Travis

Never turn your back on fear. It should always be in front of you, like a thing that might have to be killed – Hunter S. Thompson

"That's really how you want to do this, huh?" Travis asked.  He folded his arms across his chest and narrowed his eyes across the round pen.  There, staring at him without moving, was a large black gelding who had been utterly refusing to do anything that Travis asked of him.

            He'd been working Guacamole in the pen for over an hour, trying to get the horse to head in a clockwise direction but no matter what he did, Guac wouldn't cooperate.  He'd head counter-clockwise and then simply stop moving and stare at nothing, as if deciding that he had no interest in even wasting his time with Travis.

            Only to then nip at the edge of Travis' plaid shirt whenever he got too close.

            All in all, it had already been a hell of a day and Guac had only been on the premises for two hours.

            And now he was having a bloody stare-down with a horse.  The worst part was that the horse was the one who was winning.

            "God, you're the worst," Travis muttered.  "Can't you just listen to me for once?  Remember the last time you were here?  By the end, you were listening to me.  Why can't we just skip ahead to that part and cut out all this angsty bullshit?"

            Guac merely snorted.

            "Fine.  Fine," he repeated as a familiar car sped down the long driveway towards the house, kicking up clouds of dust behind the tires as it came.  "We'll pick this up again tomorrow."

            The horse tried to take another bite out of Travis's shirt as he grabbed the lead and made to usher Guac out of the pen and back towards the barn where he was being stalled.  Guac made a sound of disappointment but didn't contest further as he was taken out of the round pen. 

Across the way, he saw Ginger's car roll to a gentle stop and heard the deafening silence as the engine cut.  She waved as she climbed out of the driver's side door, curls bouncing, and angled towards him.  Ginger landed by his side just as he reached the barn doors.

"Hey you," he said.

"Uh oh," Ginger replied, raising a brow as she followed him into the barn.  "I know that tone.  Didn't go well?"

"Nope."

Travis led Guacamole into a stall next to his horse, Fabio, and removed the harness before stepping out and closing the door.  Guac turned his attention immediately to the bucket of feed, steadfastly ignoring Travis once more.

"How bad?"  Ginger leaned against Fabio's stall and stroked his head as he poked it out over the door to say hello. 

"Let's just say that I think I'm in for a permanent headache until Guac decides that he wants to be my friend and not be a menace."

"What's your plan?"

He turned his head, running a critical eye over the gelding who looked up and snorted before going back to his feed.  "Get him to settle in for a day or two, I guess.  Stephen's going to bring over Charm in a couple of days so we can work on desensitizing Guac."

"Charm – that's the retriever, right?  How many dogs does Stephen have now?"

"Yeah, Charm's the retriever.  Big, blond, and dumb but nothing fazes him so he's the ideal choice to use for this.  Technically, Charm is the only one that's Stephen's but his parents have the two livestock guarders, Buck and Wilder."

"Right."

Travis propped a hip against the stall door.  "What about you? Has your day been more successful than mine?  I bet you've got that movie star riding like a genuine cowboy by now."

Ginger merely laughed, a quiet little chuckle as she shook her head.  "Hardly but he does look better than the other day."

"You mean he doesn't look as terrified as a kid on their first pony anymore?  For a minute, I thought he was going to wet himself when he was sitting on Ginger in the round pen."

"Be nice," Ginger admonished but that was a hint of a smile on her face.  "Jay's actually picking it all up pretty quickly.  Faster than I anticipated, anyway.  I have a theory that it's an actor thing."

"Actor thing?"

She nodded.  "You know, monkey-see-monkey-do.  The guy plays make-believe for a living.  I think he's probably seen enough people on horseback to know generally how it's supposed to look and was able to apply the theory of it once he got on Gypsy."

"Huh."  Travis considered that a moment.  It sure seemed a possibility – though watching someone ride a horse and actually riding the animal were two different things entirely.  "Well, at least it doesn't seem to be too arduous of a task to teach the guy to ride.  With any luck, he'll be out of your hair soon.  Did he say how long he and Brock are staying in town?"

Travis tried to go for casual, hoping that Ginger wouldn't hear the interest in his voice.  But he was curious about what Brock's plans were, even if he shouldn't be.  There was no reason for him to be curious at all but...Travis wanted to know.

Ginger picked at a speck of dirt on the edge of her shirt and said, "Jay told me they'll likely be here until at least after the Classic.  Bailey and Brock haven't even recorded anything yet so there's no reason for them to leave."

"Oh."

He tried and failed to staunch the bubbling excitement in his stomach, reminding himself once more that there was definitely nothing happening between him and Brock. Absolutely, definitely nothing so it didn't matter if Brock stayed or went.  At the end of the day, Travis's life wouldn't change if the superstar was in Tishomingo or the other side of the country.

But he wanted to see Brock again. 

Wanted to – even if it was a stupidly idiotic idea.

Travis plastered a smile on his face and slung an arm around Ginger's shoulder as he made to steer them out of the barn.  "I guess that means I won't be seeing you much until the Classic is over what with you teaching Jay, me working with Guac, and doing some last-minute training sessions for the Classic.  Guess that means we should make the most of the time we do have.  So – what movie are we seeing tonight?"

*~*

The stars were shining brightly overhead by the time Travis returned home that evening.  Above, the moon was nearly full, providing him with more than enough light to make the short walk from his truck to the steps of the porch without encumberment. 

            He and Ginger had grabbed dinner and caught the last showing of a new rom-com called Groomsday.  They'd sat in the parking lot awhile, leaning against their respective cars as they talked and caught up.  Ginger told him of her lessons with Jay Dawson and in turn, Travis updated her on his training and schedule for the local rodeo that coming weekend. 

            It had been a nice evening.  He always enjoyed spending time with Ginger but tonight had felt...different.  The conversation hadn't flowed as easily as it usually did between them.  As if the words they said were out of habit instead of actual interest.

            By the time he arrived home, Travis felt just about ready to crawl into bed and crash.  He'd have to get up early to train and then spend some time with Guac and it was already near one a.m.  Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, each step he took laden with fatigue.

The late hour meant that his house should have been quiet but as he reached the front door, he was met with the sounds of bright laughter.  It sounded like a party was raging.

            Frowning, Travis entered and as he kicked off his boots and slung his jacket onto a hook, another bout of laughter sounded.  Deeper than the first, a few guttural chuckles.

            It was followed by his sister's voice.  "You're such an idiot."

            "Hey!  I'm not the one who believed flamingo feathers were made out of cotton candy."

            "I was four – and you're the one who told me that, you asshole!"

            As he strode deeper into the house, Travis found the origin of the noise.  His sister was seated on the couch, a little red in the face that likely came as a result of the stemless glass of rosé wine she clutched between her fingers.  Next to her, Noah was lounging.  One arm was thrown across her shoulders, the other grasping what seemed to be a near-empty beer bottle.  On the other side of the room, sprawled in one of the leather armchairs was Jake.  A lazy grin had settled on his face.  It was a little mocking but in a good-natured sort of way.  And on the television –

            Travis cringed as he watched his younger self get bitten by a peacock.

            "You guys having a party without me?" he asked.

            "Hey!" Bailey exclaimed, beaming.  "Come join the fun."

            "Why are you watching home videos?"

            Noah looked up as Travis clapped him on the shoulder before slumping on the couch next to him.  "Bailey couldn't get some old hook out of her head from a song she swears she wrote years ago so she and Brock came here to see if Maryse remembered where it was which resulted in your mom pulling out your finest collection of home videos.  They said they'd only be gone an hour and after three went by, I came looking only to find your entire family and Brock laughing their faces off at your home videos.  That was well over two hours ago."

             "Ah."

            "Do you remember this?" Jake asked, indicating the television where Travis's younger self was now getting chased by a small flock of peacocks.

            Travis cringed.  "Unfortunately.  Denver Zoo, right?"

            Jake nodded.  "Yup."  To Noah, he added, "We went on a family trip where I managed to convince Bailey that flamingo feathers were made out of cotton candy and then ten minutes later, this idiot got bit by a peacock."

            "My own fault," Travis admitted as Noah turned to him with a raised brow.  "I was six and didn't think the peacock would mind if I tried to take one of its tail feathers.  News flash, it minded.  And then, my mom spent the entire car ride home teaching me how to respect animals so that I never did anything that stupid or disrespectful again."

            "But you got a lovely souvenir," Bailey chimed in, sipping from her wine.

            "Did you actually get a feather?" Noah asked.

            Travis shook his head as his brother snorted from the other side of the room.  "No – just a scar from where it bit me."

            "You got a scar from a peacock?" a voice drawled from somewhere behind Travis.

            Something inside of him stilled, even as he craned his neck, twisting a little so that he could see Brock Mason appear from the hallway that led towards the bathroom.  The singer was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt underneath an open navy blue button-up with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. 

            His face was aglow with a slight distantness that came with having a few drinks.  Nothing crazy but he seemed relaxed, those sea-green eyes bright.  An easy smile curved his pink lips and for just a second, Travis was struck stupid.

            He cleared his throat.  "Uh, yeah.  Left hand, on my palm."

            Brock took up the nearest chair which also happened to be the one closest to the side of the couch where Travis was sitting.  "I've got a few little scars like that too.  Even one from a bird but it was my mom's budgie, not a peacock, and it's on my right hand."

            He held his hand out, pointing with his left to where there was a faint white scar on the edge of his palm.  Travis flipped his hand over as well, exposing a similar, albeit slightly larger, scar on his own hand.

            "Cool," Travis said and then cursed himself for it.  Cool.  Seriously?  He couldn't have thought of literally anything else to say?  Clearing his throat, he found himself looking for an out and quickly turned to ask Noah, "Do you have many home videos or did you lose them all?"

            "We have most of them.  About a year before the fire, my mom actually went through this whole process of uploading all of our videos and scanning every single photo we had.  We've got them online but haven't printed many out."

            Bailey leaned forward to add, "I just saw some of them for the first time last week including one of Noah as a toddler wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and boots."

            Noah looked scandalized.  "You had to tell them that?"

            "If I have to sit through this embarrassment," she said, pointing at the screen which had flipped to a new video from their childhood which showed Bailey at about five years old drenched head to toe in mud.  The only thing about her that was clean was her teeth, bright white against the muck as she grinned.  "Then you also have to live through the torture with him."

            Travis, Jake, and Brock laughed as Noah uttered a pray for mercy.  But Bailey leaned into him and Noah shifted to be closer.  It was so natural and instinctive that Travis wondered if either of them even noticed that they had moved in response to the other, like gravity pulling them together.

            "For the record," Brock murmured, reclaiming Travis' attention, "we've spent the better part of the last few hours making fun of Bailey.  The peacock video is one of about three that we've seen of you.  I think Jake was taking the opportunity to laugh at your sister after your mom handed him the reins."

            "Good to know but I have to admit that I'm a little worried about what the other two videos of me you saw were.  I was a bit of a wild child."

            "They were pretty endearing actually.  Your mom was the one with the remote at that point.  We saw your first time on a horse and then you and your brother helping your dad build a shed."

            "That thing fell down about a week later," Travis confided.  "We were horrible helpers.  He would put things together properly but didn't notice when Jake and I were going behind him, pulling out nails.  We thought it was hilarious, of course.  I was ten and he was thirteen so did everything he told me – including taking the blame when the shed fell down and my dad demanded to know what we'd done."

            Brock chuckled but as Jake drew Bailey and Noah into a conversation about another video that had popped up on the screen, he added quietly, "Your sister told me that you were the troublesome sibling."

            Travis shrugged.  "I was just the one who got caught.  Jake did worse crap than me but he was the smart one so he knew how to cover his tracks.  Bailey was the golden child always out with her guitar in the fields so whenever she pulled a prank, she'd deny it and say she was out writing music and my parents would believe her.  Usually, I was the one who'd get caught or accused of doing something when it was one of them."

            "And you'd take the blame?"

            "That's what the middle child is for, right?  Do what the older brother says and protect the younger sister."

            "So you're the selfless one.  Always putting others before yourself." 

            No one had ever framed it in that way.  At least not to Travis directly.  But as the word settled in his soul, selfless, it felt...right in some regard.  And Brock was staring at him, a sparkle in his eyes, and for the first time in a while, Travis felt seen.  Not on the surface level the way that most people saw him but deeper, down to the confines of his soul.

            "And you?" Travis asked.  "Are you selfless?"

            Brock's eyes roved across his face and as Travis swallowed the lump in his throat, the musician murmured,  "No, I'm not.  When I want something...I'm likely to chase after it no matter the cost."

             It was hard not to read into that statement.  Especially with the way that Brock was looking at him.  For a minute, it felt like the two of them were in their own little world and then Bailey said something that had Brock glancing over Travis' head, an amused smile already forming.

            As the conversation rolled on, Travis cast furtive glances towards Jake and Noah but if either man had noticed the little moment that had occurred between him and Brock, they weren't letting on.  He was relieved about it but confusion swept through him.  It was an effort to refocus his attention on the screen but he did.  He also laughed when it was appropriate, grinned at his brother, poked fun at Noah – yet a part of his focus remained steadfastly on Brock as if there was a part of him completely unwilling to look away fully.

            But he dismissed Brock's comments, forcing himself to forget the intense look in the man's eyes when he'd talked about chasing what he wanted, because for half a second...For half a second, Travis had wondered what it would be like to be chased by someone like Brock.  To have someone want him so much that they'd damn the consequences just for him.

             After another thirty minutes, Jake began to nod off in the armchair, Bailey was struggling to keep her eyes open, and even Noah was continuously yawning. 

            "We weren't planning on it but given how late it is, we're going to crash here," Bailey said, tugging Noah to his feet.  She was so tired it seemed that she had to use Noah as a prop just to stay upright.  Her eyes were opened to slits only.  "You're welcome to stay the night, Brock.  The couch is a pull-out."

            "I wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone—"

            Travis rose from his seat as well, kicking the edge of Jake's chair to wake his brother up.  "Go to bed," he ordered and in his sleepy stupor, his brother went amiably off down the hall.  Before his sister could continue, he said firmly, "It's no inconvenience.  I'll get the extra blankets and pillows.  In the morning, I can give you a lift to your hotel if you need it.  Or are you two writing again?"

             "I'm going to try and do some writing on my own.  Bailey and Caroline have meetings with our label for their own projects and then something to do with the wedding in the afternoon.  But, it's okay.  I can call Jay.  I know you're busy and—"

            "Southern hospitality means it don't matter how busy we are, if you need something, we do it," Travis said.

"Best not to argue with Travis, Brock.  Of all of the Grant siblings, he's the most stubborn," Noah said. 

            "But—"

            Travis's tone was firm.  "Tell him."

Noah chuckled behind him.  "After I got hurt last year, Bailey had Travis keep an eye on me when she was out of town.  I think he was more strict than my surgeon was.  If I tried to do anything outside of the doctor's orders, he basically shoved me back into bed.  Trust me, you're just going to start a fight you have no hope of winning.  Just accept the southern hospitality."

Brock looked a bit scandalized.  Perhaps he'd been in L.A. too long.  Travis imagined the people there to be urgent, focused, and single-minded.  He didn't know if it was true or not.  L.A. was never a spot he'd visited with his sister while she was touring but it was what he predicted of that place where the celebrity elites thrived in Hollywood.

"Fine," he said after a moment.  "I will accept your southern hospitality."

"Good.  I got this," he added to his barely coherent sister and her partner.  "You two get to bed."

"You sure?" Bailey mumbled, sleep lacing every syllable.

"Go."

They wandered off down the hall, leaving Travis alone with Brock.  He didn't waste time, tossing the cushions off the couch and pulling out the mattress within.  Blankets and pillows were grabbed from a nearby linen closet and he made the bed with the swiftness of a person who had done it a thousand times before. 

And when the bed was made and he'd grabbed a new toothbrush from the cupboard and a spare pair of pyjamas from his own wardrobe for Brock to borrow, Travis asked, "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No," Brock said, his gaze intent upon Travis' face.  It was just the two of them in the now-silent house and though he spoke at a near-whisper, the words carried easily to Travis's ear.  "This is great.  Thanks.  You really didn't need to go to the trouble."

"Bailey would have if I hadn't and as Noah said, it's just southern hospitality at its finest."

            "Guess I'm not used to it.  L.A. isn't quite as welcoming.  Or, I never found it to be that way and I grew up there."

            "Must be a nice place to live, though.  Busier than here.  Things to do."

            Brock shrugged.  "It's home and if you like the hustle and bustle or the beach.  You like the beach?"

            Travis shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked onto his heels.  "Never really been.  Only a couple of times on vacations but never for more than a few days.  I don't know what I'd do at a beach if I stayed longer than that."

            "Well, if you ever find yourself out in California and need a tour guide, I'd be happy to show you around – beaches and other attractions, of course." 

            Perhaps it was just a polite offer but...He seemed to mean it.  Sincerity laced Brock's tone and so Travis said, "Thanks.  I might just take you up on that one day."

            "I look forward to it."  Travis angled for his bedroom but as he reached the edge of the living room, he paused and glanced back.  As if some unforeseen force was making him linger just for a moment so that he didn't yet have to look away from Brock's handsome face.  "Are you free tomorrow?  There's a place nearby that I think you'd really like.  Could be a good spot to do some songwriting.  It's secluded.  No chance of distraction."

            A smile twisted Brock's lips, eyes sparking.  "I'm free if you are."

            He really wasn't, not with all of the chores and work with Guac and training he had to do but – one day couldn't hurt.  "I've got all the time in the world."

            "Great.  I'll see you in the morning then."

            Travis nodded.  "Have a good night, Brock."

            "G'night, Travis."

            Travis didn't let himself linger that time.  He made himself walk down the hallway and into his room where he shut the door firmly and leaned against the wood.

            What are you doing? he asked himself.  What the hell are you doing?

            It was something he didn't have an answer to but at that moment, Travis didn't care at all.