Broken Strings

Twenty

Brock

Believe it or not, fame is not as glamorous as it seems. I think it is much harder now with all of the media outlets, and people can be pretty nasty and harsh – Kim Kardashian

From the passenger side seat in an old red Ford truck, Brock watched as strands of Travis Grant's tousled dark hair whipped in the breeze cast from the window. His brown eyes were locked onto the expanse of empty road before them, framed on either side by endless open fields. Travis's left hand clamped onto the steering wheel as his right fiddled with the radio dial until he landed on a station that was blasting the weather report as loud as a rock concert.

Not like it mattered what the forecast had to say. It was a beautiful day. Cloudless and crystal blue, the sun a bright, burning, beacon overhead.

Brock relaxed into the leather seat and drummed his fingers across his lap. They'd been driving for ten minutes, the silence between them stretching but not uncomfortable or tense. It was easy and peaceful – even if Brock sat a bit stiffly as he tried to understand what they were doing.

He'd said yes last night to this little excursion without really knowing what he was saying yes to. In his inebriated state, Brock hadn't been able to read the other man's face well enough to understand what Travis had been asking of him.

Travis had offered him the secluded spot somewhere in Tishomingo without any other context and even now Brock didn't have a clue where they were headed. Perhaps more disconcerting was that Brock had no idea what this was. He didn't know if they were hanging out as friends or if this was perhaps meant to be something...more.

A glance at Travis' face revealed nothing and so Brock had been twiddling his thumbs as he waited for any indication of what to expect.

But the silence continued until Travis pulled the truck to a stop in a lot for a nearby park.

"Where are we?" Brock asked.

"Pennington Creek." Travis cut the engine and popped open his door.

Brock followed suit, pausing only long enough to grab his guitar from the back. Nearby, he saw families congregating at a children's playset and picnic tables. It was nice but nowhere near the quiet, private place he'd been envisioning. "I thought you said we were going somewhere secluded?"

"We are." Travis grabbed a backpack and a baseball cap from the backseat and then locked the truck. "Ready to go?"

"Sure. Where are we headed?"

"Come on." Travis inclined his head towards a path and began to walk.

After a second, Brock followed, catching up quickly. "You're not going to give me any hints?"

A smile curved Travis' lips as he tugged the baseball cap onto his head. Shadows fell across his face, obscuring the brown of his irises but Brock felt his eyes turn on him. "It's just a spot down by the creek. A lot of people like to swim in the water when the weather is nice but this is a place that's a little more hidden within the trees."

"Oh."

"I found it years ago. My family came here a lot when I was a kid but as my brother and I got more into the rodeo and Bailey moved off to Nashville, we stopped coming as often. Then Jake got into veterinary school and stopped working around the ranch as much and things just kind of went quiet for me. So whenever I feel nostalgic or can't get out of my own head, this is where I like to go."

Brock glanced around the park, allowing the warmth of the day to seep into him as Travis led angled towards the creek. The water flowed slowly but steadily and the sound of moving water pulsed through Brock, easing the tension from his shoulders. Now that they were talking – he could handle this. Figure out whatever the hell it was and decide the best way to navigate through. The silence from the truck earlier had unnerved him a little, even if it had also been...nice, in a way.