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.

Now, though, Brock wanted to know more about this mysterious cowboy that he walked beside. He glanced at Travis' face before glancing towards the creek where some people were swimming. "Has your family always been close?"

"I would say so." Grinning ruefully, he added, "Though Jake and I went through a phase where we tried to ditch Bailey at every opportunity. Typical kid stuff, you know? We'd run off and she'd just follow. Didn't matter what we were doing. We thought we'd gotten rid of her when we started getting into the rodeo but then she took up barrel racing and that went out the window too. It was only when she really started up with her music that we got rid of her."

Travis chuckled and began to steer them away from the water a little bit. Not far but up towards a small copse of trees behind an outcropping of rock.

"Is anyone else in your family musically inclined?"

"Not in the way that Bailey is. My father is probably the closest, actually. He'll deny it but he's got a nice voice too. Jake and I can't sing, my mom is...rough. And that's putting it kindly." Another deep, throaty chuckle. "What's your family like?"

Brock hesitated a moment and then said, "Unconventional."

That earned him a look. One complete with a raised brow and a snort. "Oh?"

"My parents divorced when I was eleven. There's no bad blood," he said quickly as Travis blinked like divorce was a foreign concept. Perhaps in his house it was. Brock had seen the happy smiling faces and the family that truly seemed to enjoy being together. A rock-solid unit. It was something Brock hadn't had when he was younger, not until his parents had actually figured out co-parenting.

"Still. I'm sorry to hear that. It must have been hard." Travis stopped walking and Brock paused to look around.

The cowboy had been right. This spot was pretty secluded. Sounds of rushing water still reached his ears but the creek was half-hidden out of sight where he and Travis were sandwiched between trees and rock. From the backpack, Travis drew a blanket which he spread upon the ground and plopped down, folding his long legs beneath him. Brock gingerly set his guitar nearby and sat next to Travis, keeping a respectable amount of space between them.

"It was hard at the time," he said, resuming their conversation. "But two years after the divorce, my mom announced that she was seeing someone new – and that the someone was a woman."

Travis' head whipped around. The sun shined directly into his eyes but as he squinted, Brock saw shock resonate there. "Your mom is a lesbian?"

"Bisexual. She got remarried when I was eighteen to that same woman. Don't believe all the stuff they tell you about step-mothers, by the way. Eloise is awesome."

And she really was. Brock had liked his mother's new partner immediately. It had taken over a year for his mom to bring Eloise home to meet him but once she'd entered his life, it was almost like she'd always been there. Eloise was a teacher and she'd helped Brock through his homework for years which was a true feat given how much schooling Brock had tried to blow off to work on his music.

"Well," Travis said slowly. He seemed to be thinking hard about something but eventually, he settled on, "That's great. How'd your dad take that news? Must have been a shock."

"It was, a little, but it wasn't the reason they divorced so I think it was easier for him to process. They were actually better parenting from different households than they did when we were all living together. Their relationship was healthier, like when their marriage ended they went back to being friends instead." Brock chuckled a little and added, "My moms and then my dad and his girlfriend are actually all on vacation together right now. Month-long trip to Greece."

"Must have been an adjustment for you too," Travis commented. His gaze slid forward, away from Brock's face again, and concentrated on a portion of the creek that was visible from their little tucked away place.

Brock shrugged. "I mean, the divorce was more of an adjustment than having two moms. It was all strange for a while but just like everything it became normal too."

Travis nodded. "True." He settled lower towards the ground, closing his eyes and tugging the baseball cap lower onto his forehead. "My sister give you any good tips for songwriting?"

"More than I can count," Brock said but Bailey's assistance had been helpful.

These past days working with Bailey had been more than Brock had ever anticipated. Not only was she incredibly gracious and humble, the natural talent she had astonished Brock a little. She knew how to craft music, that was for sure, and didn't try to overcomplicate things. Bailey stuck to good, strong melodies and memorable lyrics whether they be for a ballad or something punchy and easy to dance to. Though she had a team she worked with on the arrangements and other instrumentals, it was clear that her mind was the bread and butter behind her award-winning music.

He reached for his guitar, removing it from the case alongside a notebook and a pen. "You don't mind if I play?"

"Thought that was the whole reason we came out here," Travis replied without opening his eyes.

Brock's lips twitched upwards at the wry tone but he didn't dare question if that was the only reason that Travis had brought him out here as he said, "Right."

For a while, Brock fiddled with his guitar. Occasionally, he scribbled lines of lyrics down in his notebook but he scratched them out more than he expanded upon the verse. Nothing seemed to flow right and he found himself struggling as he tried to write alone. Perhaps if Bailey or even Caroline had been with him, he'd have been able to come up with even a fraction of something decent but all he had were pages upon pages of utterly useless crap.

Of course, it was hard to concentrate with Travis lounging next to him. Over the better course of an hour, the cowboy hardly moved. He kept his eyes closed, hat drawn low, and though he breathed deep and evenly, Brock didn't think that Travis was sleeping. And with the midday sun shining down upon his handsome face, it was hard for Brock to keep his attention off of Travis and on the music he was trying and failing to write.

"I don't know how your sister does this," he mused after a while. "She makes it seem so effortless."

"Now you know why Jake and I never even tried to pick up music as a hobby. Even when we were kids, Bailey was so damned good at it all that he and I never saw a point to trying to keep up with her." Travis' deep voice came softly, little more than a murmur. He still didn't open his eyes but he turned his head a little toward the direction of where Brock was sitting.

"It was easier when my label just handed me music to play."

"Isn't that a bit of a cop-out?"

"A lot of people in the industry have artists who write their music for them. Some people are just good performers and stink at the creative writing bit. I'm starting to think that I fall into that category." Brock pursed his lips and glared at his notebook smeared with pointless ink.

Travis tilted his head back a little, those dark brown eyes opening to slits. "How long have you been trying to write your own music?"

"Since I started working with Bailey when I got here."

"And that's what? Four or five days? Beating yourself up a bit harshly for someone who's never done this before. You didn't think that Bailey became an award-winning singer-songwriter overnight, did you?"

Brock kind of had. That was how he saw Bailey – a humble powerhouse of an artist who turned out hit after hit without much strain or stress. She was that good from what he'd seen of her these past few days. Her ability to turn a phrase into a memorable piece of music was astounding.

His silence was answer enough for Travis as a chuckle befell his mouth.

"Trust me," Travis said, "it took a long time for Bailey to figure out how to write decent music. I can't even begin to tell you how many shitty songs I had to pretend to like when we were in grade school and middle school and high school. She figured it out, of course, but even some of her best hits were written in between garbage tracks she'll never do anything with. I listen to all of her music before it goes out so trust me when I say that it takes time."

A breath whispered past Brock's lips and he turned a rueful smile on the man lying next to him. "I guess I sound like a bit of an ass, right? Assuming that I should be good at this stuff right away."

"Do you want my honest opinion or my default overly-sensitive-celebrity-pat-on-the-back opinion?"

It amused Brock that Travis had two options so readily available to dole out but he said, "The honest one."

Slowly, Travis sat up. His lengthy arms draped across his knees and he blinked into the harsh bright light of the day as he said, "I think you sound like someone who wants to prove to the world that you can make it on your own without your label, Tallahassee, or Trace Strickland holding you back. I think that you're so desperate to show everyone that your career isn't over yet that you want things to happen overnight but life doesn't work that way. Usually, it takes a bit of time to work it all out."

The words rang through Brock's head and as they began to settle and take root, he realized that Travis was right in some respects. From the moment his contract had been bought by Eclipse Records, he'd felt an innate drive to prove that he wasn't washed up. His career wasn't over. Sure, it had been a little while since he'd put out new music and after this move to a new label, what he did next would be more heavily scrutinized than anything he'd done since leaving Tallahassee.

It felt like the world was watching him and him alone. But maybe it wasn't.

Maybe the only one watching him right now was Travis. Perhaps all he needed to focus on was staying in the moment and giving himself some space to breathe and grow as he figured out all of this songwriting stuff. As he learned what kind of artist he wanted to be right now instead of the one that Frontier had forced him to be.

"So you're a selfless troublemaker slash horse trainer slash rodeo cowboy with a voice of reason...You're a conundrum, Travis Grant," Brock commented. His fingers brushed through his hair, mussing it up, as he settled his guitar back in its case.

Travis chuckled, quiet and soft. "I wouldn't say conundrum."

"No?"

"Nah. I'm just a guy who wears a lot of hats and who knows what it feels like you're being packaged into a box you want to get out of."

"And what box do you want to get out of?"

A pensive look flashed across Travis's face and for a brief moment, Brock watched hesitation race across the other man's face. Finally, Travis said, "I don't know. The one everyone else expects me to be in, I guess."

That's about as clear as mud, Brock thought with a raised brow. He said as much and Travis huffed a laugh.

"That's how it feels to me most days, too." Travis fidgeted, dislodging his hat a little as he went to brush a hand through his hair. Eventually, he leaned back onto his elbows and said, "Sometimes it feels like my whole life is already planned out. As if I have no say in where I go from here."

"How so?"

"Well, I'm not college-bound – academia was never my strong suit – and there's nowhere in the world for me to go outside of this town except the rodeo. Don't get me wrong, Tishomingo...I love it here. It's home and I never felt the desire to leave as my sister did with her music. Hell, I'll probably end up working the land on my family's ranch until the day I bite the dust."

"You don't think you'll ever leave this town?"

"Where would I go?"

Brock glanced towards the nearby creek. It was a good question and one he didn't have an answer to. Sure, Brock had seen a lot of places but his experiences were mostly confined to concert stadiums. He'd only ever lived in L.A. and Nashville. He was hardly the expert on where to go in the whole wide world of options.

"I don't know," he said. "Though it does seem like you've got a pretty good life out here. I didn't know a place could be so calm." Brock gestured with a hand to the nature that surrounded them. Birds sang nearby and with the sound of trickling water...It was indeed calm that swept through his veins. "But just because something is nice and comfortable doesn't mean there's something better out there waiting for you."

"Maybe," Travis conceded and when he turned his head forward again, watching the water moving steadily, Brock took the moment to study him.

There was something a little...sad about the middle Grant sibling. Something quieter and subdued compared to Bailey's light exuberance and Jake's solid confidence. As if Travis was the overlooked one. Or perhaps that wasn't the right word.

The steady one.

Simple on the surface – the kind of man who competed in rodeos and worked on a ranch but had no dreams of city lights or medicine like his siblings – but there was a complexity that weighed heavily in the set of Travis's shoulders and the shrewdness in his gaze.

Brock wondered if anyone else ever noticed Travis's sharp intelligence or if he just existed in the box of his family's expectations. Never pushed beyond the borders of this town because that drive had been handed to his siblings and skipped over him entirely. Brock didn't doubt that it was because Travis had been the one to bolster them up.

And now he was here. Sitting on the bank of a creek with an expression that seemed a little lost.

There was a part of Brock that wished he knew what could be said in a moment like this but he didn't have the words to chase away that emptiness so he only murmured, "At least you've got Ginger. Maybe there's a place you two can go together or is she as tied down to this place as you seem to think you are?"

"Ginger would leave in a heartbeat if she had the money. That's why she's working at the diner in town. She told me once that her goal after graduating high school was to go to college for art but that was four years ago and she's still here so...Maybe she and I will be in Tishomingo forever."

There wasn't the enthusiasm in his voice that Brock was expecting. In fact, the look that crossed Travis' face seemed panicky and dread-filled more than anything.

Brock had seen that look before. Had worn it himself years ago before—

He stared a little harder at Travis, thinking, debating...Brock had convinced himself it wasn't possible. That there wasn't a chance that this man – who was as country as they came, a rodeo cowboy and rancher who was all shades of tall, dark, and handsome – could be gay. It hadn't crossed his mind really, not seriously in any case. Perhaps in a daydreamy sort of way, which was to be expected given the rugged appeal Travis exuded, but he hadn't really given it much real thought.

The Travis who was looking anywhere than at Brock's face right then sure seemed like he could be. Brock had been perpetually terrified of the world until he'd come out to his parents and that look of dread that Travis wore...Brock had worn it every time his friends had mentioned girls they thought were attractive or his parents tried to pry into his dating life.

It was an effort to swallow and clamp down on the thoughts lest they race across his face. "Well," Brock heard himself saying, "she seems great. There are worse people out there to find yourself stuck in a place like this with."

"Ain't that the truth," Travis said and as he smiled, that dread disappeared. It was replaced by something lighter, easier, and Brock half-convinced himself that he'd made it up. That he was just seeing what he wanted to see on Travis' face because he thought that the cowboy was deeply attractive and it was clouding his judgement.

Entirely possible. He hardly knew this man.

Yet he wanted to know him. Wanted to get closer and if they hadn't been at risk of being spotted by people swimming in the creek, Brock might have very well done that. Might have scooted towards to Travis and leaned in just to see how he might have reacted.

The risk was too high because if he was wrong about Travis – there was no telling what that could do. Brock had worked hard to keep his personal life private and out of the public eye, a challenge lately given all of the shit going on with Trace Strickland, and so taking a chance on someone like Travis – someone who could go to the media and bare all about Brock if he truly wanted – was daunting.

Better to not risk anything...Even though Brock had to force himself not to look at Travis' lips or stare into those soulful dark eyes.

But as Travis went back to quietly dozing on the ground and Brock once again reached for his guitar, the lyrics formed in his mind.

You can't miss what you never had, but it doesn't mean the wanting for it just goes away.