Reckless (Thoughtless, #3)(179)
When we were in the limo being driven to Staples Center for the ceremony, I reconsidered my excitement about being there. Aside from the industrial matting at my hospital-room wedding, I’d never walked a red carpet before in my life, and the thought of stepping out in front of all of those photographers made my stomach feel like a tiny person was in there frothing up some egg whites for a lemon meringue pie. I was possibly going to be sick. Looking at Kellan beside me, he surprisingly looked the exact same way. I was sure he wasn’t nervous about his entrance, though—it was more his impending win that was bothering him. Kellan didn’t mind the spotlight, but he wasn’t the best at accepting kudos. He’d even refused to write a speech, saying there wasn’t a chance he was winning so why bother.
To calm my nerves I pulled out my phone and sent a quick message. Kellan glanced down at my screen. Looking like he also wanted a distraction, he asked, “What are you doing?”
Smirking, I told him, “Tweeting your fans.” Holding up the phone, I read him my message. “About to head into the Grammys. Wish me luck.”
Kellan rolled his eyes at me. One of the first things Denny had done as Kellan’s agent was to have him join some social media sites. He’d told Kellan that the best way to put rumors to rest was to directly interact with his fans. I agreed and wondered why we hadn’t done it sooner. But the look of confusion, reluctance and irritation on Kellan’s face had explained it all. “You want me to whatbook? And Tweet? Like a bird? Are you serious?” he’d said to Denny in exasperation.
Kellan had stayed as far from technology as he possibly could, for as long as he possibly could. He just wasn’t into it. He didn’t even own a computer. He either borrowed my laptop or Griffin’s. He preferred to use mine. He said that Griffin’s keyboard tended to be on the sticky side. I did not want to think about why. But Kellan was being forced into the modern age, practically kicking and screaming. His expression of resigned disgust when he’d agreed was so adorable that I’d taken a photo of it. Maybe someday I’d post it on his wall.
After my Tweet on Kellan’s behalf, the well-wishes started pouring in. Kellan eventually laughed and got sucked into it. We stared at my phone for so long watching the comments coming in that we didn’t even notice when we arrived at Staples Center. Kellan and the guys had already been there earlier, when they’d rehearsed, but that had been nothing compared to this. People were everywhere. Cameras were everywhere. Celebrities were everywhere. It was one of those surreal once-in-a-lifetime moments.
Staring out the window, Kellan murmured, “Fuck me,” as the car pulled around to the drop zone. The rest of the people in the car started freaking out as we came to a stop. Not wanting to ride separately, our limo was pretty packed—Griffin, Anna, Evan, Jenny, Matt, and Rachel were with us. Everyone looked amazing too. Anna and Jenny had outdone themselves on our hair and makeup, and all of the boys had been approached by big name designers to supply our wardrobe. My dress was a stunning black one-shoulder piece that probably cost more money than I made in a year waitressing. I was being very careful not to stain, snag, or rip it.
The boys were dressed a bit more casually but still looked incredible. Evan was in gray slacks with a matching gray jacket and a black button-up shirt underneath. Matt was sporting fashionably frayed jeans with a dark blue blazer over a white shirt. Griffin . . . was rocking really tight leather pants. Everyone had tried to talk him out of it, but he refused to wear anything else. Anna had at least gotten him to change his mind about wearing a T-shirt that read Muff Master. Not because of what it said, mind you, but because she felt a T-shirt wasn’t appropriate for an awards show. Kellan was decked out in black slacks, a white button-up, and a black jacket. His shirt was open for three or four buttons, and his jacket only had one button that met halfway down his chest. He was both fashionable and sexy as hell. It was hard to take my eyes off of him.
Before heading out into the spotlight, we all gave each other a round of encouragement, support, and gratitude. And then it was showtime.
My nerves evaporated about halfway down the red aisle. It’s amazing how fast you get used to people shouting out questions as they snap photos of you. I didn’t want to do this all of the time, but every so often wouldn’t be so bad. Kellan’s smile was seamless, his swagger seductive. No one but me would know that he was freaked out. And I only knew because he had a death grip on my hand. I wasn’t sure what he would be more relieved about—winning or not winning. Playing would probably ease his nerves, but unfortunately the band was scheduled to be on stage after their category was up. He would have no reprieve from his anxiety until the moment of truth was over. But, like he did so often for me, I would help him through it.
While we sat through the ceremony, I tried to help him get his mind off of it. We joked about Denny and Abby babysitting Gibson over the weekend, about how Abby was going to want to have a baby of her own by Monday. That led to a discussion about which songs the band should play for their wedding ceremony in two days. Abby was a huge fan of “Islands in the Stream,” but Kellan refused to cover that song or “Endless Love,” which was Abby’s backup song.
As the time approached for Kellan’s category, he started talking less and fidgeting more. He also started obsessive-compulsively kissing the tattoo of his name on my wrist. It was so bad at one point, I thought he was going to wear away the permanent ink. When the two announcers stepped onstage for the Best New Artist category, Kellan’s knee started bouncing up and down. I’d never seen him this frazzled.