’s interested in you is because you didn’t try to have sex with him the first night you met. No one makes him work for it.”

  “I’m not making him work for it.”

  Diego let out a little laugh, throwing his cigarette butt to the ground and squishing it with his foot. “Aren’t you?”

  Was I? Was that what Ryan thought? That I was leading him on?

  Diego walked away, leaving me to try and figure out what had just happened. Was he jealous or just not very nice?

  The one person I could ask about it unfortunately was the one person avoiding me.

  Ryan continued to ignore me clear up until we got to the show in Wyoming. The venue was about half the size of what we’d become accustomed to. As Parker greeted the crowd, before we even started our set, I heard a splat sound on the stage. Another one. What was that? Then something hit me in the head, hard. Pain radiated out from my forehead. I reached up and realized it was an egg yolk. Somebody was throwing eggs at me. Another one hit my chest.

  One of the bodyguards leaped down into the crowd and chased down the egg tosser. A teen girl took advantage of this and jumped up onto the stage. She wore a shirt with Ryan’s face on it. “Do you think you’re good enough for him? Do you think we’re going to stand by and let you have him?”

  She rushed me, yelling foul things. She grabbed my hair and pulled, so I did what any reasonable woman would do. I stomped on her foot, forcing her to let go of me.

  Before I could do anything else, Fox was there, pulling the girl away. My brothers helped me get off the stage.

  The girl was struggling and screaming, and Fox handed her off to two other guards. “Take her outside and call the police. She just assaulted Maisy.” Then he turned to me. “Are you okay?”
<
br />   “I’m fine,” I said, watching as egg whites dripped from my head to the ground.

  Cole went to find me a towel, Parker said he’d find some aspirin, and Fitz just disappeared, leaving me alone with Ryan’s bodyguard.

  It was the first time I’d been alone with Fox for a while. Even though my head throbbed and that panicky feeling made my throat feel tight, I considered asking him if he knew why Ryan was being so weird. I quickly realized that even if he did, he most likely wouldn’t tell me. “Why don’t we ever hang out, Fox?”

  “We’re hanging out now,” he said.

  “After I got attacked? That doesn’t count.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I take a lot of shifts. I’m the only one of the guards without a family. Plus, no one can take better care of Ryan than me.”

  “Yeah, not so much Ryan’s girlfriend, though.”

  At that, Fox laughed, although he was trying not to. That was what my brothers and I did when times were tough. We joked, and it made me feel better.

  “What do you think about Angie?” I don’t know if it was the frustration I was feeling over Ryan’s behavior or my own inability to figure out what I wanted from him, but somebody should be happy.

  “Angie?” Fox’s face softened. “She’s amazing. She’s dealt so well with Hector’s death. She’s such a good mom and so kind and giving, funny and . . .”

  He trailed off when he noticed my grin. “I think you should marry her.”

  “I think she has to consent first.”

  I noticed he didn’t disagree or tell me I was crazy. “You obviously have feelings for her. Maybe you should let her know.”

  “Maybe you should, too.”

  There was a commotion on the stage, and Fox went out to investigate, talking into his headset as he left.

  What had he meant? Maybe I should, too? Angie knew I adored her.

  Then Fitz was back with a worried-looking Ryan in tow. I realized what Fox had meant. That I should tell Ryan about my inexplicable feelings. Feelings he probably didn’t want to hear about.

  Was I that obvious? Had everyone figured it out? Was that why Diego was cold and Fox mentioned it so casually?

  And why Ryan stayed away from me?

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I can handle a few eggs. Although I prefer my eggs inside a cake. I also would have preferred them to throw cake at me. It wouldn’t have hurt as much.”

  That made him laugh. Cole returned with a washcloth, which Ryan took from him. Then he sponged at the egg on my head. “Never stop surprising me, Maisy Harrison.” His hand moved to where I’d been struck in the chest, and at the last second, he handed me the towel, as if realizing what he’d almost done.

  Fox returned with a stricken look. “Maisy, I’m so sorry.”

  It took a second to register that Fox held the broken pieces of my Dreadnought in his hands. I reached for it, unable to comprehend that my favorite guitar was now in pieces.

  Everybody’s voices sounded far away, like echoes from the other end of a cave. It seemed like Ryan was saying he was sorry. So, so sorry. Tears filled my eyes, making it impossible to see. My throat tightened as I ran my fingers along the surface. It couldn’t be fixed. Someone had totally destroyed it.

  “I want more security, and I want you to press charges against everyone who did this!” Ryan yelled. Why did he even care? He’d made it more than obvious over the last few days that I didn’t matter to him.

  He told Fox to take me back to the bus, and he started arguing with Piper over canceling the show completely.

  “It’s not fair to penalize thousands of fans for the actions of a few,” she said.

  Ryan yelled something back, but I cradled my guitar in my arms and let Fox lead me. I still had my Gibson Les Paul, but the Dreadnought had been a part of me and my music for so long. It was like somebody had just ripped off my arm.

  “I’m really sorry, Maisy. I have Larry posted at the door. Let me know if you need anything.” Fox gave me one last sympathetic look and returned to the venue.

  I put what was left of my guitar on my bed, not sure what else I should do. I couldn’t bear the thought of just putting it in a trash can. I went into the bathroom and used some shampoo and bottled water to wash the egg out of my hair over the sink. I changed my clothes and lay down in my bunk. I tugged at the loose metal strings on the Dreadnought and felt overcome with the desire to sob again.

  First things with Ryan fell apart, and now someone had destroyed my guitar. The eggs I could get over. That damage was already gone. But this? This was permanent.

  Was my situation with Ryan permanently changed, too?

  I would not lie here and cry about it. I wouldn’t.

  Even though it was still early evening, I reached into my bag and pulled out the medical kit I’d packed. I took an over-the-counter sleeping pill, wanting this day to be over.

  Tomorrow had to be better.

  The next day didn’t start out great, either. I woke up, got out of my bunk, and used the bathroom. There was a moment when I forgot what some crazed Luna-tic had done to my Dreadnought. When I saw the mangled pieces at the foot of my bed, it all came rushing back.

  Fitz leaned out of the top bunk to sleepily tell me we were almost to Missoula, Montana.

  I went into the lounge since I was starving, and I found Cole drawing on a sleeping Ryan De Luna with a permanent marker.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  Cole had the nerve to look surprised. “Piper said it’s a rule that if you fall asleep in a common area, you get a Sharpie to the face.”

  “Not Ryan! He is going to be pissed. Weren’t you the one lecturing me about not getting us fired?”

  “This is totally different,” he said in a loud whisper.

  “Why?”

  “Because this is funny.” He rolled his eyes at my outrage. “We’re staying at a hotel tonight. We aren’t performing until tomorrow. That’s plenty of time to clean it off.”

  I climbed into my bunk to google how to remove permanent marker from skin. The consensus seemed to be rubbing alcohol. I rummaged through my medical bag, but my bottle was missing. I knew I’d packed it. Bringing along first-aid supplies always fell to me since my brothers couldn’t take their health seriously. I could have broken bones jutting through my skin, and they’d still be like, “You’re fine. We don’t need to go to the hospital.” Sometimes I worried that I was the only thing keeping them all from dying due to botulism or a staph infection.

  I heard the moment Ryan woke up and the yelling and laughter that ensued. It even sounded like some wrestling occurred.

  Cole ran through the bunk alley, yelling, “It’ll come off! It’ll come off!”

  A thudding sound let me know Ryan had tackled him.

  I got out of my bunk, and they stopped fighting. Ryan immediately stood up, while Cole lay laughing on the ground. Cole had drawn cat whiskers, a cat nose, and surprised eyebrows on Ryan’s face. “Do you see what your brother did?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer but went into the bathroom. He grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over a washcloth. He then put some soap on it and started scrubbing.

  “That won’t work. You need rubbing alcohol.” I was torn. I wanted to go in and help him, but he’d made it obvious he didn’t want anything to do with me.

  “There is no alcohol of any kind on this bus,” Cole called out from the floor. “Anton drank all of it.”

  I wondered if that was what happened to my rubbing alcohol. “I can grab some when we get to the hotel.” There had to be a lobby with a gift shop.

  “I can wash my own face.” Ryan let out a growl of frustration since his method wasn’t working. He went to his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

  Part of me wanted to let him figure it out on his own. The other part of me felt responsible because someone with my DNA had done that to him.

  We arrived at the hotel, which ended up being a collection of adorable log
cabins with a barn, open grazing fields, and a whole swath of forest.

  Which, of course, immediately made me think of the last time I’d been in a forest with Ryan, and my blood pressure spiked in response.

  “This resort is a working cattle ranch,” Piper told us as she passed out the room assignments. “It’s one of the few places that could fit a group our size near the arena. You are welcome to participate in any of the activities during your free time.”

  I was told I’d be in a two-bedroom cabin with my brothers. I watched as Ryan slunk off, a hoodie pulled up over his face to prevent anyone from seeing what Cole had done. I asked Fitz to take my luggage with him to the cabin and found the main lodge. They did have a small store, and I located rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

  After I paid for them, I tucked them into my carry-on and went over to the cabin I’d seen Ryan enter. He answered the door after I knocked three times in a row.

  “Let me help,” I said when he answered. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds and then moved aside.

  He appeared to have a cabin to himself, and the inside was nothing like the outside. I had expected moose heads, old quilts, and musty corners. Instead, the kitchen was the nicest I’d ever seen. Wooden beams held up a high vaulted ceiling, and the furniture, while comfortable and cozy-looking, was obviously expensive.

  Ryan sat down at the small table in the kitchen. I took out the supplies I’d bought.

  It was then it occurred to me that in order to clean his face, I was going to have to touch him.

  I swallowed hard, dousing a ball in alcohol. He was just like any other guy. This was not a big deal. I could clean him up without freaking out. Then I started scrubbing his forehead, concentrating on my actions and not on how his warm, smooth skin felt beneath my fingertips. As the internet promised, the permanent marker began to lift off. “It’s working,” I told him.

  I tried to keep my breathing even as I rubbed the cotton against the bridge of his nose and across his sculpted cheeks. He really was beautiful.

  He carefully watched me the entire time. Just get the marker off and go, I told myself.

  Finally, it was all gone. “Okay.” My voice sounded strained and breathy. “Go and rinse your face with warm water and soap, and you should be good.”