9. Ash

I’m glad Kayla came with me. She was right; I definitely would’ve gotten lost.

She leads me past the cabins and through the woods until we reach a hiking trail path. A part of me thinks she’s just messing with me and she’s going to ditch me in the woods.

We walk in silence, and I’m not sure if I should make small talk. Something about her makes me nervous.

We finally break through the trees and suddenly we’re in the middle of a town. It’s as if the town was carved into the heart of a valley of mountains.

I know the town is called Camarillo Plains, but it should’ve been called something like Mountain Cove. Maybe they thought that would be too on the nose.

I stop in front of the wooden exterior of the bar and let out a laugh. It’s called The Roadhouse, and the entrance has barn doors. Could it be any more cliché?

Kayla pauses and takes a deep breath.

I’m about to ask her if she’s okay, but she plasters a smile on her face and pushes open the large wooden doors.

As it turns out, it can be more of a cliché. The entire inside is “countrified.” There’s a mechanical bull in the corner, cowboy hats lining the beams on the ceiling, and countless other things you’d expect in a country bar.

It’s a far cry from the rooftop bars and poolside hangouts I usually go to, but I’ll take anything at this point.

People turn to look at us. For a moment I think they’re surprised to see me, but a bunch of people call out Kayla’s name and cheer. It’s a lot like how I’m greeted at a sports bar, like a hero.

I wonder if she was prom queen in high school. I wonder if they even had prom here.

I look at Kayla as she smiles and nods at a few people. This smile looks a lot less fake than the one she plastered on her face when we walked in.

It’s good to be anywhere but the ranch. As much as it’s massive and serene, it’s exhausting. It’s nice to have a change of pace and be around people.

I follow Kayla’s lead, trying not to stare at her ass as she walks.

I’m thoroughly aware of all the eyes inspecting me, but for once there are no phones pointed at me. It’s refreshing.

When I first got famous, I welcomed the phones being aimed at me. Being the center of attention doesn’t exactly suck. It lost its appeal pretty quickly, though.

I didn’t expect it to eventually feel so hollow. You just want someone to talk to you instead of shoving their phone in your face. Sometimes it’s like they don’t actually care about you as a person — they just want a photo so they can get clout or whatever. It makes you feel… used.

For the most part I don’t mind, but every now and then, I feel like an object instead of a person.

People rush over to greet Kayla. Her face lights up, and I can’t stop myself from watching her smile. It’s magnetic.

The only time I’ve seen her smile is when I’m making a fool of myself. Despite my bruised ego, I don’t mind embarrassing myself if it means I get to see her grin and laugh.

She looks over her shoulder at me and gestures toward a booth.

People continue to greet her or acknowledge her. I can tell she’s beloved.

The ranch can be isolated, so it’s nice to see the people that fill this town. In a way, it makes me miss my team. There’s such a sense of camaraderie in hockey. I’ve been trying not to think about what I’m missing, but when you have nothing but time to think, it’s hard.

I try to focus on the here and now. Right now, I have a gorgeous woman sitting across from me, and I’m going to enjoy it.